If she learns to trust me with a crop in my fist, she’ll open up. I’m certain of it.
Later that morning, I put Maybe in the saddle and ride out to the pasture to let her visit Chicken.
Her face lights up so magically at the sight of the calf I feel a twinge of jealous resentment for the critter. But since I can’t deny her this happiness, I’ll bring her out here every damn day until the calf is weaned.
Except that’ll be six months from now. Maybe will be long gone by then.
My chest constricts, and I shove the feeling away.
“I’ll be back to get you.” I lean down in the saddle, meeting her eyes where she stands near the fence. “Might be an hour or so.”
“Take your time.” She stares across the pasture at the calf and rests a hand against her heart. “Thank you so much for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
A ribbed tank top clings to the high round globes of her breasts. Jeans mold to her slender hips and dip tantalizing low, revealing her flat midriff. Conor spent my money well, and Maybe was humbly grateful when the clothes arrived.
I could watch her all day, taking in her expressions, her sexy sounds, and her beauty, while committing everything to memory. If I don’t peel my gaze away now, I’ll never leave.
Nudging Ginny into motion, I steer him in the direction of the main road. There’s a vulnerable spot along the fence line there that requires regular monitoring.
It’s a ten-mile ride on flat land, so I let Ginny loose into a full gallop. His smooth, even strides glide over the dirt at a velocity that lifts me out of the stirrups. As his weight shifts from back legs to front legs, I lean forward and adjust the angle of my hips to compensate for the momentum and maintain my center of gravity.
Nothing feels closer to flying than riding a horse at this speed. Heart thundering, wind blasting past my ears, the vibrations of hooves through my body—it’s an indulgence that’s as warm and real and sentient as sex. And almost as pleasurable.
When I reach the fence, I make a quick pass, and everything checks out. On the other side, the dirt road stretches over the hill. Off in the distance, the main house and stable look like hazy mirages in the heat.
Urgency pulls me away. I need to clean the stalls before I return for Maybe. As I turn in that direction, the sound of an approaching engine gives me pause.
The only traffic on this road are employees and visitors of the ranch. We’re not expecting visitors.
A black SUV emerges over the hill in a plume of dust. The light bar on the roof glints in the sun.
Son of a bitch.
Sheriff Fletcher doesn’t come around unless there’s trouble. It could be any number of things, but I suspect Levi Tibbs’ failure to report to his parole officer tops the list.
Exhaling a heavy breath, I guide Ginny closer to the fence.
Fletcher slows to a stop beside me in his swanky SUV, one the Sandbank police department could never afford. No doubt the drilling on Julep Ranch helped pay for the hunk of metal.
“Morning, Jarret.” He bends an elbow out the window and fiddles with his silver mustache. “How’s the cattle business?”
“Busy. What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“Oh, well…” He leans his head out and spits in the dirt. “I expect you haven’t heard about the manhunt for Levi Tibbs?”
“No, sir.” I widen my eyes a little, playing dumb.
“He went missing within hours of his release. I heard Conor’s back in town, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”
The lying fuck doesn’t give a shit about her.
“Jake’s always a half-step behind her,” I say. “But I appreciate the heads up.”
“I also hear there’s a pretty little reporter staying with you.” He twitches his bulbous nose. “Unless she’s gone missing, too.”
The bastard stares at me with beady eyes, knowing damn well Levi Tibbs is dead and I’m the reason. But to imply I’m capable of killing Maybe heats my insides to boiling.
“Maybe Quinn is working here for a while, learning the business. I’m sure you’ll see her around town at some point.”
“Is she digging a story out of you?”
That’s the real reason he’s here. He wants to make sure I don’t feed her details about his unlawful activities. While he doesn’t have evidence against me, I have plenty to send him to prison.
“Our agreement hasn’t changed, Sheriff. You just stick to writing parking tickets and you have nothing to worry about.”
“Good to hear, boy.” He pats a hand against the car door. “Good to hear.”
“You take care now.”
“Same to you.” He motors away.
The sheriff will always be a liability, but not one I lose sleep over. If anything, he serves as a buffer between the ranch and other law officials. It’s in his best interest to prevent anyone from snooping around on our land. Including reporters.