Page 21 of Unleashed
Brady and his boys rolling into Rosie's, picking a fight they knew they'd lose, making enough noise to keep us busy and distracted while someone else slipped out here in the dark with bolt cutters and a trailer.
The question is: what were they after? A few head of cattle? That's petty theft. Hardly worth the beating Brady took. No, if Carson is making a move, it's bigger than that. It's a message. A test. Seeing how long it takes us to notice, how we respond, and whether we've gotten soft since Dad died.
They're about to find out we haven't.
I pull out my phone and text Hunter.
Me: Fence cut on south line. Looks deliberate. Tracks heading toward 42. Colt's on his way. Getting a full count, calves included. Might be nothing. Gut says it isn't.
His reply comes in thirty seconds.
Hunter: Handle it. Keep me posted. I'll deal with Carson when I'm back.
I tuck the phone away, settle my hat on my head, and click my tongue. Seven moves out at a trot, heading down the slope toward the scattered herd, and I let the rhythm of the ride clear the last of the hangover from my blood.
The sun climbs higher. The grassland shimmers with heat. Somewhere south of here, someone thinks they can take from us and get away with it.
They can't.
The Greeks tried to fight their way in, tried to tear our family apart. They failed, but they ain’t dead yet.
As I ride, pushing cattle back toward the gate to Pasture Nine, there's a small, stubborn part of my brain that won't stop circling back to a cracked phone screen and an unanswered text.
Miss you.
I whistle for Seven, and we ride. Life goes on.
CHAPTER FIVE
Harper
It's safe to say, I don't belong in this room.
The Blake Foundation's charity gala is on the rooftop of The Montclair. A Beverly Hills hotel that charges more per night than my monthly rent. White roses cascade from iron archways. The whole city of Los Angeles sprawls below.
My cowgirl heart isn't meant for billionaires in the city, or drinking champagne in thousand-dollar dresses. Yet, here I am in a twenty-dollar dress from the mall. Hudson laces his fingers through mine and leads me toward the bar.
"You're quiet, Harper," he whispers, ordering two drinks. Both champagne.
"Can I have a whiskey, please?" I cut in, looking at the bartender.
Hudson pulls his hand from mine. I feel him studying the side of my head. "That's a strong drink for the start of the evening."
I fake a smile and turn to him. "I assumed you wouldn't want your fake girlfriend for the night holding a bottle of beer?"
A smirk tugs at his lips. "You've read the room already, I see."
I nod as the bartender slides my whiskey across the bar.
"Are you nervous?" Hudson asks, leaning in. His cologne is dark and woody. I have to admit, Hudson in a tux is easy on the eyes. I can see why people fall for him. But I don't enjoy my boss being this close to me. I clear my throat, taking a small sip of whiskey.
It's shit. New Falls has much better.
"Not really. I'm not the one lying here. Are you nervous?" I ask.
He straightens his tie as he pulls back, plastering on his perfect corporate smile and says, "No."
"Good."
