From my perch on Prince, I look out over the gate. The man with glasses and cowboy hat is walking toward the rodeo pen. He stops outside the fence and looks in my direction.
Who the hell is this guy?
“You ready, Logan?” the ranch hand asks me.
I give him a nod, and he releases the gate.
Sometimes I wish it were legal to ride your own bronc in rodeo contests. Prince and I would be unstoppable. But I’ll settle for getting to practice with him on my family ranch.
And today, I probably would have been better off keeping my feet on the ground.
Prince is in a dark mood today, but it matches the way I’m feeling. Slightly reckless, a little unhinged, and a lot pissed off.
That’s not always a good combination for bronc riding. I manage to hold on for longer than I probably deserved considering where my head’s at, and my fall isn’t too rough. I land on my ass in the soft dirt section of the ring, and the ranch hand collects Prince and leads him away.
As I stand up and dust myself off, I hear?—
“Mr. Wild?”
I do a slow turn around and face the man by the fence. As I exit the ring and walk toward him, he stands up straight and gives me a friendly nod.
“I’m Skipper Scott, reporter for the Darcy Gazette and Dallas Sun.” He extends his hand to me. “I hear this town thinks you’re the hero to save Jane Austen’s ghost.”
I shake his hand briefly. “I’m not a hero. And you weren’t invited here.”
He steps back a couple of paces. “Your ex-wife, Ms. Macey Henwood, told me where to find you.”
He smiles at me innocently as he looks at me, but I know he’s trying to bait me. And he picked the wrong cowboy.
“Yes, this is where to find me. But I don’t want to be found.” I start walking toward the front fields. “I’ll escort you back to Main Street. You’ll find plenty of Darcy residents to interview in town.”
He doubles his pace to keep up with my long stride. I don’t look over at him once.
“I’m not your typical reporter, Mr. Wild. You know why?”
Something about the way he says it gets my blood boiling. Still, I keep walking in silence.
“I look for the details no one else thinks are important. Little things like body language. You, for example, don’t seem like a man happily in the middle of a whirlwind romance. And your ex-wife didn’t mask her obvious bias that you and your fiancé aren’t the soul mates of Darcy.”
I stop on a dime and stare at him. “What do you want, Mr. Scott?”
“Call me Skip.” The cunning look in his eyes disappears and is replaced by friendliness. “I think you and I will be seeing a lot of each other this summer. It’s good to meet you.”
He waves goodbye and heads for the road ahead.
I run my hand down my face. The last thing I need is an out-of-town reporter poking his nose into my business. But he clearly isn’t going anywhere. Which means I need to be extra careful and not give him anything he can use to screw up my false engagement. Protecting Macey comes first. When this is all over, I can explain everything to her. I just have to make sure things go according to plan.
47
Macey
* * *
I follow Mama through town for several blocks until she comes to a stop at the corner of Main and Holtz. I glance at the sign posted on the stand-alone craftsman-style house before us.
Liza Spellman PhD, Clinical Psychologist, Intuitive, and Medium—How to Live in Darcy without Losing your Mind (or worse).
“Mama, seriously?”
