Page 51 of Wrecked for Love
“Maybe we should set up a camera, catch him in the act,” Hank suggested. “Get the sheriff involved.”
“We don’t need a damn camera,” I growled. “I know exactly who it was.”
I dismounted and let Hank take the reins. Without a second thought, I bolted for my truck and peeled out north—an area I rarely ventured. I drove straight to the Voss residence. The place looked different—recently renovated and probably bigger too. They’d been busy.
I parked right in front of the gate, haphazardly, not bothering with the intercom. Nobody in Buffaloberry Hill used one of those, anyway. I scaled the gate in a flash and sprinted to the front door.
Armand Voss, the younger of the two Voss brothers, stood there, grinning like he’d been waiting for this moment.
Before he could say a word, I grabbed him by the collar, shoving him back. Almost instantly, three men surrounded me,weapons drawn. I recognized them—still part of the Voss clan. Either uncles or cousins. They always seemed to multiply.
“Little Vossy,” I growled in his ear, my grip tightening. “Still the scared little boy whenever I show up.”
Armand lazily waved his guards back, his smirk never faltering. “What can I do for you, Lucas?”
“You stay the hell away from my property,” I snarled, jerking him forward. “You hear me?”
He laughed, not even fazed. “Stay away? You think I care about your precious land? Do I look like a cowboy? Why the hell would I want to be near your dusty, lazy ranch?”
“You mess with my fence again, and I’ll take one of your fingers as a souvenir,” I warned, practically lifting him off the ground as I stared into his grimy eyes. This was about more than a fence. He’d destroyed more than just wooden posts and lengths of wire.
Armand let out a high-pitched giggle. “A finger? Lucky for you, Lucien’s not here.”
“You always hide, Vossy, tucked behind your guards or clinging to big brother’s coattails. How original.”
Whether he caught the hint about what he’d done to my sister, I couldn’t tell. He was dense like that. I had no hard proof, but I was certain Lucien had swooped in to clean up his brother’s mess, erasing every trace and staging the scene to look like an accident.
He stumbled but caught himself, straightening with that same smug grin. “You’re real brave, Lucas. Real brave when you think you’re untouchable.”
I held his gaze for a second longer, then turned and walked away.
Armand’s voice oozed with smugness. “I don’t get why you keep holding on to that dream, Lucas. Ranching? It’s for thepoor. The Vosses…we’re smart. We think bigger. You’re wasting your life playing cowboy.”
I didn’t look back. His words slid off me like dust in the wind. He would never understand, never could. The Lucases were cut from tougher cloth, built for resilience, while the Vosses let their land wither under their care. Now, that soil was being worked by real people—people who cared, people who thrived. Armand’s taunts were hollow. He didn’t get it, and that was his weakness, not mine.
“And oh, that chick—gorgeous gams, smoking everywhere else? What was her name? Claire?” Armand drawled. “You’re not the only game in town, El. Plenty of bucks around here.”
That did it. I marched back, fists clenched, ready to knock that smug look off his face. His guards grabbed me before I could get close enough, but after a few shoves and scuffles, I broke free.
I leaned in, my voice deadly. “You so much as breathe near her, and I’ll show you just how fast bucks can kick!”
Then I turned and walked away—hoofbeats already counting down his chances.
19
CLAIRE
Mr. Gunn and I spent the afternoon tidying up the shelter and making sure the animals were settled and the paperwork was squared away. We scrubbed down the dog runs, gave the cats a fresh batch of toys, and reorganized the donation bins. It always felt good to see the shelter in tip-top shape, like we were giving these little souls a real chance at finding their forever homes.
As we finished stacking some blankets, Mr. Gunn turned to me.
“A boy came by today. He wanted to see Oscar,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Oh?” I paused, curious.
“Guessing it was the same boy you mentioned at the fundraiser. The one I didn’t get to see,” he said, his eyes thoughtful.
“Hmm. Maybe. Did he give you his name?” I asked, intrigued by the mystery kid.
