Page 123 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“And three gate chains.”

He checks the next shelf, frowning as he reaches toward the empty space where the baling wire should be. “Wire’s gone.”

“And most of the fence staples.”

He lets out a breath and turns another slow circle around the shed. “They walked past everything worth a dollar.”

“They weren’t shopping.”

His eyes meet mine. “They came after whatever’d help them.”

“That’s how I see it.”

He rubs his beard while he looks around again. “You reckon this ties in with everything else?”

“I quit believing any of it’s separate.”

Neither of us says Travis’s name.

We don’t have to.

Beau reaches for the clipboard hanging beside the door. “I’ll go through the inventory again. Fresh pair of eyes catches what the first pair misses.”

“I won’t argue with that. We got to take whatever we can to the sheriff.”

He flips to the first page and pulls a pencil from behind his ear. “I’ll check every shed while I’m at it.”

“Take another hand with you.”

His head lifts. “You think they’re still on the ranch?”

“I think they’re getting more confident.”

He follows my gaze across the yard where Willy’s chasing a rooster away from the porch with far more enthusiasm than success. Sadie laughs herself breathless every time the bird slips past him, and anybody driving through the front gate would swear Dusty Spur looked like every other morning.

Only the people who live here know better.

Beau closes the clipboard. “I’ll keep watch.”

“I need you to do more than watch.” I wait until he’s looking at me again. “If a fence is out of place, if a stranger asks too many questions, or if your gut tells you a thing isn’t right, I want to hear about it.”

“You will.”

I give him a nod before stepping back out into the yard.

Whoever this is thinks they’re hunting me.

They’re about to find out I’ve been protecting this ranch a hell of a lot longer than they’ve been trying to destroy it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Arizona

I pull up my bank account before I even admit I’m thinking about leaving. That’s how it always starts. I check what’s left, open a map, and hunt for bars in towns close enough that I can reach them without draining my tank.

Once I find one that pays enough to cover gas and a cheap room, I tell everyone it’s been great meeting them, pack my guitar, and disappear before anyone has the chance to expect me back.

It’s always worked.