The sound of splintering wood is not exactly what a man wants to hear before breakfast. Yet there it was again, my ranch gate groaning like an old soldier as Karen’s shiny white SUV barreled straight through it like she owned the place. For her, my land wasn’t property. It was a shortcut. She didn’t wave.
She didn’t ask. She just blasted past with her sunglasses on like some queen of suburbia. The first time I thought it was a mistake. The second time I thought she was testing me. By the third, I knew she was daring me. And let me tell you, I’m not the kind of man who takes kindly to being dared, especially not on my own land.
Continue on the next page:
