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“So you’re off to the Rafferty place?” Mrs. Buckley asked. Kaitlyn nodded. “Now that’s a nice bunch of boys. Thanks to their mom and dad, rest his brave soul.”
She managed to stifle her wince. So the Raffertys had also lost a father. Something in common, but unwelcome. “How many are there?” she asked.
“Four, although five now, because they’ve pretty much adopted the boy Keller—the oldest brother—had been fostering. Who is also the cousin of his fiancée, so it’ll be official soon.” The woman smiled at Kaitlyn’s no doubt puzzled expression. “Then there’s Chance. His fosters have fur.”
Kaitlyn blinked. “Fur?”
The smile widened. “He takes on former military working dogs who…have PTSD, I guess is the best way to put it. He’s got a knack, and has saved several they were afraid they’d have to put down.”
An image popped into her head, of a monument she’d gone to see, at the Joint Base in San Antonio. “Guardians of America’s Freedom” the pedestal had said, beneath the statues of a military man and the four types of dogs used most frequently as military working dogs.
“That’s…wonderful,” she said, meaning it.
She was still thinking about that monument as they got into the luxury sedan Jillian had insisted on, that she’d picked her up in at the Austin airport last night. As she drove, she paid only as much attention to Jillian’s nonstop dialogue as it merited, which meant just enough to pick out orders or instructions. True, the woman wasn’t really her boss, but she thought she was and treated her accordingly. And Kaitlyn was in no position to complain just now. Making the payments she’d committed to and her own rent had been beyond tight this month, even after downsizing to the studio apartment that barely held her and her equipment. But she’d lived in worse, the building was clean, everything worked, and her landlord was a genial guy, so she didn’t complain.
She did notice that Jillian assumed she knew where they were going, and that it was her job to get them there. Kaitlyn didn’t mind that either; it was a nice car. Besides, she’d much rather be behind the wheel than trust Jillian to get them there.
“—do people live like this? It’s so empty! Look at this, not a building in sight, nothing but hills and grass and rocks and trees.”
Kaitlyn tuned back in to the ongoing parade of complaints as the woman’s words and tone insulted the very thing she loved about being here. If she’d thought Jillian actually wanted an answer, she would have given her one, but she knew better. Jillian had no interest in anything she thought. Or anyone else who couldn’t do anything for her. Oh, she grudgingly accepted Kaitlyn’s photographs as adequate, even good, but there was nothing Kaitlyn could do to further her career plans and so she was to be merely tolerated. Or used, as a tool to produce photographs just as her laptop produced words.
The woman might not be the best writer around, but what she did have was a knack for getting people to say things they might not normally, either by using that beauty of hers, or simply by being relentless. It wasn’t a tactic Kaitlyn liked, but then she’d never been one to push people so into saying things they didn’t really mean, just out of frustration. And she had her doubts that the approach that worked with some, like the low-level politicians and the would-be business barons, would work as well with the kind of peopleTexas Artworkswas interested in.
But look where Jillian is and where you are.
It wasn’t the first time the thought had occurred to her, but as always she discarded it. If that was what she had to do to get there, she’d pass. She preferred to show the truth about people, and she thought she’d managed to do that in her pictures. Not the posed ones, not the ones where they knew they were on camera, but the ones she caught when they were unaware, when they were focused on something else, when they were simply being. That’s what she loved.
Reminding herself she should be grateful, that she never would have gotten even a toe in the door atTexas Artworksif Jillian hadn’t requested her, she murmured something noncommittal that she knew would be taken as assent, because who would ever disagree with Jillian Jacobs?
“This is it,” she said as she slowed.
Jillian looked at the gate and the empty land beyond. “But there’s nothing here.”
Kaitlyn gave her a sideways look. “Do you have any idea how big an acre is?”
“I deal in city blocks, not acres,” she answered sourly.
“Fine. Central Park in New York is eight hundred and forty acres. The Rafferty ranch is nearly four times that.”
That got through to her, because her eyes widened. Then her brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”
“Little thing called research.” She hadn’t done all that much—she’d been distracted with her explorations of the town and its history. But she had been curious when she’d seen an official publication on that library shelf that gave the data on most of the local ranches.
Unexpectedly Jillian smiled. “That’s why I want you with me, hon. You do all that kind of thing.” She could be, when she exerted herself, charming. But Kaitlyn would never fall for it, because she knew what was underneath the charm, and it had scales.
She turned off the road onto the apron at the gated entrance. Pulled up as close as she could get, stopped, and put the car in park.
“And you got us here right on time, too,” Jillian said.Wow. Two compliments in one day. Would wonders never cease?“Now all we have to do is figure out how to get in.”
“It’s not locked.”
Jillian gave her a startled look. “What?”
She opened her car door. “It’s not locked,” she repeated.
“They don’t lock their gate?”
“Welcome to Texas,” Kaitlyn said, stifling her amusement. She guessed Jillian was used to locks, dead bolts, and chains on doors of any kind.
