Dad’s fingers raise to rub his temples. “There’s been a new shit-storm, honey. Wade’s on his way. It’s why I think it would be safer—”
“What happened?” I know if he has the sheriff involved, it can’t be good.
Ford’s head drops far enough to block the view of his face with his hat and he clears his throat. “You know those first year heifers that we had at the east end?”
“I do. We’re supposed to put those two new bulls in with them for spring calves.” Keeping all the young cows in their own herd makes it easier to keep watch over their body condition and if they have issues birthing.
“Well—” Ford’s jawline reappears just so I can see him clench it. “We won’t need to.”
“Why? What is the big damn elephant you aren’t saying, Mr. Mysterious?” I love Ford like an uncle. He’s been Dad’s right hand man since before I was born.
But he’s pissing me off.
“They’re dead, Soph,” Dad cuts in. “All of them.”
A bigger hole
Oliver
It takes me threehours to track the excavator up to the kill site.
That’s what Mason’s calling it. The entire pasture is covered in bloated bodies, the ground saturated with blood, and filled with fat flies buzzing in the warm spring sun.
Every carcass has one or two bullet holes, dropping them where they stood.
Sheriff Wade Rowland waves me over, so I hop out of the cab.
The overwhelming smell of death makes me nearly gag as I stride over the soiled earth.
“You can start with them.” His thick arm makes a wide gesture at a cluster of dead cows. “I’ve got everything I can from there.” Wade’s lips are thin under his copper mustache.
Mason rides up on his big gray gelding and stops in a cloud of dust. “Oliver, thanks again for your help.” He leans over his saddle horn and grimaces. “Hell of a mess. If you want to just make a run of holes big enough for twenty or thirty, we can drag ‘em over.” He gestures behind him to his ranch hands.
“Sounds good,” I grunt, then head back to my equipment. I know they want to get this shit cleaned up to keep the carnage from pulling in every bear and wolf in thirty miles.
There has to be two hundred dead fucking animals here.
It makes me sick to my stomach.
What kind of monster does this?
Where is the line?
Sophia filled me in on the troubles they’ve had the last few years, and just how malignant the harassment has been.
Kidnappings. Theft. Blackmail. Murder.
And yet the true culprits haven’t been caught.
I should be digging this damn hole for them, not the cattle.
As the afternoon wanes, we’re only halfway done.
Ford pulls up next to me in a side-by-side and pats the empty seat.
“We’ll get the rest in the morning.” His wrist drapes the steering wheel as I pull open the short door.
“This is fucked,” I grumble, pressing my Stetson tighter over my ears against the stout breeze.
