“Different section, but same method. These boys know what they’re doing. Professional job, not some kids looking for beer money.”
“Any idea when?”
“Sometime after midnight, before dawn. I checked that pasture yesterday evening, and the cattle were all there.” Morrie pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. “Sierra, we need to talk about hiring security. Or at least getting some cameras installed.”
“With what money?” The question came out sharper than she intended. “Sorry. I’m just—it’s been a long day.”
“I heard about the SAR call. Tom Hendrick, right?” He shook his head. “That’s a shame.”
“Yeah.” Sierra stirred the sauce, not trusting herself to say more. Tom’s death felt too close to Grandpa Elway’s accident, too convenient for people who might want to pressure local ranchers into selling.
No. Her grandfather’s death had been an accident. Oh, she wanted to believe that.
Because the other option could turn her cold, especially alone at night.
“There’s something else.” Morrie’s voice carried the tone he used when delivering bad news. “Mayor Jenkins called this afternoon. Said he wanted to talk to you about some kind of opportunity.”
Sierra’s stomach dropped. Mayor Alden Jenkins—the man who’d been circling her ranch like a vulture since Grandpa Elway died.
“What kind of opportunity?”
“Didn’t say. Just asked me to have you call him back.” Morrie pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. “Here’s the number.”
Sierra took the paper but didn’t look at it. She knew Jenkins’s number by heart—he’d been calling regularly since the funeral, always with some new offer to “help” her through her difficult time.
In fact, she’d gotten too much “help” from people who saw her as incapable, alone, and in over her head. Like Ralph Rousseau from Rocky Mountain Land Developers. His business card sat in the recycle bin, under the can of tomatoes.
The water on the stove had come to a boil. She dumped in spaghetti. “Morrie, you ever think about how convenient it is that all these cattle thefts started right after Grandpa Elway died?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the timing feels awfully coincidental. Grandpa Elway dies in a suspicious accident three months ago, Tom Hendrick turns up dead on the mountain, and suddenly every rancher in the county is losing livestock.” Sierra turned down the heat under the sauce. “Makes you wonder if someone’s trying to drive us all out.”
Morrie was quiet for a long moment. “Jenkins has lost cattle too.”
Oh. Maybe she shouldn’t immediately jump to people trying to steal her home. “Maybe I should call him back.”
Morrie got up. “Smells good. And yes, maybe. I’m heading home.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay for supper?”
He glanced at her, narrowed his eyes, and looked like he might nod when Huck slammed into the house. “I put Jasper in the horse barn. And coiled up the rope.” His Jack Russell terrier puppy wiggled in past him, slipping on the wood floor.
“Jasper was out?” She glanced at Morrie.
“Huck was working on his cutaway roping.”
Right. “I guess Jasper’s the best choice.”
“Until I win that prize!” Huck slid onto a chair at the table. “I’m getting myself a quarter horse.”
Morrie smiled then. He bent and caught up the puppy. “Bandit, please learn not to scare the chickens.” The dog licked him on the face and he made a noise. Set the dog down.
“Help me set the table?” she said to Huck. She glanced at Morrie. “And you’re staying.”
He smiled.
“Sure.” Huck grabbed silverware from the drawer. “Hey, Morrie, you really think I’m ready for the junior competition?”
