The air feels heavier the farther we walk into the pasture. July doesn’t give mercy, especially not to black-hided cattle. Angus absorb heat fast—without enough water, without the ability to regulate, they crash hard.
Is she dehydrated? Is it my fault? I’ve stuck to a watering schedule, but I know my mind has been elsewhere. I don’t think I’ve missed this pasture, but can I be certain?
By the time we reach her, bile’s crept up my throat.
She doesn’t try to rise. Deep brown orbs stare up at me, laced in pain. Foam crusts at the edge of her mouth. But it’s what's coating her stomach that has us cursing.
Blood. So much blood.
Dark and tacky, smeared through her hide.
I drop to a knee, and she flinches weakly when I touch her.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I coo, a slight tremble to my voice as something feral coils in my gut. “I’ve got you.”
“Jett.”
I jerk at Grandpa’s voice as he examines her stomach.
“What?”
He doesn't answer, and I follow his sight.
My gut twists, churning at knife marks carved into her brilliant hide.
Multiple shallow slashes, deliberate and angled, enough to bleed her out slowly if infection or shock sets in. Whoever did this knew not to kill her. They wanted damage—to send a message. Well, it’s been received, loud and clear, and I’ve got one for them.
No one touches what’s mine.
“Fuck!” I scream. My voice echoes in the distance as I rip my hat off my head and toss it.
Grandpa’s fists clench at his sides. “This bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Blood pounds in my ears. “They’re not after the cattle.”
He shakes his head.
“They’re after what’s mine,” I grit out.
The words hang between us for a second. I allow my mind to drift to the cottage—the open windows and roses, the way she looks over her shoulder without realizing it, and the shadows clouding her whiskey eyes.
This is an escalation, and it’s time to make a call.
“Call the vet. Get him out here now.” I direct my demand to Ron before turning to a pale-faced Daniel. “I understand this is hard to see, but you need to let it go. Call Silo Bay PD. Tell them I demanded you talk to Davis Baldwin. Fill him in, only him.”
Grandpa falls in step beside me as we make our way toward the truck. I fish out my cell phone, scrolling through contacts until I find the one I need. I haven’t seen him in years, but I know he’s into some shady things and has connections outside of local law enforcement. He’s able to track down people not necessarily legally.
“Yeah,” comes the low, raspy voice on the other end. Tate Blackwood’s voice hasn’t changed a beat since we last talked during deployment. Deep and gravelly, like he smokes a pack or two a day. Hell, given his job, he might.
“It’s me,” I say.
Silence follows.
“I need your help.”
The sound of a lighter sparking fills the silence. “Figured you did.”
I sigh, glancing behind me at my herd. The poor girl was lying in a pool of her own blood. “Someone cut my fence and stabbed one of my cows.”
