A flash of white in the field to my right. Not a deer. Not cattle. Something too still, too deliberate.
I slowed the truck, frowning, and grabbed my binoculars. There, parked at a crooked angle near the fence line, was a dark SUV. Blacked-out windows. Clean. No mud on the tires despite being halfway into a pasture. The kind of vehicle that didn’t belong on gravel, let alone in a pasture.
My gut tightened; it wasn’t there when I got to Tessa’s.
I pulled to the side of the road, cut the engine, and stepped out. The wind picked up just enough to carry the dry smell of dust and sage. I could see a figure near the fence, crouched low with something in his hands.
A camera.
My jaw clenched.
I walked across the ditch, boots sinking into the soft dirt. When I was close enough, I spoke, my voice carrying low but steady.
“You’re trespassing,” I stated loudly, and calmly enough that he’d hear.
The man jerked upright, the camera swinging from a strap around his neck. He looked mid-forties, clean, with a pressedshirt and hair too perfect to survive ranch wind. His shoes were another giveaway. Polished leather loafers, already caked with dirt, he clearly hadn’t expected.
He blinked at me. “Oh. Evening.”
“Are you lost?”
He forced a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Just taking some photos. Beautiful landscape. Didn’t think it’d be a problem.”
“It is when it’s private property.”
“Oh, this is the Callahan Ranch, right?”
I stepped closer. He shifted back.
“You got business here?” I asked without confirming.
“No. Just scenery.” He lifted his camera, but that proved nothing. “I’m from Calgary. I freelance for outdoor magazines sometimes.”
“Do you usually trespass onto private ranch land for that?”
He swallowed. “I didn’t see a sign.”
“There doesn’t need to be a sign, and there’s a gate at the road you had to drive around.”
His gaze flickered toward his SUV, then back at me. He was calculating. Not apologetic. Not confused. Calculating.
“Look,” he said with a shaky laugh, “I’m not hurting anything. Just got turned around.”
“So, which is it, you’re taking landscapes, or you got turned around?” The man’s story wasn’t adding up.
He hesitated, like he wanted to argue, then must’ve thought better of it. He nodded quickly, clutching his camera, and hurried toward the SUV.
I watched him climb in. The vehicle started with a smooth purr that told me it was new. Expensive. The kind of car belonging to someone who didn’t come out here unless there was money involved. He drove off without another word, tires spinning a little too fast as if he expected me to follow.
I stood there long after the taillights disappeared, staring at the empty stretch of dirt he’d left behind. I looked around, and the grass was flattened in a circle from where he’d been standing. Moving over to it. I stood in the center and looked straight ahead of me. It was a direct view of Tessa’s front door.
My gut churned, cold and tight.
I walked back to my truck, climbed in, and shut the door harder than I meant to. Anger simmered under my skin.
The road home stretched long and dark ahead of me, but I drove it fast, gravel popping under my tires like sparks. The closer I got to my place, the more that anger sharpened into purpose.
By the time the lights of my ranch appeared over the ridge, I’d already made up my mind.
