Callum’s face flashes through my mind, and a shudder rolls down my back. I clench my fists and grab my phone, punching in an alternate route to the farm that will avoid any roads near the diner. I save the route so that when the signal dies, I’ll still have it.
That psycho-dick won’t actually hurt me, I reassure myself. But just to be on the safe side, I turn my headlights off and drive slowly down the alternate route. And for once I’m thankful that this country town seems to be completely abandoned.
I can handle a few months of hazing from a group of jerks for a life pass.
I hope.
3
BRIAR
I slept like absolute crap.One eye open and constantly waking up all night until the sun rose around eight a.m. Less than three hours of sleep should be enough for my first day here since I don’t plan on leaving the house for anything.
Roman may not scare me as much as he wishes he did, but this creaky house put the fear of God into me. Either there are rats in the walls or the wind is enough to blow this place to the ground.
Ugh. Whatever. I stumble half asleep through the crowded hallways to the kitchen. God, my uncle was a hoarder. There’s not a room in this old house that isn’t packed with black containers and cardboard boxes. The only room semi-organized is the one with his computer.
I scowl at the pantry that’s filled to the brim with empty boxes and not a scrap of food. Just like that, my hopes of finding coffee deflate. If I don’t have my caffeine fix in the morning, you can consider me a grump for the rest of the day.
A sharp knock comes from the back door as I’m wallowing about the lack of coffee. My entire body stiffens, and my breath catches in my lungs as I glance over my shoulder.
The back door is a flimsy white chipped-paint wood, one with a window cut out. I damn near have a heart attack when my eyes connect with a stranger’s.
He’s wearing well-worn work clothing that fits the ranch hand vibe: a plaid unbuttoned shirt and a baseball cap that’s moth-eaten along some of the sleeves. He has a scruffy beard that’s just a little longer than a five o’clock shadow and a jawline that is practically sculpted from marble.
A surprised expression must etch into my face because the stranger grins, lifting both of his hands innocently and saying loud enough for me to hear through the glass, “I’m Grahm, the ranch hand. Did Mr. Holland tell you about me?”
I nod absently and walk over to the door. “Did he tell you my name?” I ask, furrowing my brows. I don’t trust him just because he knows about Mr. Holland and the fact that my uncle had an employee. Anyone in Bane Falls could know that.
Grahm nods, keeping those cool, summer-green eyes on me. “Chloe, right?” he replies. Unlike the guys last night, Grahm actually sounds like he’s from here. He has a subtle accent. One that instantly distinguishes him as a cowboy. Not southern, just a northwestern cowboy living out in the plains of Montana.
I frown at hearing my real name, but only Mr. Holland knew it so Grahm must be legit. I sigh and give him an apologetic smile. “Yes, please come in.” I unlock the door and let Grahm in. “I changed my name to Briar, though. So please don’t repeat the other name.”
He takes in my sour tone and just when I think he’s going to be curious enough to ask about it, he just pats my shoulder roughly. I blink up at him, waking up more with the hard pats.
“Rough night,Briar?” He winks at me with the emphasis he puts on my name. I crack a smile and nod.
“You have no idea.”
Grahm looks around the trashed kitchen and then back down at me. “Want some coffee? I could use a cup before we dive into the Thornton Farm conversation.” He rubs the back of his neck and has a forlorn look on his face. I wonder if he was close to my uncle. This must be hard for him. It makes me feel out of place because I’m not sad about his death. I didn’t know him very well and only met him a handful of times.
“I’d love some coffee.” I motion my hand to the pajamas I have on. “Let me get changed first. I’ll meet you out front in five.” He nods and heads back outside.
I throw on my only other pair of jeans—the ones not caked in mud from last night—and slip into a tank top before heading out the door. Grahm is leaning up against his truck, an old cherry-red pickup. It’s in pristine condition. I’m impressed and a little hopeful for what he can help get done around the farm.
“Hop on in.” Grahm smiles and crosses to the driver’s side.
I get in and melt into the passenger seat. I’m so tired and worn down from the night prior, and I hadn’t thought of the bruises that are showing before I put this tank top on. My wrists definitely reveal that I’ve been restrained, and my elbows are scraped up and bruised too.That pretty-faced asshole, I fume thinking about Roman.
If Grahm notices them, he doesn’t bring them up. Thank God.
He’s quiet for a few minutes as we get on the road heading into town before he speaks up. “Did you find your way into town all right?”
I hate small talk, but I relent. “Yeah, as much as a twenty-five-year-old with no phone service or a map can navigate.” Grahm casts me a sidelong glance, grinning and running his hand over his scruffy beard.
“Shoot, I should’ve told that attorney that I’d meet you at the fork in the interstate. Lots of out-of-towners lose service coming in and get lost. Glad to see you made it, though.”
Yeah, that would’ve saved my entire crappy night if he’d met me there to guide me back. I wouldn’t have been lost for hours and likely would’ve deterred the guy casing the farm. Which reminds me. “There was someone at the farm when I pulled in last night, actually. It really freaked me out. Is that common around here?”
