Page 7 of His Texas Claim

“There’s a filing.” I set the frog down and sealed the lid again, then I reached for my phone. “Public notice, groundwater district. Someone’s inquiring about the spring up past the north fence..”

“Who?”

“An LLC. That’s normal at the inquiry stage.” I found the photo and held it out. “I thought this was something you must already be dealing with you, since I assume you use that water for the ranch…?”

Stetson took the phone and read over it, Millie leaning in to look too. Bea tugged on my sleeve, eyes fixed on the frog.

“Can I have him?” she whispered.

“Maybe I’ll bring some back for you after my quest is finished,” I whispered back.

“Can I come⁠—?”

“It’s fuckin’ Arlo again,” Stetson cursed.

“Language,” Millie hissed, as Bea’s eyes went wide and her hand went out. Stetson growled in response, but jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a quarter like he kept them ready.

“Who’s Arlo?” I asked.

“My dad,” Stetson growled. “He tried the land once…now he’s after the water.”

The door opened and we were joined by yet another person from what I was realizing was a truly massive family—this time, a girl who couldn’t be more than twenty-five, carrying a medical kit.

“Stetson bring another stray woman home?” she asked.

“This time she’s a frog scientist rather than a cult escapee,” Millie said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Wow,” the blonde said as she set down her kit in front of me.

I turned in my chair so she could get a better look.

“You must be Haven?” I said.

“That’s me. And you are…?”

“Bryn,” I offered. “The aforementioned frog scientist.”

Haven crouched, unzipped the kit, then took my foot in her hand without asking.

“This needs a couple stitches,” she said. “You up to date on your tetanus shot?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” She paused and turned it toward the light. “Might scar. Hope that’s okay.”

“I truly don’t care.”

Haven got to work, swapping the wound. I kept my eyes off it; I could play brave for the little girl’s sake at least, especially given that she was now fixed on the wound instead of the frog.

“What did you do?” she asked in that adorable little voice.

“I got stuck in some mud,” I said. “Your Uncle Stetson helped me.”

“Uncle Stetson is too cranky to help strangers,” Bea laughed.

He didn’t comment; was still looking at the document on my phone.

“First stitch,” Haven said. “Hold still.”