Page 9 of Bravo

“You’re welcome, honey. Have a great day.”

Stepping outside, I slip sunglasses over my eyes and head toward the beat-up old truck I bought in a used, cash-only lot six months ago. It’s parked right between the market and the post office, so the walk is quick. Even as I know it’s likely an impossibility, my gaze scans my surroundings for anything that doesn’t quite fit.

Like a person in a place they shouldn’t be.

After setting my bag on the passenger seat, I climb behind the wheel and take off. Music drowns out the silence around me during the fifteen-minute drive back to Hunt Ranch. It’s hardly the only ranch in this area, but it is by far the largest and has been in the Hunt family for generations—1906 from what my research told me.

The Hunts are known around this town as kind people who love God and cherish their neighbors. Something they prove whenever someone is in need of anything. Take me, for example. They had no openings since they weren’t planning on hiring a replacement for the last ranch hand who left, but the second I showed up at their door, asking for a job, they found a place for me.

Ten minutes after Mrs. Hunt pulled the door open, I was walking into the house and being welcomed with a tall glass of sweet tea and fresh homemade banana bread.

They’re a perfect example of money not changing a person.

Despite the fact that they have a ranch that has to be worth millions of dollars, they’re a small family at their core, doing what they can to help others on their way through this life.

It makes me yearn for something I’ll never have again. Family. My throat constricts as a wave of emotion hits me.No. Shove it down, Kennedy.

Instead of letting the past consume me, I focus on what’s ahead.

Unlike a lot of ranches in the area, the Hunt ranch hands have a row of cabins rather than a bunkhouse. We each get our own space—a bed, bathroom, small kitchen—that we can call our own as long as we’re working here.

While we do share a parking lot, the cabins are all our own, separated by a magnolia tree planted strategically between each of them for privacy.

It’ll be gorgeous, especially when the trees are in full bloom. All that dark wood contrasting with the waxy green leaves and white blossoms. I’ve only seen it in pictures so far, but I’m hoping that I’ll get to remain here long enough to witness it for myself.

Unlikely, of course, but maybe.

I’m just putting my truck in Park when I notice a shadow creeping around the left side of my cabin. The blood in my veins begins to pound, and adrenaline surges through my system.

Instinctively, I reach for the small firearm I always keep on me, my hand closing over the grip as I abandon my groceries and slip out of the truck. All while I’m kicking myself for not bringing my go bag with me when I left this morning. Ialwayshave it on me. But today, I’d left it behind. Why didn’t I bring it with me?

If I’m lucky, they haven’t gotten into the house yet and I can slip in through the side and grab my bag. If I’m not lucky—well—I won’t be walking out of here at all.

A man is peering through my back window, but when I get close enough to get a better look at him, I breathe a sigh of relief and hold the firearm behind my back. It’s Texas, so legally, I can carry it, but I don’t want anyone here noticing it. The questionsthat may come from it are ones I don’t want to answer. “What are you doing here?”

Arthur Kidress turns, his cheeks flushing with color. “Sammy, there you are. I was looking for you.”

“You were peering into the back of my house,” I say. “Did you not knock?”

“Of course I knocked.” Arthur arrived about a month before me and has made it no secret that he’s attracted to me.

Unfortunately for him, even if I were drawn to him, I have a strict ‘no dating’ policy.

He comes down the back steps with a friendly smile on his face. “You didn’t answer.”

Since he was already on the ranch when I arrived here, it’s unlikely he’s a threat to me, but I can never be too careful. Not when I have enemies lurking everywhere I turn. “Which makes peering into my back door less creepy?” I question.

“Sorry.” He runs a hand over the back of his head and then shoves both hands into his pockets. “I wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“It’s my day off.”

His embarrassment is written all over his face. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I would say stalking my house isn’t a great start to whatever it is.”

He laughs. “I wanted to ask if you’d be up for dinner.”

“When?”

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