Cherished by the Agent (In Clear Sight

Book 2) Kennedy L. Mitchell

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CHERISHED BY THE AGENT
IN CLEAR SIGHT
BOOK 2
KENNEDY L. MITCHELL
 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue

Also by Kennedy L. Mitchell

Acknowledgments
About the Author
© 2022 Kennedy L. Mitchell

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express
written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names,
characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Bookin It Designs

Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Proofreading: All Encompassing Books
Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography
Model: Gianni Militello
Created with Vellum
PROLOGUE
 GRAYSON

S tanding along the side drive, I studied the guests and attentive waitstaff through the floor-to-ceiling
glass walls. A few judges, the police commissioner, and a congressman were just some of the
faces I could make out in the overdressed crowd. Women in designer cocktail dresses laughed,
clutching the diamonds around their necks, while the men in custom suits swirled highball glasses of
expensive bourbon in one hand and waved Cuban cigars in the other.
How did I know all this?
It wasn’t my first time at Chad’s estate during one of his fundraising events. Just another front for
what he did behind closed doors. But hopefully tonight was my last trip to this hellhole. To everyone
else, they saw a beautiful mansion, but those of us in Chad’s inner circle knew it was really an
impervious castle.
And Chad Jones was the king.
Adjusting the cuffs of my dress shirt—only Chad would require his men to wear suits in the
middle of a Miami heat wave—I started toward the back door. Sweat dripped down my spine that
had nothing to do with the heat but rather my rising anxiety over the next hour.
For the past three years, I’d been the worst human possible, at the beck and call of the devil of
Miami, and it all came down to tonight. Nothing could go wrong or I’d end up dead, along with many
others. As an undercover DEA agent, I technically worked alone, but others helped on the back end,
securing my identity and passing along the information I weaseled from the boss.
Aka Chad Jones.
To the outside word, he was a philanthropist, successful nightclub and restaurant owner, and one
of Miami’s top ten most successful and desired bachelors.
To us who knew him, he was a drug dealer, underground gambling boss, recently dabbled in
human trafficking, and would like to add arms dealing to that list.
That sick fucker had been my boss for the past three years. And hopefully for only another hour if
everything went smoothly.
Without a word of greeting to the heavily armed man in Armani guarding the hidden steel door, I
hitched my chin before pounding a fist against the thick metal. With Chad’s true occupation, nothing
was overlooked in keeping him safe from rivals and every federal agency determined to take him
down. The part of his estate where he conducted the type of business I was here to see him for was
impenetrable, complete with several escape routes on the odd chance he needed to run.
The door opened, revealing another familiar face decked out in a designer suit, this guy wearing
two assault rifles like necklaces with a strap of grenades across his chest. Nick, Chad’s second, gave
me a narrowed-eye scan and stepped aside, opening the door just wide enough for me to slip through.
Once inside, I marched down the short hallway, ignoring the other rooms and the noises coming from
behind the partially closed doors as I headed toward Chad’s office, dread and anticipation like a
fifty-pound weight in my gut.
Three years of depravity and violence, and it all came down to this.
Tonight.
The next hour determined if I saved thousands of others from being trafficked or killed by his dirty
drugs—like my mother—or if I would join the mass grave out in the ocean I’d tossed many of Chad’s
enemies into.
Suit jacket discarded and dress shirt open, exposing his pale chest, Chad lounged on a black
leather couch, arms stretched out along the back, studying his phone while a naked woman kneeled
between his spread thighs, his cock down her throat as she bobbed up and down. Another young
woman with what might pass as a bra and thong sat beside him, lips and tongue moving along his neck
as her hand delved beneath his dress shirt, rubbing at his chest.
Most would take in the scene and think, What a lucky asshole. And yeah, if it were anyone else,
anywhere else, I’d agree upon seeing a guy with a woman willingly deepthroating his dick. But I
knew better. These women weren’t touching and stroking the bastard willingly.
None of the women in this section of the house were. Nor were the women entertaining the
gamblers in his underground gambling dens or back offices of his many clubs—the legitimate and not
so legitimate.
The women came to him in various ways. Either they owed Chad for drugs or gambling debts,
their families did and sold them to him, or he purchased them from an importer from Eastern Europe.
There was no getting out of this mess alive for them. Some accepted their fate and learned to thrive on
the attention while others… well, they didn’t last long, though the most depraved members of Chad’s
group loved those girls the most, knowing they’d fight and scream and beg.
Bile rose in my throat like it always did when I was here.
When I remembered who I’d surrounded myself with for the past three years.
Sometimes I puked just looking at my reflection, knowing what I’d done to get to this moment, all
for the sake of revenge and saving countless future lives. I wasn’t the same man I was when I went
undercover. Not that I was that great a person to begin with. A shithead was a fairly accurate
description of a young Grayson, but at least I wasn’t this ruined. Only time would tell if completely
corrupting my soul, turning myself into a monster I didn’t want to be, was worth it.
I sure as hell hoped it was.
Or I was for sure going after the bastard who recruited me from the Marines to the DEA.
With a dismissive shove, Chad tossed the woman from his chest to the other side of the couch, her
whimper when her side nailed the armrest like a knife to my heart. Gaze drifting from his phone, he
motioned toward the deep leather chair facing the couch before putting the same hand on the back of
the other woman’s ratty brown hair. Her gagging sounded above the music pouring through unseen
speakers as he shoved himself deeper into her mouth, holding her as she fought to breathe. I clenched
my jaw, grinding my back teeth to keep myself from ripping her off him and beating his ass.
Not that I would get that far with Nick watching my every move. I’d have a bullet between my
brows before I could lay a finger on him.
“You have good news for me, then.” Not a question. A statement. There was no other option for
the boss. If you were in his presence, then it was only the news he wanted to hear or your death was
imminent.
I faked all the calm and confidence I could muster, which at this point wasn’t much of an act. After
so many years of sitting face-to-face with the infamous Miami kingpin, it was second nature. Even
with the tension of tonight’s importance, a calmness flowed through my veins.
I dipped my chin and leaned back in the chair, arms casually resting on the sides, hands relaxed
and in view so the bastard watching my every move didn’t get trigger-happy.
“The shipment is scheduled for two nights from now,” I began. Chad grinned as he tossed the
phone to the couch, full attention now on me. “This supplier promised quality weapons. They sent a
sample, a crate’s worth, to the warehouse for your approval.”
“Very good.”
With a flick of his wrist, a bottle of aged bourbon and two glasses appeared in the hands of a low-
level grunt who’d stood silently in the corner waiting for orders. The woman on the couch scrambled
to her bony knees and poured two fingers of the brown liquid into each of the crystal highball glasses,
not a single drop escaping despite her trembling hands. After handing one to me and the other to Chad,
she leaned against his side, eyes vacant as she stared at the ground.
Fingers fisted in the other woman’s hair, and he pulled her off his cock. He pressed the toe of his
polished black dress shoe to the center of her naked chest and pushed, sending her rolling along the
thick Persian rug. Fingers decorated in gold and diamond-encrusted rings wrapped around the other
woman’s too-thin arm, flinging her to the ground. She scrambled to her knees, replacing the other,
who lay curled in a ball at my feet. Apparently, she wasn’t doing a good enough job at sucking his
cock and would pay for that later. If she disappeared tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Chad held his glass between us and nodded toward my own. I met him in the middle, clinking the
bottoms together, the ominous sound sending a bolt of unease down my spine. The room-temperature
liquor slid down my dry throat, hitting my empty stomach like a lead ball.
It was now or never. This was my chance to get him out into the open and in a place where there
was no deniability in his connection to weapons dealing. They’d arrested him before on various
charges, but with judges and politicians in his pocket, none of them stuck. Which was why tonight had
to go smoothly. The bait was laid with the temptation of seeing the new weapons sent by our
suppliers.
But I couldn’t force the idea of him going to the warehouse to inspect the new product or he’d
know something was up. I’d sold him on this new “supplier” as having the latest and greatest similar
to our military. It had to be enough to get him out of this fucking stronghold and to the warehouse.
It had to be.
His eyes bored into mine, and I held his dark, steely gaze, shoving aside all thoughts of the years
I’d spent getting here, of all the agents waiting at the warehouse ready to arrest him for good this time.
Over the years, I’d collected enough intel to arrest the bastard, but there hadn’t been a chance for us
to catch him in the act.
But not tonight.
If I couldn’t make this work, then it would be another six months of living this life until the next
opportunity presented itself. Like last time. Fucking hell, this had to be the night we took him down. I
couldn’t take this anymore. The gambling and drugs were bad enough, but having to observe the
unbothered negotiations for the skin trade made me wonder if I’d ever be the same again.
“You did well, again.” I wasn’t sure if that was praise or suspicion.
Not showing an ounce of my trepidation, I lifted my glass and finished the rest of the drink. It
could be poisoned or laced with a drug to knock me out, but I couldn’t give Chad a hint that I didn’t
trust him. Then he would know for certain something was up.
“Up,” he barked at the woman on the floor, who stared at him, fear filling her wide eyes.
 She hesitantly crawled toward him to join the other woman pleasuring him, but he kicked her in
my direction. Staying stock-still, I watched with uncaring eyes as she changed direction. Thin, shaking
hands pressed on either knee. She shifted between my thighs and worked at loosening my belt and
slacks.
I smirked at her like this was exactly what I wanted as a reward for a job well done, even though
another part of my soul withered and died at her fear-induced touch.
This was another test. To Chad, stamina was everything in every sense. How long you could
withstand pain, emotional punishment, and sexual pleasure too.
If I hinted at enjoying myself, or blew my load in this girl’s mouth too soon, then he’d view me as
weak. It was fucked-up, but I’d seen enough men die from a bullet between the brows seconds after
they came to know the rules.
Another demented, cruel, depraved test he created to remind us all he was in ultimate control.
And I was determined to pass so I would never have to do it again.
The woman working the zipper of my slacks was as much a prisoner as I was, but I was here
because I signed up and had a way out of this fucked-up life.
Tonight was the night I got my fucking life back.
One way or another.
ONE
 ANNE

T hin orange twine dug into the bends of my fingers despite the leather gloves. Lifting the hay bale, I
tossed it from the back of the side-by-side into the feeding trough just like I did the prior two.
Despite the cool October breeze whipping through the pasture and amazing temperature, sweat dotted
my upper lip and slipped between my cleavage, collecting in the band of my sports bra from the day’s
hard work.
No rest for the weary—and I was fucking weary—when you owned and ran a multimillion-dollar
cattle ranch.
Allowing myself a quick break, I grabbed the Yeti jug that waited on the bench seat and
unscrewed the top. Ice-cold water filled my mouth, soothing my dry throat with every deep gulp.
Using the sleeve of my well-worn flannel shirt, I swiped the stray drops from my lips before they
could dribble down my chin. Jean-clad hip resting against the hood of the UTV, I observed with a
genuine smile the ten recent additions to the ranch as they munched on hay, their big round eyes
watching me with the same fascination.
Daddy never entertained the idea of adding more animals to the mix, claiming the longhorns we
bred and raised were enough work and plenty of money. We didn’t need the extra headache. Maybe he
was right, because even though the alpacas had only been residents at the ranch for a few months, the
extra effort to keep them safe was more than I’d bargained for.
Though the extra time they needed could be because I loved the damn things and wasted precious
minutes in the day coddling them. They were so cute with their lanky legs, puff of hair on the tops of
their heads, and deep underbites, but were essentially idiots with survival instincts. Another reason
Daddy didn’t want them or any animal that needed extra protection around.
My heart ached just like it did anytime something reminded me of my late father. Damn, I missed
him. With a heavy sigh, I tossed the jug of water back onto the seat and climbed behind the wheel.
“The coyotes are not your friends,” I explained to Karl, the alpaca closest to me. “Tell all the
others the same thing. You’re food to them, not buddies.”
He stared me down like I was the crazy one. Hell, maybe he had a point. I was talking to a damn
animal like he could understand my warnings, even though the talking-to-animals part wasn’t super
unusual for me.
Having grown up on the massive ranch far away from town with just me, Daddy, and our
housekeeper, surrounded by more animals than humans, they were naturally my first real friends. The
cows and horses listened when my words made no sense in my early years, and humored me when I
cried about my broken heart in middle and high school.
It surprised no one when I left home after high school to pursue my dream of becoming a
veterinarian. Not only would the knowledge help when the ranch became mine, which came a lot
sooner than any of us expected, but I truly felt a kinship with the animals. It was more than a job; it
was a calling.
I just wished I had more time for that calling these days than working twelve hours a day keeping
the ranch going.
Soon. Once I got my routine figured out and hired reliable people to help me.
Holding two fingers to my eyes, I swung them to Karl and back again, letting him know I was
watching their every move like the obsessed ‘mama’ hen I was.
Key already in the ignition, I gave it a twist, turning the engine over, and hightailed it through the
pasture I’d fenced off just for the alpacas. The side-by-side jostled, popping me an inch off the seat
with every bump as I sped through uneven terrain toward the gate. Keeping one eye on the fence to
ensure there were no issues, I grabbed my cell from the cupholder, finding a missed call from my
buddy Max.
Popping both earbuds in, I tapped his number on the screen to return the call.
“You rang,” I yelled for him to hear me over the rumble of the engine and the whipping wind.
Normally I’d make some smartass quip or give him hell for how he didn’t show for our weekly poker
game, but not this time. Not recently. Max wasn’t normal Max lately. He was sad, broken almost.
Before, he was angry, broken, drinking way too much—not that I had any room to talk—but now
every time I saw him, my heart hurt. Last month he was shot while transporting a witness, but it felt
like the pain radiating off my friend was from more than a gunshot wound.
“I need to use your guesthouse for a while.”
Quickly approaching the metal gate, I eased my foot off the accelerator; the UTV slowed before
stopping a few feet from the painted red metal. I didn’t jump out right away, just leaned an arm over
the top of the steering wheel, staring out at the acres of flat land.
“That’s fine. You know it’s always available. How long will the person stay?”
The person, not Max. I knew he wasn’t asking for himself.
Our small town of Grandger, Texas, was a unique one, though it wasn’t always that way. Growing
up here, it was a typical almost-deserted West Texas small town that the world had forgotten. Then
the US government found us and decided it was the perfect place to hide people in limbo between
their past lives and entering witness protection. The guest cottage behind the bunkhouse was one
location the marshal service used every now and again as temporary housing for those unique
individuals.
Considering we were miles from town and tucked back in the thousand acres we owned, my place
was the perfect spot for anyone needing to disappear. To ensure their stay was untraceable, I had the
money the government gave me for housing the individuals funneled to the local school since I sure as
hell didn’t need the cash.
Even after paying off Daddy’s medical bills from the in-home nurse and expensive-as-hell
medications, I had zero financial worries. That was what owning a successful, well-run ranch over
the past four decades got you. Not that it was easy on my father. His blood, sweat, and tears made this
place what it was today. And now it was my turn. Though it seemed to be more tears than blood from
the sheer amount of stress I was under doing all this alone.
“I’m not sure yet,” Max said, interrupting my wandering thoughts as I stared at the gate, wishing
like hell it would open with the click of a button so I didn’t have to do it myself. “Though this one is a
unique circumstance, more so than the others.”
“Hmm, now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Care to give me more than that vague answer?”
 “Nope. You know the rules.”
My lips quirked upward. “When are you thinking this mysterious guest will arrive? I’ll need to get
some food and supplies—”
“I’ll bring all that with him later today.” My brows hit my hairline as I let out a sharp whistle. “I
know it’s short notice, but like I said, this is a unique situation, so we’re in a rush to find somewhere
safe for him to lie low for a while.”
“Are you thinking days or weeks?” I leaned against the thin, cushioned backrest and wiped the
sweat from my forehead.
“Again, not sure. That’s all I can give you, but we’ll be at your place in a few hours. Is there
anyone on the property today who’ll be there when I drop him off? Maybe that dipshit doing
absolutely fucking nothing?”
I snorted and climbed out, my well-worn work boots smacking the too-dry ground, raising a cloud
of dust. Muscles stiff from nonstop days of the manual labor required to keep this place running, I
hobbled toward the red gate. The metal groaned as I pushed it open, allowing me access to the main
pasture.
“No, Andy isn’t here.” Max’s obvious dislike for my ex-boyfriend/current friend with benefits
didn’t go unnoticed. Though he never could explain why there was bad blood between them. “The
two part-time hands I hired a couple weeks ago are already gone for the day, and….” I blew out a
breath as I leaned against the gate. “I fired that ranch manager, Jerry.”
“What the hell, Anne?” I rolled my eyes to the cloudless blue sky at his tone. This was why I
didn’t tell him. Max was a protector. He wanted to make sure everyone was taken care of and safe.
With him still recovering from the gunshot wound that almost killed him, there was nothing he could
do for me here. “What happened?”
“I caught him skimming supplies from the barn. He was selling them on the side the next county
over, going door to door at some of the small ranches. The dumbass didn’t realize I would catch his
little scam. Apparently, because I lack a dick between my legs, he thought I was completely oblivious
to our inventory sheets and how things are used around this place.”
The bastard wasn’t the first or last to misjudge my competence of running this ranch But it really
sucked. The ranch manager who helped Daddy for years retired right after the funeral, having only
stayed on as long as he did knowing Daddy had little time left. The thief I just fired was the second
manager I’d been through in the last six months.
I’d lost count of how many ranch hands had started and left. Taking orders from a woman wasn’t
for them, apparently. Hell, it wasn’t for most. And it wasn’t just me, because I was fucking fun and a
good boss. Demanding, sure, but expecting someone to do the job I’d hired them for wasn’t too much
to ask, was it?
Now it was just me and two part-time idiots running the place.
Running me into the ground, more like it. I just needed a little help. Competent, hardworking help.
Someone I could depend on to get shit done. From the manual labor to ordering supplies before
inventory dropped to dangerous levels. Then maybe I could establish my vet practice here, help some
locals with low-cost vet care.
But the way things were going, that would never happen.
“Damn, that sucks. Did you call Shade or Trap to have him arrested?” he asked.
The rev of the engine ate my responding chuckle up as I drove through the gate before jumping out
to close it back up. “That’s not how we handle things out here. You know that, Max.” Back behind the
wheel, I pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floorboard, sending me shooting across the flat land.
“I handled it without police help,” I yelled.
“Fucking hell,” Max grumbled. I could almost see him running a hand through his dark, curly hair.
He really was too pretty for his own damn good. “Is this a ‘you need an alibi’ type of situation?”
My smile widened, which was dangerous while going twenty miles an hour through open pasture.
“Nope, but pretty sure he needs a doctor to retract his balls from his stomach and to reset his nose.
Not that Caradee offered her assistance.”
She was the best friend ever.
Max’s laugh at my slightly violent antics eased some of my worry for him. “And I’m sure you
gave her a heads-up to be ‘closed’ after you allowed him to leave.”
“Can’t prove anything,” I joked. “So you’ll be here in a few hours, you say. Text me when you’re
close. I’ll get the linens changed and open the windows to air the place out. It’s been empty since that
last woman stayed there for those few days, so who knows what critters and bugs made the cabin
their home in that time.”
“He’ll be fine. Don’t stress out over it. See you soon.”
When the line went dead, I pulled the earbuds free and tossed them into the cupholder on the dash,
mind running a thousand miles a minute with the list of things that needed to be done. Not only to get
the guest cottage ready but to finish up the daily chores.
Over the horizon, our massive red metal barn came into view. Tapping my thumb along the hard
plastic steering wheel, I contemplated Max’s call. I didn’t need this complication or added work, but
I looked forward to the new distraction.
Ever since Daddy died, things were the same day in and day out: wake up, work until my muscles
quivered, love on the animals, drink a bottle of wine on the porch—sometimes with company, most
times without—then crash, only to repeat the same cycle all over again the next day. The only minor
distraction I had was Andy, and lately his presence had drifted to more of an annoyance than a
comfortable friendship.
At least I had the weekly poker night with Trap, Deedee, and Max to look forward to or I’d no
doubt lose touch with everything going on outside our barbwire fence.
Hopefully this visitor would be a pleasant addition around here rather than another complication
to manage.
Only time would tell.
Until then, I had more work to do.
TWO
 GRAYSON

T hedropped
SUV jerking over a bump jostled me awake, my head slipping off my palm as my elbow
from the door. Blinking to clear my blurry vision, I focused on my surroundings, finding
nothing but flat, dry land and never-ending fence line out the passenger window. A stark difference
from the lush overgrowth and swamplands I left behind.
Perfect.
“Where are we?” I asked, voice rough from the brief nap.
“Almost there. Another fifteen minutes.”
Not an answer to my question, but I guessed I should’ve expected that considering the
circumstances of why I was riding shotgun with a US marshal. I shifted along the seat, attempting to
get comfortable. After almost twenty hours of traveling from Florida to this abandoned part of Texas
in either this SUV or another, I was fucking done with eating and sleeping in a damn automobile.
Hopefully, wherever they planned to stash me had a decent shower and a good bed.
Part of me missed the tiny apartment I’d left behind, but it wasn’t anything special. And there sure
as hell wasn’t anyone who even noticed I’d vanished out of thin air yesterday. No friends and no
family. After Chad’s arrest, I couldn’t settle down, always on edge, wondering if my information and
involvement with the DEA would be leaked.
Which was a good thing since shit hit the fan when Chad skipped bail, just like my boss and his
boss told the judge he would. But there was nothing my agency or any of the others could do once they
set the bail. Though the DEA and ATF froze all Chad’s assets and shut down his businesses. Where he
would go, no one knew, but what he wanted while hiding from the feds was clear.
Within twenty-four hours of his disappearance, a heavy bounty was on my head. Thank fuck he
didn’t have my real name—that was still confidential—though it didn’t matter when my face was
plastered on “Wanted: Dead or Dead” postings through every connection Chad had in Florida and
across the US. Which meant every low-level gang, underground gambling den, and various other
seedy-ass motherfuckers wanted to find me to cash in on the high reward for any information on my
whereabouts.
Getting me out of the state where the concentration of people who could easily recognize my face
from either my years living there or Chad’s firm hold in the south Florida community was paramount
for my survival. Which was how I’d ended up being driven across the country by one marshal after
another. No one knew when Chad would be caught, or if I’d even be able to return to my normal life
when he was.
As I stared out the windshield, a mix of disappointment and relief filled my chest.
If things didn’t settle down after they caught Chad, then my time with the DEA would be officially
done, and I could leave those years of my life behind. Though the thought of being the idiot I was
before wasn’t appealing either.
But at least that life was mine.
“Now that we’re close,” I said, scrubbing a hand over my short, dark hair, the ends poking into
my palms, “care to fill me in on where your agency is stashing me?”
The deputy marshal shot me a stern side-eye glance. “You’ll see soon enough. Just remember
while you’re here, even though you’re out of immediate danger of being recognized, always keep your
name confidential, and stick to the ranch where you’ll be staying at all times. It’s pretty isolated,
which will make lying low easy.”
Images of cowboys, tumbleweeds, and horses flashed through my mind at the mention of a ranch.
Besides my time in the Marines, I’d lived nowhere other than Florida, so the only ideas I could
conjure of my soon-to-be home were from Western movies or shows.
I tapped a knuckle on my knee. “What kind of ranch?”
“She raises longhorns and, more recently, alpacas. Though don’t get her started on those beasts or
she’ll never stop.”
A small smile curved at his lips at the mention of the odd animal, but it fell almost as quickly as it
appeared.
I studied the sullen man. After years of having to read people to stay alive, I was a solid judge of
character. This marshal was a decent guy, not much on small talk, which worked for me just fine, but
grief seemed to radiate off him.
It took a second, but his first word finally registered.
“She?”
The marshal—pretty sure he said his name was Max when we first met hours ago—nodded. “Yep.
She runs the place on her own since her father passed a few months back.”
“Her husband not help?” I asked, prodding for any useful information.
“Not married, and her boyfriend or whatever the fuck that jackass is wouldn’t be caught dead
doing manual labor.”
I huffed a laugh. “You’re not mincing words. I’ve known fuckers like that a time or two.” I eyed
him in the driver’s seat, trying to understand why he was so worked up about the rancher’s boyfriend.
“You wanting to fill that spot with her?” I tilted my head. “Or him?”
A humorless laugh filled the SUV. “Hell fucking no. It’ll take a hell of a man to be with Anne.” He
shifted side to side in his seat, wincing at the movement like it irritated an old injury. “She’s an
amazing woman but as tough as they come. Smart too.”
“Sure sounds like you’re interested.”
“She’s a friend. A good friend. Leave her alone and you won’t have any problems. Understand?”
“Are you afraid I’ll hurt her?” I gritted, anger heating my tone. Sure, I looked like a gangbanger
with tattoos that started at my fingers and covered most of my body, and I had a sordid past working
for a dangerous kingpin, but it still fucking hit a nerve when people assumed I was a shit man.
Again, the bastard laughed, this time filled with entertainment, like I’d just made some kind of
joke. “No, Grayson. I’m afraid she’ll hurt you if you’re not careful.”
My brows flew up over my forehead, nearly hitting my hairline. “You’re kidding me?” I wasn’t a
small guy by any means, over six feet tall with a solid build. What kind of woman was this Anne that
he’d be worried she’d hurt me? Images of an Amazon woman with a unibrow, matching mustache, and
permanent frown lines etched deep into her weathered skin came to mind. I shuddered at that mental
picture. “Anyway, it won’t be a problem. I’m more of a hermit these days than not. I’ve gotten
addicted to too many trash TV shows.”
I hadn’t reentered society since we took Chad down and didn’t plan to start now. Which meant
staying off the grid in some dilapidated shack on this cow ranch was just fine by me as long as it had
cable.
“Good to hear, because we’re here.”
I leaned an arm along the door and peered out the window, taking in the massive steel pipe
entrance and gate. A burst of warm, dry air floated through the SUV when Max rolled down the
window to punch a few numbers into a keypad. The two-piece gate slowly parted, giving us entrance
to a long, windy drive. We bobbled forward, my seat vibrating as the tires hit some kind of metal
grate.
“The hell is that for?” I asked as I turned to get another look at the bar, like a trap in the entrance.
“Some kind of big-ass bug trap?”
He smiled widely and shook his head. “Oh hell. Now that’s fucking funny. And they say I say the
dumbest shit.” That last bit was more muttered under his breath.
Brown grass and lines of barbwire were all I could see for miles. A few massive animals popped
their heads up from the grass to watch as we drove past. My eyes widened, taking in their huge size
and horns.
“What the fuck is that thing?”
Clearly, I was entertaining the bastard because he laughed again, this time holding his side as if
the movement hurt. “You’ve never seen a longhorn up close, I take it?”
I shook my head, unable to look away from the enormous beasts. “I was born and raised in south
Florida. Those things are fucking huge. What’s with the weapons on their heads?”
Max rubbed a hand across his mouth, muffling his chuckle. “Weapons,” he repeated. “Anne will
get a kick out of that.”
“The woman I should stay the hell away from,” I responded. “The way you made her sound, I
doubt she’d find it funny. She’ll probably try to beat my ass.”
“Hmm, maybe. Could go either way.”
Before I could ask what the hell that meant, an enormous single-story house with white siding
came into view. Red shutters bracketed the windows, and a wraparound porch decked out with
rocking chairs and a legit front porch swing, like you saw in movies, lined the front and curved
around the sides. Wide wooden steps led from the paved circular drive up toward the front door, but
instead of heading toward the house, Max veered to the right, turning us toward a huge metal barn.
“The hell?” I muttered, voice vibrating as the paved drive shifted to rock. “When you said ranch, I
expected… shit, not this place.”
“It’s a massive operation.” Holding on to the wheel with one hand, he pointed toward a small
house, though it looked empty based on the dark windows and lack of cars parked out front. “That’s
the ranch hand bunkhouse.”
“Bunkhouse?”
Max nodded and shifted his hand to point toward another house, this one a replica of the main
house, just one-tenth of the size. “That’s the guest cottage where you’ll be staying.” The SUV slowed,
parking next to a mud-covered side-by-side. “Looks like Anne is still here. She mentioned wanting to
air out the house for you.”
Not knowing what to say, I nodded, accepting that this was my new home, although I was slightly
overwhelmed by the unexpected size, and pushed the passenger door open. Basking in the cool fall
air, I took a deep breath in and almost gagged at the stench.
 Fuck, this is my life for the foreseeable future. Just fucking great. Why they couldn’t have put
me up at some luxury resort as a thanks for my time undercover was ridiculous.
Ripping the duffel from the back seat, I followed Max to the front door, which he opened without
knocking.
“Anne,” he shouted. “You in here?”
“Yeah. In the bedroom, give me a second,” came a feminine voice that drew my full attention
toward the back of the cottage.
I stared down the short hall and shook my head, not understanding what that reaction was about. It
was just a voice, a woman’s voice, though there was something soft yet commanding, sweet yet harsh.
Loosening my fingers from around the canvas handle, I dropped the bag to the floor just inside the
entryway. Shoving both hands into the front pockets of my shorts, I scanned the open-concept space. A
leather couch and two chairs framed a stone fireplace along the wall. On the opposite of the living
room was an updated kitchen and round table surrounded by four wooden chairs. My tennis shoes
didn’t make a sound against the hardwood floor as I made my way toward the living room, pausing in
front of the fireplace.
“Sorry,” said a breathless voice. “I didn’t expect it to take so long to get the place ready.”
I slowly turned to get my first glimpse of the tough rancher woman Max described.
And fuck, was my mental picture wrong.
Even in just her socks, the woman talking to Max in the kitchen was only a few inches shorter than
my six foot two. Snug dirt-speckled jeans hugged her shapely hips, though the red flannel shirt tied
around her trim waist hid what I could only suspect was a perfect round ass by the way it draped. Her
tits spilled out of the too-small sports bra beneath her white tank top, her cleavage drawing my gaze
like a moth to a flame.
Then I got a look at her face.
No unibrow. No mustache or frown lines.
The opposite, actually.
Fine lines spread from the corners of her eyes as she smiled at Max. The pink of her sun-kissed
cheeks made the faint scattering of freckles stand out and her hazel eyes pop. Her long, golden hair
was pulled in a high ponytail, the thick straight strands shifting as she moved about the kitchen.
“I know you said you’d bring some supplies, but I grabbed some stuff from the main house just in
case. The fridge is stocked—”
Her words cut off when our eyes met. Thick lashes fanned up and down as she took me in, giving
me a slow once-over just as I had done her.
“Hi,” she said, the word barely more than a pushed breath. “I’m Anne.”
Not trusting my voice, I simply hitched my chin in greeting.
“Like I said on the phone, his situation is a little different from the others. He’s not going into
witness protection, but he needs to lie low for a while,” Max said, staring at his phone with a frown.
“You grabbing some things saves me a trip into town. Thank you.”
“No problem,” she said, breaking eye contact to look anywhere other than at me. “Same rules
apply to him as the others?”
“Yep. Same rules.”
My brows pinched together, not understanding their cryptic words.
She offered a hesitant smile, as if she noticed my confusion. “Rules for me. I can’t know your real
name, ask questions about your past, things like that. The less I know, the better.”
I gritted my teeth but said nothing. Hopefully that didn’t go both ways, because I sure as hell
wanted to know her. For the first time in years, I was genuinely attracted to a woman. Hell, my dick
twitched at just the sound of her voice and hardened to steel when I laid eyes on her.
Fine. I didn’t just lay eyes on her; I undressed her with them. But she was just so damn unique,
unlike any woman I’d ever met before.
Turning back to the fireplace, I adjusted my now-throbbing cock and pretended to find the gray
stonework fascinating. I ignored the two talking at my back, barely registering when they left, though
the resulting silence was like a weight lifted from my chest.
“Fucking finally,” I groaned, still gripping my cock. I hadn’t had a second alone in too long.
Grabbing the straps of my stuffed duffel, I headed down the hall, pausing halfway to understand
the layout. On my right, the open door gave way to a large, perfectly made bed and single dresser. I
sat on the edge for a moment, bouncing up and down to test the comfort level, not that it gave me any
insight on the matter. A TV hung on the wall over the dresser, making me sigh with relief. At least I
wouldn’t die of boredom out here.
I tossed my bag to the corner of the room, leaving it behind to unpack later. Across the hall, I
flicked on the bathroom light, ignoring my haggard reflection in the mirror. Bigger than my apartment
bathroom, white tile of various shapes seemed to cover most of the walls and dotted the floor.
A relieved groan vibrated in my chest at the large glass-enclosed shower. Hell fucking yes. After
hours in the car, I was more than ready to scrub down and crawl into bed to sleep for a few days.
Inside the glass enclosure, I twisted the handle, water hesitantly sputtering from the showerhead.
Stripping off my white T-shirt and jeans, I folded everything into a neat pile on the vanity counter
before stepping beneath the spray. Closing my eyes, I savored the refreshing jolt the cool water sent
through my system and angled my face to take the brunt of it. Except within seconds, the sexy-as-hell
woman from earlier materialized behind my lids.
Groaning, I gripped my still-hard cock and squeezed. I hadn’t had a genuine hard-on in too fucking
long, and of course the bastard chose now to perk the fuck up. Wet forearm against the subway tile, I
blew out a measured breath. It felt dirty beating off, imagining my new landlord naked, rasping my
name with my hand around her throat while I pounded into her pussy….
“Fuck,” I groaned, jerking my cock up and down in sharp, demanding strokes.
Maybe if I just got it out of my system, I could see her next time without my dick trying to attack
through my pants. Though just as fast as her image materialized, it vanished, replaced by the
trembling, terrified woman who last touched my cock.
With a hiss, I released myself, my dick already softening.
Forming a fist, I slammed it against the wall hard enough to split my knuckles but not leave a giant
hole in my wake.
Every fucking time. I’d watched porn, imagined past girlfriends’ faces and sounds, hell, even gave
gay porn a shot, but nothing worked. My cock wouldn’t even get somewhat hard, no matter what I
did.
Maybe that meant I was truly broken. I gave too much of my soul to the undercover job to capture
that bastard. Not that I was perfect before, but I sure as hell wasn’t this.
Destroyed.
Dirty.
Unrecoverable.
One thing was certain: I couldn’t taint that beautiful woman’s life with the darkness that shadowed
me. Staying away, locked in this mini luxury home, was best for her. And me. I shouldn’t get ideas that
I could deserve someone like her.
 Full of life.
Strong.
Beautiful.
I’d break her.
Which would no doubt break me past the point of no return.
So, there I had it. I wouldn’t picture her, wouldn’t even think about her, and would stay locked
away.
Like the monster I was.
THREE
 ANNE

T heShade,
fork clanged to the brown-speckled ceramic plate when I dropped it to wave at my friend
who sat at the long counter waiting for a to-go order. Instead of wearing his normal police
uniform, he had on a pair of dirty jeans, work boots, and a just-as-dirty baby blue PFG shirt. He and
his roommate, Trapper, ran a small goat farm just outside town, which was where it appeared Shade
just came from. I hated goats, but being a large animal vet meant I still had to deal with the little
monsters from time to time.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Suppressing an eye roll and giving up on catching Shade’s attention, I reluctantly turned my
attention back to Andy. His dark brown eyes gave away his annoyance. I dug into my remaining
chicken fried steak, eyeing Andy’s low-carb, healthy salad trio with disdain.
“You were asking about last quarter’s earnings,” I said around my mouthful of food, then took a
swig of my Budweiser to help swallow it down. “Like I told you last time you asked, I don’t have the
numbers yet. I’ve been busy actually working my ass off instead of sitting behind a desk figuring out
the numbers.”
Setting his silverware down, Andy wiped at the corners of his mouth and pressed both elbows
onto the table, leaning forward slightly. “Which is why you should let me handle that side of things.
Your father was about to let me manage the books before he got sick and you came home. He trusted
me.”
“You also weren’t sleeping with my father.” I pointed the prong end of my fork at him. “I’m not
shitting where I eat.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Andy huffed. “We’re in public.”
“You said fuck,” I pointed out. I dared him with my hard gaze to say what I knew was on the tip of
his tongue. He wanted to say he could curse because he was a man. I, however, was a woman and
needed to be more dainty, amiable, less… me.
“We’re getting off topic,” he relented. “You need help.”
“Yeah, out in the barn with someone who actually works.” The two ranch hands I had now goofed
off more than they worked, but at least they were hands. “So, if you’d like to come out and get your
hands dirty, that’s an offer of help I’m willing to take you up on.”
Andy’s full upper lip twitched as if he were holding back a snarl.
I studied him for a moment, wondering what in the hell I saw in him. Why I felt the need to waste
my precious time agreeing to dates and sometimes a few minutes between the sheets. It wasn’t like the
sex was great; it wasn’t terrible, just average. Just like all those men I’d dated during school and after
when I was single in Ft. Worth.
 Though I had a feeling I was the problem, not them.
I worked hard and wanted to play hard. Though the men I dated never seemed to get that memo. If
I could manhandle a teenage steer who had weapons growing out of his head, then I could take a
rough tumble between the sheets.
Shaking my head free of a fantasy that would never happen, I went back to finishing my meal.
“You act like I didn’t go to school for something like this,” Andy pouted. Legit pouted, like that
would make this situation better. News flash—it wouldn’t. “You weren’t so prickly in high school.”
His pinched features softened as he smiled wistfully.
“Young and dumb.” His smile vanished. I shrugged, not caring that I’d said the truth out loud.
“What can I say? I’m jaded and overworked. I’m running a 1000+ acre ranch, taking emergency calls
for other ranchers’ animals, and working on a drinking problem.” Laughing at my joke, I drained the
last drops of my beer. “Though I think all my bottles of wine at home have a hole in the bottom and
I’m not actually drinking that much.”
A shadow encompassed the table, cutting off my next words. Shifting along the booth seat, I shot
Shade a grin, who didn’t notice since he was too busy glaring at Andy before turning to me, face
softening.
“Hey, you. I haven’t seen you around much these days. How are things at the farm?”
He grunted with a clipped nod. Shade’s version of a detailed conversation.
“Great. Have Trap text me when the next round of kids is born, and I’ll work it in my schedule to
come check them out.”
“For a price,” Andy cut in.
I shot Andy a “What the fuck are you even saying right now?” glare. “I’m not charging my
friends.”
“Weren’t you the one just saying you’re overworked?”
“And being paid for that work doesn't make it go away.” I tilted my head, staring at him like he
was crazy. “Will you be the one actually going out to the farm and handling the devil beasts?” Shade
grumbled something, but I didn’t turn away from Andy. “I didn’t think so.”
“Trap will reach out,” Shade said in a deep voice I rarely heard. Without glancing Andy’s way, he
dipped his chin in goodbye and left the diner.
“Something is wrong with him,” Andy said under his breath. “I don’t feel comfortable with him
being the police chief.”
A humorless chuckle escaped before I could stop it. “And let me guess—you want to take over
that job too? He’s great at what he does. Just because he doesn’t like you doesn’t mean he’s bad at his
job.”
“Means he’s a terrible judge of character, which is half his job.”
I bit my tongue to keep from commenting. Now was not the time to have this fight with him. Again.
Wadding up the used paper napkin, I tossed it onto my empty plate. Patting my full belly, I leaned
back against the bench.
“And I know you went to school for financial planning,” I said, redirecting the conversation. “But
I’m just not comfortable giving up the reins of that part of the ranch yet. I like both sides. Thank you
for the offer, but I’ll be good as soon as I find someone to help me with the manual labor side of
things. Plus, it’s only been six months since Daddy passed. It’ll take me a while to find my groove, but
I know I will.”
Andy’s lips pressed in a tight line as I spoke to him, obviously not agreeing with that statement.
Fuck, what’s up his ass tonight? Highly annoyed by his pushy ass, I raised a hand toward our
waitress for our check.
Which I would, of course, pick up because I was generous like that. Not that Andy ever fought me
for the chance to pay. Maybe some feelings from high school, that puppy love that made me foolish
enough to give him my virginity, clouded my vision of him now. That was the only reason I could
come up with for why I still agreed to go on these dates or called him for booty calls.
It was either lingering feelings or the fact that I was so damn lonely out in that big house alone.
But thinking it was me holding on to an old flame seemed less pathetic.
Hell, I was a strong, independent young woman—if early thirties was considered young—with
more money than I knew what to do with. I shouldn’t be lonely or sometimes sad that I didn’t have
anyone to share it all with. Someone who would appreciate it. The cows, the land, me.
After tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the table, I started to scoot out of the booth.
“The tab was forty-three dollars, Anne.” I looked at Andy with a blank face, waiting for him to
get to the point. “You’re tipping almost sixty dollars.” I blinked, still waiting. “You can’t do that.”
I swiveled, searching for where it said I couldn’t overtip our waitress. “Where’s that sign?”
“Anne,” he hissed.
“She has two kids at home. She’s a single working mom doing everything she can to put food on
the damn table. If you have a problem with how much I leave for her, then next time you pay.”
His normally fair skin flushed red.
Okay, that was bitchy. But who the fuck did he think he was telling me how I could spend my
money? If I wanted to buy Carol a damn house, I could.
Actually, that was a lie. Carol wouldn’t let me do that. She wasn’t the handout-accepting type.
I loved her.
Not as much as I loved my bestie, Caradee, but I loved her all the same. Just like I did every
person in this town who worked hard for every dollar they made. We all did. It was the West Texas
life, one we all loved. It made everything more rewarding when your blood, sweat, and tears were in
the end product.
Or maybe that was just me. Daddy taught me from an early age that you only got what you worked
hard for. He was a self-made millionaire who wasn’t afraid to get dirty. Hell, he thrived on it.
Not saying another word, I stood from the booth and headed toward the front door, ready to get
home and soak in the hot spa attached to the pool. Maybe with a waterproof toy to help ease the
unrelenting desire that thrummed through me since I’d met the eyes of my mysterious house guest
yesterday.
My blood heated and my core throbed with just a single look from those soul-piercing blue eyes.
Maybe it was the bad boy look he had about him with his tattooed fingers and arms. Or his
handsome face with his straight nose, scruff-covered angular jaw, and solid frame that looked like he
could toss me around with ease.
There was something about him that made me think of dirty, dirty things.
Rough things.
Forbidden things.
A shiver raced along my spine as I stepped outside that had nothing to do with the beautiful, cool
night.
“Hey, wait up,” Andy called behind me.
And there went my lady boner.
Cheeks puffed out, I released a calming breath before turning around with a forced smile.
“Want me to come over? I can help you relax.” He waggled his brows, emphasizing his innuendo.
 The thought of him being anywhere near the mystery man locked away in my cottage—as a guest,
not tied up; I was a rancher, not a serial killer—made me pause. Andy would no doubt throw a fit if
he knew what I allowed Max to use that cottage for, and he’d probably piss himself at the sight of my
mystery man himself.
No. Bad Anne.
Not my mystery man.
Just mysterious, sexy…. Hand tattoos. Who knew those would be so alluring?
“Anne,” Andy snapped.
Right. He’s still here.
“Not tonight. I’m exhausted and looking forward to a long soak in the hot tub.” Before he could
offer to join me, I shook my head. “Alone.”
“Come on, you know we have fun,” he offered in what I guessed he thought was a tempting tone,
grabbing my hip and hauling me toward him. I must have a magical pussy for him to push this hard to
get in my bed. Which meant he didn’t realize I always faked it.
“Not tonight.” I shifted, breaking his grasp.
“I’ll come by tomorrow night for dinner, then,” he said, the words clipped. “Good night, Annie.”
Oh, I hated that nickname.
Before I could move away, he leaned in and sealed his lips to mine. Eyes wide open, muscles
tense, I counted to ten before stepping back, breaking the kiss. With a wave, I hurried to where I’d
parked my fully restored Ford Bronco along Main Street and climbed inside.
The entire drive back, I chastised myself for leading Andy on. I clearly didn’t have the same
feelings for him as he did for me, yet I couldn’t sever that connection. Not only did we have
something back in high school, but he knew my dad when things were good. And he was there when
Daddy was suddenly gone, leaving me all alone. When the cancer got so bad that I had to come home
to help, leaving the mediocre life I’d built in Ft. Worth behind, Andy was here offering comfort.
I was a sad excuse for an independent woman.
Not bothering with parking in the garage despite the soft top being off—it hadn’t rained in over a
month, and none was in the forecast—I cut the engine and hopped out. Leaving my boots by the front
door, I padded in sock-covered feet along the wraparound porch toward the pool. The lights
surrounding the concrete deck were off, but the soft glow from the ones in the pool gave off enough
light for me to pick my way around the various lounge chairs without tripping.
Standing at the edge of the spa, I dared a glance over my shoulder toward the cottage. The tiny
house was completely dark, though a light flickered in the window I knew led to the single bedroom.
Knowing it was only him and me here at this time of night, and seeing as how Mr. Mysterious was
obviously watching TV, not staring out the window, I forwent a bathing suit like I did many nights.
Stripping off each article of clothing extra slowly, adding a little sway to my movements, I
envisioned him watching from the window. My pulse sped up, heart hammering in my chest while my
core throbbed to the same beat as I slipped off my bra and panties. Steam rose from the water as the
lights danced beneath it, giving the moment a magical feeling. Completely nude, I stepped over the
stone ledge, a soft sigh releasing as I sank into the searing water.
With the handy remote, I switched on the jets. Bubbles instantly exploded along the surface, and a
massaging pressure surged along my lower back.
“Oh, hell yes,” I moaned, allowing my lids to flutter closed. Head resting along the stone ledge, I
inhaled my first deep breath of the day. “This is what I’m talking about.”
Adjusting my bare ass along the bench, I shifted the angle of the jets to massage the knots along my
spine. The tension released from my tight muscles, the hot salt water working its magic.
After several minutes submerged, the lust Mr. Mysterious started seared through my veins, my
core throbbing too hard with the need for release for me to fully relax.
Peeking one eye open, I watched the cottage for any signs of movement. Shaking off the
disappointment that flared within me at finding it the same as before, I stood. The cool night air turned
my nipples into peaks, causing the pulse between my legs to increase. Hot water shifted around my
waist as I waded toward the other side of the hot tub, where I kept a basket stocked with dry pool
towels—plus other goodies that I kept hidden at the bottom in the odd chance Karen, my housekeeper,
ventured out here.
Ass in the air, I stretched over the side, fingers searching the wicker basket before selecting the
toy I wanted to entertain me for the night. A gust of chilled air whipped through the pool area, shaking
the plants and shrubs that lined the deck. Goose bumps erupted along my damp skin, adding to the
naughty feel of what I was about to do.
Vibrator in hand, I slipped back into the hot water, shivering as it sizzled over my chilled skin.
Settling along the bench where the still-dark cottage was in my line of sight, I spread my thighs wide.
Envisioning my rough hands were his, I caressed along my inner thighs, pushing them even wider until
my muscles stretched. Clicking on the vibrator, I pressed the tip against my swollen nub, my back
arching and body trembling at the sparks of pleasure that shot through my veins.
The water shifted in small waves that smacked the side of the spa as I pushed the thick toy in and
out of my core, the whole time fantasizing that it was his tattooed fingers pumping inside me, the dark
lines vanishing as they fucked me hard. He wouldn’t be gentle, wouldn’t care if I was uncomfortable.
He’d make me take it just how he wanted.
A low moan slipped from my lips, sounding over the slap of the water. My stomach tensed, thighs
quivering as I imagined all the dirty things he’d whisper in my ear instead of sweet words that always
made me cringe instead of turned me on. With my face tipped up, the full moon’s glow stood out in the
cloudless sky as I sucked in a quick breath, heart racing as I chased my orgasm.
Sweat collected along my lower lip and brow as heat built beneath my skin, turning
uncomfortable. The previously relaxing water was now too hot for my overheated body, the cool
breeze beckoning me to soothe my burning skin. Water cascaded down along my curves and flat
stomach as I hauled myself out of the spa, ass pressed along the wide rim. Leaning back until the cool
stone met my spine, one knee in the air, the other dangling in the water, I turned my head, hooded gaze
locked on the guest cottage.
Through the steam rising from both the water and my skin, I could’ve sworn I saw a shape move
in the dark window. My heart hammered, the idea of being watched by him adding to the intensity of
the moment. Positioning the vibrator outside my entrance, I slowly worked it in and out, never looking
away from where I saw the movement.
I came hard, faster than ever before, body spasming along the stone. Thighs sealed together,
trapping my hand and toy between them, I whimpered a string of curses, lids sealed shut, blocking out
the world as I floated on the high. My muscles trembled as I went lax, knee falling to the side,
allowing the October night air to cool my hot, slick center. Breaths evening out, I peeled my eyes
open, blinking through the haze as I searched for Mr. Mysterious.
Nothing.
A sliver of disappointment weaseled its way through my bliss. Maybe I’d imagined the shadow
because of how much I wanted him to be watching. Which was fine. Probably for the best, actually.
The last thing I needed was an extra complication, which was exactly what getting involved with him
would be. He had a past he was running from and would soon return to, and, well, I liked the fantasy
of him. My version of Mr. Mysterious wouldn’t let me down, would always make me come, and
wouldn’t demand things of me. I was too afraid to voice what I wanted to anyone before.
Yes, me making myself come to my made-up version of him would be better than the reality.
Probably.
Maybe.
Not that I would ever find out.
Hell, he could be gone tomorrow. That made the reality of what waited for me the next day slap
me in the face. The never-ending chores and financials evaporated any lingering bliss. Maybe once I
found a good routine, things would settle down enough for me to actually look forward to the
possibility of a new day.
Until then…
Might as well raid the outdoor fridge.
Those white wine bottles won’t drink themselves.
FOUR
 GRAYSON

T hecrunched
apple skin popped beneath my teeth, the crisp, sweet juices flowing over my tongue. The bite
as I chewed absentmindedly, my focus on the hot-as-hell woman hauling bales of hay
into the back of a side-by-side like they weighed nothing.
Which they might, actually. I had no fucking clue.
She hadn’t stopped moving all morning. Taking a quick glance over my shoulder, I frowned at the
time glowing on the clock on the stove. The day started with her off-key singing at an ungodly hour,
which was the opposite of the past three years. At 5:00 a.m., I was just going to bed when working
for Chad, not starting the day. Now the clock read half past noon and she’d yet to stop for even a
water break. Yeah, I’d been watching, observing, taking in my surroundings like a good Marine—that
sounded better in my mind than obsessively stalking the woman all morning.
Shoulder against a thin glass pane, I narrowed my gaze at the two dumb fucks who leaned against
the side of the barn, faces buried in their phones while she worked.
Worked fucking hard.
Fucking hard.
I bet that was how she liked it.
Sinking my teeth into the bright red fruit, I ripped off another large bite of the sweet apple,
wishing it was her ass instead.
Turning to face the two idiots, this Anne woman tossed both hands in the air in obvious
exasperation, her loud voice carrying, but I couldn’t make out her words. Whatever she said had the
two men begrudgingly shoving off the red-painted metal and lumbering toward the side-by-side she’d
just packed with square bales.
I chuckled, a smile tugging at my lips when the pair drove off and she stuck both middle fingers
high in the air. Watching her storm back into the barn, that apple bottom of hers bunching and swaying
with every step, had my hard-on from last night twitching to tent my gym shorts again.
The door rattled on its hinges as I flipped around, back smacking the glass panes, cutting off my
view of the woman who had unknowingly ensnared my undivided attention. Food forgotten, apple
hanging at my side, I sealed both eyes closed and replayed the sexy-as-fuck performance she’d put on
the night before in my mind.
Her beautiful naked body, illuminated by the pool light and moon, sprawled out along the top of
what I assumed was a hot tub, legs spread with her hand moving between them. Reaching down, I
palmed my hard cock. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, and that was saying something
considering the vast porn collection I’d left behind. It seemed she was the cure to the broken dick
problem my time with Chad and his depraved view of women had inflicted on me.
 And with the distance between the cottage and the pool, I didn’t see much. I didn't need to, not
with her. It was the way she took what she wanted with no fear of being seen. Unless it turned her on,
the idea of me watching her play with herself out in the open. Which, holy fuck, I was down for that.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
Then there was the way she dominated the manual labor chores around the place. It made me want
to help her, but not just by doing the chores. No, a woman like her, who needed to be tough and work
harder than the guys, needed a man like me who, before I tainted my soul, enjoyed dominating,
controlling every breath and movement of his partner.
And fucking hell, did she look like a fighter. Someone who would push back against everything I
demanded.
“Not helping, you idiot,” I hissed through gritted teeth.
Though, in a way, it did.
If simply thinking about this woman had me hard and kept me as stiff as steel, maybe I wasn’t as
broken as I thought. Because when she popped into my mind, the fantasy of what it would’ve been
like to be standing over her, directing her every move, none of the filthy shit I did during my three
years for Chad surfaced.
It was like she made it all go away.
Which was absurd. She was a sexy woman who obviously didn’t need anyone to get the job done
or get herself off. Which meant she didn’t need me.
But did she want me?
Last night, as she played with herself, did she think of me? Or someone else?
My free hand pulled into a tight fist around the damn apple, jealousy surging through the lust fog.
I didn’t even know the woman, so why in the hell was I envious of some other dude who wasn’t
even there?
Ignoring the sounds at my back signaling she was back in view, I stormed for the bathroom,
tossing the apple core into the trash as I passed.
Time to take another fucking cold shower.

UNFAMILIAR SOUNDS REVERBERATED through the early evening, making my hand twitch
toward my hunting knife every so often. The pinks and blues of the setting sun were quickly fading as
it dipped beneath the horizon.
My knee bobbed up and down on the wooden porch outside the cottage, nervous anticipation
racing through my veins. The bench creaked every time I shifted, making me question how long it
would support my weight considering it looked frail as hell.
I sat out here because of the view, which was breathtaking, absolutely not because I hoped for
another show like the night before. Nope, that would be creepy as all get-out, even though the more I
thought about the erotic scene the more I became convinced she did it knowing—maybe hoping—I
watched her every move.
Yet here I was, drumming my fingers along my thigh, the soft cotton of my sweatpants keeping the
crisp night air at bay. Two months ago, I quit smoking, realizing it was adding to the ever-present
nervous energy I couldn’t seem to escape these days. But right now, waiting, the need for one was
almost too much. If I had access to a car and knew where the hell I was, I would be halfway to a gas
station by now to buy a pack.
Blowing out a controlled breath, I scanned the bright windows of the main house for what felt like
the hundredth time since I sat down outside my front door. With no curtains or shutters blocking my
view inside, I could almost see through the illuminated windowpanes, though I was only able to make
out shapes of furniture that hinted to which room was which.
Dining room.
Huge-ass kitchen.
Library or office.
The place was a motherfucking mansion, yet I knew it wouldn’t be pretentiously decorated inside
like Chad’s estate was. No, the woman I saw working her ass off today wouldn’t want pristine white
couches and rugs, gold and crystal chandeliers. Hell, I bet half the floor inside that house was
covered in the same type of cowhides they raised.
That intrigued me beyond her sexy body.
I didn’t come from much. The apartment I grew up in with my single mother would probably fit
inside the main house’s guest bedroom. So, the idea of having a house that large, filled with furniture
and stuff, made me wonder if it made someone happy. She looked happy while working, but was that
because she loved the animals and the hard work itself or because of the stuff it afforded her?
That was what I wanted to know about the woman I watched throughout the day. And so much
more. I’d known and been with all kinds of women, but someone like this Anne was new. And maybe
new was just what I needed to help me get through the darkness. I couldn’t seem to find my way
through on my own.
But that was a pipe dream. That marshal could call tomorrow with the news that Chad was in
custody and I was “safe” to go home. I had to wonder, as I let the peace of the encroaching darkness
soak in, embracing the quiet this kind of expansive property offered: Would I ever be safe back
home?
Chad had my face plastered anywhere and everywhere his reach touched; his many, many
associates across the US aware there was a bounty on my head. By process of elimination from the
men he brought to the warehouse that night that were and weren’t booked – me being the only one—he
deduced I was the one responsible for the evidence that would finally lead to a conviction. Now
everyone else did too. All across the country, anyone with even a hint of a connection to that bastard
knew my head on a platter was worth good money. More money if Chad was the one to finish the job.
I swallowed down the hate, anger, and fear that thought invoked and flicked my gaze to the knife
nestled against my thigh. It was ridiculous, but even out here, far away from danger, I couldn’t shake
the need to always be armed. During my years with Chad, I’d carried at least two guns and a knife on
me at all times. Hell, even when I slept, I was armed. There was that nagging fear in the back of my
head that Chad would learn I was with the DEA and come after me when I least expected it. For years
I slept with one eye open, not that it was that different from my years in the Marines.
When you’re a bunch of twitchy, bloodthirsty bastards crowded together, it was hard to relax even
if you trusted them with your life. It was an odd balance. I would throw my body on a grenade to keep
the guys in my team safe yet wanted to punch them in the face every second of the day too.
Guess my life was always filled with combatting emotions.
It was fucking exhausting.
Except for now.
It was so damn peaceful it was difficult to feel those swinging emotions. It gave me the time to
focus on where all that shit came from, pulling me apart layer by layer to get to the core of who I was
and why.
“Fucking hell, it’s like I’m on Oprah,” I grumbled and rubbed a hand along my scruff-covered
jaw.
Giving up on waiting for her to put on another show, I stretched both arms high overhead. The
tight muscles along my back and shoulders pulled with the movement.
Damn, I needed to work out, at least do something other than watch trash TV all day or I’d be
thirty pounds heavier when I finally got my life back. Which hopefully would be soon.
Twisting toward the door, I wrapped my hand around the knob. A light flickered in the distance,
made me pause.
I squinted to see in the near darkness. What looked to be headlights shifted in and out of view as a
vehicle sped down the long drive from the road. Dread made my stomach drop. Whoever was headed
to the house was in a fucking hurry, which did not match what I’d seen from anyone around here.
Loosening my grip on the doorknob, I swiped my hunting knife from the bench and tucked the
protective leather sheath into the back of my sweatpants, tugging the hem of my black tank over the
handle to conceal the weapon. Not bothering with shoes, I set off in a jog across the lawn, taking a
direct route to the house. Sharp barbs poked into the soft soles of my feet like a thousand tiny needles.
I glared at the ground. What the hell is this shit? Grass should be soft and inviting for you to relax on,
not this brittle, stabby weapon.
Still internally grumbling about the violent ground, I moved from shadow to shadow, skirting
around the pool area, though I gave the spa a longing look as I passed. The visitor, friend or foe,
would definitely keep Anne from taking a dip anytime soon, which should not make me as
disappointed as it did. Unless the person driving like a bat out of hell was her boyfriend and he’d be
in the water with her.
Like hell he would.
I would cockblock that son of a bitch so fast. I wanted to see her moving in the water again, not
some dude’s ass as he pounded into her.
Easing to a walk, I edged around the side of the house, pressing my back to the white siding as
voices filtered through the night.
“… talk more about sending the bull to the Carter ranch.”
Every muscle tensed, my hackles rising at the annoying male voice. Back pressed against the
railing of the wraparound porch, I inched closer toward the front, hoping to catch more of the
conversation.
“Let go of my arm.”
I froze at the anger edged with panic in the woman’s voice. Desperate to see what was going on in
case I needed to step in, I slowly slid the knife free from the sheath, crouched low to stay below the
porch edge, and crept even closer.
“You know we’re great together,” the male said, though this time in a whiny tone. Holy hell, that
was annoying as fuck. Two seconds of hearing him and I already wanted to punch him in the balls. If
this Anne chick liked men like this, then she and I would only work in my fantasies. Which was
probably for the best, considering. “I’ll just come back tomorrow. Get some sleep. Maybe that will
help your mood.”
I braced for the bang of the gunshot that I knew would surely ring through the night after that
comment. That woman carried everywhere she went today, and I knew she was ready and capable of
blowing the dumbass’s head off for those fateful words. If you knew anything about women, you
never, ever commented on their mood unless you wanted to end up dead or have your favorite
appendage severed from your body.
Except the echo of someone descending the wood steps instead of a bang rattled through the night.
An engine roared to life, and then tires screeched along the concrete drive, signaling the bastard
somehow escaped with his life.
I should leave just like he did now that I knew the speeding driver wasn’t on the property
searching for me or in any way related to my past. But I couldn’t, despite the way my muscles tingled
from the lack of blood flow from my odd crouch, not just yet. Not until the front door opened and shut,
signaling she was safely inside the house. Which made no sense. I hadn’t even spoken a word to this
woman, yet the need to protect her, to ensure she was safe, kept me from moving.
Maybe the brain damage from the drugs I did in high school was finally surfacing.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck.”
I startled, tipping to the side at her voice and slightly slurred words. Damn, is she drunk? I
wasn’t sure if I was impressed, annoyed, or jealous if she was, because I could really go for a stiff
drink.
“I’m not being emotional, you dipshit. I’m standing up for myself against your conniving ass.” I sat
up straighter, needing to hear more of her rant against the jackass who’d just left. “Holy fuck, I can’t
believe I waste the energy pretending you can get me off with your pencil dick.”
I sealed the back of my hand over my lips to quiet my laughter.
Okay, maybe me and the real Anne could get along.
Fingertips pressed into the hard dirt, I pushed up to stand, slipping the knife back into place
before starting around the corner of the porch.
“Talk to yourself a lot?” I asked, finding her perched on the top step, bottle of wine in hand.
An empty bottle of wine.
She leapt to her feet, drawing the wine bottle back like a weapon. Impressive. Though it lost some
impact when she stumbled to the side. A thick support beam caught her shoulder, helping keep her
upright before she could fall over. Studying her jerky movements as she played off the stumble, I bit
back my growing grin.
She hitched her chin to where I now stood at the base of the steps. “So, you talk.”
I raised a questioning brow, understanding hitting half a second later. Ah, she’s referring to my
silent ass the day we met.
“I saw the truck hauling ass down the drive and wanted to make sure it wasn’t my trouble coming
for you.” Twisting, I caught the red taillights in the distance before they disappeared. “Boyfriend?”
“Asshole,” she grumbled.
A responding throaty chuckle vibrated my chest. “Him or me?”
“Maybe both,” she said with a frown. “I don’t know you that well, but him for sure.”
Clever. This woman was proving to be way more interesting than the one I’d conjured in my
mind.
“I noticed you working the last few days.” Her jaw dropped, parting her lips in an enticing way.
“Seems like there aren’t a lot of bodies around for all the work that needs to be done, and you’re
doing most of it. If you want to show me some of the menial jobs, more manual labor shit, I could
help.”
“You could?” she asked, disbelief clear in her tone. Randomly, she turned to look at the front
porch swing and narrowed her eyes before shaking her head and twisting back my way.
Odd woman.
“I want to,” I clarified.
 Nervousness spiked within me the longer she waited to respond. I rubbed a tatted hand along my
jaw. Damn, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Max said to lie low, but she needed help, and I needed to
fucking move. It seemed like a win-win. The opportunity to spend time with her was a bonus. She
was witty, strong, and fucking gorgeous; if I had to move hay to stare at her ass up close rather than
through a glass pane, then sign me the fuck up.
Her hazel eyes roamed up and down my body in a slow perusal.
Damn, is she checking me out?
“You sure?” she questioned, a smile pulling at her lips as she gestured toward my chest. I looked
down at my thick biceps that were crossed over my torso and frowned, not understanding. “Are those
things for actual work or show?”
My deep laugh filled the night air. “Funny. So, what’ll it be, Goldilocks?” I smirked as a soft pink
flush crept up her neck and tinted her cheeks at the nickname. It fit with her long golden-blonde hair
and spitfire attitude. “You want some help, or will I be confined to my quarters again tomorrow with
nothing to do but waste hours watching Below Deck all day?”
The wine bottle slipped from her lax fingers, clattering to the porch. For several seconds, she
stared at it before a loud, barking laugh rang out. She slapped her hand over her mouth as she cackled.
Yep, clearly drunk, or just shy of that. But it was oddly adorable. I’d only met her once, but I
knew the weight of the whole place clearly rested on her shoulders. If she needed a few bottles of
wine a night to ease that burden, then more power to her.
Work hard and play hard.
Oh, and I bet she played as hard as my fantasy version of her did.
“Okay.” She shook her head as if not believing she was agreeing to this ridiculous idea, though a
wide smile showed all her straight white teeth. “We’ll see if you have what it takes. See you at
sunrise, tats.”
I didn’t hide my grimace. I fucking hated mornings.
“Ranch life starts with the sun. Rethinking your offer? Lying around watching trash TV all day
doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?”
“Never said it was bad, just monotonous,” I responded over my shoulder, already starting toward
the cottage. “Sunrise it is. See you then.”
Without a second look back, I disappeared into the dark shadows. Sunrise would fucking suck, but
working alongside that woman would make it worth it.
And for the first time in way too long, I looked forward to what the next day would bring.
FIVE
 ANNE

M yoffingers hovered over my usual Aquaphor before shifting to dig around the back of the drawer
my bathroom vanity for something with a little color. Finding the right tube, I smeared on a
thin layer of strawberry ChapStick as I eyed my reflection.
High ponytail secured at the back of my head, eyes clear of the redness I woke up with—thank
you, Visine—and soft pink lips.
“I look like I’m trying too hard,” I grumbled to myself as I turned side to side, checking out my ass
in the mirror. Which looked fantastic in my favorite Wranglers. Sure, they had a few holes from
snagging on barbwire or something else around the ranch, but they hugged my curves perfectly. Paired
with a snug white tank and a loose, unbuttoned flannel shirt, I looked like normal me but just kicked
up a bit.
If you could call this kicked up.
I wasn’t wearing pearls or earrings or mascara, but my clothes were clean, so yeah, today I put a
little more effort into my appearance for obvious reasons. The cows didn’t care if I wore the same
shit-covered jeans I wore the day before. But Mr. Mysterious probably would. He didn’t appear to be
the outdoorsy type. Which was fine. Looking like he did, he could be whatever the hell he wanted to
be. My stomach twisted, visualizing his thick, tattooed muscles that were on display last night.
Hopefully he’d wear something similar today, even if it wasn’t all that practical.
Hurrying from my room, ready to get the day started, I took the corner too tight, smacking my
shoulder against the wooden doorframe. Not slowing, I massaged the ache away as I flicked on the
lights for the kitchen, assaulting my eyes with the brightness for a few blinks. Glass and plastic bottles
clanked together as I ripped open the fridge, scanning the shelves stocked high with labeled
Tupperware.
If it weren’t for Kathy, my cook and housekeeper who came every day of the workweek, the fridge
would be empty of food. Which wouldn’t be so bad. More room for wine. Except that was why I
bought a wine fridge. Gripping a flat clear plastic Tupperware labeled “bacon,” I pulled it free. The
two stacked above it toppled to their sides.
Despite the flannel, the cold temperature seeped through, chilling my skin where I tucked the
plastic container beneath my arm. At the back door, I slipped one of my well-worn boots on, then the
other, the cushioned insoles molding around my socked feet. Pale orange and purple rays broke
through the dark sky to the east as the sun slowly peeked over the horizon in what would hopefully be
another beautiful fall day. The gravel slid beneath my boots as I paused. Inhaling deep through my
nose, I gave myself a second to take in the beauty of the cloudless morning.
A loud gurgle from my stomach interrupted the quiet, demanding I not wait for Mr. Mysterious to
eat breakfast. The delicious aroma of cooked meat made my stomach grumble even louder when I
popped the lid open and pulled out a single bacon strip.
Mindlessly chewing my oh-so-healthy breakfast, I watched the horizon brighten. Sure, this was
beautiful, but in West Texas, our sunsets couldn’t be beat. Though these days I usually missed the
beautiful sight while stuck inside working on the paperwork side of things instead of out enjoying it.
With a resigned sigh, I snagged another strip of bacon and started for the barn.
Once inside, I flicked on the lights, the buzz of the overhead fluorescent bulbs signaling it was
time to start the day. Though that thought didn’t feel nearly as heavy as it did yesterday.
At the opposite end, leaning against a stall staring at one of the horses, stood the man I’d dreamed
about all night. I woke up wet with my fingers beneath my sleep shorts, cupping my mound as if that
would ease the need my dirty dreams created. The ache that still lingered as I got ready this morning
and now, seeing him again, turned even more demanding.
Sinking my teeth into the meat, I ripped off a bite with more force than necessary, channeling my
frustration into chewing the bacon to tiny bits. Which did absolutely fucking nothing to help. Seemed
tonight would be another night in the spa with my trusty vibrator. I internally groaned, recalling that
Andy mentioned he’d stop by later, which meant private playtime would have to wait until after he
left.
That should tell me something about how I really felt about the guy.
“Good morning,” I said, forcing myself to act normal. When only a foot separated us, I thrust the
Tupperware into his chest. “Breakfast.”
Not saying a word, he popped the lid open, his hand full when he pulled it out. I blinked, staring
at his blank face, waiting for a thank-you. And kept waiting.
“Okay,” I drawled. Maybe he needed coffee. I sure as hell did. “Not a morning person?”
His icy blue eyes narrowed in response.
Right. Good thing I was friends with Shade and understood this version of the broody male
language.
“Well then, let’s make you one. Come on, I have just the thing to get you up.” Halfway to the
office, my steps faltered as my statement registered. “I meant wake you up. Not get you up as in…
well, you know. You’re a guy.”
He chuckled behind me, ratcheting up my embarrassment as I entered the code to unlock the door
and pushed it open, the thick aroma of coffee and musk wafting past me. Cringing at my dumb ass, I
faced forward to keep him from seeing my face and gestured to my super fancy espresso machine
along the back wall of the old office.
“Damn,” he muttered at my back. I shot him a genuine smile over my shoulder. “I’ve been craving
a good espresso for fucking weeks.”
In my best Vanna White impersonation, I waved at the glorious machine I’d purchased the moment
I returned home. “Then you’re in luck, because I’m a coffee snob.” I pointed toward the bean table.
“There are the fresh beans, and the grinder is over there somewhere too. Choose your poison, and I’ll
help you make a cup.”
The last few strips of bacon disappeared into his wide mouth as he scanned the selection of
beans. He looked at his hand, then swiped it down his loose, dark gray gym shorts before grabbing a
jar. I bit my lip while taking in his defined calves and thick thighs. Hell, even his legs were covered
in ink. But despite how good he looked in the workout gear, it wouldn’t work for what I had planned
for the day.
“Do you have a pair of jeans, by chance?” I questioned, taking the jar and grinder from his
outstretched hands.
He glanced down at his shorts, peering back up through dark lashes. “Nope.”
Damnit. How does he make everything look sexy? “Not a single pair?”
A corner of his lips twitched, as if fighting a smile. “Nope.”
I tapped the tip of a finger against my chin, considering our options. “They might be a little big,
but I think the old ranch manager left behind a few pairs of jeans in the bunkhouse. He wasn’t as fit as
you, but those jeans will save your legs from being torn up, no matter how they fit.”
His lips pursed, clearly not loving the idea of wearing another guy’s clothes, or maybe he was
pissed that I was asking him to change. He’d thank me later.
“I’ll make your espresso while you change. We have spare pairs of boots in there too. Find the
pair that fit best.” I arched a brow at his tennis shoes. “Those will have feed, hay, and shit all over
them before noon.”
“So bossy,” he grumbled, but there was a teasing lilt to his tone.
I shrugged in indifference and tilted my head toward the set of keys hanging on a nail by the door.
“Those are the keys to the bunkhouse. It’s sitting empty since I fired that last fucker last week.”
“Another asshole?” he asked, the intensity in his stare holding me in place.
“You could say that.” I waved him off. “Go change. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get our
day started.”
With a clipped nod, he turned on his fancy tennis shoes, snatching the keys as he left.
Alone, the weight of it all came crashing back on top of me. Somehow, without him in here, the
room felt even emptier than it ever had. As if the last five minutes with someone else around for me to
talk to emphasized how alone I was out here.
Shaking off that depressing deep thought—that was for wine time, not first thing in the morning—I
started up the grinder and poured the beans inside.
With as much practice as I’d had in the last few months, it only took a few minutes to fill the two
tiny ceramic cups with dark, lifesaving liquid. Pinching the two dainty handles between my fingers, I
carefully stepped out of the old office. My knees popped and my back protested as I slowly lowered
myself to the stained concrete, spine pressed against the metal wall as I set his cup down beside my
thigh and lifted the other to my lips. The liquid rippled as I slowly blew across the top, cooling it to
not burn my tongue on the first sip.
Any other morning, I made a double espresso in a large mug so I could carry it while doing chores
without it spilling over the edge. But this, sitting and enjoying the robust flavors and the way the thick
smell added to the experience, was amazing.
Closing my eyes, I took a minute to work through my plan for the day, shifting the order to
accommodate for showing Mr. Mysterious the ropes. With so few hands-on staff, I usually jumped
from one thing to the next based on importance, not really putting time management into
consideration.
The clomp of boot heels drew my attention to the opposite end of the barn, where the two
numbnuts I employed lazily strolled through the open rolling door.
“Hey there, boss lady,” one drawled with a small wave. He studied me, taking in my position on
the floor—hell, maybe freaking out that I was actually sitting—and shot a worried look at his friend.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep, just thinking,” I said, taking another savory sip.
“I think it’s a clone,” one whispered conspiringly to the other, making me smirk. “Either that or a
head injury.”
 “Knock it off, you two.” I laughed, the sound making their brows shoot up in surprise. Damn, was
I really that much of a hardass? “Go check on the herd in the back pasture. We have that one heifer
who’s nearly due. I want her brought back and housed in the barn before she goes into labor.”
I meant to take the side-by-side out after dinner and do it last night, but Andy dropping by kept me
from it. A day shouldn’t make that big a difference, but I didn’t want to chance it since she was
pregnant at the wrong time of the year.
Normally we put the bull in with the females around August to ensure the babies would be born in
the spring, giving them the best chance of survival through the winter. But this little hussy—a cow
after my heart—was feeling the need for some Bernard, my bull, and somehow found a break in the
fence to sneak from her pasture to his. By the time I found them together the next day, they’d had a
super fun night, which resulted in an ill-timed pregnancy.
The two guys nodded in understanding before stepping past me to get their own coffee. Though
they drank the pre-ground, basic drip stuff. They didn’t know what they were missing.
“They’re not as big as you’d think.” I tipped my chin up, finding Mr. Mysterious standing over me.
I gulped as I took in his new, much more appropriate attire. He wore the same snug long-sleeve black
Henley as before, but now jeans hung off his trim hips that somehow also hugged thick thighs. From
this angle, I couldn’t see his backside, but I knew the Wranglers accentuated that asset of his too.
Throat suddenly dry, I polished off the last of my espresso, giving myself a second to regain my
composure. How he affected me so deeply was beyond me.
Hand tattoos. That had to be it.
“Looks like they fit,” I said after clearing my throat. “Find a pair of boots?”
One heel to the stained concrete, he tilted the rounded steel toe in the air. “Not perfect, but good
enough. That mine?” He hitched his chin to the waiting mug. Not waiting for my response, he lowered
to the floor with a throaty groan. Back against the metal wall, he wrapped thick fingers around the
small cup and brought it to his lips.
The white ceramic rim hovered just over his lips when the two ranch hands strode out of the
office, laughing at who knew what, breaking the moment.
The two stumbled to a stop, staring wide-eyed at the man sitting beside me before snapping their
wide eyes to me.
Fuck. I did not think this through when I agreed to him helping around the place. He shouldn’t
even be here. This is what I get for wanting something pretty to look at while I work instead of
using damn common sense.
“Hey.” Setting the cup back down, Mr. Mysterious stood in a smooth motion and held out his hand
to the two gaping kids. “I’m Gray.”
Hmm. So that was his name, or some version of it. It fit him. And now I could stop referring to
him as Mr. Mysterious in my head.
The two boys shook Gray’s hand, their eyes nearly bugging out of their heads when they noticed
the detailed ink covering his hands and fingers.
“Damn, man, those are badass,” one exclaimed.
“How bad did those hurt?” the other asked at the same time.
Instead of answering right away, Gray tossed me a look I couldn’t read and shoved both hands
into the borrowed jeans’ back pockets, tugging the waist band even lower. “Thanks, and a lot.”
Introductions done, he lowered back to the floor but this time sitting a little closer, our knees
nearly touching. “Thanks for the coffee,” he muttered my way before pressing the rim to his lips and
tipping the cup back, downing the entire contents in one gulp. “Damn, that’s good.”
 “He’s helping for a few days,” I said to the ranch hands, hoping that would suffice for now. Palms
to the cool concrete, I pushed to stand. “Go check on the herd. I’m showing him the ropes this
morning.”
They shared a knowing look but thankfully didn’t comment. I stared at their retreating backs, anger
rising as they whispered to each other, glancing back our way before laughing until they disappeared
around the corner of the barn. The moment they were gone, I deflated, shoulders rounding and breath
leaving in a heavy exhale. Not sure why, but it felt like what little respect I’d managed with those two
the past few months just vanished.
“This would be so much easier if I were a guy,” I grumbled. With a huff, I snatched my cup off the
ground, but before I could stand, Gray’s hand snapped out and wrapped around my wrist.
“But then nothing would get done around here,” he deadpanned.
Forgetting the two shitheads who were no doubt still joking about what Gray and I were actually
doing here alone, I grinned. His firm hold loosened, fingers slipping from my skin, allowing me to
straighten.
I extended my hand in request for his empty cup, but he huffed, shaking his head before standing.
Before I could ask what he was doing, Gray pulled the cup from between my fingers and disappeared
inside the office. Peeking my head around the corner, I watched him place both in the dirty dishes bin
before moving to clean the machine parts I’d used.
The metal shook as my back connected hard with the wall, smiling at nothing yet everything at the
same time. He didn’t know how his tiny gesture garnered more respect for him than the other two
jerks had in months. They had never offered to do anything without me asking, much less help with
cleaning up. Hell, I found wrappers around the barn all the time because they just assumed I’d pick up
after them.
“You’re not my madre, nor are you theirs.”
I kept staring straight ahead instead of turning to where our shoulders now brushed as he leaned
against the doorframe.
“Madre?” I questioned, choosing to focus on that instead of the truth in his statement. I allowed
those two to treat me the way they did by picking up after them and not riding their asses when shit
didn’t get done. But sometimes— most of the time—I didn’t have the extra energy to put in. Doing it
myself was easier.
“My mom.”
Smile widening, I rolled my head along the wall to face him. “I knew what it meant. Just an
interesting choice of words instead of saying ‘mom’ or ‘mother.’”
His shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug. Instead of taking the bait and telling me where he
was from, Gray avoided answering by crossing both arms over his chest and cracking his neck.
Effective distraction.
Nicely played.
“All right, Goldy.”
A dull ache burned in my cheeks from holding my wide smile for so long. What in the hell was it
with him and this nickname? Unless he was referring to him wanting to try all my holes to find the one
that fit just right.
No. Bad Anne.
Bad. Bad.
But maybe….
“Show me what needs to be done. I need the workout.”
 The metal groaned when I used the sole of my boot to pop off the wall. Not bothering to see if he
followed, I started toward the horses’ stalls.
“We’ll start by mucking out the stalls.” Shooting a wink over my shoulder, I grabbed a pitchfork
off the wall. “And by we, I mean you.” Pressing the wooden handle to his chest, I waited for him to
grab it before walking backward. “Just lead the horses out into pasture one, then clean out the stalls,
sprinkling lime over the wet spots before spreading fresh shavings over the entire area.”
“I thought you were showing me the ropes, not dangling them so I’ll hang myself with them,” he
grumbled, eyeing Catty as she stuck her head out the door. He jumped when she neighed so loud it
echoed around the barn. “How do I even get this thing out of there?” His blue eyes slid from the horse
to the pitchfork in his hand.
“No,” I shouted, rushing to his side. I wasn’t really planning to leave him alone to figure it all out,
but damn, I wasn’t aware of how little he knew. Wrapping my fingers around the wooden handle of
the pitchfork, I dragged it from his grasp, leaning it against the wall far out of his reach. “Okay, so
basics are needed. Right. First, this right here is a horse.”
Gray shot me an unamused look out of the corner of his eye before studying the massive beast.
“Hi, horse.”
“Catty.”
“I am not,” he muttered. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”
Fist over my lips, I covered my smile. “That’s her name. Catty.”
“Right.” He sighed. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He tilted his head to the side as she nudged her nose in
his direction, begging for attention. “Doesn’t bode well for her disposition.”
“Very true. Have you ever been around or taken care of horses or any large animal before?” I
asked, cringing at the thought. Animals were my best friends, and the bigger, the better. I couldn’t
imagine not growing up surrounded by them.
“Never had the chance,” he said, daring a step closer to Catty. “Always lived in an apartment.”
“Did you have a pet growing up?” He shook his head back and forth. “Even a betta fish?
Everyone had a betta fish.” My pitch rose with every question, completely in shock at how it was
possible for someone to never have a pet to love on.
My heart ached for him when he shook his head again.
Damnit to hell, the urge to hug him was fierce. So was the nagging thought that I could change that
for him and give him one of my animals.
Oh, I bet he’d love Oscar. That damn alpaca had a way of always making me smile.
“I want to hug you,” I grumbled with a stomp of my foot. “But I don’t think we’re there yet in
whatever this is.”
A tentative smile pulled at his lips. “Why?”
“Because that’s sad, and I feel bad for your pet-less life. Animals are the best, even if it’s just a
fish. I had one. His name was Excalibur, and he helped me through a tough breakup in fifth grade.” I
shrugged off his amused expression. “If you ever had a pet, you’d get what I’m saying. They don’t
judge, and they give back what you give them.” I paused. “Well, except dogs. They have love and
devotion even to the owners who treat them terribly. And I think they should lock those people in a
stall to be treated the same way they abused the helpless animal. Don’t you think?”
I sucked in a deep breath, not realizing my lungs were burning from lack of oxygen.
Instead of agreeing with my thoughts on animal abusers, Gray just stared at me with an odd,
almost worried look behind his eyes.
Clearly, I made him speechless with that deep thought, and he needed time to process how he felt
on the subject.
“Anyway,” I dragged out, “let’s start by putting Catty’s halter on. It’s that canvas strappy thing
hanging on the wall by her stall door. That’s step one to getting her out of the barn safely.”
As he twisted the halter every which way, trying to figure out which end went where, I leaned a
shoulder against the wall, enjoying the entertaining show.
His “helping” today would make the day longer.
But oddly enough, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
SIX
Another random document with
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 THE COUNTY PRISONS.
BY A. H. VOTAW, SECRETARY.

The Secretary during the last year has paid some visits to a few of
the county prisons. The tendency is toward improvement in the line
of furnishing employment and in sanitary accommodations.

ALLEGHENY COUNTY (CITY PRISON).

Conditions are much the same as last year. The management is very
ably conducted under Warden Lewis. The inmates are largely those
who are detained for trial. Out of 445 prisoners, 50 were convicts.
Bread is made in the prison, an economical feature whenever the
population has an average of thirty or more. Here meats are
generally served in the shape of hamburg steaks. We commend this
practice to many of our wardens. The meat is eatable, palatable and
all the coarser parts may be utilized. The cost of the food in 1916
was 8.4 cents daily for each prisoner, one cent more than the
previous year. Considering the higher cost of all provisions, the
additional cost is by no means surprising. Too many were detained
for non-payment of fines. We trust they are now availing themselves
of the law, passed by the late Assembly, allowing those held for
costs and fines to be released on condition of agreeing to pay said
charges by instalments. Most letters received for those awaiting trial
are delivered unopened. Tho it would be a task to inspect all
incoming letters, it seems to us that it would be wiser to have a
universal rule providing for inspection of all letters.

ALLEGHENY COUNTY (THE WORKHOUSE).

The apartments of the women have been greatly improved. No

women are now hired out. This may or may not be an improvement.
If they work out under proper influences and can earn some wages,
they may be improved thereby. Doubtless there are difficulties
encountered in making satisfactory arrangements for their care. As
there appears to be work for them at the institution, the necessity for
their finding work outside is not apparent. The women now eat in a
large dining-room at concrete tables with surface of rubber
composition rendering breakage unusual and affording a surface
which is readily cleansed.
The earnings last year of the farm and industries were $111,290—
the largest amount ever reported by the institution. The overhead
cost of each inmate is in gross 57 cents, but this is reduced to 14
cents in consequence of the splendid earnings. The time may come
when this institution will become self-supporting.

BERKS COUNTY.

We are delighted to report some improvements in the prison at

Reading. After strenuous effort by some members of the Board, a
few men have been allowed to work on the poor farm. In 1917 they
succeeded in raising several hundred bushels of potatoes and were
helpful in drainage projects. The experiment is considered a success
in every point of view. Next year under the law providing for the
employment of prisoners on county land, which was approved July,
1917, more land may be cultivated and more prisoners employed.
Striped suitings, which it was once thought was a custom so firmly
rooted as to be ineradicable at Reading, have been entirely
abrogated, a plain jeans suiting being substituted.
We learned that 22 men were on parole, an increase over the report
last year. These men were generally doing well. Thirty-two men and
boys had been placed on probation, serving no part of their sentence
in jail. They have a small yard in which the men parade thrice weekly
for a half hour each time. This is insufficient. Measures should be
taken at once to allow more time in the open air under the blue sky.
The women prisoners should be entirely segregated from the men’s
quarters.
We now revise our estimate and make it approximately 70 per cent.
 BLAIR COUNTY.

The Secretary was hoping to have opportunity to revise his estimate

of the efficiency of the prison at Hollidaysburg, but was informed that
the Commissioners requested that he should have an audience with
them prior to making the usual examination. The Commissioners
were not in session at the time of his visit, and so he did not insist
upon his right as an Official Visitor. His rule is to be subject to the
local regulations. Last year the Secretary was not favorably
impressed with the sanitation and some features of the
management. He trusts that some improvements have been made.
He was pleased to learn that some men were working on the county
farm and others on the roads. He did not learn whether the inmates
were allowed to use the yard for exercise or whether they had the
privilege of remaining outside of their cells longer than two hours a
day. Letters ought to be inspected when received.
The fee system is still in use, a practice generally more or less
abused. The Commissioners should very seriously consider a
proposition to appoint a warden who should purchase provisions by
contract. They buy bread. It would be more economical to bake their
own bread.
Parole has not yet been instituted in this county.
On account of the road and farm work, we increase our estimate of
the efficiency from 41 per cent. to 48 per cent.

CAMBRIA COUNTY.

Twenty-two men are reported to be working on roads. Several men

have been raising vegetables on land, part belonging to the county
and part rented for the purpose. A good beginning. We think that
next year Warden E. H. Knee will endeavor to increase the amount
of farm work.
Sixty-five prisoners are reported to be released on parole.
They ought to inspect incoming letters.
Those who enter a plea of guilty may be sentenced any month in the
year, and hence the number of those detained for trial is greatly
reduced.
They have long discontinued the fee system, the food by contract
costing the county daily for each prisoner 8.62 cents. The workers
eat at a table, and the warden wishes he had tables for the entire
population. They bake their own bread.
On account of the additional number doing good work for the county
we have raised our estimate from 59 per cent. to 65 per cent.

CHESTER COUNTY.

We are pleased to report that new and satisfactory sanitary

appliances have been installed.
A sufficient amount of provisions is supplied and care is taken in the
preparation of the food. What is surprising, when we take into
consideration the greater cost of food, is that the cost per diem for
each prisoner in 1916 was 11 cents as against 12.3 cents the year
before.
All the inmates are kept at work. The industries are carpet weaving
and chair-caning. They paid for materials $3,431 and received
$5,387.
The authorities are willing to allow some of the men to work on farms
but there is no county farm, or land belonging to the county, which is
available. Grade raised to 77 per cent.

DAUPHIN COUNTY.

Here there are about 180 prisoners, say, 150 able-bodied persons,
detained in idleness, from a few days to a year with no duties except
in the line of domestic service. The bakery, the kitchen, the serving
and the work of sweeping and scrubbing give nearly 25 per cent. of
them some employment, and the good warden by a system of
rotation endeavors to give all their turn at being useful. But what an
appalling waste of labor!
There is no available land belonging to the county on which they
might raise supplies for the institution. Dauphin County needs a
prison farm.
Formerly the warden received 25 cents per day for each prisoner
whom he maintained. Now the cost is 13.5 cents per day and the
menu is far superior to what was formerly dispensed under the fee
system. The meat ration is one-half pound daily, which is regarded
as too much for unemployed men. They bake their own bread.
Strange to state, notwithstanding the lack of employment, none are
paroled. In this respect, the county is very much in the rear of the
procession.
As a rule, letters ought to be inspected before delivery.
Of the 168 hours in the week, the men may spend four hours in the
open air. Conditions are not as they should be and cannot be
improved materially till the question of employment is solved.

DELAWARE COUNTY.

The county prison is fortunate in having a warden who does not

slumber on his job. If the laws of the State restrict employment in
some lines, this warden gets busy in some other lines. It is vexatious
to him to see able-bodied men dawdling about with nothing to do. He
gives them all the open air possible. On occasion they may play
games in their limited enclosure. Recently he has constructed a
special building in which the looms are installed. No longer do they
work in their cells, where they were obliged to live, eat and sleep in
lint-laden air. The men assist in making improvements, and
somehow there is something doing in the line of repairs or
improvements every minute.
At the personal request of the warden, the Court had liberated some
selected men to work on the poor farm, and the result had been
exceedingly satisfactory. They raised much of the vegetables for
their own use, and what they could not eat at the time they canned
for future use. They bake their own bread.
The Court here was one of the first to adopt the principle of parole,
and in no county of the Commonwealth have so many offenders
been placed on parole and probation and with such good results.
Grade increased from 67 to 75 per cent.

FAYETTE COUNTY.

Average number of prisoners every day in 1916 was 130, of whom

they manage to employ 30 per cent. and would be glad to have all at
work. Some 25 men have been at work on roads and farms at a
wage of 25 cents per day. The road-making has been very profitable
to the county. The general results have been altogether satisfactory.
They buy their bread, but we think they could employ some of their
idle men in making and baking bread and also save money by the
operation.
Cost of food 15 cents each prisoner daily, four cents more than the
year before. They now serve three meals daily instead of two.
They need sheets and pillow cases. They have abundant help for a
laundry.
Unless the men are at work, they are never in the open air, but they
have the freedom of the corridors during the daytime.

LACKAWANNA COUNTY.

No special changes since 1916 to report, except that the number of

prisoners has decreased about 50 per cent. This may indicate for
that county a higher average of morals.
Last summer they were buying a pound loaf of good bread for 5
cents, and while flour is $14.00 the barrel they were not disposed to
construct a bake shop.
While they were willing to employ convicts on land belonging to the
county, they thought it would be difficult to find among their convicts,
many of them serving quite short sentences, enough reliable men to
constitute a workable gang.
Food is purchased by contract, and the county allows the prison
authorities to expend as much as 20 cents daily for each inmate.
Whoever has power to order repairs ought to get busy. We
understand the grand jury usually calls attention to the urgent need
of improvements, but their suggestions are unheeded. It is poor
economy to allow these unwholesome conditions to continue.

LEHIGH COUNTY.

Farmers are encouraged in this county, as labor is scarce, to apply

to the parole officer for the privilege of employing some prisoners
who can be recommended. Thus, some twenty-five men have been
released to work on farms. The results appear to be satisfactory. The
men receive wages and the county is not charged with supporting
them in comparative idleness. Some of the men are employed in
carpet weaving and rug-making, the profit on which in 1916 was
$1,500.
When the law providing for the release of prisoners held for fines on
condition of paying the charges by instalments was approved, the
Court and parole officers immediately put the law to practical use.
Within eight weeks the sum of $2,600 was collected on this account
—an amount more than saved, since otherwise the men would have
been maintained at the expense of the county and not one cent
would have been received.
We trust that by this time the new entrance planned for access to the
apartments of the women prisoners has been constructed.
Heretofore the women have been obliged to file through a corridor
occupied by the men, a custom salutary for neither men nor women.
The work of probation, parole, non-support, truancy and collection of
fines under the recent law is all administered from one central office
by a general officer with assistants. On the ground of economy and
practical results, we commend this policy to other counties.
Percentage of efficiency raised from 60 per cent. to 70 per cent.

LUZERNE COUNTY.
As is frequently the custom of county prisons, this prison contains
both prisoners committed by the county court and also the city
misdemeanants. The city prisoners have been allowed to work
outside on the county farm. The authorities have not been willing to
assume the responsibility for paroling the county prisoners for
outside work. It is quite possible that in the spring of 1918 they may
take action under the special legislation of the late Assembly.
There are some acres of ground about the institution which is kept in
an admirable order by the inmates, but no space has been set aside
or adapted for an exercise ground for the prisoners. This is a matter
which should receive attention. The open air is wholesome, and men
should not be deprived of this privilege even if they are felons.
This institution was one of the last to adhere to a striped costume,
which has finally been superseded by suitings of plain colors.
They ought to add a bakery to their cooking department. We believe
this prison would profit by the employment of a professional cook.
The warden manages to find employment for nearly all of the
prisoners in some sort of domestic service, tho no special industries
are maintained.
A liberal application of the privilege of parole is noticeable in this
county. The results are very satisfactory.
General efficiency the same as the year before.

MONTGOMERY COUNTY.

Early in the season of 1917 some men were paroled to work on the
county farm. The satisfactory results are reported in our account of
the Wardens’ Meeting. The authorities have been so well pleased
with this experiment that it is probable next season will witness some
enlargement of these activities. Some of the men have been
employed in finishing rugs, but this industry last summer was
lagging.
They bake an excellent quality of bread, and prepare a menu
somewhat above the average. Their experiment with cocoa nibs was
not satisfactory; the men greatly prefer coffee. At some institutions,
cocoa is being served occasionally as a substitute for coffee, and the
inmates appear to enjoy it. A drink made from cheap cocoa nibs may
not have much nutriment, but real cocoa possesses considerable
nutriment, while coffee has no value as food, but may act as a
stimulant.
Estimated efficiency now rated at 75 per cent.

NORTHAMPTON COUNTY.

Here they are considering a proposition to place a gang of laborers

on a county farm. The warden is favorable to the experiment and will
do all he can to make the effort a success.
So far as we know to date, they are not discharging prisoners,
detained on account of fines, on condition of paying costs or fines in
instalments. Next year we hope to hear they have established this
system which in some other counties has proved to be eminently
satisfactory.
The prisoners listlessly parade for an hour and a half each day either
in the corridors or in the small exercise yard. They spend the
remainder of the time in their cells excepting those who weave
carpet or engage in domestic duties.
In 1916 the average daily cost of the food per prisoner was 17.8
cents, and there was an attempt to serve some variety. They
purchase bread.
None were reported on the parole list. What is the matter with this
county? Are there no prisoners fit for parole? Or is the Court still
unconvinced? Will Northampton County be the last to adopt a
system, the principle of which is becoming universally recognized?
No change this year in Efficiency grading.

PHILADELPHIA COUNTY.

The two departments of this prison, one the convict prison at

Holmesburg, the other the receiving prison at Moyamensing, pursue
the even tenor of their way. There is little change to report. The
sanitary appliances have had much attention within the last few
years, and are now in practically perfect condition. The latest cell
blocks at the Holmesburg prison represent the best thought in most
ways of prison construction. The cells seem like rooms, not cages,
the windows deserve the name, and the sanitation is correct. At this
prison the solitary system may still be studied. Those who work,
however, and there is a goodly proportion, eat at tables and
converse freely at all times while employed. There is still no special
work other than domestic service and work of repairs and
extensions.
The hospital at both departments is well equipped.
For years prisoners have not suffered much detention on account of
non-payment of fines. Fines have been imposed but within the last
five years less than 10 per cent. of the amount has been collected.
We have no report of the operation of the new law by which fines
may be paid in instalments.
Grand juries may come and grand juries may go, but the institution
pursues its unwavering course. Sometimes the jury recommends
improvements which the management desires as sincerely as the
jury. Many of these improvements have been made, and it may be
the published reports of the grand jury may have rendered the task
of securing appropriations a little more easy. But it is an impossible
task for any body of twelve or fifteen men within the time of two or
three hours to study the conditions of an institution so as to present a
well-developed scheme for its management.
We hold no brief for the Philadelphia County Prison. Doubtless some
conditions could be improved. But the jury occasionally in its zeal
magnifies a possible wrong or views some punitive feature out of its
proper prospective. The discipline for a body of untried prisoners,
some of whom may prove to be dangerous criminals, must not be
squared by the discipline meted out to convicts who remain year
after year in the same institution. You deal with one set as with
people you know, the others present unknown dangerous
proclivities. The tendency is to treat a body of transients with a
stricter set of regulations. Just how far the principles of “The New
Penology” have entered the precincts of Philadelphia County Prison,
we are not prepared to discuss. There is a medium ground in all
things and in prison management, probably the safest plan is to take
the middle course. Compared with the “Tombs,” the New York
County prison for those detained for trial, the prison at Moyamensing
compares very favorably. The advantages, the employments, the
general discipline of the New York Convict prisons at Blackwell’s and
Riker’s Islands are perhaps in the main superior to our convict
prison. The regulations for those held for trial should be as mild and
reasonable as is consistent with safety and the convenience of the
accused person. While they are not yet convicts, many of them are
well-known recidivists, more or less dangerous, some are entirely
unknown and need watchful care, so that any system founded on
uniform treatment for all is liable to criticism. A system which
combines moderate restraint with exactly the right proportion of
reasonable freedom presents a problem which a novice can no more
readily solve than an ignoramus the elements of an eclipse.
Down at Moyamensing they have the buildings and the space for the
detention of the untried prisoners, and we have little doubt but that
the manager and the court officials, if they were to meet for a
conference, could unite in the adoption of regulations which would
be satisfactory to all parties concerned. It is to the city’s direct
interest to make use of the facilities already possessed. We are
inclined to the belief that the construction of a new prison for the
untried may be an economic blunder.

SCHUYLKILL COUNTY.

We learn that ten men have been working on the county farm.
This county for some years has been allowing men who were fined
to be released on condition of making payments on instalments. In
1916 they collected from this source the sum of $2,081.14. If these
men and women had been maintained in prison in accordance with
the old law of 1836, their board and maintenance would have cost
the taxpayers $4,025.38. Hence by the new arrangement a snug
profit to the county of $6,106.52. They were pioneers in the rational
treatment of those who were fined.
Here they believe in the principle of parole and put it into practice.
Number on parole and probation over 16 years of age 154
Number on parole and probation under 16 years of age 124
Some failures reported, the majority being juveniles arrested for
truancy, etc.
They still continue their antiquated toilet arrangements. The closets
are flushed by dumping therein water from buckets. The water is
readily obtainable from spigots, so that the inconvenience is reduced
to some extent, yet this system is justly condemned.
Trusties keep the Court House and the grounds in good order. Some
are employed in making carpets and knitting socks.
Except murderers in the second degree, practically all county
convicts are detained in the county prison. They have room for them
in the old bastile, so why send them to the penitentiary on per diem
charges?
The prisoners are turned absolutely loose one hour each day in the
prison yard.
General Efficiency the same as the previous year, but on account of
the farm work we estimate the grade at 70 per cent.

WESTMORELAND COUNTY.

Here is a county prison reporting for the year 1916 an average daily
number of inmates of 58. And yet they could send 12 men to work at
road-making in a prison camp, and 10 men to work on the county
farm. The employment record is a vast improvement over the report
of the previous year when a few at domestic employments about the
jail were the only inmates at work. It is thought that next season the
agricultural operations will be increased.
The Directors ought to contrive at once to improve the cooking
arrangements or, better still, to construct an entirely new culinary
department.
They eat at tables in the corridors. We believe that it would be well
for wardens generally to adopt this method. The cells are more
readily kept clean, and the appearance has a civilized effect.
There are no sheets and pillows, a lack which some philanthropic
organization might supply. They have plenty of time to do laundry
work.
On account of the new opportunities for employment, we cheerfully
revise our estimate of the Efficiency from 53 to 65 per cent.

YORK COUNTY.

No official visit has been paid to the prison at York since the last
report. We have learned that conditions are generally unchanged. If
this be true, there is much ground for complaint.
There is no employment except that a few assist in domestic service
at the prison.
The food supplied is utterly inadequate. A few weeks ago the bill of
fare for one week consisted of bread and coffee served twice a day
for the seven days and a ration of soup with meat and vegetables
was served twice during the week. On one other day three potatoes
were dealt out to each prisoner. A certain amount of molasses is
given out each week. No prison in the United States or Canada has
such scanty fare. The prisoners are allowed to supplement their fare
by purchasing supplies from a dealer who calls almost every
morning, but the majority of them are penniless. Their friends, if they
have any, may bring provision.
The sheriff receives forty-five cents a day for providing this meagre
fare. Again and again we have called the attention of the good
people of York County to these disgraceful conditions. One hundred
and thirty years ago in the prisons of Philadelphia, each prisoner was
furnished with water and a half loaf of bread every day. Those who
had money could buy additional supplies; others must beg and
depend upon friends. The York Prison has maintained a similar
system to the present day. There has been no progress. The sheriff
follows in the line of his predecessors. The authorities, under whom
this iniquitous system has been allowed to continue, are the
responsible parties. If the fare at other prisons, where a sufficient
quantity is served, costs from 12 cents to 16 cents per day, the fare
at York County prison costs barely 10 cents per day. Possibly the
sheriff finds the business profitable, but that has little to do with the
matter. The system is wrong. Any plan whereby the superintendent
of any prison derives his profit from boarding the inmates is liable to
abuse. The only remedy is to change the system. Act 171, Laws of
Pennsylvania 1909, provides that all counties having a population
between 150,000 and 250,000 must have a warden who purchases
supplies by contract. Such a warden may be appointed in counties
having less than a population of 150,000. The remedy lies with the
citizens of York County. A number of prisons in counties having less
than a population of 150,000 are controlled by either a warden or
sheriff who serves for a salary and purchases food by contract. In
such prisons, the conditions are always better than under the fee
system. Grade 40 per cent.

Later. As we are going to press, we learn that proceedings are being

brought before the court in York County with a view of making some
wholesome changes. This Society endorses the efforts of the good
citizens of York to remove an evil which has too long been a
reproach to that community.
 BEQUESTS
We gratefully acknowledge the receipt of the following bequests
which we received in 1917:
Estate of Joshua L. Baily $5,000.00
Estate of Henry A. Rogers 952.50
 THE WARDENS’ MEETING AT GLEN
MILLS AND SLEIGHTON FARM,
OCTOBER 4-5, 1917.
Reported by Florence Bayard Kane.

In view of the fact that some important penal legislation was enacted
by the General Assembly of 1917, it seemed wise to call a
conference of wardens, inspectors and commissioners to consider
the effect of this legislation and how it might be put into practice.
Hence a call for such a conference, issued by The Pennsylvania
Prison Society and by the Prison Reform League of Pennsylvania,
was sent to county commissioners and prison officials in the eastern
and central parts of the Commonwealth. Mrs. Martha P. Falconer,
superintendent of the Girls’ School at Sleighton Farm, very kindly
offered to entertain the members of the Conference at this institution
on the afternoon and night of October 4th, and Mr. F. H. Nibecker,
superintendent of the Boys’ Department at Glen Mills, cordially
agreed to take care of the company on the 5th inst.
Responses from those invited indicated much interest, and the
attendance fully justified our expectations.
Nine wardens were present from the county prisons of Easton,
Ebensburg, Harrisburg, Hollidaysburg, Lancaster, Media, Norristown,
West Chester and Wilkes-Barre. Seventeen Inspectors were in
attendance representing the counties of Berks, Blair, Chester,
Dauphin, Delaware, Lehigh, Lancaster and Montgomery. The
counties of Bucks, Chester, Columbia and York were represented by
one or more of their Commissioners.
The State Board of Charities was represented by Mr. Louis Wolf, a
member of that body, and by Wm. McGarry, an agent of the Board.
Judge J. F. Hause, of West Chester, graced the occasion with his
presence.
Miss Florence Bayard Kane, of the Prison Reform League, and John
Way and Albert H. Votaw, of the Pennsylvania Prison Society, were
present. Robert Dunning Dripps, Esq., Secretary Public Charities
Association, was present on the evening of the 4th inst.
Most of the company arrived about noon at Sleighton Farm and were
soon doing ample justice to a bountiful lunch provided by the efficient
helpers of Mrs. Falconer. After an inspection of the buildings and
grounds and noting the excellent work of the girls on the Farm and
the fifty-acre kitchen garden the company assembled in the
commodious audience room to consider the objects of the meeting.
Secretary Votaw called the meeting to order and served thereafter
informally as Chairman. He said he was convinced that persons
engaged in the same sort of work often were the gainers by
comparing their views and experiences. As a teacher he had learned
to value the opportunities afforded by the Teachers’ Institutes. Not
that he always adopted new methods proposed, for he learned that
the personal equation must be considered and that all persons were
not adapted to use identical methods. What would succeed with one
might result in failure with another. At the same time, there was
inspiration and much profit from such conferences. He ventured to
say that the county prisons in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania
were all diverse in their administration. There was lack of team work.
While it was not recommended that all should follow exactly the
same form of management, there was undoubtedly much to be
gained by comparison of methods and results.
This meeting, however, was called particularly to consider recent
legislation. The following letter from Governor Brumbaugh,
addressed to E. M. Wistar, President of the Pennsylvania Prison
Society, was read:
“Mr. Edward M. Wistar,
Philadelphia, Pa.

My Dear Mr. Wistar:

 I have the letter of Mr. Votaw, calling my attention to a
meeting to be held at Darlington, Pa., October 4th and 5th.
The purpose of the meeting, as I understand it, is to
ascertain in what way recent legislation affecting prison
labor may be most practically and effectively applied to
conditions in this Commonwealth. I am heartily in favor of
the wise employment of the prisoners in our penal
institutions, and steadfastly favored and approved all
legislation having that end in view.
I consider, therefore, this conference most opportune, and
trust that its deliberations may result in practical guidance
of great moment to Pennsylvania.
It may be of interest to you to know that we are now
planning to utilize such of our prison labor as we can in
connection with the Highway Department, not only
because we believe this is right as a fundamental
principle, but because in this emergency it will release
other labor for national service without impairing the road
construction program of the Commonwealth.
I wish your convention great success, and beg to be
Very truly yours,
M. G. Brumbaugh.”
The wardens were first asked to relate their experience with regard
to the recent law allowing the wardens or superintendents of prisons
to release the inmates for work on land belonging to the county or
state.
Warden George W. Allen, of Media, being called upon, told the
Conference that he had been employing from seven to fourteen men
on the county farm since early in the spring, even before the Act had
received executive sanction. At his request Judge Isaac Johnson
had, as privileged under the law granting parole to county prisoners,
paroled certain selected inmates for this purpose. None of the
prisoners had violated their parole nor attempted to escape. They
were taken in a van every morning to their work with one guard, and
had worked faithfully and with pleasure. They had cultivated about
20 acres of land. The entire cost of the venture was about $1100.00,
a sum which the results had fully justified. The expense had been
equally shared with the Poor Directors and also the proceeds. They
had raised cabbage, soup beans, lima beans, carrots, turnips,
potatoes, beets, tomatoes and other produce. What was not used at
once by the prisoners was dried, canned or stored for winter use. No
wages was paid to the men. The result had been satisfactory to all
parties concerned.
Dr. J. K. Weaver, Prison Inspector, of Norristown, informed the
assembly that nineteen men had been sent to the Poor Farm, whose
officials had taken charge of them and had provided them with food
and lodging. There had been no difficulty whatever in maintaining
discipline. The men had worked well and with enjoyment. A few
privileges were allowed, such as swimming in the river when the
day’s work was done, and no one had attempted to escape. They
were paid 60c. a day for their work, payable at the time of their
release. One man earned $52.80.
Warden Lemuel Roberts, of the Norristown Prison, informed the
meeting that this employment of prisoners in Montgomery County
had been initiated by presenting a petition to the Court to parole a
few selected men to work on this Farm. The Court consented to
parole three men for this purpose, and the experiment was so
completely successful that the number thus paroled was gradually
increased to nineteen. He was convinced that the payment of 60c.
per day had served a double purpose in giving the men an incentive
and a reward for good conduct and also in enabling them to go forth
with a little cash to pay their expenses while searching for further
employment. Without money and without friends, very often released
convicts resort to crime for their maintenance.
Warden John F. Clower, of West Chester, stated that the County
Home had refused to employ prisoners for the reason that they had
already an abundant supply of labor from their own inmates. They
had bought from the Farm supplies of vegetables at a lower rate
than in the open market. For winter use they had canned 400 jars of
tomatoes and a large quantity of sauerkraut.
Five of the inmates had been paroled to neighboring farmers, for
whose labor the prison had received $25.00 per month, the prisoner
receiving no large share. In this prison the men are almost all
employed constantly at work in making carpets, caning chairs and
weaving cloth for their clothing. In 1917 they had sold products
amounting to $5,387. A small allowance, about 19c. weekly, is paid
to the prisoners.
Mr. Thomas J. Fretz, an Inspector of Lehigh County, stated that a
number of prisoners had been paroled directly to farmers. It was
stipulated that the men should receive the prevailing customary
wage for this work and that this sum should be paid to the families of
the paroled men, or given to them on their discharge. In some
instances wages sufficient to pay certain costs had been deducted
from the amount paid to the prisoner.
Mr. Edward Taenzer, Inspector of Berks County, informed the
meeting that this season they had employed prisoners on their
County Farm, and that the experiment had been a decided success
from every point of view. Two years ago an effort had been made to
employ the prisoners on this land, and this proposition had been
heartily approved by the Inspectors, the County Commissioners, the
Directors of the Poor and the local press. The Solicitors of the
Boards, however, held that such action was illegal, admitting that
work on roads was the only employment allowed to prisoners except
behind the bars. Since the beginning of the great war Mr. Taenzer
and others renewed their efforts to find employment for the prisoners
on farms, meeting with formidable opposition, but since the legal bar
was removed by recent legislation the prisoners have been hard at
work, giving satisfaction to all concerned. The selected men are
taken by conveyance to the Farm and work for eight hours daily.
They have produced from four to five hundred bushels of potatoes
and a like proportion of other vegetables. Just now they are working
on the drainage project. The Poor Directors provide the midday
meal, and it is expected that hereafter they may provide for the
necessary supervision. The men receive no pay for their labor, but
esteem it a great privilege thus to be employed.
Secretary Votaw stated that the consensus of opinion was evidently
favorable to the employment of county prisoners on farms as far as
possible. He invited Agent McGarry, of the State Board of Charities,
to comment on the attitude of this Board on this subject. Mr. McGarry
said that the Board had for many years advocated such employment
and that the emergency created by the war had made such
legislation possible.
The Acting Chairman then called the attention of the conference to
Act. No. 399, which received the approval of the Governor on the
20th of July, 1917. The law had practically been unheralded, but its
execution would revolutionize conditions in all the counties of the
State. The Act provides for the division of the State into nine
Districts, containing from five to ten counties, in each of which
Districts there shall be established an institution to which all convicts,
sentenced to a term of ten days or more, may be sent. It seemed to
be formulated with a view to the general betterment of the prisoners
confined in the county jails. The fact that there was no clause making
it compulsory to send prisoners to such institution was regarded as a
weak feature.
General discussion followed. There were many present who had not
seen the law, or even heard thereof. There was a general opinion
that this law should be carefully considered before the conference
should come to a settled conclusion.
Secretary Votaw hoped that at least one of the nine Districts would
give the experiment a fair trial. It was evident that existing conditions
in the county jails would have to be changed, and the officials ought
to be warned that some action must be taken. Was there any better
proposition to be considered? Since the Allegheny penal farm
already contained five or six hundred acres, and since most of the
adjoining counties were already sending many of their prisoners
there, paying at rate of 50c. daily per prisoner, he suggested that the
District in which this workhouse was situated might readily convert
this institution into one of these Industrial Farms. While at this
institution to which convicts from Pittsburgh are sent, it seems
possible to put ten-day, and even five-day, prisoners to some
profitable work, it would be poor economy to transport ten-day
prisoners from the more distant counties to said District Farm.
Mr. McGarry raised a question as to the disposal of existing jail
properties.
Secretary Votaw said that they would be still needed for short
termers and persons awaiting trial, but that portions of such jail
property might be profitably disposed of. Very often the county jail
stood on rather valuable real estate which might sometimes be sold
for sufficient to meet the county’s quota on the new District
Institution. To illustrate that existing prisons must still be used as
places of detention, it was shown during the meetings that at the
recent visits of Secretary Votaw in his capacity of Official Visitor, one
third of the inmates in thirteen of the larger counties were being
detained for trial. It is to be hoped that the problem of furnishing
employment to the untried prisoners may be found.
Mr. Louis Wolf was inclined on first reading of the bill to think that it
would prove impracticable.
It was explained that this Act might have imperfections, but that it
was really the only solution of the problem of employment for
prisoners as far as conditions existed in this Commonwealth. If the
products of convict labor are not allowed to be sold in the market
some other way must be devised to set these idle people to work. In
these times of dire stress, not an ounce of energy should be lost.
Our Government needs the labor of every man, good or bad, in order
to increase the production of food supplies, and for manufacturing
purposes. Wherever the farming proposition for prisoners had been
fairly tried there was no indication of receding. Reports from most
places where prisoners were employed in agricultural pursuits were
enthusiastic. In the State of Massachusetts misdemeanants are
generally sent to Bridgwater Industrial Farm where, under efficient
management, several hundred acres of land, thought to be almost
worthless, have been reclaimed, and now are returning a large yield
of fruits, vegetables and grain crops. In the State of Indiana within
the last three years a farm of about 1200 acres has been purchased
by the State, to which now all misdemeanants sentenced to a term of
sixty days or more in the county prisons are to be sent. It is at the
option of the Court whether those sentenced for shorter terms shall
be sentenced to this farm prison. Eventually it is thought this farm
will be entirely self-supporting. There were many escapes the first
year, but since a law has been enacted making it a penal offence to
escape or to endeavor to escape the number of fugitives has greatly
decreased. The proposition is not new and is being tried out with
greater or less success.
Inspector W. B. Meetch, of Dauphin County, said that the prison at
Harrisburg just now had a population of 207, of whom 53 were
sentenced to a term of sixty days or more. These men might be
available for farm work, but the Court is averse to the principle of
parole. However, he was inclined to believe that the privileges of free
men should be denied to the wrongdoer in order that there might be
some contrast between the condition of the law-breaker and the man
who was observant of the rules of justice. He would exercise great
caution in reference to presenting them with the opportunities to
escape. Men were sent to prison to be punished.
It was pointed out that the modern idea did not wholly discard the
element of punishment in the treatment of criminals, but, for the
benefit both of society and the individual, placed extreme emphasis
on efforts to reform the wrongdoer and furnish him with incentives to
become a useful member of the community instead of a perpetual
menace. There is the publicity of a trial, the confinement to certain
limits whether behind walls or within other definite limits, the restraint
of a discipline to which a free man is not subject. This is regarded as
sufficient punishment in these days. We have discarded the stocks,
the pillory, cropped hair and the striped suit. The disgrace is
sufficient without these barbaric accompaniments. In the effort to
treat the criminal as a human being very much like the rest of us,
since we all acknowledge that we have sinned, modern methods
have found the best remedy for the restoration of the prisoner. If we
treat him as an outcast, he will remain an outcast who will harry the
community to the end of his days. Above all, cease to detain him in
idleness, which is the worst remedy for immorality of any sort.
Warden Wm. A. McIlhenny, of Harrisburg, stated that there was no
land owned by Dauphin County which was available for the
employment of his prisoners. The county farm was limited in size
and was cared for by the regular inmates of the County Poorhouse.
He had no doubt that if the law allowed prisoners to work on other
than county land, some kindly disposed land owners would freely
grant land for such purpose.

THE WORK ON SLEIGHTON FARM.

Mrs. Falconer was called upon to explain the methods on Sleighton

Farm. She made an earnest plea that women or girls who are
prisoners be allowed to work in the open air. Although all the inmates
of the institution have a thorough course in housekeeping and
sewing, she was sure that these are not invariably the best
occupations for women. She stated that there was no room for
question that country life and sounds and smells and diverse
occupations were the most helpful for such weak sisters as fall by
the wayside. No other work is so suitable to children or adapted so
well to their powers as work out in the open. She had felt it essential
to have a woman of ability and character to have general
management of the farm work, inasmuch as many of those
committed to her care were, in a sense, oversexed and they needed
to be associated constantly with good women. This was a rule in the
selection of all her assistants. As far as possible, men are eliminated
from the activities on the farm, so that these girls come entirely
under the wholesome influence of young women specially trained for
the various kinds of employment on the farm. The enthusiasm and
enjoyment connected with the varied occupations on the farm have
strong psychological value.
As “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” so the same
method would have the same effect on “Jill.” Hence, a reasonable
amount of amusement is encouraged. Whatever gift any girl may
have, in the line of song or music or recitation, is developed. They
have various entertainments in their assembly room.
In consequence of the present stringency and high prices, she had
been obliged to change the menu, and the results have been
carefully observed. For instance, meat has been almost entirely
dropped from the bill of fare, and so far there has been no indication
that the health of her community had suffered. There is no tea or
coffee for any one on the place, nor stimulant of any sort. They have
abundance of milk, cottage-cheese, cocoa, cereals and all the dry
and green vegetables they can eat. The ration has been scientifically
studied so that the physical requirements may be satisfied. This
report was exceedingly interesting to the wardens present, all of
whom have been confronted with the serious nature of the food
problem.
This summer a few of the girls in groups of four or five have been
paroled to work on some neighboring farms. They receive twenty
cents an hour for their labor and are allowed to retain their wages. In
some instances they have gone without supervision. The results
have been very satisfactory.
Miss Farrall, Head Farmer, spoke of the pleasure of the children in
propagating the plants in the hot house, in setting out the plants, in
watching their growth and in all the varied agricultural processes.
Besides the actual work on the farm the girls had been employed in
road-building, even the concrete work being done by them. They
have installed a new drainage system. They are trained in the care
of hogs and poultry, and on the newly acquired farm adjacent to their
premises they hope soon to develop some dairy industry. The
children have done nearly all the work on a fifty-acre garden. They
have already gathered 1100 bushels of potatoes, and the harvesting
of the crop is not complete. They have planted, cultivated and
husked seventeen acres of corn. They are raising turnips, parsnips,
salsify, beets, carrots, and have succeeded, in spite of the worms, in
harvesting 1000 heads of cabbage. They had used their green
house this season in drying large quantities of vegetables for winter
use.

THE INTERMISSION.
In the intermission between the afternoon and evening sessions
there were three events of considerable interest.

1. A baseball game, in which a nine from the visitors contested

with a nine of the school. No game of the year anywhere elicited
more enthusiasm. The score was 15 to 12 in favor of the home
nine. In the last inning the visitors, who had been somewhat
ahead, went “all to pieces,” and the 500 girls retired from the
bleaching grounds to their quarters exultant over the famous
victory of the nine of Sleighton Farm.
2. A delicious supper served by the girls of the farm.
3. A charming vocal concert given by the girls in the Assembly
Room, under the direction of Mrs. Falconer.

At 8.30 in the evening the conference assembled in the reception

room of the Administration Building. Consideration of the bill
providing for the establishment of nine industrial farms was resumed.
Mr. Robert Dunning Dripps spoke of the admirable purpose of the
bill, though admitting that certain modifications were probably
needed to render it thoroughly effective. He was emphatic in
condemnation of the conditions now existent in the county jails. The
employment of all prisoners must be guaranteed. So far as possible
they should be employed in the open air, in order to build up their
physical condition. Such work, under wise handling, has solved
some of the economic problems of prison management. We have
too many jails. Fewer prisons with equal conditions of population and
opportunities could be administered more effectively and
economically. Farm penal institutions in many places have gone
beyond the experimental stage and have revealed amazing
possibilities of reformation, economy and ease of administration.
Witness our State Farm at Bellefonte, various penal farms in New
York, the misdemeanant farms in Massachusetts and Indiana, and
the large penal farm at Guelph, Ontario. Farm work could be
managed by the inmates of county jails with less risk on the whole
than by the convicts sent to the penitentiaries. If a few escape the
harm they would do to any community would be less on the average
than hardened convicts who receive the long sentences. He recalled
that all properly managed insane asylums have their inmates in the
open air as much as possible and give them every opportunity to
engage in the work of raising the supplies of food. It is all wrong to
pen up a thousand men in close confinement because some half
dozen of them may try to escape. He did not speak as a mere
theorist, because, as Director of Public Safety, he had been
responsible for the management of the House of Correction, where
he had observed the beneficial effects of working on the farm and
the ease with which this sort of work could be administered.
Mrs. Falconer emphasized the viciousness of idleness. She knew of
the wholesome results of allowing women to work in the open, and,
of course, it must readily follow that men would be equally improved.
Mr. Pascoe, Warden of the prison at Easton, stated that he had
about 100 prisoners who are only partially employed in carpet
weaving. He has a small exercise yard where his men are allowed to
parade about an hour daily. With his scant space and opportunities
he is hampered. He would be very willing to make arrangements to
have his men work on the Poor Farm about seven miles away if the
authorities would grant the privilege. He is entirely aware of the evils
of idleness, and would welcome the opportunity to employ his
inmates in farm work. Possibly a few might escape, but the harm
they might do would be entirely out of proportion to the injury done to
the men by the present system of detaining them in idleness.

THE GLEN MILLS FARM.

It was the first visit of most of the men to this highly cultivated farm of
500 or more acres, and they were both surprised and delighted to
have a visible illustration of what may be accomplished by lads and
young men in the line of husbandry. They were received very
graciously by Superintendent Nibecker, who, after some explanation
of the general system, conducted them over the plantation. There
was an exhibit of corn (many stalks being fifteen feet in height, with
two ears), pumpkins, cowbeets, turnips, etc., which would make a
creditable showing before any body of experts. The dairy of blooded
stock was inspected, and a piggery inhabited by over 200 fine
specimens of porkers was much admired for its fine sanitary
condition. The report in 1916 showed that about forty products of the
farm were valued at $23,581 and that the expenses charged to the
farm amounted to $8,033, thus showing the handsome balance of
$15,548 to the credit of the farming operations.
The Conference met for a brief session in the parlor of the institution.
On motion, Mr. Edward Taenzer, of Reading, was made Chairman of
this meeting. Mr. Votaw had already suggested that there might be a
service in forming a more permanent organization of prison officials
of this Commonwealth. There were many features of administration
to be discussed, and he thought mutual benefit would accrue from
an occasional conference, annual or semi-annual, to compare views
and methods. Especially would such conference be of value and of
great influence in being able to present to the General Assembly
their united views, based on practical experience, with regard to
proposed penal legislation, and also to suggest and promote
measures for improvement of penal conditions. This proposition
appeared to receive the unanimous endorsement of those present.
Chairman Taenzer suggested annual conferences and hoped that an
effort would be made to equalize the working of the laws in all
counties. Many of the counties operated under special legislation.
The County of Berks, working under an Act of 1848, was at a
decided disadvantage, compared with other counties. There was no
uniformity in regard to turnkey fees, and many other customs, some
of them belonging to a past age.
On motion of Mr. Votaw the following Committee was appointed to
make arrangements for another similar conference to be held
probably next autumn, and to draft regulations for the government of
the body: Edward Taenzer, Chairman; Warden Clower, of West
Chester; Warden McIlhenny, of Harrisburg; Warden Obetz, of
Lancaster, and Agent McGarry, of the State Board of Charities. On
motion, A. H. Votaw was appointed Secretary of this Committee.
A vote of thanks to Mrs. Falconer and to Mr. Nibecker was extended
for their generous hospitality and for their many courtesies to the
conference. It seemed that nothing which pertained to the comfort
and pleasure of the visitors had been left undone.
The Conference adjourned with a feeling that this meeting had been
successful and that a permanent organization would be of decided
service to the best interests of the Commonwealth.
After a bountiful lunch, served by the assistants of Superintendent
Nibecker, the members of this memorable Conference dispersed to
their several homes.

ATTENDEES AT THE CONFERENCE ON THE GLEN MILLS

FARMS OCT. 4-5.

Wardens.
Wm. A. McIlhenny Harrisburg
Rich. F. Pascoe Easton
Lemuel Roberts Norristown
John B. Riddle Hollidaysburg
Edw. H. Knee Ebensburg
J. Carson Obetz Lancaster
Michael F. Whalen Wilkes-Barre
John F. Clower West Chester
Geo. W. Allen Media
Inspectors.
Theo. J. Fretz Allentown
Edward Taenzer Reading
Dr. J. K. Weaver Norristown
Jesse L. Jones West Chester
J. Howard Lumis West Chester
Alex. C. Whitcraft West Chester
Wm. P. Sharpless West Chester
E. Marshall Hamell Media
F. G. Thomas Yeadon
M. G. Brubaker Lancaster
 Adam Sweigart Lancaster
Thomas Erb Lancaster
Eli Good Lancaster
D. G. Lindsay Lancaster
Wm. P. Schwartz Altoona
Calve Walker Altoona
W. B. Meetch Harrisburg
Commissioners.
John D. Jenkins York
D. F. Knittle Bloomsburg
D. M. Golder West Chester
Watson Davis Doylestown
Allen Zetty Doylestown
Wash. Cadwallader Doylestown
John E. Baldwin West Chester

Louis Wolf, Member State Board Charities.

Wm. McGarry, Agent State Board Charities.
Robert Dunning Dripps, formerly Director of Public Safety,
Philadelphia.
Judge, J. F. Hause, West Chester.
Miss Florence Bayard Kane, Philadelphia, Member Prison Reform
League.
John Way, Treas. The Penna. Prison Society.
A. H. Votaw, Sec. The Penna. Prison Society.
Phebe N. Votaw, Lansdowne.