Page 1 of Sweet Obsession
Chapter One
“Heads up!”
Jillian sprang back just as a hammer sailed through the air, landing a few inches in front of her.
“Sorry about that.” Garret slid down a support post with the ease of a fireman gliding down a steel pole on his way to save lives. “I missed the loop in my belt. You okay?”
Nodding, she smiled at her brother. This wouldn’t be the first or last time since the new construction project began that she’d been bumped, dinged, or suffered a near miss. She had the black and blues to prove it. “No harm, no foul.”
Lips pressed tightly together, Garret nodded, and falling into place beside his sister, scanned the finally complete frame of what would soon be the Sweet Ranch’s new calving barn. The foundation had been poured weeks ago, and now the wooden bones stretched skyward, outlining the structure that for so many years had lived only in their father’s notes and dreams. “Dad would love it.”
All the siblings who’d worked today gathered in a line and nodded their agreement.
Propped against a stack of lumber, music drifted from Preston’s phone—a smooth blend of easy listening rock and country that made the assembly feel a little less like work and a little more like a party.
Alice, their mother, gazed across the burgeoning structure, a soft, approving smile on her face. Mindlessly, her hand reached down to stroke the thick fur of her eldest son’s dog, always faithfully at her side. “Charlie would be so proud.”
“He really would.” Garret eyed the scribbled notepaper tacked to a center post. Their father had mapped out a plan and everyone felt a surge of pride at reaching another milestone on the long to-do list. “We’ve managed to get most of the pastures improved the way he wanted—organic fertilization, got a handle on the worst of the weeds, and Preston’s rotational grazing system seems to be working wonders.”
“And that new baler Jim bought has been a godsend.” Carson hammered a stray nail flush. “We finally managed to acquire a few more head of cattle last month. Not as many as we’d hoped for initially, but it’s a start. Should help with the income stream a bit.”
Consulting his tablet where he’d been tracking their progress, Preston nodded. “If we can get this barn finished before calving season starts, we’ll be in good shape. Thank God for Carson’s construction connections—saved us a fortune on the foundation and framing.”
Alice walked over to a plywood storage closet they’d built into one corner of the frame—a necessary precaution after the mysterious disappearance of the stolen hay baler they’d found hidden in the line shack. She carefully placed a set of new power tools inside. “Speaking of mysteries, any more news on Ray or those other hands?”
Preston shook his head. “Nothing solid.”
A timer chimed from Alice’s phone. “Oh, that’s my roast. You all keep working—dinner in an hour.” She hurried toward the house.
The moment their mom was out of earshot, Jillian spun around to face her brother. “So what aren’t you telling us?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Preston sighed. “Sean Farraday called earlier today. Told me he’d bumped into Ray—or someone who looked exactly like him—working for the Brady ranch near them.”
“Mr. Farraday found Ray? Does the sheriff have him?” A million things swirled through Jillian’s mind, the first being how she’d love to be back in the old west when they happily drew and quartered cattle rustlers. Or maybe it was just tarred and feathered. Either would do.
“’Fraid not. Sean didn’t say anything, played it casual. The guy claimed his name was John Smith. By the time Sean got a hold of Declan, Ray and all his gear was gone.”
“For a stellar thief, not a very original alias.” Rachel rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“Wait.” Carson’s head snapped around. “Why was Ray working? That doesn’t make sense at all.”
“Good point.” Rachel joined them from where she’d been sorting lumber. “Considering how much money he must have squirreled away from everything he stole from us, why would he need to work at all? He should be on a beach in some country where he can’t be extradited.”
“If he’s as smart as we thought, agreed.” Preston shrugged again.
“Or he’s lying low, trying to blend in,” Garret suggested darkly.
“I’d like to stick with he’s an idiot.” Rachel flashed a fake smile. “Gives me hope we’ll actually catch the S.O.B.”
The conversation turned to their own finances—how much progress they’d made, yet how far they still had to go. Jillian felt the familiar weight of expectation settling on her shoulders. Four siblings down, four successful marriages that had brought crucial trust fund payments. Now it was her turn.
Just then, the music from Carson’s phone shifted. The twangy country faded, replaced by the soft, intricate finger picking of an acoustic guitar, a melody that was both melancholic and hopeful. A familiar male voice, rich and unexpectedly gentle, began to sing—one of Blake Kirby’s older, lesser-known tracks, from before the stadium tours and the chart-topping cross over anthems.
Garret paused. “That’s a new one on Carson’s playlist. I preferred his earlier songs to his country-rock hits.”
Looking up, Rachel stopped to listen. “Hard to believe that we knew Blake when he was nothing more than one of Kade’s buddies. Who knew all that fiddling with the guitar would take him to the top of the charts?”
Now Garret stepped away from the storage closet, shaking his head. “Funny, isn’t it? Buys that bazillion-dollar place down near the Austin music scene, supposedly to be closer to family, and yet he hasn’t set foot back in Honeysuckle in years.”
