—but she reached out to grab my arm.
I looked back at her.
“I’m not going back,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said. “I promise we’re gonna keep you safe.”
She held my gaze for another second…then she nodded and stepped back. I heard the deadbolt slide home.
I stood in the hall for just a moment—then I went to get Gage.
My cousin was on the porch of the main house, his shotgun slung over his shoulder, already with two horses out of thebarn. That meant Stetson had already called…and Gage meant business. He gestured at the horses as I walked up, mounting up and giving me time to do the same.
“Stetson’s got eyes on them?” he asked.
“Called me ten minutes ago,” I said. “Two trucks on the east road, sitting at the property line.”
Gage set his coffee down. “How many?”
“Not sure,” I said. “Wyatt joining us?”
“He’s gonna hang back and keep an eye on the house just in case they sent some others and already know something,” Gage said. “But…honestly, I think Millie, Haven, and my mom would be happy to kill anyone who comes lookin’ for her.”
I laughed despite myself. “Yeah, they would.”
The east fence line was about a quarter mile through the oak trees and scrub, and the horses picked their way through it without much direction. Mine was one of Sawyer’s old quarter horses, a big roan gelding who had opinions about everything and only trusted a handful of people.
Stetson was already at the fence line, on foot, Buck at his heel. He was watching the two trucks idling on the dirt road on the other side of the fence; didn’t look at us, when we rode up, keeping his eyes on the trucks.
There were four men there—three I didn’t recognize, heavy-set and work-worn. The fourth stood at the hood of the lead truck with his thumbs in his belt loops, older with a long salt-and-pepper beard…maybe sixty.
“What’s the deal?” Gage asked, dismounting.
“They wanted to talk to you,” Stetson said. “Said they’re worried about Mr. Daley’s wife.”
My skin crawled; I gestured toward the older man. “That Mr. Daley?”
“Yup.”
I shook my head, resisting the urge to jump the fence and fucking throttle him.
Gage let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl. “Jesus…Willa can’t be even twenty-five, right?”
“She’s twenty,” I said.
I looked at the man at the hood of the truck again. The scowl…the grey beard.
She couldn’t have wanted that.
Gage walked to the fence, leaving the two of us behind…shotgun clearly visible. Mr. Daley walked forward to meet him.
He had a gun too.
This wasn’t good.
“Morning,” Gage said, tipping his hat.
Daley’s eyes moved across us. “You Gage Holt?”
