"Exactly."
"I tried to go after them on the horses, but they were gone by the time I got through the trees."
"So you weren't on horseback when this all happened?"
"No." I make a face. Why does that matter?
"What were you doing? I thought you were riding?"
Shit. He's going to make a great dad to a teenager.
"We'd stopped off to pick blackberries." This is true. Just not a blow by blow of everything that happened.
"So you get on HP and start for the trees?"
"Pretty much," I answer, pushing away my irritation at his shortening of Hester Prynne's name. She's not a computer. “Whoever was there was long gone, but Sawyer and I looked for the source of the original sound and found the cubs. And the mama." Sadness settles over me. "It had to have been whoever was riding those horses."
"Why didn't you hear the shot?"
I shrug. "Silencer?"
"You think a couple hunters came out here with a silencer?"
"How should I know? Maybe they're some rich pricks who spent money on guns and now they're itching to use them. Shit like that happens."
"I'm aware," Wes says roughly, and it reminds me to cool it. Wes struggles with PTSD from his time in the army. I'm not trying to trigger him. "So what's your plan?" he asks.
"My plan was to go back out to the place where I saw the mountain lion and go from there. But…" I slow my horse and point up at the sky. "I may not have to."
Wes stops too, and looks up. The moon is waning, so we don't have much to go by in terms of light, but there's an unmistakable finger of smoke curling up above the trees about a mile away.
Wes nods at me, and we continue on. "So you were showing Sawyer your favorite part of the ranch?"
I balk. "How do you know that’s my favorite spot?"
His soft chuckle floats my way. "You asked to go there a lot when you were little."
"I don't remember that."
"Of course not. You were too young. But I remember it. I took you out there before I shipped out."
I'm not sure what to say. Hearing he took me out to my favorite place makes me feel odd. Sad that I don't remember it, and wishful that I did.
"Yeah, I showed Sawyer." I'm not sure what else to say. Everything about this conversation is uncomfortable, for different reasons.
“I hear you’re roommates now.”
I frown. "Mom and Dad have big mouths."
"Wyatt told me."
"Of course he did." I blow out an annoyed breath. "How about you?" Let’s see if he likes the tables being turned on him. "What was with that awkward hug back at your place? Dakota tried to hug you and you pushed her away."
"I'm strapped, Jessie," Wes explains. "Dakota understood right away."
"Oh." Then I remember the tense conversation I walked in on at the homestead a couple weeks ago. I ask him about that and it takes him almost a full minute to respond.
“First off, I should apologize to you. I asked you to come see me, and when you arrived, I snapped at you. Life has been stressful lately. More than I bargained for.” The strain in his voice stretches across the space separating us. I have the uncharacteristic desire to hug him. “Dakota wants me to pull back from the ranch while we work with Colt. She's overwhelmed by his disability, which I understand. But I have to work. If I don't work, everything falls apart. Those cochlear implants cost money, and—" he pauses, weighing his words. "Everyone is depending on me. And I'm shorthanded—"
