"You don't have to be."
"You know the deal. The ranch has always been run by Haydens. Warner gave it up, and Wyatt's not interested."
"Last I checked, I'm a Hayden."
"Jessie, you know—"
"Shh," I say quickly, as a light at eye level shines nearby. I turn my horse, and we take a circuitous route toward the smoke.
The closer we get to the source, the more I can see Wes. He looks at me, indicating through the trees with his chin. A man lounges on a chair, his feet stretched out toward the blazing fire.
A fire on this dry ass land? Strike number two.
We creep forward until we get to the edge of the clearing where they've set up camp. The man’s eyes are closed. Soft snores slip between parted lips.
I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. It's one of the assholes from a few weeks ago, the hunters I came across on my way to meet Marlowe. My blood boils as I remember them, their fancy truck and dirty name-calling, the way they spun dirt around my car, laughing. So contemptuous. More than that, though, it was the way they thought they deserved to behave however they wanted.
From my saddle bag, I produce a length of rope.
"Jessie," Wes whispers a warning, but I hold up a hand.
"Trust me," I whisper back.
He falls silent.
I climb silently off my horse and inch forward, coming up behind the sleeping guy. Carefully, I slip the rope over the sleeping guy’s head. Judging by the half-empty bottle of expensive bourbon at his feet, I'd say the weight of the rope isn't likely to wake him.
Two minutes later, the second man, the one carrying the light we saw, stumbles into camp. It takes him a few seconds to register the additional two bodies, but when he does, he stutters to a stop. He reaches into his pocket, but Wes is faster, producing his pistol first.
The guy pats all his pockets, his eyes flying toward his tent.
I cock my head. "Bet you wish you had that gun with the silencer now." It’s a leap to assume that’s what he has, but apparently not too far of one. He doesn’t deny it.
His eyes are wild, his alarm causing him to twitch.
"I'm not a defenseless mother with cubs though. Might be a little more difficult to shoot me."
His eyes are on me, the campfire reflected in his irises. "I've seen you before." His voice quakes, but his tone holds righteous indignation.
"Right. The first time we met, you called me a cunt and tried to hit me. I told you you weren't welcome to hunt on my land. And yet," I spread my arms. "Here you are."
"Are you fucking kidding me, you crazy bitch?" he yells.
The volume causes his friend to stir. He sits up and looks around, blinking as he takes in the scene. He looks down at the rope, and when it registers, he begins to panic. "Careful there," I reach out a hand in warning. "She's prepared to take you for a ride."
Everyone's eyes widen. Including Wes's. His arms remain still, his gun trained on the untied man at the edge of camp.
I look at the man whose neck bears my rope. The very same rope I looped around Hester Prynne's neck. "I wouldn't move, if I were you," I advise him. "Or yell. The most you can do is breathe. Maybe piss your pants, if you want."
"Why are you doing this?" the other guy asks.
"There's a lot I can tolerate. But something I can't stand? The defenseless being preyed upon. You did that today. Even after you were toldby me"—I point back at myself—"to stay off this land. You returned. You must've thought I was kidding."
He twists his hand in front of himself, palms facing out. "Look, look, we don't want any trouble."
"Oh, really? Is that why you shot the female mountain lion with the cubs today? With a silencer? When it's not even open season? On private property? Sounds to me like trouble is exactly what you wanted." I smile at him. "Can we make an agreement here, tonight, under the moon and the stars and God himself?"
"Yes, yes," the man with the rope around his neck rasps.
