Page 46 of Saving Jared

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Jared leanedhis forearms on the railing running the length of the big veranda and hung his head in relief. The last family had finally driven away, but well past the stated noon checkout time. It never failed at least one family or group wound up testing that boundary—this time by more than two-and-a-half hours. He lifted his gaze and peered out toward the now empty guest parking lot.

"Nine more months," he muttered, pushing himself upright with a slight groan, "and we get to do it all again."

He checked his watch. Almost 3:00.

"Now for this."

The Fremonts would be arriving soon to tour the location for Mending Morgans-Mending Lives—something Jared had been determined to stay out of. Kinsley wanted to do this on her own. But he couldn’t say no when she’d asked for him to act as an extra buffer from Hart with Willa.

Her main concern?

"My knee might decide to make contact with his dangly bits."

So, while he would pay good money to see that, he’d hold her back if he had to. He didn’t want Kinsley regretting doing something that would cost her the grant money.

And she was getting the grant. He grinned as he took the six steps down the veranda two at a time and headed toward his truck. They were unofficially awarding it to Kinsley today. Laurel had assured him of it the previous evening but asked him not to say anything to her.

Officially, Kinsley, along with Mending Morgans-Mending Lives, would receive the grant award later with a formal ceremony and lots of hoopla from the media. Senator Fremont would be in attendance too. Laurel had said her father wanted to earn some points with his constituents. It was coming up on an election year, after all.

Knowing his sister, Kinsley would probably see it all as a circus. But Mending Morgans-Mending Lives needed the exposure if it was going to be a success. Thrusting the program into the limelight would go a long way when it came to that. By association, doing so would also bring Kinsley and The Big M Ranch along for the ride.

None of their lives would be the same after today.

Once in his truck, he started the engine and sat staring out the windshield. That is if nothing had changed.

Laurel had divulged that information before the slap and before Jared and Jude had had a few choices words for Hartman Fremont while they’d driven him home—the long way. The man not too much younger than themselves hadn’t had much to say, with his only concession to any kind of explanation being it hadn’t been his intention to deceive Kinsley.

It had just happened.

He’d also been closed-mouthed about what exactly had gone on between the two of them, saying, "That’s personal between me and Kinsley." And if that statement hadn’t hit Jared square between the eyes, nothing had. He’d said basically the same thing to Darin.

No wonder he’d socked me.

He let out a short laugh at the irony as he put his truck in gear and headed toward the site less than ten miles away from the main house on the western edge of the ranch. It seemed Karma really was a bitch.

Fremont had also made one thing abundantly clear to Jared and Jude the night before—regardless of his and Kinsley’s personal issues—telling them, "I will be at the ranch tomorrow."

Kinsley hadn’t been surprised that morning at breakfast—the one Willa had been suspiciously absent from—when Jared had told her Hart still planned to be there. His sister had just looked him in the eye and said, "I can deal with the asshat," before going back to her eggs and bacon.

And if Kinsley said she could deal with his presence, then he would trust her. Whatever she felt about the man personally, she wasn’t going to let it get in her way. She was that dedicated to making Mending Morgan-Mending Lives a reality.

He turned up the dirt road that had been cut into the heavily-treed area and gave it a critical eye. They’d need to have the road widened and paved. But he liked how the trees acted as a natural barrier from the rest of the ranch. It would give participating veterans some privacy during the summer months from the ranch’s guests.

Up ahead, the old bunkhouse came into view. It, a barn that had seen better days, and a decent-sized corral were the only structures in the clearing. He wasn’t even sure why his dad had begun developing this area years ago, then stopped. But the location had been deemed perfect by Kinsley for her Mending Morgans training program, so she’d kind of taken it over—improving on it little by little. Once the grant money was released, the existing barn and corral would be refurbished and expanded, as well as having a large stable and two more corrals built, along with a set of offices taking over the old bunkhouse, and living quarters constructed.

Every building would be handicap accessible, with features designed with the physically disabled in mind.

The Fremonts had already seen and approved all the plans, of course, but this would be the first time they would actually see the site—get a feel of the place. He just hoped they could visualize Mending Morgans-Mending Lives the way Kinsley did.

He pulled in front of the barn and stopped near the wide-open entrance a short distance from the corral, then got out.

And there was Willa. She looked good on a horse.

Too good.

He gave in and let his gaze trace over the lines of her body, starting at her booted feet. Her legs clad in faded, form-fitting jeans held tight to the mare’s flanks, while her hips twisted with each guided turn. His body tightened as his focus climbed up her plain white t-shirt, where he couldn’t help but linger over the slight outline of her breasts. The sun glinting off her dark curls pulled up on top of her head drew his attention toward her smiling face as she traversed the corral.

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