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“Seven seventeen.”

She came upright so fast the mattress complained. “Seven seventeen?”

Her hair stood out on one side. My T-shirt had twisted around her waist. A pillow crease crossed her cheek. She looked horrified, beautiful, and two seconds from asking where her clipboard was.

I caught her around the middle before her feet hit the floor. “Easy.”

“I hear a truck outside.”

“There are trucks outside most mornings.”

“That’s not your truck.”

“You’ve been here three months and you’re identifying engines now?”

“I identify variables.”

“Of course you do.”

The truck dropped into low gear outside. Gravel popped under the tires. Then came a second engine behind it, deeper and smoother.

Priya twisted toward the window. “Two trucks.”

“Showing off already.”

“What is happening?”

“I don’t know.”

That got her attention. She looked at me.

I was Cash Calloway. I always knew what was happening, or at least had a friendly lie ready until I found out. But I didn’t know why Earl Hansen was coming up our drive before breakfast, and I didn’t know who was behind him.

The second truck’s horn gave two short blasts.

Tuck.

I knew that horn because the kid used it every time he came through the ranch gate, as if cattle needed advance notice that enthusiasm was arriving.

Priya tried to get up again.

I held on.

“Pants first, Ms. Nair.”

She looked down at the bare length of her legs below my shirt. “Release me.”

“Say please.”

Her eyes narrowed.

There she was.

“Please release me before your entire county finds me in your bed.”

“Our entire county. You made a speech.”

“I made one statement.”