Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
JESSE
The Bishop ranch looked like something out of a Texas postcard—a white farmhouse with blue shutters, a red barn that had survived the decades and still stood proud, and cattle grazing in pastures that rolled green toward the horizon.
It was the kind of place that made people believe in the American dream, in honest work and clean living.
Jesse studied the land with a sniper's eye. Clean sight lines. Single access road. The kind of place that would be easy to defend or destroy, depending on which side you were on. If Bo had his way, it would be another waystation for guns and blood money.
Unless Jesse turned it into his father's graveyard first.
Bo sat behind the wheel of his black Silverado, studying the property with the cold assessment of a modern-day robber baron.
He'd dressed for the occasion: pressed jeans, polished boots, and a button-down shirt that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary. The uniform of a successful rancher, not a criminal. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Image was everything in negotiations.
"Remember what we discussed," Bo said without looking at his son. "These people think they're better than us. Think their shit doesn't stink because they pay their taxes and go to church on Sunday. But everybody's got a price, Jesse. Our job is to find theirs."
Jesse adjusted his own shirt. It was navy blue with no tie, the kind of look that said 'reasonable businessman' instead of 'enforcer.' He normally dressed for his father's meetings the way other men wore armor.
"What if they don't have one?"
"They do." Bo's smile was the kind that made people check for exits. "They just don't know it yet."
They climbed out of the truck and walked toward the house, boots crunching on gravel that had been recently raked. The flower beds surrounding the house burst with color, not a weed in sight. Someone cared about this place, took pride in the details that most people overlooked.
They stopped at the foot of the porch steps as the front door opened. The man who emerged was in his fifties, medium height with the kind of tanned and weathered face that came from a life of outdoor work.
Martin Bishop walked to the edge of the porch, stopping at the top of the steps to look down at them.
He moved with the steady confidence of someone who'd spent his life handling large animals and dangerous machinery, but Jesse could see tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way his eyes tracked between them.
"Mr. Hollister." Martin's voice was steady, polite, giving nothing away. "Jesse."
So Bishop recognized him. In a town the size of Fredericksburg, that wasn't surprising. But what struck him most was the lack of fear in Bishop's expression. Bishop might be tense, but he wasn't afraid. That made him either dangerously ignorant or dangerously informed.
Either way, he was already a dead man in Bo's calculations.
The question was whether Jesse could use him before Bo made his move.
An ally with nothing to lose was worth ten mercenaries.
Most people who found themselves face-to-face with Bo started choosing their words like their lives depended on it.
Bishop glanced between them with measured calm. When his gaze settled on Jesse, there was something unexpected there—assessment, maybe even curiosity. Like he was measuring Jesse separately from his father's shadow, on his own terms.
"Bishop. Hope you don't mind us dropping by unannounced." Bo's tone was friendly, neighborly, the kind that concealed steel beneath silk. "Got another business proposition that might interest you."
"I figured as much." Bishop stepped aside, gesturing them toward the porch. "Come on up. Coffee's hot, I'll grab cups." Without waiting for a response, he walked inside.
The porch was clean, furnished with wooden chairs that looked handmade and sturdy.
A porch swing hung at one end, its chains creaking softly in the breeze.
Jesse could picture lazy summer evenings here, conversations that didn't involve threats or blood money or the careful calculation of how much pressure it took to break a man's resolve.
Bishop returned moments later, his granite expression unchanged. He moved with the deliberate calm of a man who'd long ago mastered his reactions.
"Nice place you got here," Bo said, accepting a cup as he settled into a chair that groaned under his weight. "Been in the family long?"
"Four generations. My great grandfather bought it from the original settlers in 1910.
" Bishop passed another cup to Jesse and remained standing, sipping his coffee with deliberate calm.
It was a subtle power play that didn't escape Jesse's notice.
"I plan to keep it in the family for as long as there are Bishops to work it. "
"I plan the same for my place. However, for some folks plans change." Bo cradled the cup between his hands like a weapon waiting to be deployed. "Market forces, economic pressures, family circumstances. Sometimes what we want ain't what's best for us."
"And sometimes it is."
The screen door opened with a soft squeal of hinges, and Raven stepped onto the porch. Jesse saw her up close and it was as if for the first time. He'd seen her around town as she’d tracked him, at the feed store, driving her beat-up Ford past the diner. But he'd never truly looked at her before.
Now, standing in her own territory with the sun catching the coppery undertones of her dark hair, she was stunning.
Her almost-black soul-deep eyes were a well any man could drown in, and it was a wonder why she hadn’t caught his attention before.
She also had the kind of steady gaze that meant she didn't scare easy.
She was the kind of person who'd notice details others missed.
She was tall, maybe five-seven, with that hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and the kind of natural beauty that made men do stupid things.
But it wasn't just her looks. It was the way she held herself with her back straight and steady, like someone who'd never learned to be afraid of the dark.
It was a bravery born of innocence. She took in the scene with intelligence that missed nothing, cataloguing details the way a card player memorized tells.
Her expression, assessing and completely unafraid, sent his mind racing, incorporating yet another variable into his equation.
She glanced at his father first with polite suspicion. Then her eyes moved to Jesse and his blood rushed south, making his whole body aware of her in ways that had nothing to do with business. The reaction was as unexpected as it was unwelcome given the circumstances.
"Raven, honey, you remember the Hollisters," Bishop said, his voice carrying a warning disguised as a casual reminder. "Bo and his son Jesse."
"Mr. Hollister." Raven nodded politely, the way you acknowledge someone at church whose business you know but whose company you don't seek. "Jesse."
When she said his name, something electric shot down Jesse's spine. His father nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t leave his seat.
"Raven's been helping me with the ranch books," her uncle continued, his hand settling on her shoulder in a gesture that was both protective and possessive. "She's got a real head for numbers."
"Numbers are important," Bo agreed, his tone taking on the edge that meant the real conversation was about to begin. "Speaking of which, I'd like to discuss some numbers with you, Bishop. Business numbers."
Raven's eyes sharpened, and Jesse saw her glance between her uncle and his father with the kind of awareness that made his stomach clench. She knew something was wrong. Worse, she was smart enough to figure out what that something might be.
"Raven, why don't you go inside and..." Bishop began.
"I'll stay." Her voice was calm but firm, and Jesse caught the flash of steel beneath the politeness. "If this concerns the ranch and its finances, I should hear it."
Bishop's hand tightened on her shoulder, and Jesse could see him wanting to send her inside. But Bo spoke first, his tone carrying false warmth.
"Of course. Family business, after all, involves the whole family.
" Bo relaxed into his chair, but Jesse heard the steely mockery underneath as his father emphasized those last two words.
His father was humoring her, the way a cat might play with something small and interesting before deciding what to do with it, while at the same time threatening Martin.
"I've been admiring your property, Bishop.
Prime grazing land, good water rights, excellent location.
Must be worth quite a bit in today's market. "
"It's not for sale." The words came out crisp, definitive, and not from Bishop but rather Raven. Jesse saw her uncle wince slightly at his niece's directness.
Jesse watched her refuse to back down and felt something click into place. Not just attraction, though that was certainly there, unwanted and inconvenient. But recognition. She had the kind of spine that didn't bend, which meant she couldn't be controlled through normal fear.
That meant Bo would escalate.
"Everything's for sale at the right price." Bo's voice remained friendly, but Jesse heard the warning underneath. "Question is, what's the right price for peace of mind?"
"I'm sorry?" Raven's confusion seemed genuine, but Jesse caught the way her body language shifted, muscles tensing as if preparing for trouble.
"Your uncle's been doing some work for me." Bo paused, letting the words sink in. "Consulting work, you might say."
Bishop's coffee mug hit the porch railing with a dull thud. Not loud, but loud enough to confirm what Jesse already suspected. Bishop’s mouth went flat and his spine rigid. He clearly didn’t want the topic broached in front of Raven. Translation: he hadn’t told her.