Page 20 of Destined Predator
He came over with a mug of strong-smelling coffee, a serving of creamer and a cookie in a paper napkin. Casey moved an untidy pile of paper files on the round table near the sofa to make room.
“Yeah, it’s a mess in here.” Rhett picked up the files and placed them on the crowded desk. “Ma used to sneak in here and pick up after Pa. She hated muddle, like this, and he said he didn’t want anyone in here, moving things so he couldn’t find them, so coming in when he was out was her workaround.”
Casey stayed quiet, letting the story breathe. Every word about Rhett’s family softened the hard edges he’d built around himself. Under all that gruff, the man carried his ghosts gentle.
“And could he find things?” Casey asked, the anecdote amusing him.
“Well, yeah.” Rhett returned with his own coffee. “And much better because she organized them on the sly! As time went on, she did more and more of the paperwork. Dad let it all slide once she passed, and I guess I haven’t sorted the place out since he did. Jack’s talking about getting some fancy computer system to do it all, and I’ll let him, of course, but…”
“But it feels wrong, somehow.” Casey thought he understood. “While you’re overhauling the IT, you think it could be a good idea to renovate the office, at the same time?”
“Oh.” Rhett paused his pacing up and down with his coffee and cast an eye over the room. “I… It might be time, yeah. And not just the office break room. Yeah.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment and then gave a quick head shake, like he was pulling himself together. “I hope Robin’s okay,” he muttered.
“He will be,” Casey said, certain. “You did right bringing him home.” He didn’t mean it to sound like comfort. It came out that way anyway.
Casey was about to reassure Rhett how tough shifters were, and the Akers in particular, when the walkie talkie crackled to life. He set his mug down.Bad news.He knew it.
“Jerry.” Rhett spoke into the device, but his eyes were on Casey. “Thehill? All the way up there? Thanks. Keep looking. And be careful.”
“Another.” Casey stood.
“Uh-huh. And on the hill?” Rhett set the walkie talkie down carefully, although the tightness of his mouth said he’d rather smash it. “What’s the deal with layin’ traps out there? No one goes there!”
“We do.” Casey had been half-expecting something like this. “We cut through that area to get to our running ground. Your ranch hand’s destroying the trap?”
Rhett nodded, his eyes huge now as he kept his gaze on Casey. “Means you won.”
“Yes, it does. And the stakes were…anything.”
“Anything…you want.” Rhett’s confirmation was a whisper.
Casey strode for the door. “I’ll be back at moonrise to collect.”
Rhett didn’t answer, just watched him go, jaw tight, eyes darker than before. Casey didn’t need shifter senses to know the man wasn’t thinking about bets anymore.
Chapter Nine
“Rhett!”
Rhett almost jumped out of his saddle to see Jack there and was glad Hurricane was too well-trained to rear. He’d been lost in thought since Casey had left earlier that morning, and had found that the usual routine, the back-breaking, mind-numbing hard work, wasn’t soothing him. Instead, he had to admit, it was chafing him, all the responsibilities, the decisions, dealing with setbacks and losses.If I think about it, it’s weighed me down ever since Pa died and I’ve been in charge.And he hated feeling like that about the Double T, the place that was his entire life.
Maybe that’s the problem.He should be trying to hire new hands, seeing as they were three down, with Ernesto AWOL and with him having fired Aldan and Vince.Good fucking riddance to bad shit.And now added to that was worry over Greg Manning, who thankfully was doing okay. His injuries had beenput down to some random wildcat or wolf, and warnings were being issued for folks to be on their guard. And Greg didn’t set those damn traps in revenge, or get anyone to do it for him, ashewouldn’t connect Casey with his attack.Not that there’s anything to connect.
Rhett knew a thing or two about anger. It wanted an easy target and a quick hangin’. This wasn’t that. Whoever laid steel on Double T land had patience and a plan.
So who had set them? Were they to catch the shifters, or something unconnected? And had Rhett and his men made the right decision in not reporting the matter to the sheriff? Glad of the distraction, that there was something real in front of him, Rhett jumped down from Hurricane. “Jack?”
“I got your message.” Jack waved his cell phone as if in proof.
“You picked a fine time to go out of town.” Rhett had sent the text late last night.
His words sent a wash of guilt running across his brother’s face, but, a Tucker to his backbone, he stood his ground. “We wanted to be noisy, which meant we had to be away from all of Ben’s family.”
And from me, Rhett mentally tacked on. He should be glad for his brother’s consideration. Listening to his little brother getting it on—and on some more—wasn’t his idea of a preferred pastime, but the way the ranch house was built, and how goddam loud the pair were, made it inevitable.
“And so you turned your cell off. Ben gone home? Stupid question.” Rhett needed to pull himself out of this funk and sharpen up. “I guess he didn’t go to work with his brother injured like that.” The memory of that injury, that poor kid, Robin, hit him again. “Any more news on the boy?”
“He’s healing, Ben said.” Jack had his head bent over his phone, checking messages, presumably.
