Chapter 9

9

Fences were not on his list of favorite things to do. Damned near on the bottom of Gene’s list. Gene was working the fence line between his place and the Fieldses' yet again. For some reason, the wire they’d been using kept getting loose. Gene was trying to figure out why it kept happening.

However it was happening, it was pissing him off.

Grady and Gunn were clear across the property, dealing with the same problem. Gene was going to check the wireless signal out here again. If it had improved any, he was going to put a camera out here for a while. If a wireless one wouldn’t work, he’d be putting up a trail cam.

He was starting to suspect someone was messing with the fencing on purpose. They didn’t keep any of their higher-ticket cattle out here, and all the Fieldses had were a dozen Angora goats and Chantal’s little rabbits. There was no financial reason someone would mess with the fencing out here.

But... he wasn’t stupid.

Fencing didn’t come down that fast or that neatly without help. Someone was pissed at them—and screwing with their property. He mentally tried to make a list of anyone he might have angered. Or his brothers. Even his sisters. It could happen—Giavonna did work for the prosecutor’s office, and Greer for social services.

He looked at his horse. He preferred the horse over the four-wheelers they had on the place. The horse was just... a more peaceful way to work. Reminded him of the way things had been for centuries, man and animal working side by side.

Gene was a simple man, he knew that.

A caveman throwback, his sisters had pointed out a time or a million before.

He needed time outside today. To think. He’d tried to get Chantal to talk to him after the police interviews that day. He’d hiked over to the Fieldses' place that evening—to check on her—but she had put him off a bit. Watched him warily, mostly.

Her hair had been down. Long and straight and bright red, it reached halfway to her waist. He hadn’t realized it was that long or thick or... beautiful. It had shone in the light. His fingers, roughened from years of ranch work, had flexed—he’d wished he could bury his fingers in that hair. To see if it was as soft as it looked. Or if it would burn a man like fire.

She’d just stared at him on her father’s front porch, as she told him her parents were sleeping. And was there something specific he wanted that she could get for him?

It had slammed right into him as he’d just looked at her.

Yes. There was something he’d wanted, all right. It was damned specific, too.

Her.

The woman had been wearing shortie cotton pajamas in lilac that revealed long, toned legs and dipped real low up top. She hadn’t been wearing a bra, either. Chantal was not a young girl any longer. She was most definitely a woman. And that was obvious. He’d almost stopped breathing for a moment there.

He stood there next to the fence, remembering just how she had looked. And what he should probably do next, where she was concerned.

Yes, she was the sexiest woman he’d seen in a long time—but she was the kind of woman who deserved a far better kind of man than him. Maybe Gunn, even. His brother was the minister at the church Chantal went to; he thought Genesis had said Chantal went with her every Sunday, when Genesis took Calvin to Sunday school and stuff.

And... his mother had said before that Gunn had taken Chantal with him to some denominational get-togethers for the local Hope Life ministers. Of course Gunn had. Chantal was right there, and they’d known her forever, and she liked his brother just fine.

Maybe they would end up dating.

That soured his stomach a little. Just thinking about it.

He yanked the wire free of the fence line, hard enough to cut his hand a little. He was just wiping off the blood when he heard a woman scream.

From just over the small hill that looked out over the Fieldses' main pasture.

Gene just ran.

There would only be four possible women out here now. Three of them would be his sisters. The fourth?—

He saw brilliant red hair, and he knew.

Chantal.