Page 28 of Guarded Hearts
The midday sun cast a warm glow over the rolling fields, gilding the tips of the grasses that some ranch hand hired by the Londons would soon harvest into hay bales.
He took a deep breath. It smelled of hay, but the breeze carried the piney tang of the mountains on the air currents.
If he could, he’d hand the protection of Layne over to his brothers right this minute and take off into the mountains. Those times his old man kicked him out of the house had conditioned him to survive on very little. What he wouldn’t give to head up there with nothing but a pack, a sleeping bag and his horse.
No amount of time away from Layne would make him quit thinking about her, though.
He was fucked.
Forcing his mind to the task of checking the perimeter, he started with his senses. Birds chirped and insects hummed, reminding him of lazy days spent by the pond. What he wouldn’t give right now to lie back in the grass and sleep in the sun.
With Layne lying on top of him.
He groaned and walked to the corner of the big log house. The barn stood adjacent to the house, with the five-car garage on the other side. He wasn’t surprised to discover that every bay was filled with a car, each more ostentatious than the last.
He huffed out a laugh. Not that Black Heart Ranch was any less flashy. Oaks had built an entire warehouse just for all their vehicles. Carson’s personal ride—when he wasn’t on his Harley—was a tricked-out Chevy truck with a lift.
Picking up Layne in that thing would present problems when she tried to get in. The step up was so high Oaks called it a pants splitter .
Carson took off in the direction of the barn, head swaying right and left as he walked. He automatically searched shadows and places where a person could hide. As he neared the barn, the breeze carried a new sound—horses moving around the paddock. One gave a soft nicker.
The first thing Carson did the morning after he arrived at the ranch was send all the ranch workers home. Each morning, he allowed one guy to care for the horses and he returned in the evening to tuck them away in the barn.
That guy, he vetted himself. After a deep dive into the worker’s past, Carson found a squeaky-clean record.
Just how he liked it. There were times to blur the lines of the law, but Layne’s safety wasn’t one of them.
He approached the barn. Golden Horizon ranch didn’t have a weathered barn that had been standing since the beginning of time like so many properties around here. The fresh white coatof paint was probably power-washed once a month to remove the mud thrown up by the horse’s hooves.
The main difference between the Londons and Malones was the Black Heart was a working ranch. They raised cattle. They got dirty.
Inside the barn, his footsteps echoed on the polished floor. After a quick glance upward at the hayloft, he checked every single stall. Then he climbed the ladder to the loft.
He saw it immediately.
Using one hand to grip the rung and hoist himself up, he reached for his weapon with the other.
Hay bales were out of place since he checked the previous evening. One had been moved toward the small window.
When he turned his head, he saw why.
The window faced Layne’s bedroom window.
Son of a fucking bitch.
He curled his fists. He swung his gaze to the window of the guest room.
The sun glinted on something metal on the sill.
In seconds, his boots hit the ladder. He hooked his soles on each side, sliding the entire way to the floor like a fireman slid down a pole to rush to the emergency.
Blood pumping with rage, he sprinted to the house. When he reached the window, cold fury washed through him.
A single empty rifle casing sat there, the bullet spent.
A warning. To him.
Somebody knew he was here.