Page 40 of Westin

“Someone could have seen her coming or going at some point.”

Clint rubbed his chin. “Yeah, that was what I was thinking, too. Maybe someone saw Bowie walk her back there after the afternoon cattle ride. Or they saw him go pick her up for the chuck wagon.”

“Someone on the property.”

“When we have tourists, security is a little lax. Anyone could have gotten on the property at any point during the day. We’d have to watch every minute of all the security-camera footage to figure out exactly when the guy entered the property, and chances are good that he came over the fence somewhere where there isn’t a camera. So, you know, there’s no way to point fingers, at this point. We’ve just got to be more careful. Keep her out of sight.”

“And if he comes after her again?”

“One of us will be with her.” Clint patted Westin’s arm. “If we’re really going to open our own security firm here, this couldn’t be better practice for our skills.” He forced a smile. “She actually suggested we’d be pretty good at it.”

“Did she?”

Clint chuckled. “I kind of like her. And I’m beginning to like this idea. We might do better at it than the whole tourist thing.”

“Maybe.”

***

Lea lay awake, listening to the men around her stumbling to dress before beginning their chores. There was little conversation, but lots of coffee mugs clanking, bread toasting, eggs frying. She stayed still, her eyes closed, her mind drifting back to the night before. She wondered how much Clint had told Westin about Fang, about her. Did he know now just how much she’d lied to him since coming here?

The lies had never bothered her before. It was just part of the job. There’d been times when she’d cultivated relationships that she cared about, and would wonder how that person was doing after her disappearance from their lives. But she never felt bad about lying. The lies were as much to keep those people safe as they were to keep her safe.

But this time was different. These cowboys had an honor code they lived by, and it was kind of infectious. Made Lea feel like she was corrupting them all with her lies.

What if she told them the truth? What if she sat Westin down and told him her real story? How she resented her mother for tearing her away from everything she knew, so she rebelled in quiet, unimpressive ways. How she chose this path in life because she knew it was the one thing that her mother would never be able to accept. How she jumped at all the most difficult assignments because she wanted to frighten her mother, show her what it was like to be on the other end of that scenario.

It was childish, all of it, and Lea had known it not even a year into her career. But by then she was addicted to the adrenaline that came with being undercover, with the excitement of it all. She liked making up fake details about her past, liked killing off her mother in some scenarios, turning her into a drug-addicted shrew in others. The truth, of course, was that her mother did the best she could under difficult circumstances. Lea knew that, and as an adult, she understood. Maybe she should tell her mother that.

It felt a little old now, though. Maybe it was time she thought about some other kind of work.

A weight settled on the edge of the bunk. A hand brushed against her cheek, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. She knew it was Westin before she opened her eyes. He smelled of the outdoors, of cows and wood and hay. The others probably did, too, but there was something unique to Westin under it all that she already knew like it was a part of her.

“Time to get going.”

She rolled toward him, peeking at him from under her eyelashes. “Where’d everyone else go?”

“Chores and then church with Miss Dulcie. It’s Sunday.”

“She takes everyone to church?”

“As many as she can. A few have to stay behind and feed the tourists, run the fences—that sort of thing. But she takes most of them.”

“You don’t go?”

He shrugged. “I go occasionally. I was just never real big on the whole religion thing.”

“’Mother Nature is my religion,” she said softly.

“What?”

She shook her head, sitting up on the narrow bunk. “Something my grandfather used to say when my grandmother would try to drag him off to church.”

“Sounds like your grandfather and I would have gotten along.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah, I think you would have.”

She slipped past him and into the bathroom, using the facilities quickly—it was predominantly a men’s space, and they made that pretty clear with the smells that emanated from nearly all the surfaces—before joining Westin again in the small kitchen. He was sipping from a coffee mug, leaning against the counter, his heavy jacket still on, but his hat was resting on the counter across from him. She grabbed her borrowed jacket from the bunk she’d slept in and joined him, snatching up his hat and setting it on top of her own head only to have it fall over her eyes.