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“Willow? Luna isn’t there, is she?”

“Not that I can see.” She looked at the top of the hill as if the horse might suddenly appear.

Footsteps crunched in the dirt and gravel behind them. Jodie turned to see Harold North approaching. “She was last spotted three days ago. I’m sure she’s here somewhere. We ran the western drainage yesterday and didn’t turn up anything, but that country hides a lot of horses.” He nodded at Hank as he answered Jodie.

Willow extended her hand. “Thanks, Harold. I’m sorry I lost my temper last night at the meeting.”

Harold smiled as he shook her hand. “No hard feelings. I can’t blame you. With the others stepping down, it’s disconcerting to see new faces so close to the roundup.”

Hank stepped forward. “I’ll say it is.”

“Morning, Hank. Shall we take a look at the holding pens?”

Sandra took a photo of the two men talking. Hank glanced over at her.

“I’m not one for getting my picture taken.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought you’d signed a waiver with the group⁠—”

“I did not.” He turned to the others. “This way.”

Hank led them back along a dirt track toward the barn. Behind it sat a set of cattle pens, and beyond those, several acres of mostly level pasture stretched toward the open range, enclosed on two sides by pipe fencing. A fenced alley ran from the back of the cattle pens out into the near corner of the pasture.

Jodie pulled the clipboard out from under her arm and started sketching it as they walked. Barn. Pens. Alley. The long rectangle of pasture.

“The main holding area would go there,” Hank said, pointing past the mouth of the alley to the nearest few acres. “Plenty of room to bring trailers in off the track and turn them around without backing into everybody else.”

Jodie marked it. “And the horses come in by trailer from the trap site?”

“Every load,” Harold said. “Nothing gets run in on the hoof from out there.”

Willow studied the ground. “Shade?”

“Not enough yet.”

“We’ll need it.”

“I know.” Hank pointed at the barn. “I can extend off that side for the pens closest to it, and we can put temporary shade panels over the holding area.”

Harold nodded. “That would work. We’ll need separate areas for mares and foals, stallions, and quarantine for any animals that need attention before transport.”

Jodie walked farther along the fence, trying to picture the pasture filled with horses instead of dry grass. The thought made her stomach hurt. Seeing Jet and his band running free had been one thing. Imagining them crowded behind panels was another.

Mac walked beside her, studying the fences. “Solid.” He turned and looked back down the dirt track toward the driveway, then out at the flat ground past the alley. “Where’s a loaded rig supposed to turn around?”

Hank pointed to the open corner of the pasture. “Swing wide there and come back out the way you came.”

“Not in the dark, you don’t. Not with a gooseneck and horses in it.” Mac paced it off with his gaze. “You’d want a pull-through along that fence line, even if it’s just a graded loop.”

Hank looked at him a moment longer than he had before. “Huh.”

Jodie wrote pull-through on her sketch.

Sandra had started taking pictures again, careful now to keep Hank out of the frame.

Harold joined Jodie at the fence. “We’ll need your identification people close to the sorting pens.”

“How close?”