Page 5 of A Mile of Ocean (Pelican Pointe #19)

T he reality of their loss hit hard at dawn Saturday morning as Trent showed up at the bunkhouse to make breakfast for his men. He had expected to get an earful from them because law enforcement had checked their weapons, but no one complained.

“We want to find out who did this,” Woody said. “Barrett was like an older brother to me. Duchess is like my sister. You guys are family. All of you are my family. Been that way for three decades.”

Cecil nodded. “Losing Barrett still hasn’t sunk in yet; I probably won’t ever get used to him being gone. It doesn’t matter much to me checking my rifle. I haven’t fired it for weeks. I didn’t even know Barrett had been hurt until Colt Del Rio and that new guy showed up, wanting to check our guns.”

“Colt came out to where I was in the north forty to check my rifle. But he also checked my .22 pistol,” Blake added. “I turned both over to him, no problem. Good thing neither had been fired for a month, or I might’ve spent the night in jail.”

“We cooperated with the cops,” Toby said, digging into his stack of flapjacks. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Same here,” Brock echoed. A skinny kid of nineteen and the youngest of the bunch added, “They said they was doing a background check on all of us. I told them to go ahead and check me out as long as I don’t lose my job.”

“Are we losing our jobs?” Monty asked, older than Brock by two years and had just reached legal drinking age. “I’ll take a lie detector. Last night at sunset, all of us were right here watching the Angels play the A’s. Nobody’s mentioned we got alibis.”

“He’s right,” Toby declared. “We were all here watching the game.”

Trent took a seat at the long dining table, which was made from a slab of walnut. He picked up his fork and tasted the eggs. “Not bad. Pass me those pancakes, will you, Blake?”

Blake sent the platter around the table. “How’s Tate managing?”

“Not good,” Trent returned, knowing Blake had had a crush on Tate since high school. “All of you might give Tate and Dolly some space or, at the very least, approach with caution. That goes for my grandmother. Right now, they’re devastated. Give them some time to pull themselves together before the funeral.”

“You didn’t answer us about losing our jobs,” Monty pointed out, pouring syrup over his pancakes.

“No one is losing their jobs,” Trent assured them. “And no one thinks any of you would’ve hurt Barrett. So don’t go getting your feathers ruffled over something law enforcement suspects. From now on, I’ll have a lot on my plate. But don’t ever sit around and stew over something you’re ticked off about. Come to me, and we’ll talk it out like we always have. Nothing much will change with the day-to-day operations. Keep doing what you’re doing and know we all value each other here. We always have. Any questions?”

Blake cleared his throat. “A woman was looking for you last night. Gorgeous redhead. Did she find you?”

Trent felt relieved that the men seemed back on an even keel. He grinned at Blake’s question. “She found me. She’ll be around here this summer with Tate, teaching kids to ride.”

“Sure. That’s why she’s here to teach the kids to ride,” Blake cracked. “Great cover story, bro.”

The guys around the table tittered with laughter like a bunch of girls at a sorority house. That’s when Trent realized everything would get back to normal sooner rather than later.

After breakfast with the guys, he entered the main house and noticed the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. A blur of messages kept streaming in every time Dolly let the landline in the kitchen go to voicemail.

“You think this is bad? Wait until you see the dining room,” Dolly complained. “The buffet is full of food. I’m running out of room to put stuff.”

Trent strolled into the dining room to see that friends and neighbors had dropped off food of every kind—casserole dishes lined the table, two hot-out-of-the oven quiches, an assortment of baked goods like croissants and bagels were laid out on the side table next to bags of apples and oranges, pies, and cakes.

“All this came this morning?”

“Yep, along with notes and condolences,” Dolly replied.

“Have you seen Duchess?”

“I took her breakfast on a tray because she won’t leave her room. It’s not like her, Trent.”

“Give her a day to grieve any way she wants. She was with him for sixty years, and now he’s gone. She’s not sure what to do or how to behave. Same with the rest of us.”

“Well, Barrett’s lawyer called. She’s headed this way to discuss Barrett’s will.”

“Kinsey’s coming here? Now? I thought that stuff waited for after the funeral.”

“That’s what I thought. But when I told the Duchess, she said you could manage whatever Kinsey wanted to talk about.”

“Great,” Trent muttered. “I’ll check on her and see if I can talk her into leaving her room long enough to read the will.”

“Good luck with that,” Dolly hollered back.

Trent wasn’t prepared for his grandmother to spend the morning in bed. He found her inconsolable, her grief raw, and unwilling to deal with the lawyer’s visit.

He found he couldn’t coax Tate out of her room, either, since she had trouble controlling her emotions.

When Kinsey Wyatt arrived with the will in hand to help with the funeral arrangements, Trent felt like the steady anchor holding everyone together. By the time he joined Kinsey in the study, he had offered his support to every employee on the ranch who needed it most, and it wasn’t even eight-thirty yet.

Kinsey confirmed there were no surprises in the will. His grandmother inherited Barrett’s estate, but Trent would remain responsible for the day-to-day operations of Rio Verde Ranch and oversee the main trust. He would stay on as CFO, chief financial officer. At the same time, Tate would continue her work as the founder of Painted Heart, a non-profit foundation set up to save various endangered horse breeds across the country, one of Barrett’s longtime pet projects.

“Tate told your grandfather two years ago that she wanted to continue his work when he updated his will,” Kinsey explained. “She’ll still be here to help with ranching, but in addition to those duties, Mr. Callum set up the foundation that makes it possible for her to save as many critically endangered breeds as possible as long as she’s committed to saving them from going extinct .”

This was no surprise to Trent. “It’s all she’s talked about. We’ve set aside fifty acres of grassland smack in the middle of the ranch for the mares to graze. I’m pretty sure she’d go to any lengths to save a horse, whether it’s on U.S. soil or not. She’d go to the Galapagos Islands, England, or Spain if necessary.”

“About that,” Kinsey began, “I’m afraid it falls to you to keep Tate focused on what the funds cover.”

Trent winced. “What you’re saying is that it’s up to me to rein in her enthusiasm when she wants to go to the Galapagos to save the Santa Cruz breed, but there’s no money in the budget for the trip? Am I correct?”

“You are. Your grandfather expressed his desire to save breeds here on American soil first. If she wants to expand that, you might suggest that she find a way to raise more money to cover expenses for foreign trips,” Kinsey proposed. “Fundraising events are certainly allowed. Your role and hers are spelled out in the foundation’s guidelines. I hope she understands its purpose and will meet your grandfather’s requirements. You will oversee her spending. He was quite specific in that regard. That’s why I needed everyone on the same page while discussing Barrett’s will.”

“I’m sorry. She and my grandmother are both taking a day off. I’m sure she’ll have questions later. Right now, she’s inconsolable. I just assumed that you would wait until after the funeral to read the will.”

Kinsey smiled. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not the best timing, but your grandfather requested I do this within twelve hours of his death. I’m trying to follow his instructions to the letter. You, of all people, know he was a no-nonsense type of guy. He made me promise that I’d follow every detail he set forth.”

“That sounds like him. I also know he was a veteran of Vietnam in its early days, a runup to 1964 deployment when they sent special forces there to train the South Vietnamese Army. Did he want a military service?”

“Not at all. Just the opposite. He wanted a church service and burial here on the estate. I believe he set aside a plot of land for a family gravesite on the property.” She flipped through several pages of paperwork. “It’s known as Turtle Ridge.”

“Turtle Ridge? Are you sure? That’s not the family plot. But it is the same spot where he was shot,” Trent realized. “He and Duchess go there a lot to watch the sunset.” And it just occurred to him that the shooter must’ve known that, too.

Kinsey noticed the change in him. “What’s wrong?”

“I just realized that whoever killed him figured he’d be there at that specific time and waited around for him to show up.”

“Make sure you mention that to Brent,” Kinsey cautioned. “And be extra vigilant around here. I noticed the police cruiser parked across from the front gate. Brent must already believe there’s a chance the killer is closer than you think.”

“Interesting choice of words. When I met with everyone this morning, I made it clear to them that they needed to watch their backs. We have six full-time ranch hands who work multiple jobs, but they can’t be expected to fear for their lives every day.”

“A lean and mean machine,” Kinsey said with a nod. “That’s how Mr. Callum described his operation. Maybe you should think about hiring extra security. I believe Lucien Sutter and Brogan Cole keep a list of people they’d recommend for the job. Having rock star celebrities for parents, they both know something about hiring the best security details.”

“That’s an idea,” Trent decided, rubbing his hand across his chest. The pain was so fresh he felt as though the loss would never completely heal, which he supposed was the point of reading the journal. “Anything else to cover today? Are we finished finalizing the funeral details?”

“For now. I’m sure Mr. Callum went over all these things with his wife. But if anyone has any more questions down the road, don’t hesitate to call me.”

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of activity and emotion, leaving little time for Trent to process his own feelings. Between the endless stream of visitors and the never-ending tasks of running the ranch, he barely had a moment to himself. He had spent Friday and Saturday nights reading his grandfather’s entries, a blend of grief and despair so deep he wasn’t sure how the Callums had survived the loss of their only son.

The journal read like a story unfolding, revealing layers of anguish and perseverance. As Trent turned each page, he felt as if he were peering into the soul of a man who had faced an unbearable loss yet found a way to continue. The words resonated deeply with him, echoing his own struggles and fears. Why his granddad had decided to keep this hidden for so many years was a mystery. Sharing it sooner might have allowed him and Tate to move past their own grief.

Trent found himself taking the diary to the old oak grove behind his house, where he used to sit and ponder the future. Always a serious-minded student of his environment, he enjoyed the rustling leaves and the smell of earth as he sought solace in the memories of better days. It was there, sitting among the patch of trees, that he noticed the pages, smudged with dirt and tears, must have been his granddad’s constant companion during that first year without Travis.

He recalled Barrett Callum’s unwavering determination, a trait that had been passed down to him. The Callum legacy was one of resilience, and Trent knew that he had to somehow find the strength to uphold it. The ranch was more than just land and livestock; it was a testament to his family’s enduring spirit.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, he lost the light that enabled him to read. He stowed the journal in his backpack and made his way back to the cottage, walking across the field with only the shadows for company. He’d never felt so alone.

The evening air was cool and crisp, a welcome change from the day’s heat. He approached the deck and the back door and was about to go inside when a shot rang out, a bullet whizzing past his right ear. Instinctively, he ducked and dodged another bullet. He took out his cell phone to dial 911. “This is Trent Callum. Shots fired at Rio Verde Ranch for the second night in a row.”

Before he could say another word, Trish Vosberg, carrying her Glock-30, appeared at the corner of his house.

“Stay down,” she hissed at Trent. Communicating into her headset, she stated, “I need backup. Now! Rio Verde. Shots fired. The suspect is in the woods about seventy yards to the east of Trent’s backyard.”

The sound of Trish’s voice, commanding and strong, brought Trent back to the present. He watched as she moved with precision, scanning the perimeter for any signs of the shooter. Her presence was both comfort and a reminder of the danger that lurked close by.

Minutes felt like hours as Trent stayed low behind the cover of his deck, his heart racing. “Maybe the shooter decided to take off after firing two shots that missed instead of finishing the job,” Trent suggested.

“Let me decide that,” Trish barked. “I’m not leaving you like a sitting duck until backup arrives.”

“No need to chase him. I think he’s gone,” Trent muttered.

“Are you willing to bet your life on that?” Trish asked.

“You have a point.”

His peaceful night, which had been quiet except for the occasional call of a loon or a hawk, was now a full-blown crime scene.

Each second stretched into an eternity as Trent’s mind raced with questions and fears. Who could be behind these attacks? And why were they targeting the people on the ranch?

Finally, he heard the sound of sirens piercing the night, signaling the arrival of backup. Red and blue lights flashed across the yard as Brent’s team fanned out, searching the woods for any trace of the assailant. Trish remained at Trent’s side, her gaze never wavering from the dark tree line.

“We’ll find them,” she assured him, her voice low but resolute. “You did the right thing calling for help. Most men would have reached for their .45.”

“I didn’t think I’d need it. I left it in the house. I’m grateful for the quick response.”

“No problem. Next time, I should’ve been stationed in those woods and waited until he got closer. You’ve made a powerful enemy somewhere,” Trish noted.

“I’m beginning to understand just how powerful and angry they are.”

The danger seemed to have passed, but the tension still hung in the air. It would be a long time before he felt truly safe again, especially since the police had surrounded his little house.

The backyard quickly filled up with ranch hands and family members. While giving his statement to Theo, he looked over to see his grandmother and Tate rushing to his rescue. He was glad to see both women had decided to leave their beds, even if Tate sounded a bit hysterical.

“What the hell is happening?” Tate cried out, grabbing onto his jacket. “We’re not safe in here anymore. Are you okay? You could’ve been killed.”

Trent kissed the top of her head. “I’m fine. Settle down. It’s okay. Everything’s under control.”

“It’s not,” Tate bellowed. “You know it’s not. Someone shooting at us is not an everyday occurrence.”

Blake ran up to where they stood and tried to comfort her. “I’ll stand guard if you want me to, right outside your door.”

Tate touched his face. “Oh, Blake, I’m not sure that will help at all, but thanks for offering. Maybe we need to hire our own security.”

“Let’s go inside the house and discuss it,” Trent said, ushering his grandmother and sister in through the back door.

The cottage smelled of the comforting aroma of home-cooked food because Dolly had dropped off several meals prepared by friends and neighbors. It was a reminder that the community stood together even in times of sorrow.

His grandmother noticed a dish she recognized. “This looks delicious. I’d know Carla Vargas’s tamale casserole anywhere. We’ll warm this up for supper.”

“The person’s name who dropped it off is listed on the bottom so I could keep things straight,” Dolly said, reading the card taped to the underside. “But you’re wrong about who made it. This one belongs to Brogan Cole. She says she got the recipe from Carla, though. I guess that counts.”

Theo cleared his throat among the chaos. “Should you be eating anything that someone else prepared if someone wants you dead?”

“He has a point,” Trish advised. “Maybe you should toss most of this stuff.”

His grandmother’s eyes widened. “Waste food? This person isn’t trying to poison us but shoot us where we stand. But I do get your point. We’ll review each dish and make sure we know who left it. We’ll even call and ask them if they prepared it themselves. How’s that? Will that work?”

“Just don’t take anything for granted,” Theo responded. “Everything on this table is tempting, especially the homemade lasagna.”

“Jordan Harris dropped that casserole off at two-thirty this afternoon straight from the oven,” Dolly said. “I took it from her myself, tagged it, and brought it right over to Trent’s house for supper.”

“Good to know,” Trent acknowledged. “I’ll put it in the oven. Between this casserole and Brogan’s, we should be able to feed quite a few. You guys staying for dinner?” he asked Theo.

“I wish we could. But Colt and Eastlyn are tracking footprints our shooter left in the woods. Due to the rain last night, we have a chance to get an excellent shoe impression. You guys have a nice evening. Trent, I’ll drop by after you eat and give you an update on what we find.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” He turned to his grandmother and whispered, “I think it’s time to consider hiring a security detail.”

“Fine by me. But how in the world do they plan to patrol two thousand acres of land and still keep everybody safe? It’s not like we can afford to hire an army.”