Page 25 of Her Redeemed Protector

“What’s up,Saltamontes?” Dad inquires.

“Juliet. She’s acting strange. She just snatched Kayla from me like I was kidnapping her.”

“She’s her daughter.”

“I know, but…” I stare out the window, straining to make sense of Juliet’s sudden aggression and urgency. I’ve always seen that woman as a source of negative energy, especially when she’s a few sheets to the wind. But today, her negativity feels somewhat ominous.

“You know I never like the idea of you babysitting Kayla. We should be on business-only terms with the Gills.”

“I know, Dad, but I can’t just turn Kayla away.”

“I know you love kids. Maybe it’s time you think about having your own.”

“I’m heading to the store to pick up some bread,” I say, closing the discussion.

The mention of bread from our beloved local bakery is enough to divert his thoughts from the subject I’m always happy to dodge. He smiles broadly, his mood visibly lightening. “You’re a champ! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Need anything else?” I ask as he surveys the kitchen.

He shakes a nearly empty bottle of smoked paprika. “More of this, please.”

“Done,” I reply, already making a mental shopping list. “And if they have yellow roses, I’ll grab some for Mom.”

He sets down the paprika bottle and comes over, placing a light kiss on the crown of my head. “Yeah, do that. Tell her I’ll get them next time.”

I whistle for Ranger and Ruby, who eagerly leap into the back of my RAM truck, and we set off.

As we inch along the driveway, a troubling sight in the distance catches my eye.

A pair of men on motorbikes thunder toward us. The riders, the Blackwater Brutes from the neighboring village,herald a storm of fear and violence throughout Lakefall Valley. They’re mercenaries hired by the big players. Their arrival always carries an air of dread and ultimatums.

I bring my truck to a stop and step out, cradling my rifle. In this corner of Montana, a woman must know how to stand her ground. I command Ranger and Ruby to stay behind, their barking fierce and incessant, their bodies tense with the urge to protect.

The men slow their shiny Harleys to a stop, dismounting with a casual arrogance. The Brutes are known for being the masters of the night. Their daylight appearance is as unusual as it is unsettling. Either they’ve grown cocky and believe themselves beyond the reach of the law, or they’re here on business that couldn’t wait.

The men stroll to meet me halfway.

“Careful with that rifle, barn girl. It’s not a toy,” the bigger man sneers, his authority evident in his stance. His companion stands by, leering at me with dirty eyes.

“You’re trespassing,” I warn, pointing my rifle at the bigger guy.

They both cackle.

I tighten my grip, a smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. “Trust me, I’m not playing. I’ve been shooting since I was twelve. Now, get off my property before I demonstrate.”

“This isn’t your property anymore,” he asserts, passing me a piece of paper—a foreclosure notice.

Their menacing words and the threatening notice only ignite a fierce determination within me. They cannot lay claim to this land!

I tear the paper apart without even bothering to read the fine print. “I’m not dealing with thugs. I’ll talk to Fabian.”

“You’re not dealing with the Gills anymore. You’re dealing with my boss,” the big man says, then spits on the grass.

They start walking back to their rides.

I point my rifle once again, cocking it this time. “Who is he? I want to talk to him.”

Suddenly, the second man grabs his rifle, pointing at someone emerging from the house.

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