Page 5 of Guarded Hearts

At twenty-four, their sister went out far too often for their liking. She also had far too many boyfriends. No wonder, when the only clothes she owned barely covered her stomach. And their sister was “blessed.” Really blessed.

Willow let out an annoyed sigh. “This protective older brother act is getting old. Try having six big brothers telling you what to wear and when you can go out.”

Carson leveled a look at her. “We stopped telling you when to go to bed.”

She rolled her big gray eyes. Most women needed baby blues or beautiful browns to garner attention from the opposite sex. Willow managed to do it with gray. The same gray all of them had.

“Only because you realized smothering me with a pillow to get me to go to sleep was going to land you in jail.”

“Well, you do talk a lot.” Oaks’s lips twisted in a smile he tried to hide.

Carson focused on Willow again. “Where are you going?”

“Out. With my friends.”

“That doesn’t tell me where you’ll be. You know it’s a requirement of living here.”

At that, Willow balked. Of all the Malones, she loved the ranch the most. Though they were raised in Texas, Wyoming was her stomping ground, and she owned it—a little too much, in Carson’s opinion. It didn’t help that the ranch was situated outside of the town of Willowbrook and as a kid she’d believed it was named after her.

Willow’s red stilettos clicked on the floor as she walked over to the leather sofa that took up one entire wall of Carson’s small office and flopped down on the cushion. “When are you guys going to realize I’m not in high school anymore? You don’t need to babysit me.”

“No. We need to protect you.” Carson advanced on her, one slow step at a time. “People know what we do. That makes us all targets. The sooner you fall in line with us and stop bucking the rules, the happier you’ll be.”

She tilted her jaw in that defiant way that reminded him of their late mother. It also told him that his sister was going to put up a fight.

He really should have had the rest of his bourbon. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine—go out with friends. But put on a sweater.”

Her dark brows shot up.

“It gets cool at night.” That wasn’t the reason he wanted her to wear a sweater, and they all knew it. But it kept Willow from arguing further.

She planted her heels on the floor and shot up to her full height, a towering six feet in those shoes. It didn’t help that she already had the looks and body of a model.

Leaning in, she planted a kiss on Carson’s cheek. When she pulled back, she wrinkled her nose. “You could use a shave.”

He scuffed his knuckles over his stubbled jaw, feeling the smear of lipstick she left behind. “You’ve got your concealed carry?”

She patted the miniscule handbag hanging on a thin silver chain over her shoulder.

Oaks goggled at it. “Your weapon can’t possibly fit into that thing.”

“I assure you it does. Along with tampons, lipstick and my ID.” She breezed to the door.

Her list had the effect she wanted. At the mention of tampons, every brother went running for the hills. Her ploy worked—they let her walk out wearing the same outfit she walked in wearing.

As soon as Oaks turned to Carson, they were all business.

Carson lifted his jaw. “I heard the call come in. What was it?”

“Potential client.”

“They called late. Must be urgent.”

Oaks nodded and held out a scrap of paper with an address written in his neat, blocky writing.

Carson took it. He skimmed the address. Looked up at his brother.

Only one person was taking this call.