Page 2 of The Convict Gets His Girl

Hunter eventually left, making the short drive back to the ranch. Chase exhaled, relieved. He didn't hate his family. He loved them. But being around them, when they still saw him as the screw-up, the convict, was exhausting.

He turned back to his laptop, pulling up the financial statements again. Helping this client meant more than just a tax return. It meant a father could send his kid to therapy. Therapy mattered.

If Chase had gotten it as a teenager, maybe he wouldn't have been drunk behind the wheel that night. Maybe he wouldn't have made the mistake that cost a girl her life.

The black cloud of guilt settled on his shoulders, and he clicked into the computer, diving back into the numbers and pushing the memories away. He'd deserved all he'd gotten. Hell, he deserved much, much more punishment, which is why he had to atone and help people with their finances.

If he could build an actual career in financial advising instead of just helping friends and family, maybe he'd be more than just an ex-con with baggage. Maybe someone would see past his record, past the mistakes, and take a chance on him.

Maybe he could be worth something to someone one day.

Half a year out of prison, and he was making a decent living—helping Lola with her bookkeeping part-time, working with the CPA in town to get through tax season, freelancing investment portfolios for Landry and his famous friends, even getting referrals from Parker's former teammates. His work was good. Most people trusted him with their money.

Except his parents.

They still saw him as the screw-up. Maybe that was why he still worked on the ranch part of the week. Hunter didn't really need him, didn't rely on him the way he did the other hands, but it kept him connected. Gave him a reason to be there.

Gave him a reason to hope, maybe, that one day they'd see him as something more. Maybe he'd finally be able to clear his conscience, of the accident, of his betrayal of Hunter, of his refusal to talk to his parents for so many years.

The friction and stilted relationship with his parents, the guilt he felt around Hunter, the turmoil over his actions that fateful night—those were the things that messed with his newfound peace and freedom.

Somehow, he landed on his feet, thanks to his brothers' support. They had believed in him and trusted him when they really shouldn't have. He frowned, ignoring the doubt that told him Hunter didn't actually know what had happened back then at all.

ChapterTwo

Jewel's hand trembled as she reached for the syringe, her fingers grazing the cold metal of the tray. A wave of dizziness washed over her, blurring the edges of the stable into a hazy mirage. The expensive thoroughbred before her, worth more than most people's homes, nickered restlessly, sensing something amiss.

"Easy, boy," she murmured, fighting the vertigo that threatened to topple her. Her skin was clammy despite the Texas heat, and each joint in her body screamed with an invisible fire.

"Dr. Jenkins?" The ranch hand's voice sounded distant, but his hand on her arm was insistent. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Jewel lied through gritted teeth. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not with her reputation for being one of the best equine veterinarians in the state. But her protest was cut short as a sharp pain lanced through her skull, sending spots dancing before her eyes.

"Oh my God, you cannot touch my precious baby like that. Look at you! You're shaking worse than that dancer my ex ran off with. Step away from my baby."

The woman strode down the spacious, airy barn with golden highlights flying behind her like she was in some kind of damn hair commercial. Her eyes blazed with fire—part worry, part bitchiness—and Jewel struggled to rein her temper in.

Her shaking hand lowered as she stroked the horse's flank and met the woman's gaze with chin lifted and cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry, but do you or do you not want the cortisone shot today?"

The woman glared and came to a stop, crossing her arms and making her shirt sparkle in the late afternoon sunlight. "I do. It has to be today, or he won't be able to compete in the next race."

Jewel pasted on a bland expression and waved to the horse, silently asking if she could proceed. The woman's eyes narrowed at Jewel's hand, still shaking.

"Not you. Call in one of the other vets to come do it." The woman's hands went to her side, and Jewel recognized a tantrum boiling, but—like with her own daughter—was at a loss on how to stop it.

The ranch foreman stepped out from behind the other ranch hand, his sun-weathered face tipped in a severe frown. "I'll handle it, Mizz. Dr. Jenkinz? Will you come with me?"

He led the way behind the woman, who stepped up to the horse and crooned softly, ignoring Jewel now. Jewel put the cap back on the syringe and settled everything into her bag. Her shoulders shook as she walked weakly down the aisle, embarrassed like she hadn't been since vet school a decade ago.

She walked with head held high and exited the barn. The foreman was lighting a cigarette and leaning against the outer wall. She stepped closer to him, the shade welcoming and cool.

"You can't argue with the mizzus, Dr. Jenkinz. She's too high-strung to be reasonable."

Jewel sighed, knowing this client's history with the clinic. She'd already gone through four other vets at their practice. "I understand that, but I'm just trying to do my job."

He looked up at her with a critical eye. "We both know that horse doesn't need more corazón shots. He's about done on the circuit."

She rubbed the back of her neck and stretched, the pops loud to her ears even as she smiled at his use of the wrong word. "I know. He needs stem cell therapy, rest, and a recovery time greater than she allows."

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