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Would Oliver get bullied in school?

He wasn’t sure why that thought put a pit in his gut, but it did. Some part of him—the part he didn’t trust, didn’t even like—wanted to protect that weird little kid. And wanted to protect the woman raising him.

But it wasn’t his problem.

Besides, a woman who looked like that probably already had someone to stand up for her and the kid. Someone like the boy’s father.

Except he hadn’t seen a ring.

And if she had a man in her life, wouldn’t she have called him for help when her tire went flat?

“Is Nessie married?”

River cocked an eyebrow. “Nah. She used to be, but she left the guy before moving here. Nobody knows the details, but rumor is he was an abusive prick. She doesn’t talk about it. You sweet on her already?”

“No.” The denial came out too fast to be believable, so he followed it with a casual, “Just wondering what her story is.”

River’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Bullshit. If you’re into her, you better move fast before X gets there first. Or Boone.”

“Boone?”

River snorted. “Oh, yeah. Big guy’s got a thing for her, but he’d bite off his own tongue before saying so.

He’s basically allergic to feelings. And X…

well, X is X. Good luck out-charming him.

And, c’mon, you’ve seen him. Like Shemar Moore’s younger, hotter brother.

Guys don’t get much straighter than me, but he makes me question that. ”

Jax grunted, but something sour twisted in his gut. Boone and X. As if he could even compete.

Not that he wanted to.

Nessie was just… kind, that was all. Kind to strays, and he happened to be the stray du jour. He didn’t want anything from her. Didn’t want to complicate her life with his own mess.

They passed a washed-out section of fence. River dismounted, dug spare wire and tools from a saddlebag, and tossed a pair of gloves to Jax. “Here. Let’s not get tetanus, huh?”

Jax studied the gloves. The fingertips were worn slick and gray from use. Not prison issue. No numbers, no big black “PROPERTY OF.”

“You ever fix one before?” River asked.

He pulled on the gloves and shook his head. “Never had much reason to.”

River grinned in a way that suggested he’d already known the answer. “You learn by doing around here. Not much patience for classroom types. Grab the wire and pull it tight. I’ll show you how to anchor it.”

Jax followed the instructions. There was a rhythm to the work that he appreciated.

Tension, staple, hammer, repeat. The wire bit into his palms despite the thick gloves, but he held on.

River hummed while they worked, a raw, tuneless thing that wasn’t quite a song. The guy really didn’t like silence.

As the sun climbed, Jax finished anchoring the last staple and stepped back to survey their handiwork.

The repaired section looked utilitarian, not pretty, but he could admit a sliver of satisfaction at seeing it hold.

He hadn’t built anything since a botched attempt at a treehouse when he was twelve, but there was something about making the fence whole that settled the restless itch beneath his skin. The one that kept telling him to leave.

River popped the gloves off and wiped his brow. “Not bad. Most city boys staple their thumb on the first go. We’ll make a cowboy of you yet.”

Jax flexed his hands, enjoying the ache along his knuckles. He felt the urge to say thank you, but it stuck in his throat.

River mounted up again, his horse side-stepping. “Let’s get back or Boone’ll have our asses. He takes the schedule real serious.” His voice dropped half an octave in imitation. “Men need structure, Beckett.”

Jax swung into the saddle, the motion already easier than it’d been a few hours ago. But, damn, he was going to feel the burn in his thighs for days.

He let Lazy Susan set the pace, which, no surprise, turned out to be glacial. But he didn’t mind. The sun was out and hot, but the air still held a bite of winter that kept his head clear. He found it almost restful, the slow clop of hooves and the clean mountain silence.

“I always wanted to be a cowboy when I was a kid,” River said, breaking that silence. “But my version was basically Clint Eastwood by way of Evel Knievel. Men in my family were all farmers until I broke the streak and joined the military. I’m the black sheep.”

He looked at Jax like he was waiting for a story in return. When none came, he didn’t seem offended. “How about you? Always want to be a badass SEAL?”

Jax hesitated, then shrugged. “Didn’t have a plan. Just didn’t want to be like my old man.”

“He a bastard?”

“No, a dentist.”

“Meh, basically the same thing.”

A reluctant smile tugged at Jax’s lips. “I didn’t want to be boring.”

River snorted a laugh. “Yeah, well, you accomplished that, didn’t ya?”

They crested a small hill, and the ranch buildings came into view below.

Jax could see movement in the paddocks—judging by the rust colored hair, it was that Marine working with the horses.

The kennels were quiet from this distance, but he found his thoughts drifting to the men he’d seen in the bunkhouse yesterday on his way out the door.

He now knew River had been the one standing at the stove wearing bunny slippers. But he had no idea who the rest were.

“Yesterday…”

“Yesterday, what?” River prompted when he fell silent.

“There was a big guy. Built like a tank. Trying to dry off a dog.”

“Ah, you’re curious. That’s a good sign.” River glanced back at him with a grin. “That was Bear McKenna.”

“Bear?”

“‘Cause he’s built like one. His name’s actually Dane, but nobody calls him that. Former Army Ranger combat medic. Hands like sledgehammers, heart like marshmallow.”

“And the dog?”

“That oversized slobber factory is King. Bear found him abandoned at a rest stop as a puppy and loves him like a kid.”

“And X was the one in the boxers?”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it. He doesn’t like wearing clothes.”

“That’s his real name?”

River nodded. “Xavier Vega. And, since I know you want to ask, the quiet guy in the flannel with the scars on his arms was Anson Sutter. And, no, I don’t know how he got the scars.”

“What about the guy glaring at everyone?”

“Ah, that’s Ghost. Legal name Owen Booker, but again, nobody calls him that.

Dude’s former CIA and can sneak up on you like nobody’s business.

You’ll be alone in a room, turn around, and bam!

Ghost. Standing right behind you, silent as the grave.

He doesn’t sleep much. Or talk much.” River shuddered dramatically.

“He scares the shit out of me, but you two should get along famously.”

Jax nodded toward the paddock below. “And the Marine with the hair?”

River laughed. “That hair’s ridiculous, right?

No guy should have hair that pretty. Jonah Reed, resident horse whisperer.

If Walker’s the brains behind this operation and Boone’s the spine, then Jonah, there, is the heart.

But don’t let that laid-back cowboy act fool you—he’s vain as hell about that mane of his.

Spends more time on it than most women I know.

Guy treats conditioner like a sacred ritual. ”

Jax nodded, filing away all the information. Not that he planned to be here long enough to need it. “What about Walker?”

River’s expression softened. “Walker’s... complicated. Ex-Special Forces. Saw too much, did too much. Started this place after his own spiral nearly killed him. Now he collects broken men like some people collect stamps.”

“And Boone? What’s his story?”

“That’s not my story to tell. But I will say this—when Boone tells you to do something, do it. Man’s got his reasons.” He paused, squinting at something in the distance. “Speak of the devil, we’ve got company.”

Jax followed his gaze to see a rider approaching at a gallop. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking Boone’s rigid posture. The man rode like he was part of the horse, not a passenger on it. His black Stetson was pulled low, his mouth set in a grim line.

Tango danced under River at the approaching hoofbeats, but Lazy Susan just flicked an ear and kept plodding along at her glacial pace until Jax pulled her to a stop.

Boone reined in hard, his horse stamping and tossing its head. “Walker wants you two back at the main house. Now.”

River’s smile dimmed a few degrees. “Something up?”

Boone’s gaze settled on Jax. “Hank Goodwin’s looking for you.”

“Who’s Hank Goodwin?”

River winced. “The sheriff.” He said “sheriff” like most people said the word “cockroach” with a faint sneer of disgust.

Jax felt a cold spike in his gut. He’d been out of prison less than seventy-two hours, and already the law had come sniffing around. He met Boone’s eyes, searching for accusation or warning, but the man’s face was carved from stone.

He didn’t ask what it was about. He knew. Maybe not the specifics, but the shape of it. There was only one reason a lawman went looking for a newly released ex-con… and it wasn’t to welcome him to the neighborhood.