Chapter 16

Caroline Thompson glared at the handsome cowboy who wouldn't look away from her. He could be categorized as all-brown, from his hair to his eyes to his skin. He wore a full beard that somehow made him feel more like a con-man to Caroline than the cowboy hat suggested.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. She hadn't come here to flirt or find a date. The very idea made her ribs constrict against her lungs.

She wasn't authorized to make an arrest, unfortunately.

No, she'd come to stop the Rhineharts from destroying the habitat of the burrowing owls here in the Texas Panhandle.

"I spoke to you this morning, Mister Rhinehart. And I've left several messages in the past?—"

"Can you close the door?" He nodded behind her. "You're letting out all the AC, and it's expensive." He spoke in a calm, even voice, but definitely one that wouldn't be disobeyed.

Caroline huffed and reached behind her to close the door. But that only sealed her in this room that smelled of leather, sweat, and pure masculine cowboy. Stop it, she told herself. This man is married.

Her eyes drifted to his left hand, but she didn't see a wedding band. Didn't matter. Most cowboys didn't wear their wedding rings, as they worked so much with their hands, and they could get lost easily.

Not only was Duke Rhinehart married, he'd been far more responsive over the phone than he currently was standing in front of her. Younger than she'd thought too, and her mind blanked for a moment while she tried to remember why she'd driven to this ranch forty-five minutes out of her way.

She suddenly remembered she'd eaten garlicky and oily Chinese food for lunch, and she wanted to back out of this cabin. She had gum in the truck, and she could freshen up and come back to give this cowboy a piece of her mind.

"I haven't gotten any messages from you," he said, and he lifted his phone and extended it toward her to take.

She did, for some reason she couldn't name. "I…don't—" Caroline looked at the phone, but she wasn't sure what she expected to find. "Messages are easily deletable," she said.

"Is deletable a word?" he asked, a cute smile appearing on his mouth. And not cute in like a cute-cute way, but cute in the way that said he knew he was being sassy.

"Of course it is," she said. "I just said it."

"Well, I didn't get them, so I couldn't have deleted them," he said. "Tell me what you need, and I'll see what I can do."

"We've had numerous sightings of burrowing owls in the area," she said. "They've migrated into this region, and Texas just put them on their threatened list." She really didn't want to explain all of this again. "I sent you all of this already, along with the forms you were supposed to submit by June thirtieth. Plus, I've yet to receive any of your documentation as to whether you've sighted any burrowing owls."

The cowboy stood there, and Caroline wondered if she'd have to repeat herself again. The very idea made steam start to rise through her whole body.

"I think you're confused," he finally said. He twisted back to his computer and clicked a couple of times. "I don't have any emails from anyone like you."

"Like me?"

He faced her again, something sparking dangerously in his earth-colored eyes. "You're wearing a uniform as a state officer," he said. "I've got nothing from someone in any Texas State Department."

"That is just not true, Duke. You've even responded?—"

"I'm not Duke."

Caroline blinked faster and faster until she told herself to stop doing such a thing. Perhaps this Rhinehart wasn't married. "I…thought you were Duke."

She couldn't believe she'd already wondered if he was single. She didn't even know his name yet.

"He's my older brother," the cowboy said, and he sure exuded confidence. Or maybe he just hadn't stomped into someone's barn-office and started making assumptions and throwing accusations. "I'm Dawson Rhinehart, and I do believe you spoke to Duke this morning. I have it on my to-do list to call you today."

She didn't know what to say, so she simply stood there, willing her shoulders to go down and her muscles to relax. He seemed to be waiting for the same thing, because the moment she finally got the tension out of her neck, he said, "We don't have owls here on the ranch."

"I'm sure you do," she said.

"You're sure of it?" His eyebrows went up. "How would you be sure of it?"

"They've been populating this area for several months now. You've reported prairie dogs as pests in the past, and I'd be shocked if there are no burrowing owls in those abandoned dens."

"We don't just leave the prairie dog dens," he said. "That would be like inviting them to move back in, and we spend a great deal of time and energy—and money, Miss Thompson—to get them out."

His word sounded final, which only drove Caroline's ire higher. "You have to stop doing that immediately."

"Doing what?"

"Removing the natural habitat of a threatened animal," she said.

"Which we don't have here," he said.

"You still can't fill in the prairie dog dens." She indicated the door behind her, meaning her truck. "I have the paperwork in my truck."

"I'd love to see it," he said. "I'm sure you sent everything to Duke, but he doesn't look at his email more than once a week. Everything needs to go through me moving forward."

"Noted," she said coolly. "Now, if you'll give me your phone number and email address, I'll get you everything you need." She folded her arms and leaned her weight on her back foot. "Again."

Caroline felt like she'd been carrying a half-dozen horses on her back since she'd left her house that morning. She hadn't felt this tired since she'd had walking pneumonia several years ago, and she just wanted to eat, shower, and take to her bed.

She put her box of files on the kitchen table and moved over to the freezer. She had plenty of dinners there, and she tried not to feel pathetic as she looked at her selections for that night. Lasagna. Chicken parmesan. Chicken pot pie. Some more chicken.

"I'm so sick of poultry," she said as she reached for a bowl of beef and Spanish rice.

She eyed the files she'd brought home for the weekend while her dinner rotated in the microwave, and she decided to do things a little bit out of order. She went down the hall to her bathroom and stripped out of her gross half-khaki, half-mustard-colored uniform.

Caroline had thick, blonde hair in need of a trim, so she pulled it up and hid it beneath a shower cap, unwilling to deal with it tonight. She'd sent all of the material to Dawson Rhinehart that she'd sent to his older brother, and he'd already responded and confirmed receipt of them.

She had his phone number, and she tried to think of a reason she'd need to call or text him while she scrubbed away the awfulness of today. For the most part, Caroline loved her job, but her office here in the Panhandle had been extraordinarily busy this summer.

"I just need a break," she muttered to the sudsy water as it went down the drain.

What she really needed was someone to spend evenings with. She had a couple of friends from her office, but they all had boyfriends or husbands. Caroline had played the third wheel—or sometimes the fifth or seventh wheel—and she'd grown tired of it.

She finished showering and dressed in a pair of pajama shorts with ice cream cones all over them and an oversized sweatshirt with the Texas star on the front of it. Back in the kitchen, she refilled Gondola's water bowl and opened a can of her favorite cat food.

Her feline rewarded her with her presence then, meowing once as Caroline took too long to empty the contents of the can into Gondola's food bowl. She did love her cat, but they weren't the same as dogs, always eager to see her when she got home.

But her job didn't allow her to bring a dog with her to work, and she couldn't stomach leaving the canine home alone all day long. Cats seemed to like that, and so Caroline pretended Gondola was overjoyed and thrilled to see her when she got home from work.

"She is," she told herself. "Because she wants her dinner."

The microwave had stopped heating a while ago, and she hit the minute button to get things hot again. As her Spanish rice rotated, she looked at her phone, praying for a miracle that Dawson had needed something and texted her for help.

She didn't have any messages, not even from her mom or sister. That wasn't super unusual, except for her older sister had been going through some things in her marriage, and she usually sent an update several times each day. Caroline read or listened to them as she was able, because sometimes she didn't want to hear about Bella's drama when she'd been through her own and had no prospects for a second chance at love, marriage, or family.

"A lot of that is by your choice," she said to her silent device. And it was.

Caroline had made a lot of choices to be where she was right now, and she didn't know how to undo the past to have a different present.

"But you could have a different future with different choices," she murmured. And then she started typing out a message to Dawson, a prayer running constantly in her head that she wasn't about to make a fool of herself.

Again.