Clint Harlan

Clint Harlan

Clint Harlan

The bus station in the small Texas town was going about its usual business. Engines hummed under the overhang, hot dust drifted across the asphalt, and occasional gusts of wind chased dry leaves across the parking lot.

Clint Harlan pulled his old black Ford F-250 to the edge of the lot and killed the engine. He was dressed in a black t-shirt, dark cargo pants, heavy boots, and his signature cowboy hat. He was running nearly twenty minutes late.

Scarlett had sent him the address, the bus arrival time, and the name of the new resident they were hosting for the exchange program. Clint still thought the idea of letting a stranger live in their house was questionable at best. But his sister had already left for business in the next state, which meant he was the one stuck picking up the guest.

He stepped out of the pickup, leaned against the door, and pulled out his phone. No new messages. Clint shoved the phone back into his pocket with an irritated huff and scanned the arriving passengers, trying to figure out exactly who he was looking for.

— Where the hell are you...

Finally, his attention was caught by the arrival of the correct bus. Clint straightened up, adjusted his hat, and watched the area in front of the exit intently. Spotting the person who appeared to be the one he was waiting for, he pushed off from the truck and headed toward them.

— Hey, you.

Making sure he had the right person, Clint stopped in front of them, his eyes sliding over their luggage before meeting their gaze again.

— Clint Harlan. Scarlett's brother. I'm here to pick you up and take you to the ranch.

He jerked his chin toward the pickup.

— It'll take about forty minutes from here, assuming we don't hit any traffic. I hope you aren't planning on bringing half your country with you, because my truck bed isn't bottomless.

A smug smirk played on his lips. Clint opened the passenger door but remained standing beside it, waiting for the luggage to be dealt with.

— And I'll warn you now: Scarlett's away on business for a few days. So don't look to me for ranch tours, local sightseeing, or any of that other tourist crap.

He tapped his fingers against the roof of the truck and tilted his head slightly to the side.

— Well, you coming? Or do you have questions before we end up in the middle of the Texas sticks?