“Detective Martinelli seemed to think the rustling was legitimate.”
“Mike Martinelli’s a good man, but he’s got limited resources and a lot of territory to cover. Sometimes he has to take reports at face value even when there might be other explanations.”
“Other explanations?”
“Cattle wander off, especially in this terrain. Gates get left open, fences get damaged in storms. It’s easy to assume theft when the reality might be simple negligence.”
Saxon leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying the tone of someone making polite conversation. “What about the deaths? Tom Hendrick, Elway Blackwood. Those seem pretty cut and dried.”
“I don’t know about Hendrick’s, but Elway’s death was a tragic accident. Elway was getting on in years. Shouldn’t have been out there alone.” Jenkins sipped his coffee, his expression appropriately somber. “But that’s ranch life. Dangerous work, especially for folks who don’t take proper precautions.”
“Elway Blackwood was one of the most careful men I ever knew,” Rowan said quietly. “Taught me to check equipment twice and plan for problems before they happened.”
“People change as they age. Reflexes slow, judgment gets cloudy. Elway might have been careful once, but even the best of us make mistakes eventually.”
“The timing seems coincidental,” Saxon said.
“Coincidences happen.” Jenkins sighed. “Though I suppose it’s natural for outsiders to see patterns where locals see random events.”
Outsiders. The word carried just enough edge to make it clear that Rowan wasn’t considered a local anymore, despite growing up here. That he’d forfeited his right to opinions about Renegade when he’d left for the military.
“Any theories about who might be behind the rustling?” Rowan asked. “Assuming it’s actually happening.”
“If it’s happening—and that’s a big if—it’s probably someone from outside the area. We don’t have those kinds of problems with local folks. This is a tight-knit community. People look out for each other.”
“People like Sierra Blackwood.”
“Sierra’s had a hard time since her grandfather died. Running a ranch alone isn’t easy, especially for a woman with a child to raise. Sometimes stress can make people see threats where none exist.”
“Maybe the community should rally around her,” Saxon suggested. “Help her through a difficult time.”
“Oh, we’ve tried. I’ve made several offers to buy the ranch, give her enough money to start fresh somewhere else. But Sierra’s always been stubborn. Refuses to accept help even when it’s in her best interest.”
Buy the ranch? Maybe. It was beautiful land.
If he were honest, once upon a time, he’d dreamed of running the Blackwood place.
“What would you do with the ranch if you bought it?” Mack asked.
Rowan looked at him, the words Sierra would never sell on his lips. But Alden answered first.
“Development, probably. That land has potential beyond cattle ranching. Tourism, recreation, maybe residential if the market supports it.” Alden took another sip of coffee. “South Eagle needs economic diversification. We can’t survive on ranching and mining forever.”
“Sounds like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“It’s my job to think about the town’s future. Sometimes that means making hard decisions about change.”
He stared at him, and just couldn’t…couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Change that would benefit people like you, who have the capital to invest in development projects? Change that would push out people like Sierra, who represent the old way of life, that stand in the way of progress?”
Silence filled the room. Mack frowned at him.
Catherine came over with a plate. “Cookies?”
“Sierra is in over her head. She needs to figure that out,” Alden said tightly.
“No. This is about the fact you still haven’t forgiven her.”
Alden’s eyes narrowed. And then he reached over and put a hand on Mack’s wrist, possessive, as if claiming territory. “A man doesn’t like to be accused of things he didn’t do.”
