Page 19 of Danger

The voice calling my name snaps me out of my thoughts.

I stuff the note into my pocket.

“Well,” PJ says, eyes sparkling, “I made a special lunch today, and I got an extra spot for you. You been helpin’ me out so much here lately, I owe ya.”

“How could I possibly say no to that?”

Her face lights up, and she pulls me straight into a hug.

“It’s been nice havin’ you around,” she says. “Sawyer and Trouble will be here soon, and Fisher’s going to start working on rolling the bread.”

We’ve never actually talked about me and Trouble. Not the good parts. Not the ending. But I think she always knew how hard I fell for her boy—and maybe that we were never meant to last.

She never treated me like I was temporary, though. And that might be one of the kindest things anyone’s ever done for me.

I follow her, laughing. “If you treat all your workers like this, they’re never going to leave. You know that, right?”

“That’s the plan. Around here, you don’t stay a worker long. You become family.”

“Perfect,” I say, just as her phone starts ringing.

“Well, if it isn’t Mama’s newest adoptee,” Rogue drawls from the porch. “Figured you’d have run by now, gettin’ tossed into this wolf den.”

Charming appears at his side, mouth tipped in a grin that should be illegal. “Careful, Darlin’. Keep lettin’ her feed you, and you’re in for life. No escape.”

Mama Stetson snaps her fingers without looking back. “Hush, both of you. Get inside and start settin’ the table.”

Mama stops mid-step, phone still pressed to her ear, and turns to me.

“Oh—Winnie? I completely forgot. Could you grab some eggs for me?”

I blink. “Sure! I can handle some chickens.”

“Wonderful!” She points toward the barn. “I’m sure you remember, but straight through there. Chicken coop’s just past it. Grab three or four and meet us inside.”

“Sounds good!” I say, because I really have committed to being this farm-capable woman now.

Rogue yells out, “If they chase you, just run zigzag.”

“That ain’t helpful,” Charming says. “Talk nice to ’em. Chickens respect confidence.”

PJ waves them all off, trying to listen to the person on the other end of her phone call.

I head in the direction she pointed, slipping through the barn doors. It’s bigger inside than it looks—long rows of stalls, hay dust floating in the warm light, the faint smell of cedar and horse.

And then—a sound. A laugh.

Another sound follows. A breath. Then—oh, god—a moan.

A feminine moan.

It takes me a second to process what I’m hearing, but once I do, there’s no mistaking it. It’s the kind of sound you only expect behind closed doors, not in a barn on your way to find chickens.

Nope. No. Absolutely not.

I should turn around. I should. Truly.

But my feet don’t listen. They take one step, then another, pulling me toward the noise like a horror-movie character who absolutely deserves what’s coming.