Page 25 of Anton

“She’s a beaut,” Boone throws in, leaning against the fence.

“That she is.” I brush a stray strand of hair out of my face as I straighten, Cider shifting beside me.

Boone’s eyes flick over me in a subtle way, but I know he was checking me out. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“So, you got plans tonight?” he asks. “Was going to grab a drink with a couple of friends. You’re more than welcome to come.”

When I glimpse at Charlie, his gaze drops to the dirt, his whole body growing taut.

I turn back to Boone, offering a kind smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not much of a drinker. You have fun, though.”

He doesn’t seem bothered, just steps away from the fence with that same carefree grin still in place. “No worries. Catch ya later. Gotta get back to work.”

“Bye, now.”

Charlie eases off the fence too. “Well, I should probably get back to it. Got some work to finish.”

“Yeah.” I turn back to Cider. “I’ll see you.”

“See ya later.”

His boots crunch against the dirt as he walks off, and I shake my head, glancing at Cider. She bumps my shoulder, and my laugh slips out.

“You just get me, don’t you, girl?”

Because neither of these guys does it for me. No one but Anton, and I guess I’m just going to have to live with that.

Once I’m finished with Cider, I make my way to the house on the farm to collect the containers of food waiting in the refrigerator. Every month, I bring homemade meals to a local homeless shelter, my own small way of giving back.

Before I can pull the keys from my handbag, a member of the cleaning staff opens the door for me.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Whitlock.”

“Hey. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

She closes the door behind me, while I go over to the refrigerator and begin carrying the containers to the counter, arranging them one after another until there’s barely any room left.

“Need a hand?”

I glance over as one of the cooks walks in and reaches for a stack of containers before I can answer.

“Yeah. Can you help me box everything up?”

She nods and gets to work while one of the guards joins us, carrying the heavier boxes out to my SUV.

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate everything you made,” she says.

“I’m just glad I can feed people who need it.” I slide another container toward her.

I’ve always loved cooking, and doing something other than donating money gives me a greater purpose. Because what’s the point of having money if you can’t do anything good with it?

We quickly fall into a rhythm, and before long, the counter is clear and everything is packed into my SUV. I climb behind the wheel, start the engine, and drive down the long driveway. The shelter isn’t far, but I need to stop at my place first to pick up some paperwork they asked me to bring.

When I arrive, I rush inside, and as soon as I do, my body jerks. There is a subtle scent in the air, and I can’t quite place it. A cold shudder rolls through me.

Has someone been here? Has someone in the family found my place?