“Don’t trust me, Detective?”
Martinelli’s eyes narrowed, just a little, then he shook his head. “I just don’t want this to go south, get messy. You listen to me, do this by the book, and we’ll get Rousseau and have a nice chat.”
“And if he lawyers up?” Saxon asked.
“Then we back off and build a better case.” Martinelli’s expression hardened. “But maybe he’ll feel like talking once he sees what we found here.”
Rowan was already moving toward Martinelli’s vehicle.
“Keep me updated,” Saxon called after them. “And Hammer?”
“Yeah?”
“Try not to strangle him before we get answers.”
“Now you’re the funny man.”
Martinelli’s engine turned over with a rough cough, and they pulled away from the crime scene. The morning sun climbed higher, burning off the mist and revealing the full scope of the abandoned equipment scattered across the ravine.
The terror targeting his family would end today.
This just might be the best day of Sierra’s life. Second best, because of course, the day Huck was born landed number one. But it felt like a rebirth of sorts, the birth of her family, the culmination of her wildest dreams.
Except Rowan was late.
The October afternoon spread across the county fairgrounds like a picture postcard, the kind of Colorado day that made Sierra grateful to call this place home. Brilliant blue sky stretched endless overhead, painted with wispy white clouds that drifted past snowcapped peaks rising majestically in the distance.
Autumn aspens dotted the mountainsides like scattered coins, their leaves shimmering gold against the dark green of pine forests.
Perfect weather for a fall rodeo. Perfect weather for watching her son compete while his father cheered from the stands.
So why did she feel like she should be looking over her shoulder, waiting for life to scurry up and take it all away from her?
Sierra guided the horse trailer into the back parking area of the fairgrounds, gravel crunching under her tires as she navigated between rows of gleaming aluminum trailers and pickup trucks. The staging area buzzed with controlled chaos—kids practicing their runs, parents offering last-minute advice, horses snorting and stamping in the crisp air.
The distant sound of the announcer’s voice carried across the lot, welcoming families to the Renegade County Fall Festival Rodeo.
“Easy, boy.” Sierra patted Jasper’s neck as she backed him out of the trailer. The old paint horse stepped down carefully. At twenty-three, Jasper had seen plenty of rodeos, but his ears swiveled attentively as he cataloged the familiar sounds of competition day.
“Mom, I can handle him.” Huck appeared at her elbow, his competition number pinned to his shirt and his chaps buckled to perfection. His hat sat at exactly the right angle, and his boots gleamed from the polish he’d applied that morning. Everything about him radiated preparation and confidence, though Sierra caught the nervous energy in the way his hands moved—adjusting his rope, checking his gloves, straightening his number.
“I know you can.” Sierra handed him Jasper’s lead rope, her chest warming with pride at how natural he looked with the horse. “Just remember what Rowan taught you about staying relaxed. Jasper picks up on your energy.”
Huck’s face lit up at the mention of Rowan’s name. “Do you think Mr. R will really make it? I mean, I know he said he would, but…”
“He’ll be here,” Sierra said, trying to believe her words. Please, Rowan, don’t let us down. “Wild horses couldn’t keep him away from watching you compete.”
“I…um…” Huck started, then stopped, color creeping up his neck.
“What?”
“I was thinking…maybe can I…can I call him Dad?”
Oh. Oh.
She knelt in front of him. “Do you want to?”
He nodded, but his eyes filled.
