“I’ll follow you to work,” Chase said and thumbed away a tear as another one fell. “I want to know where your office is. Got your phone turned on?”
“Yes.” She swiped another tear as it fell. “What will you be doing today?”
“Branding, baby,” he said with one of his cocky grins. “Five hundred Black Angus produce a lot of calves. Bob and I’ll be working alongside the ranch hands the rest of the week.”
“Should I use the cattle ranch entrance later?”
“No, go to my house. I’ll leave the back door open, in case you get there before I do,” he said and gave her the code for the alarm system.
“Guess it’s goodbye for now.”
“Cowboys don’t say goodbye. It’s sooner than later.”
“Oh?” Her heart and soul brightened. “Yesterday, when I said goodbye, I thought you meant goodbye would be sooner than later.”
“No,” Chase said and tightened his embrace. “No goodbyes.”
He kissed her again, and it was tough to let go of him. But she did and entered the side door of her garage as he walked to his car. She pushed the garage door remote, and the door went up. Chase was behind the wheel of the Corvette and halfway down the driveway as she backed out of her garage. She closed the garage door as he waited out on the street. She led the way from Foote Avenue to Cascade Avenue and turned into the employee parking lot beside the imposing Victorian house. As she got out of her car, her cell phone signaled a text.
Don’t forget about the pill, buttercup.
First thing on my agenda, cowboy.
Jade looked up from her phone and saw the Corvette slowly passing by the house. She wiggled her fingers in a wave. In a blink of her eye, Chase Cooper was gone.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
“Boss!” Bob shouted, walking toward the pen where the branding was in full swing.
“Yeah?” Chase called over the constant mooing of the cattle, a red-hot branding iron with thecCclogo in his leather-gloved hand.
“There’s some guy here who wants to talk to you,” Bob said.
Bob jerked his thumb at the bald man who obviously didn’t have any idea about branding pen etiquette. Visitors, with the exception of Cash’s guests, were not wanted. Jade, of course, would be welcome, and he’d bring her later in the week on a day he wasn’t committed to working the pen and could keep her safe. Back to this stranger, from under the brim of his brown cowboy hat, Chase frowned at him. A bad feeling churned in his gut. He exchanged places in the pen with Mean Pete but kept the branding iron in his hand.
“Chase Cooper?” the intruder asked.
“Who wants to know?”
“Axel Bisbee.” Walking toward him, the man stuck out his hand and asked, “Is there somewhere we can talk for a few minutes?”
“Stop right there,” Chase growled. “I’m busy. What do you want?”
The man stopped. Taking in the branding iron and Chase’s tone of voice, the stranger lowered his hand. Chase’s glare deepened. He’d wager this overweight man in the Harley shirt, heavy boots, and jeans—attire meant to intimidate, couldn’t handle a Harley if it had training wheels. On his right hip, under his sagging belly, was a small pistol in a holster. Chase judged the guy to be about fifty. In the distance was an older model, nondescript sedan.That’s about right, Chase thought, far from intimidated.
“I’m a private investigator here to deliver a message.”
“Make it fast.”
“Do you know a woman named Jade Taylor?”
“I’m not answering any questions.” Chase purposely tightened his grip on the branding iron, and the man noticed because he took a step back. “Deliver your message and hit the road.”
“I’m here to warn you she’s dangerous.”
“Who the hell sent you?” Chase demanded, knowing the answer was Franco.
“I can’t reveal my sources,” Axel said, his eyes and bulk shifting nervously. “Miss Taylor may have misled you into thinking she works for the Spatafore brothers. She doesn’t.” He glanced at the branding iron again. “She is no longer a therapist for Dr. Mateo Spatafore. She’s his patient now.” Axel shook his head as if to be convincing. “And she’s not a model for Dr. Franco Spatafore, uh…in case that’s what she told you.”
