The back door opened before they reached it.
Sierra froze.
Alden Jenkins stepped into the doorway. He wore pressed khakis and a polo shirt and looked every inch the politician.
A murdering politician.
“Sierra Blackwood.” His voice carried the same cultured tone she remembered from town council meetings, but underneath lurked something darker. Something that had always made her skin crawl.
Evil, probably.
“Alden.” Sierra straightened despite Tank’s grip on her arm. “You know Rowan will find you. This won’t end well.”
The man smiled, just a hitch up the side of his mouth. “Here’s hoping.”
She swallowed bile.
Alden stepped aside as Tank muscled her through the doorway.
The house’s interior smelled of neglect. Dust motes swam in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through grimy windows. The living room furniture sat covered in sheets, ghostly shapes that spoke of abandonment. The stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth cold and dark. Built-in bookshelves flanked the mantel, their shelves empty except for cobwebs.
This was where Rowan had hidden when his stepfather’s rages grew too violent. Where he’d nursed bruises while planning his escape.
She’d found him here once, furious, breaking things. So maybe there was truth to his fear of his anger spiraling out of control. He’d scared her, for a moment, even as her heart broke for him.
It still did.
“I know he came here. Hid here.” Alden followed her gaze around the room. “I should have burned this place long ago.”
“What’s going on, Alden? Why am I here? Why is Huck here?”
Tank shoved her toward a straight-backed chair positioned in the center of the room. More zip ties waited on the seat, along with a manila folder thick with documents.
“Sit.” Tank’s command brooked no argument.
Sierra’s ankle gave out as he pushed her down, pain shooting up her leg like liquid fire. She bit back a cry.
Billy dragged Huck to a matching chair beside her, the boy’s face pale with terror. “What do you want with us?”
“Smart boy. Gets right to the point.” Alden picked up the folder. “Just like his father.”
Sierra stared at him.
“I know exactly who fathered your son,” Alden said. “I’ve known it since the day I saw you pregnant. And the resemblance is rather obvious once you know what to look for.” He opened the folder. “It does make this messier than I’d wanted, however.”
Huck’s blue eyes—Rowan’s eyes—widened with confusion. “Mom? What’s he talking about?”
“Your father is my stepson, boy. The same man who abandoned you both without a backward glance.” Alden’s voice carried false sympathy that made Sierra’s skin crawl. “The same man who’s probably miles away right now, completely unaware that his family is in danger. He doesn’t care about you—he’d rather be where the action is. Mr. Hammer. Tough as nails. Living for danger.”
“You’re lying. He loves us.” But Huck’s voice wavered.
“Am I?” Alden pulled out legal documents covered in dense text. “Let’s discuss why you’re here, shall we?”
Sierra forced herself to focus on the papers rather than the hurt in her son’s eyes. The heading made her gasp. Quit Claim Deed Transfer.
“I’m not signing that.” Her voice came out steady despite the heat filling her throat. “You’re not getting my land.”
“Ranching is dangerous work. Accidents happen all the time on ranches. Fires, for instance. Very tragic when they claim whole families.”
