Sierra stepped through her front door and gasped. The living room looked like a tornado had hit it—couch cushions thrown across the floor, the drawers to her grandmother’s china cabinet opened, books off the case, scattered everywhere.
“They were looking for something,” Rowan said grimly. “Question is, what?”
Sierra moved through her violated home, cataloging the damage with a tightening fist in her gut. The kitchen had been ransacked—drawers pulled out, cabinets emptied, even the flour and sugar canisters dumped across the counters.
“Mom?” Huck’s voice was small. “Why would someone do this?”
Sierra knelt beside her son, pulling him into a hug. “I don’t know, baby. But we’re going to figure it out.”
Huck pushed away. “I’m going to check on my room.” He scampered up the stairs, and she nearly followed him when Rowan called from down the hall?—
“The worst damage is in here!”
Sierra followed his voice to her grandfather’s office at the end of the hall—the room that had been his sanctuary, his command center for running the ranch. Ransacked. Every drawer had been yanked out, papers scattered across the floor. The old filing cabinets stood empty, their contents strewn everywhere. Even the picture frames had been removed from the walls, the photos dumped carelessly on the desk.
“They spent the most time here,” Rowan said, crouching beside the overturned desk chair. “This wasn’t random. They knew what they were looking for.”
Sierra picked up a photograph from the floor—her grandfather with a prize bull from five years ago. The glass was cracked, spider-webbing across his proud smile.
“But what could Grandpa have had that someone would want badly enough to break in for?”
“Good question.” Rowan straightened. “What kind of records did he keep? Financial stuff? Ranch business?”
“Everything.” Sierra’s voice came out hollow. “He was meticulous about documentation. Breeding records, financial statements, correspondence with other ranchers, veterinary reports, land surveys…It was the detective in him.”
And then…wait. “The land surveys.”
“What about them?”
“He had a tube, over here in the corner. Land surveys that he’d gotten a few months before he…a few months ago.”
“Why?”
“There’ve been rumors lately about mineral rights in this area. Development companies sniffing around, asking questions about property lines and water rights.” Sierra’s pulse quickened. “What if someone was looking for documentation about our land boundaries?”
Rowan’s expression darkened. “That would make sense. Especially if someone was planning to challenge your ownership or make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”
She blinked at him. “Was that a Godfather reference?”
He sighed. “I’m just saying…remember Alden offered to buy your place, so?—”
Right. She’d forgotten that he’d gone to his stepfather to ask about the rustling. And it hit her afresh. He’d done that…for her.
And maybe it was the destruction around her, maybe the softness of his voice, maybe just the fact that Rowan was here, standing in the middle of her messy life, but…tears burned her eyes. She put her hand over her mouth, turned away. Don’t cry. Don’t?—
“Hey.” Rowan’s voice gentled, and suddenly he was there, his hands on her shoulders. “We’re going to figure this out.”
She turned then, and he pulled her against himself.
And oh, just like that, memory crashed over her. His strong arms around her, the rugged, manly smell of him, the sense that he had her.
Rowan and Sierra, with a big heart around it, forever and ever.
She just wanted to hang on. Never let go. Don’t lean in, don’t—aw. She was a goner against the hard planes of his body, the manly aftershave smell of him, the way his heart thumped against her ear. The man could still turn her to liquid.
He finally eased his hold on her, tipped up her chin, a question in his eyes. “You okay?”
Not even a little. “Yeah.” She stepped away. “What are we going to do?”
