Chapter 12BOONE #2
I spent years doing exactly that. Following whispers, digging up information that wasn’t meant to be found, finding the weak link in a chain and snapping it before anyone could react.
If Wendell’s got someone working behind the scenes—someone making sure that health inspection went exactly the way he needed it to—I could maybe find out who it is.
Maybe.
“How did you know I was in the Special Forces?”
She smirks. “I have my sources. Now what’s it going to be, Booney?”
I sigh, tipping my head back toward the sky. “Fuck.”
She grins. “There he is. ”
I run a hand down my face, mind running in a dozen different directions at once.
I want to help. Hell, I’d do anything for her.
But what if this backfires on me completely?
What if digging into this, getting involved in something she didn’t ask me to be involved in, just pisses her off more?
The last thing I want is more distance between us.
The space we already have is eating me alive, every clipped response, every half-second where I think she’s about to soften only for her to pull back again.
But then I think about what it would feel like to actually take this bastard down. To find the piece of shit who’s been pulling the strings, setting Lark up to fail, trying to rip the Bluebell right out from under her.
Nothing would satisfy me more.
“I’m in.”
Miller grins, bright and triumphant. “Figured you’d come around,” she says, looking down at her manicured nails. “Look at you, being all heroic and shit. Warms my heart.”
I roll my eyes. “You done?”
“Not even close.”
I ignore her, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Okay, so where do you want to start?”
“Well, we’ve got two real options,” she says. “We can try to find the health inspector who failed the Bluebell and see if she’ll talk, or we can look at the official report at the county office and figure out where the bullshit started.”
I nod slowly, turning it over in my head. Both solid options. The first could get us a direct answer, but the second could give us proof.
“Either way, we need to figure out who actually pulled the trigger on shutting Lark down,” she continues. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t her fault.”
I cross my arms. “Do you have any kind of plan, or are we just gonna wing it?”
Miller scoffs, offended. “Of course I have a plan. Do I look like an amateur?”
I lift a brow. “That’s a loaded question.”
She ignores me, already moving on. “We start with the health inspector. Get a read on her. See how much she’s willing to spill.”
I glance at her. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then we make her.”
I let out an exasperated breath.
“Relax, Special Forces,” she says, patting my chest like I’m the one who needs to calm down. “Nobody’s getting tied to a chair in a dark room. We’ll just…apply some pressure.”
I narrow my eyes. “You say that like it’s better.”
“It is.”
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.
Miller nudges me with her elbow. “Look at us, working together like Sherlock Holmes and…whatever his partner’s name is.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Jesus, it’s Watson. His name is Watson.”
She snaps her fingers. “That’s right. I’m Sherlock, obviously.”
I give her a flat look. “Yeah? And what does that make me?”
Miller smirks. “The one who does all the heavy lifting while I take the credit, obviously.”
I huff out a laugh. “Sounds about right.”
She claps her hands together. “Alright. So when are we starting this little investigation of ours?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good.” She crosses her arms. “No time to waste. We need to get the Bluebell back open as soon as possible.”
She’s right. The longer Lark’s shut down, the harder it’ll be for her to recover. I glance toward Old Faithful, the bare bones of what it’ll eventually become.
I wonder what my dad would think if he could see it now—if he’d call me a damn fool for trying to fix something this far gone, or if he’d just shake his head and say, ‘Boone, you always were stubborn as hell.’
Miller follows my gaze, tilting her head. She looks genuinely impressed. “ Wow. This is…something.”
I let out a breath as I walk back over to grab my beer. “We’re working on it.”
She nods, stepping closer, eyes scanning the porch frame. “It actually has a lot of potential. Lots of character.” She points toward the newly built beams. “This porch is big. That’s exactly something Lark would love.”
“Don’t.”
She just raises her brows.
“Miller,” I warn.
She squeals. “You’re building her a house!”
I feel heat crawling up my neck, rushing to my face. “Basically, yeah. Eventually, it’ll be a livable, functioning house.”
Miller studies me for a second, then grins. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, Booney.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname.
She pulls her phone from her back pocket and hands it to me. “Put your number in. We need to be able to coordinate.”
I take it, hesitating for a beat before typing in my number and handing it back.
She glances down, saving the contact. “I’ll text you with the deets.”
As she heads back toward her car, Ridge is still standing near the house, arms crossed, watching her leave.
Miller doesn’t turn back, but she calls out, “Better luck next time, cowboy.”
Duke and Witt let out low whistles. Ridge just grins, like he enjoys the chase.
Miller reaches her car, then pauses, turning back to me.
“Boone?”
I exhale. “Yeah?”
Her eyes are sharp and narrow. “If you ever hurt my best friend again, I’ll castrate you and feed your testicles to your cows. Understood?”
Ridge barks out a laugh. And even though she’s only five foot two and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, I don’t doubt for a second she’d actually do it.
Miller’s a pain in my ass. Always has been. Mouthy, stubborn, quick with a glare and quicker with a threat. But standing here, watching her throw down like that for Lark?
I get it.
Because someone had to.
When I left, it was Miller who stayed. She’s the one who picked up the pieces—held Lark together when I couldn’t.
She was there in all the ways I should’ve been.
She probably helped with Hudson, even though I’m pretty sure handing Miller a baby would look like handing her a live grenade and walking away.
She probably made sure Lark ate. Probably made her laugh again, even when she didn’t want to.
She stayed when I ran.
So no, I don’t blame her for being protective. I don’t even take offense. If anything, I owe her.
I owe her more than I’ll ever be able to say out loud.
And if it means she threatens me with castration every once in a while?
Fair enough.
I lift my beer in her direction. “Understood.”
Miller gives me a satisfied nod before slipping into her car and peeling out, dust kicking up behind her tires.