Page 150 of Lost Then Found
Ridge’s smirk fades just slightly. “Maybe I wanther.”
I shoot him a look. “Christ.”
He shrugs playfully, but there’s something serious in the set of his jaw. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”
“More like a death wish.” I shake my head and grab my radio, calling for another ranch hand to take my place.
Ridge watches as I head for Lucille, still grinning. “Tell Miller I said hi.”
I shoot him a glare as I pull open the driver’s side door. “Not a damn chance.”
He barks out a laugh as I pull out onto the road, dust kicking up behind my tires.
Chapter 16
BOONE
The house isn’t what I expected.
Pulling up to the curb, I double-check the address Miller sent and then glance at the small, single-story home in front of me. It’s not falling apart, but it’s got that look—like it used to be well taken care of, and then life just got in the way. The paint on the shutters is chipping, the lawn is patchy in some spots, and the porch light is on even though it’s daylight.
I’m barely parked when another car rolls up behind me.
Miller.
She climbs out in a fitted designer skirt and blazer, heels clicking against the pavement like she’s about to walk into a corporate office instead of paying someone a visit on their front porch.
I lean against Lucille and cross my arms. “That’s how you dress at nine in the morning?”
Miller adjusts the bag on her shoulder and gives me a once-over. “That’s howyoudress at nine in the morning?”
I glance down at my dusty jeans, scuffed boots, and the T-shirt that probably smells like sweat and cow shit. “I’m a rancher, Miller. I’m supposed to look like this.”
She sighs dramatically. “And I’m supposed to look like I bill people five hundred dollars an hour to be a bitch. Which, by the way, I do.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
She strides toward the house like she owns it, but I catch her arm before she makes it to the steps. “Hold up. How the hell did you even get this address?”
She smirks. “You really wanna know?”
“No.”
She grins. “Let’s just say I have connections.”
“That’s not concerning at all.”
She waves a hand. “Relax, cowboy. It’s just a little research. Pulled the lady’s name from the state employee database, cross-checked property records, and voilà.” She gestures to the house. “Rose Weaver.”
I stare at her. “That’s…disturbingly efficient.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s like I actually know what I’m doing or something.”
I rub a hand down my face. “So what’s the plan?”
“We knock,” she says, like I’m an idiot.
I shoot her a look. “Great start, smartass. What if she doesn’t want to talk?”
