Page 12 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

I’m moving at a jog as I close in on Finn’s fancy horse barn.Once we started making boatloads of money with StellaR Tech’s national security contracts, Finn sunk most of his take of profits into a Yosemite Ranch horse breeding program, and this palace of a barn is testament to his big plans.

For Cal, it’s been all about investing in additional land and ensuring the ranch’s financial stability.For Evander, it’s been about his fancy clothes, collectible cars, and first-class world travel.For Declan, it’s been his planes and jets and helicopters.

And for me?

Nothing much really, aside from building the home of my dreams, the way all we MacLaine boys have done here at Yosemite Ranch.I’ve given a lot of cash to veteran’s charities and dumped a truckload of money into our little regional hospital.The rest is either put back into StellaR Tech and the ranch or socked away in slow-but-steady investments.I guess I’m pretty boring compared to my brothers.

But then again, none of my brothers screwed the pooch the way I did.Or ended up losing their mojo in such spectacular fashion.None of my brothers doubt themselves the way I do.

Maybe one day I’ll forgive myself enough to find a passion for life again.Maybe someday I’ll find a focus for my time, energy, and money.

What that might be, I’ve got no idea.Being a SEALwasmy life passion.It was my career and my purpose.And I’m fairly certain nothing will ever be significant enough to fill the hole created by its absence.

It’s so early that even the stable hands aren’t awake, so when I enter the barn and flip on the lights, I’m greeted with a chorus of equine complaints.I distinctly hear Diego Guapo in the background, singing the song of his cranky people.

I walk along the wide center aisle to my horse.“Rise and shine, my dude,” I tell him, opening the stall door made of shiny wood and anodized steel.DG gives me a serious serving of side-eye as I slip on his halter.“Yeah, I disturbed your beauty sleep.But you’re a MacLaine.We MacLaines get up early to do all the shit that’s got to be getting done.So deal with it.”

As I lead DG toward the tack room, Joe Valencia enters through the back door connected to the bunkhouse.It looks like I disturbed his rest, too.

“Anything I can help you with this morning?”he asks, yawning.

“Sorry if I woke you up, but I got this.”I clip DG’s halter to the cross ties and retrieve his saddle pad.When I return, Joe’s leaning against the wall, raking a hand through his hair.

“Still looking for the stragglers, Special K?Should I saddle up and join you?”

“Nah.I’m good.”I hold the saddle pad in front of DG so he can sniff it since he’s a picky sonofabitch.Then I settle it on his back between his withers and croup.I walk off to fetch a few things from the women’s changing room.I find one of Summer’s warm shearling coats and a pair of hiking boots.It’s not like she’s going to need them in her condition, so why not?

I grab the saddle from the tack room and return to DG.Joe’s staring at me in confusion but says nothing.

Joe and I have been working cattle together since before my voice broke.He’s not just the foreman of all our ranch staff, he’s my friend.Friendships tend to develop when you’re spending days at a time on horseback in each other’s company.Aside from my brothers and Summer, I’d say Joe is the closest friend I’ve got.The only friend, really.

What I like most about the man is that he never expects clever banter from me, or any banter at all.And that’s a rare gift.

“All right,” Joe says with a shrug.He wanders into the break room to start the coffee pot, leaving me to it.

I tie the boot laces together and sling them around my neck, then get the bit and bridle on DG and double-check the girth.Next, I tie up the coat to the cantle, walk DG out the back double doors, and mount.

I ride off.

To Boots, the woman on Washoe Ridge.

CHAPTER 6

Frankie

It’s still dark but I’ve given up on trying to sleep.It’s pointless.Not only am I freezing my nips off, but I’m hearing weird sounds outside the cabin.Snuffling sounds and cracking twigs.

I’ve known my share of wild animals.But I’m talking about the type who gets kicked out of Lynx for inappropriate behavior and lude comments to the dancers, notactualwild animals.

Like whatever’s out there right now.

“Prrraaaooow,” Pussy tucks her head under my chin and presses her fur against me.

“I’ll protect you,” I tell her, then immediately roll my eyes at my stupidity.I wish I hadn’t been bullshitting the smokin’-hot rancher when I claimed I have a gun.I don’t have a gun.Not on me, anyway.

I left it in the glovebox of my Toyota SUV, which is now buried under branches and dirt a couple of miles down the mountainside.At some point, I need to hike down in my stupid boots and get the weapon because I hate feeling like I can’t defend myself.

I’ve worked extremely hard to never put myself in a position of helplessness.I hate that feeling.More than anything.