Chapter Three
Emerson
Climbing from the confines of my white company SUV, I lift my arms over my head and lean side to side to stretch my cramped muscles.
A moan falls from me at the cracking in my back.
It’s a good thing I had the foresight to break the ten-hour drive into two days, six yesterday and four today.
If I had tried to do it in one, I’d probably be crippled and unable to walk or complete my assessment.
No one tells you how as soon as you hit forty, your body starts to deteriorate at a shockingly rapid pace.
And if you’re a woman, perimenopause only compounds the disintegration, wreaking havoc.
I recently heard it described as cougar puberty, and damn if it didn’t make me laugh.
Though the next moment I was crying because when did I get old enough to be considered a cougar?
Also, wasn’t one puberty enough? Apparently not, and the mood swing from one extreme to the next only drives the point home.
Sighing at the pathetic state of my life, I reach into the car and grab my tan canvas field pack. I sling the worn bag over one shoulder as I peer around at the small town of Valor Springs. There’s no mistaking the Hallmarkesque vibe, well if the movies were set in the southwest desert at least.
Half a block up is Pepper’s Pies & Coffee, where I’m supposed to meet Clancy.
I’m still unsure about all of this. A bodyguard seems a little extreme, but Terra insisted and went through the trouble of making all the arrangements.
She even went so far as to go directly to Lone Star Security to get her brother on the assignment.
I suppose that’s what makes me most hesitant about the whole thing.
She hasn’t shared much about her younger brother, Clancy, with me.
Only that he was special forces up until two years ago when a mission went sideways.
He was the only one from his team to make it home alive, but not without damage.
She checks on him frequently, but he’s been dodging her calls the last few months.
I can’t help but wonder how he’s going to react, knowing she went above his head to set this up.
I surreptitiously cross my fingers in hopes he doesn’t hold it against me if he is upset about it.
Pulling open the door, I enter the shop before glancing around.
When the only men I see are a group of older cowboys well past their prime, having coffee even though it’s almost lunchtime, I take a seat at a small table by the front window to wait.
A waitress, who is most likely in her sixties given the gray in her hair and the lines etched on her face, gives me a warm smile after she spryly waltzes across the shop to my table. “Welcome to Pepper’s. What can I get for you today?”
“I’d love an iced vanilla latte. What pie do you recommend?” The scent of sugar permeating the air is a stark reminder it’s been hours since I had breakfast before I started the second half of the long drive here.
“You can’t go wrong with any of them, but you can’t get more Texan than pecan, and ours doesn’t disappoint.”
“Sounds good to me,” I confirm.
With a nod, she’s off to get my order. I pull my phone out of the front pocket of my pack.
My fingers trail over the worn waxed canvas as the memory of my dad carrying this very pack on every trip and hike we ever went on hits me like a semi-truck rolling down the freeway at 65 miles an hour, stealing my breath.
It’s bittersweet, using his pack. It’s as if I’m carrying a piece of him with me, but also a stark reminder of his being gone for far too many years.
Giving myself a mental shake, I tap the passcode into my phone, noting the time as I do. I was earlier than expected and still have another fifteen minutes before Clancy is due to arrive. I scroll through emails, immediately deleting the junk before opening the most pressing ones.
My pie and latte get delivered while I’m caught up in an email from Terra about increased smuggling traffic.
I twirl the ring on my thumb as I read. She’s been scouring for any news and reports since finding out more about the area.
I don’t think what she’s finding is anything new and has been happening for quite a while.
I appreciate her looking out for me, but having a bodyguard watching my back should be plenty of precaution to keep me safe.
Heaving a long breath, I toss my phone on the table before taking a long, quenching drink of my latte. I’m about to dive into the flaky, sugary goodness when movement on the sidewalk outside the window draws my attention.
My eyes catch on a tall drink of water with broad shoulders, slumped like they carry the weight of the world on them.
His worn dark brown cowboy boots wear a trail in the sidewalk as a scowl mars his ruggedly handsome face.
His jaw is clenched tight as his hand rubs the dark, close-cropped beard there while he listens to whoever is on the other end of the phone he has pressed to his ear.
A stained tan cowboy hat shadows the top half of his face.
My forefinger spins the ring on my thumb as flutters run rampant through my body.
I shiver at the overwhelming attraction.
Never in my forty-four years has a man evoked such a response on sight alone.
I’m not blind and can appreciate good-looking men, but never have I had such a visceral reaction from just a look.
The call apparently ends, and he shoves the device in his back pocket before resting his hands on his trim hips, head falling forward for several breaths.
When he straightens his right hand tips his hat back and drags down the sharp angles of his face.
I’m so fixated on those long, thick fingers now resting on his chin it takes me a moment to realize he’s staring right at me through the window with narrowed eyes.
My pulse races and cheeks heat at being caught gawking. I spin the ring on my thumb faster, biting down on my lower lip, but can’t for the life of me tear my eyes away from his. It’s as if he has me in a trance, which is broken a breath later when he spins, heading straight toward the front door.