“You found out?” Owen cranes his neck as though he believes it will help him see better.
I shake my head. “Mark my words. They’re girls.”
I feel it in my gut. In my bones. I’m certain of it.
“Okay, Hollywood.” Owen guffaws.
In the distance a three-story log cabin spreads across the landscape.
“Is that it?”
“Sure is,” Jett says.
Up ahead, closed wooden gates inlaid with metal bars loom across a cattle grid. Above them a metal archway carries the ranch name. How are we going to approach without him knowing we’re coming?
“It’s the family’s ranch,” Owen says. “Built by grandpappy Duke, but the old man is over in the Flowerdale retirement facility these days, and Duke’s parents are dead.”
“He had a falling out with his brother Dawson a couple years ago,” Jett adds. “He still works the ranch, but he doesn’t live here.”
“Because he knows his brother is a lying, cheating bastard,” Storm says.
“You think he knows about what happened to Summer?”
“Oh, he knew and still protected his piece of shit brother,” Storm says. “That puts him in the same bracket as Duke as far as I’m concerned.”
“So how are we going to get in there without him noticing?” Because all these ranchers have access to guns and probably began practicing their aim before they were old enough to drive. I don’t particularly feel like getting shot tonight.
Owen pulls the truck up not far from the gate, and we all jump out. Storm grabs a couple of guns from the back and tosses one to Owen.
“Just going to scare him,” Owen says.
“Uh-huh.” They can shoot him and bury him in that blasted pit of theirs if they want. I’m not going to say anything about what happens here tonight. Not after the trauma Summer has had to live with because of this piece of shit.
Jett scales the stone fence. He swings a leg over and sits on top for a moment, before nimbly leaping down on the other side.
Storm goes next.
“We’re going to walk up. He’s not expecting us, and we don’t want to alert him if we don’t have to. I wanna see the fucker’s face when he realizes who we are.” Owen stops at the base of the fence. “Your turn, Hollywood.”
It’s not a hard fence to scale. I perch on the top to see where Jett and Storm landed.
“Take this.” Owen tosses up the shotgun before he starts to climb. He drops down on the other side. “Give it back.”
I hand over the weapon. I’m not much for guns. My preferred violence has always been fists.
The ground is hard under foot, but I land light and walk off the impact as we cut our way up the hill toward the house.
A single steady light comes from inside the house. A second light flickers on when we are a few yards away, but it’s an outside light on a sensor. No movement accompanies it. No voice calls out to tell us to get the fuck off the property.
In the driveway, a shiny pickup truck sits next to the purple van that belongs to the florist doing the flowers for the wedding.
The front door opens, and we all stop when the florist flies down the steps toward us. Owen moves into her path, and she barrels into his chest.
“Violet.” His gruff expression softens when he looks down at the brunette. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry, Owen.” Her red-rimmed eyes water. “I didn’t mean to run into you like that. I should have been looking where I was going. Sometimes I don’t think. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” He doesn’t relinquish his hold. Bending down, he studies her face like he’s looking for something. “Are you okay, Violet?”
