Page 7 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

“Nuthin’,” she says.

I used to give Summer massive amounts of shit on a constant basis, but that was back in the day, before she became a wife and mother-to-be.Now, I only dish out small amounts of shit and only at certain times.

Like when Declan’s not around.

“Why didn’t you find the strays?”Summer asks, shoveling some potato salad onto her plate.

“Just didn’t.”

“Must be losing your touch,” she notes.

“Nah,” Finn chimes in.“Special K will always find a way to touch the cows.”

Laughter goes around the table.It’s laughter at my expense.Not exactly a shocker.So I let it roll off my back.If they ever get a reaction out of me, they’ll see it as a huge victory.Any emotion from me would only ramp up the attacks.

I’m not interested in feeding that beast.

“I bet Special K was out looking for bears to smack around,” Declan says.“Oh, wait.He’s got all his fingers, so probably not.”

I just shake my head as everyone laughs.Of all the wild shit we did in our rowdy childhoods, my fight with a three-hundred-pound black bear has always taken top prize.That it led to me getting a finger reattached in emergency surgery is just gravy.

“Are you all right, Special K?You look a little out of sorts.”Emma leans across Declan to pat my forearm, smiling.

I shrug.“I’m good.Found a squatter up on Washoe Ridge.Claims to have a deed to a cabin.”

“What the absolute hell?”Evander’s head whips around, and he glares at me.As the lawyer of the family, he’s always looking for his next battle.“We’ll ride up there and drag his ass off our land, and then I’ll file trespassing charges.”

Jasmine shakes her head and purses her lips.“You’ll have to stop cussing like that when Summer’s baby comes, Uncle Evander.I’m nine years old, so I can handle words likehellandass, but a baby’s not supposed to hear those words.”

“The squatter’s a she,” I say.“A woman.”

The entire table goes silent.

“There’s a woman living in an abandoned cabin on Yosemite Ranch?”

“Yup,” I answer Victoria.Then I spear a rare sirloin with my fork and follow it up with a serving of Aunt Phyllis’s bean salad.

“Who is she?”Phoebe asks.

“No idea.Pass the corn, please.”

Declan hands me the corn, his eyes narrowing.“How’d she get up there?Did she drive up the back way?Did you see a truck?”

“No vehicle that I’m aware of,” I say with my mouth full.

“I bet she’s one of those backpacker hippies,” Dad says.“We’ve had our share of hippies pitching tents on our land and smoking that whacky weed.”

“That was forty years ago,” Aunt Phyllis reminds him.“And they don’t use that term anymore.”

“Hippies?”

“Whacky weed,” she says.

I look down at my plate, trying not to smile.If that beautiful woman in the go-go boots is a backpacker or a whacky-weed-smokin’ hippie, she’s the only one I’ve ever seen who looked likethat.

That girl is so hot my brain stopped working when I saw her.She’s fucking gorgeous.Seeing her standing in dirt and pine needles in front of a falling-down shack in the middle of nowhere made my eyeballs vibrate.

Fuck me.