“Grab the stragglers and push them to the rest of the herd. Then we’ll move them all to the pasture by the house. And call Morrie and let him know.”
She finished the pictures, then hiked back to Honey and helped with the roundup.
Back at the ranch, Sierra left Honey with Tomás and headed straight for her truck. The evidence wouldn’t last long if weather moved in. The tire tracks would disappear with the first hard rain. She needed to get this information to Mike Martinelli before the trail went cold.
“Where you going?” Jake asked as she climbed into the cab.
“Police station. Stay close to the house until I get back. And Jake—keep your rifle handy.”
“Want me to come with you? This could be dangerous.”
Sierra looked at his young face, earnest and concerned. Sweet. “No. I need you here in case they come back.”
“Sierra, do you think Hendrick was murdered?”
She looked at him. “Yes. I know he was. But now maybe we’re closer to figuring out why.”
“What if…” He looked down, slapped his gloves against his leg. “I just don’t want you to end up like him.” He gave her a wry smile.
“Listen. I have more than a little of my Grandpa Elway’s justice gene in me. I can’t sit on this, Jake. Keep an eye out. Morrie should be back from the store with parts for the bailer soon.”
He nodded and stepped back from the truck. “Just feels like we’re sticking our nose into another problem. And we’re already up to our ears.”
“Maybe. But my grandpa always said ‘Just handle what comes at you, one problem at a time.’”
“This feels like a bushel.”
“Maybe. But I can’t just sit here and wait for them to take everything I’ve got left.”
The words rooted inside her as she headed into South Eagle. She parked outside the South Eagle Police Station and sat in her truck for a moment, staring at the building where Detective Mike Martinelli worked.
Mike would listen. He would care. After all, they were still friends.
The door to the police station stood open, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Through the glass, she spotted Mike at his desk, coffee cup in hand, leaning back and chatting, nodding as if he were talking to someone.
Maybe she should have given him another chance. Although that felt so long ago, it seemed a silly thought.
Sierra took a deep breath and stepped inside. The receptionist looked up with a smile that faded when she saw Sierra’s expression.
“I need to see Detective Martinelli,” Sierra said. “It’s about Tom Hendrick’s death. And the recent cattle rustling. I think there’s a connection.”
“Go on back. He’s with someone right now, but I don’t think he’ll mind.”
She headed back, then knocked on the door frame. Mike looked up at her, and, for the briefest of moments, a look she couldn’t place flashed across his face—surprise? Worry? Panic?
“Mike, I need to show you something. I think I found evidence that connects the cattle rustling to Tom Hendrick’s death, and?—”
The words died in her throat.
The man he’d been talking to, sitting in the chair across from Martinelli’s desk, his back to the door, had turned.
Her world tilted off its axis.
Sandy-brown hair caught the office light, cut shorter than she remembered but still with that wayward strand that fell across his forehead. Those impossibly blue eyes—the same eyes that had looked at her with such love ten years ago, the same eyes she saw every day in her son’s face—met hers with devastating recognition.
Rowan Wallace.
Alive. Real. Sitting three feet away from her in a green flannel shirt that stretched across shoulders broader than any eighteen-year-old boy had ever possessed.
