Chapter 6

Unless you’re shooting a porno, I don’t care about your live video.

-Evander’s real-life words

Evander

I pulled my trailer over to the side of the road and pulled up Travis’ number on the shitty disposable phone I got at the grocery store the day that I got out of prison.

Once I had him on the line, I wasted no time finding out what I needed to know, Kennedy Swallow’s address.

Five minutes later, I was driving down the road, toward my own goddamn house, wondering how I would miss the new neighbor at the back of my property.

Though, I had to admit, I was a little on overload since I’d gotten out of prison.

I’d had a full-time job within twenty-four hours of getting out of prison, and pairing that with the way my property was used as the town’s dumping ground while I was gone, I had plenty of shit to do.

I’d only made a tiny dent in the trash that’d been left, and I knew that it would take me several weeks more to get rid of it all.

I’d prided myself in keeping my property clean and corralled when I’d lived there, and the citizens of Hostel, Texas had shit on that while I’d been gone.

Lucky for me, and unlucky for some of them, I’d gone through some of the trash while I’d been cleaning up and found names and mail in some of the bags.

The dumbasses.

I’d even gone through an old broken-down dresser and found a man’s diamond wedding ring—although it only fit me on my pinky—that’d been left in a drawer hidden in the back at the bottom of the dresser itself.

That was going to cost someone the money, but since it was left on my property as trash, I didn’t care to return it like I might have before I’d gotten back to find my place being used as the town junkyard.

Passing my place, I turned down the side road that led down the north side of my land, and drove until I saw the first driveway that bumped up against the back side of my property.

And the moment I did, I started to laugh.

She had three goats that were on her back porch.

Two of them were standing on cardboard boxes watching me drive up, while the third was busy eating the bigger of the two boxes that the other goat was standing on.

I put the truck in park and had the door open in record time.

The moment my feet hit the cool earth, a quiet sheep dog stepped out from behind the porch steps, his eyes on me, very watchful of my every move.

I stopped, stared and wondered if he’d attack me if I came through the fence.

With only one way to find out, I shrugged and started forward.

The moment my hand hit the fence, though, he vaulted forward, barking.

Which then set off Gertie in the front seat of the truck.

Taking my hand off the fence, I raised it in the air in the universal ‘I’m not going to come through your fence so you can eat my face off’ sign and walked backwards a few steps and turned to my truck.

“Gertie, stop.”

Gertie stopped, but he kept a wary, watchful eye on the enemy—the other dog who was staring at me like I was lunch.

“Mint, what are you going all crazy about...”

My breathing halted in my chest when I saw her.

She was staring at me, stopped beside the side of her house, with a shovel in one hand and what looked like a dead chicken in the other.

“Hey,” she murmured. “What are you doing here?”

I pointed at the trailer that I was hauling with the two round bales of hay on the back.

“Brought you the hay.” I refrained from saying, ‘like I told you I was going to do.’

She pursed her lips, went to lift her wrist that I could see her watch attached to, then grimaced.

“I have to bury my chicken,” she said. “If you wouldn’t mind giving me a few?”

I nodded, and she turned on her heel and walked away.

I followed closely behind her, stopping when I saw the amount of feathers everywhere.

“What happened?” I asked.

Her shoulders shook.

“A neighborhood dog came in and killed all my chickens.”

My mouth went dry at the controlled anger in her voice.

“Did you catch it?”

She shook her head.

“No, but I knew the dog. He’s been here before, but I’ve been able to catch him before he’s done anything crazy.” She looked at the mess around her. “I tried building a fence…”

She gestured to the pathetic looking fence that couldn’t keep a house cat back let alone a dog, and then shrugged.

“I’m not so good at building things.”

I could see that. Boy, could I see that.

I would not get involved here. I would not.

“Where would you like me to drop the hay?”

She pointed in the direction of the south field where I could see a lone donkey staring at the two of us.

“There,” she gestured.

“Do you have a tractor?”

She shook her head.

I looked at all the property that she had, and my brows furrowed in confusion.

“How do you get anything done out here?” I asked.

She shrugged. “A push mower and a weed-eater for the grass.” She started digging with her shovel, and I watched, confusion on my face, for the first two shovelfuls before I walked over.

Taking the shovel from her hand, I used half as much effort and did the same amount of work in less time, digging a hole about fifteen inches deep before looking at her expectantly.

“Good?”

She nodded, then picked up the bird that lay at her feet before depositing it inside. Gently. Reverently.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She held her hand out for the shovel, and I ignored it and scooped the dirt up myself, covering the bird.

“Thank you,” she repeated, watching me work. “Thank you for bringing me the hay, too.”

I nodded once.

“How many did you lose?”

She looked out over the yard.

“I don’t know yet. All of them probably.”

“All of them?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“How many did you have?”

“Twenty-six.”

Twenty-six. She’d lost twenty-six fucking chickens.

Holy shit.

“Where does the dog live?”

She gestured to the end of her driveway. “Straight across the way.”

My stomach churned.

“I’m going to drop the trailer and go get the tractor. I’ll get the hay and put it in there with the donkey.”

She held up her hand, her dirt smudged face already set in an unforgiving line.

“Don’t,” she said. “You’ve done a lot already. I can get it.”

“How?”

She stiffened. “What do you mean how?”

“How will you get it?”

She shrugged.

“You won’t be able to lift it,” I told her bluntly. “And I have a tractor. It’s not a big deal.”

She looked away.

Then her shoulders started to shake.

I bit my lip and wondered what I should do.

I knew that she was crying, but I didn’t do well with criers.

I hated it, actually.

I hated the helpless feeling of watching someone else lose it. I hated not being able to do anything. I hated watching the tears fall down their faces, remnants of their pain.

“This sucks,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

I looked down at my hands.

“Come on, you can come with me.”

“Where?”

I took hold of her wrist, trying not to think about how freakin’ small her wrist felt in my hand, and pulled her to the truck.

“You can come with me.”

She followed behind me like a zombie, and I felt sick to my stomach at seeing her so dejected.

I didn’t know this woman from the next, but she’d been kind to me when a lot of people in town hadn’t. I felt some sort of kinship to her.

And I wouldn’t leave her here, hurting, while she wondered how to fix something that was obviously not going to be an easy fix.

“Gertie doesn’t know about personal space,” I told her as I opened the door.

She got in, and I tried not to notice her backside, or how good her ass looked in her jeans as they stretched across said backside.

Ten minutes later, I gestured for her to climb up into the cab of the tractor. She did, and I climbed up directly behind her. Then promptly groaned.

I obviously hadn’t thought this through.

Because, if I had, I would’ve realized that there was only one seat on the tractor, but I hadn’t.

Now she was stuck either staying at my place, or riding with me on the tractor where there clearly wasn’t room unless I wanted her in my lap.

But witnessing the fall of her face when she realized she’d have to stay behind was enough for me to reach down for her.

“Come on,” I held out my hand. “You can sit on the fender, babe.”

She sniffled. “My name is Kennedy.”

I refrained from saying, ‘I know’ and patted her thigh. “Let’s go.”

We lived in a small town. It literally took less than two minutes to find out who she was. I didn’t tell her that, though. She didn’t seem ready to hear it.

***

I should’ve known that the person who would let her dog roam around free was the very same person who refused to give me my dog back just a few short weeks ago.

God, I hoped that she hadn’t done that with Gertie.

Had Gertie been one of the dogs that had been terrorizing Kennedy’s place?

I highly doubted it.

He wasn’t the type to care about that type of thing. He was more of a laze around and be watchful, kind of dog.

The work he used to do with me and my unit in the military had been a bunch of hurry up and wait kind of shit. But when we were actually on missions, he had his work cut out for him.

But, during our time in the Middle East, we’d seen our fair share of chickens. Not fuckin’ once had he even paid them any mind. Not. Once.

But this woman, with her other dogs that were roaming the neighborhood, didn’t seem like such a great veterinarian. I mean, what kind of vet would just let her dogs stray around the area without caring what they did while they were out?

Apparently, this kind of vet.

“Ma’am,” I said, nodding my head. I knew this wasn’t going to go well, but I decided to let her have a chance at fixing this the easy way. “Your neighbor witnessed that dog,” I pointed to the one that was laying on the ground, his paws stained with blood, “running away with her chicken. He dropped the chicken while he was running back here to your place, but she’s got twenty-six dead chickens right now. That was her way of earning income.”

The vet’s mouth pursed.

“My dog hasn’t left the yard.”

Liar.

“Your neighbor begs to differ,” I said. “She witnessed that one running away.”

The woman slammed the door on me, and I growled.

My eyes turned to the dog in question, and I sighed.

It didn’t look like a mean dog, but that didn’t make it any less destructive.

Taking the steps two at a time, I walked back down to the truck and stopped just as a police officer pulled in.

He parked directly behind my truck, and got out, his eyes never leaving me.

The moment that I saw the man, I wanted to punch him.

I didn’t, though.

“What are you doing here, Van?”

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m here because I got news that my neighbor’s chickens were killed and this woman’s dog did it.”

The officer looked at the dog in question and his brows furrowed.

“Which neighbor?”

“Kennedy Swallow.” I gestured across the street. “She lost twenty-six chickens today all due to this little shit head’s dog being out.”

The officer sighed. “You can’t harass the neighbors, Van.”

I headed to my truck.

“I didn’t harass them,” I told him as I opened the truck door. “I came by to inform her of what had transpired. Harassing means that I continued to bother her, which I didn’t. I told her, and she slammed the door in my face. Then you arrived. Simple as that.”

I got into my truck, started it up and was unsurprised by the officer arriving at my window.

The look of anger he gave me wasn’t surprising. What was, was the way he slammed his hand on my window.

“What the fuck, Van?”

I lowered the window and stared.

“What the fuck, what?” I sneered. “Officer Asshole.”

My brother’s hand reached through the open window and fisted in my shirt.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t do a goddamn thing but stare at him.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Hit me?”

“I did everything I could, you know.”

I laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah, I can tell.” I flexed my hands out in front of me. “That’s why I have a phobia of dropping the soap now, right?”

He gritted his teeth.

“Let me go or hit me. Either way, fuck you.”

My brother’s hand unclenched from my shirt.

“I did everything I could,” he repeated.

I shrugged.

If that was ‘everything’ he could do, then he was a fuckin’ joke. Now I remembered why I didn’t have much of anything to do with the bastard. At least my sister didn’t try to pussy foot around the fact that she didn’t care.

“Wasn’t good enough, now was it?”

With that, I rolled up my window and was thankful when my brother yanked his hand out of the way.

He watched me for a few long seconds, before growling and walking away.

I stared straight ahead, my eyes periodically going to the rear view.

And the moment he was out of my way, I backed out, not sparing him another glance.

My brother could go to hell.

He hadn’t helped me when I needed him, and he sure as hell hadn’t helped matters by allowing my place to get utterly trashed.

Needless to say, there wasn’t a damn thing my brother could do to make this all right, no matter how hard he tried.