Page 8 of A Mile of Ocean (Pelican Pointe #19)

T he rest of the security team fanned out to their designated positions, Hawk driving the golf cart to the eastern border. Stationed on higher ground, the air was thick with anticipation, each man alert and ready. The silence was broken only by the frogs serenading each other and the crickets coming out to play.

As the night drew on, the team remained vigilant, their equipment scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The ranch, usually a place of warmth and comfort, had become their battleground, and they were ready for whatever came next.

But they only thought they were prepared for battle.

Around midnight, Hawk spotted flames coming from the golf cart. Before he could extinguish the blaze, behind them to the west, the woodshed exploded several hundred feet from the main house. The explosion shocked the compound, waking everyone from the bunkhouse to the main house.

Sitting on the porch guarding the house, Trent sprang to his feet at the sound of the explosion. He raced outside toward the source of the commotion, his mind ticking off a whirlwind of actions. He met Toby and Monty on the pathway, wheeling the portable water tank closer to the fire from the barn. Behind them stood Cecil, aiming a fire extinguisher at the blaze, while Woody instructed Brock and Blake to start a bucket brigade using the nearest pond as a water source.

A second explosion had them all instinctively ducking for cover as the debris rained down in burning sparks and flashes.

Trent’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to gauge how long it would take him to reach the water truck. He ran in that direction and bumped into Tate, who had the same idea.

“I’ll drive the water truck,” she yelled. “You stay and organize the men. The Duchess called 911. But they’re still probably ten minutes out. Where the hell is that security team we’re paying for?”

Trent thought the same thing as he heard sirens in the distance.

Adrenaline pumping, Trent grabbed his radio and called Hawk, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Where the hell are you guys? Over. We’re battling a 4-alarm fire here. Move your asses to help us out. Over and out.”

With no further warning, a series of rapid gunshots echoed across the estate.

Somebody yelled, “That’s not a .22. That’s an AK47!”

Woody and Cecil hit the ground behind a stack of hay bales, pulling Blake and Brock down with them, away from the burning bonfire, while Monty picked up the radio and barked, “Hawk, you need to get everybody back to the main house. Now! We’re taking fire. Over.”

“Affirmative,” Hawk responded. “We’re headed that way now. Over.”

Within moments, Hawk and his men were sprinting toward the main house, dodging falling debris and navigating through the thick smoke that now blanketed the area.

Trent continued to bark orders to his men, his instructions precise and unwavering. “Woody, Cecil, get those hoses running! We can’t afford to let this spread to the horses in the barn!”

“Roger that, boss,” Cecil hollered.

Chaos surrounded them, but they were determined. Tate expertly maneuvered the water truck into position, and with practiced efficiency, she and Blake began dousing the flames with powerful streams of water. The combined efforts of the portable tanks, fire extinguishers, and the bucket brigade slowly began to take effect, but the battle was far from over.

Hawk, Lincoln, and Drum arrived through a haze of smoke and began to assist.

Trent strategized contingencies if they couldn’t locate the source of the gunfire. He knew they had to secure the perimeter to prevent any further attacks. “Hawk, I need you to take your men and scout the area. Make sure there are no more threats. Be on the lookout for anyone suspicious. Shoot and ask questions later if you see anybody you don’t recognize. All my guys are accounted for right here.”

“Roger that. Has anyone heard from Slade?” Hawk asked.

Holding a hose on smoldering embers, Tate answered, “The last time I saw him, he was setting up in the sunroom. Maybe he’s keeping an eye on Dolly and Duchess. I don’t know.”

“He’s not answering the radio,” Hawk replied. “Hasn’t been for half an hour.”

Trent didn’t like the sound of that. “You go secure the perimeter around us. I’ll go check on Slade.”

Hawk nodded and signaled to Drum and Lincoln, their figures vanishing into the smoke and darkness. The sound of sirens grew louder, signaling the arrival of the local fire department. As the first responders began to take control of the fire, Trent charged toward the house, adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

He drew his .45 Sig Sauer before entering through the back door. Glancing around the kitchen, he saw that everything looked tidy. But there was no sign of Dolly, Duchess, or Slade.

The tension in Trent’s body heightened as he moved through the house, checking each room systematically. The living room was still filled with the lingering scent of the spaghetti they’d had for dinner. The dining room was eerily untouched except for all the baked goods on the buffet. When he reached the hallway, the stone foyer echoed his hurried footsteps.

“Duchess? Dolly? Slade?” he called out, his voice a mixture of hope and desperation. There was no answer, only the unsettling quiet that surrounded him.

He ascended the staircase two steps at a time, his mind racing with possibilities. At the top, he paused, listening intently for any sign of movement. The second floor was just as silent. He checked the bedrooms individually, the sense of urgency growing with each empty room.

Puzzled, he headed back downstairs. Recalling Tate’s earlier words, he approached the sunroom. The door was ajar, and Trent pushed it open cautiously. The sight that greeted him made his heart race faster. Dressed in her nightgown, Duchess held a shotgun, ready to fire. “Trent. Thank God it’s you. Where the hell is that Slade person?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” He glanced at Dolly, who lay unconscious on the rug, propped up on the wicker sofa, her face pale but showing no visible injuries.

“What happened?”

“I came downstairs when I heard the blast. Looked all over for Slade. Then Tate ran out of here to get the water truck in position. I kept looking all over until I found Dolly like this. I called 911. I can’t find the guy named Slade. He’s nowhere to be found.”

Trent quickly knelt beside Dolly, checking her pulse. He found it steady and strong. Relief washed over him, but the absence of Slade gnawed at his nerves.

He gently lifted Dolly into his arms and carried her out of the room, heading to the front door. He stepped outside into the chaos of the fire department’s efforts, spotting a paramedic team.

“Over here!” he shouted, drawing their attention. The EMTs rushed over, taking Dolly from his arms to assess her condition.

“She has a knot on her head,” Trent pointed out. “I don’t know how it got there. But she’s been out for about twenty minutes.”

“We’ll take care of her.”

With Dolly in safe hands, his thoughts returned to Slade. He glanced around to see Theo and Colt standing nearby, assessing the damage.

“What on earth happened?” Colt wanted to know.

“Where do I start? Fire. Shots from an AR-15 or maybe an AK-47. Bullets were flying every which way. We’re lucky no one suffered a hit. I don’t think the security team was a good idea,” Trent stated. “They were pretty much useless. And now, one of them has gone missing.”

“Which one?” Theo asked.

“The guy they called Slade. He was supposed to stick to the house and make sure nobody got in. Now I’m thinking when the shit got intense, he just walked off.”

Theo rubbed his chin, looking concerned. “I know this crew. Hawk checked in with us when he arrived. Slade was supposed to be one of the best. If something happened to him, we’ve got a bigger issue on our hands.”

Colt nodded in agreement. “We need to find him, and fast. He might be injured or worse.”

Trent’s eyes scanned the area, noting the damage to the property. But something else nagged him. It was the urgency he saw on the cops’ faces. “I’ll search the house top to bottom. Maybe he got trapped or hid.”

Theo and Colt agreed to search other areas, and they quickly dispersed. Trent moved with purpose, his mind racing with potential scenarios. He navigated back to where he’d left Duchess. “Everybody says this isn’t like Slade. What do you think?”

“Honestly? I’m scared, Trent. We need to have an old-fashioned, come-to-Jesus, ranch-wide meeting and lay all our cards on the table. Somebody out there wanted Barrett dead. But that appears not to have satisfied them. They want to damage us to ruin. And after three days, we don’t know any more than we did before all this started.”

“Hold that thought. I’m right there with you. But right now, I need to find Slade. Think back to before the blast. Did you hear anything downstairs? Did he go outside?”

“I heard a thud several minutes after I heard the explosion. I also heard footsteps heading toward Barrett’s study.”

“Okay. Then he has to be inside the house somewhere.”

“Did you check the cellar?”

“I didn’t get that far. But I will now. You keep that shotgun handy.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Duchess muttered, clutching the Mossberg like a lover.

The sunroom had been added to the house within the past twenty years or so. Next door to it was a modernized laundry room with all the latest upgrades, replacing the old mudroom used since the 1970s. This spacious modern version had new cabinets, countertops, and appliances. He opened one of the drawers and took out a flashlight.

The old mudroom door was at the end of the floor-to-ceiling shelving, holding extra supplies. It had the only access to the cellar through a warped door that often stuck.

As he grappled with the old door, finally getting it to open, he flipped on the light switch and spotted Slade’s weapon lying on the scuffed hardwood floor. He picked it up and stuffed it at the waist of his jeans as an extra backup in case he needed it. Slowly, he opened the door to the cellar. The black hole of creaky steps went down to a cob-webbed-filled moldy chamber that reeked, a place he made sure he had avoided as a kid.

He turned on the flashlight, holding the beam steady to light the way. Halfway down, at the bottom of the stairs, he saw the missing Slade slumped in a heap. When he reached the bottom step, he felt for a pulse, but it was useless. Slade had suffered from a broken neck in the fall.

Trent shined the light all around the cellar. He stepped over Slade and checked around boxes and wooden crates until he was satisfied no one was hiding there.

He clicked the button on the radio. “Hawk, this is Base Camp. I’m sorry, but I found your man Slade deceased. Over. Out.”

Hawk and what was left of his team failed to locate their crazed shooter. Because of that, the come-to-Jesus meeting couldn’t wait until morning. While Theo and Colt investigated another crime scene, this time inside the main house, Trent and Tate got everyone together at her house to discuss all their options going forward.

Tate’s home, with a two-bedroom layout similar to his own, was located to the left of the main house, whereas his home was to the right. Hers had been decorated to suit her style and taste with pops of blues and greens and a distinctive female touch.

Tate’s eyes scanned the faces around her living room. The tension had each person on edge, aware that the stakes had never been higher. With Barrett’s death, and now Slade’s, they had to take the threat more seriously, not knowing who could be next.

“We need to tighten our security and ensure that everyone knows their roles,” Tate stated, her voice steady and authoritative. “No more going to bed thinking this will all be over soon or letting someone else secure the property. It’s up to us. This won’t go away until we catch this person. This person cannot be allowed to cause any more harm.”

She held up papers she’d printed and handed them to the crew. “These are patrol schedules, guard duty if you prefer.”

Trent nodded. “We need to set up patrols around the perimeter so that every entry point is guarded. That means we feed the livestock during the day and perform the basics, but our energy and effort beyond that need to include nighttime guard duty. We know this ranch better than anyone coming from outside. We take care of it and what’s important to us first. We take care of each other.”

Spine straight, Duchess stood up. “We can’t afford any lapses. And that starts now. We don’t know who this guy is or why he’s decided to put us all at risk, only that he has. What I do know is how each man in this room is up to the task. You wouldn’t be here if Barrett hadn’t allowed you to thrive when he hired you. But we—that’s me, Trent, and Tate—have decided to offer you more than that. Starting now, you each will be deeded ten acres of land to build your own home.”

Monty got to his feet and let out a whoop. “That means I can ask Lucy to marry me.”

“Not if she finds you flirting with that waitress again at The Shipwreck,” Blake cracked. “More like kick you to the curb.”

“Congratulations,” Duchess said with a smile. “Be sure to bring her to the Fourth of July picnic next month. We should’ve done this a long time ago. It’s long overdue. But there it is. Sixty acres make up Turtle Ridge. It has the best views of the ocean and the best soil there. I don’t want you fighting over location or who gets which lot. So tonight, you’ll draw out of a hat. But I can tell you right now, there’s not a bad plot of land on the entire sixty acres. You can see a mile of ocean from all along that ridge. Woody, Cecil, you’re closest to retiring. Remind the kids how much your retirement package is worth.”

Woody stood up and tossed out a high six-figure number. Cecil did the same.

“There. You see. We take care of our own,” Duchess added.

The room erupted in applause and laughter, a brief respite from their heavy burden. Moments like these reminded them of why they fought so hard to protect what they had.

Each member was fully aware of the task ahead as the meeting ended. Trent and Tate stood to the side, discussing the patrol shifts and the new security measures they needed to implement immediately. The camaraderie among the team remained steadfast, bolstered by the shared commitment to keep everyone safe.

Duchess, ever the practical one, had already started organizing the drawing for the land lots. She moved purposefully, her voice carrying over the hum of conversations, ensuring everything was in place for the night’s events.

Blake Hudson caught Tate’s eye and gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the trust and respect they had built over years of working together.

As two a.m. approached, the ranch took on an atmosphere of vigilant anticipation. The usual sleep fest was now replaced with the quiet determination of a team on high alert. Everyone knew their roles, and the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on their shoulders. Trent took one last look around the room before stepping outside, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the house.

Tate joined him. Her expression was one of resolve. “We can do this,” she said quietly. “We’re Callums. How many times did Granddad use that same phrase?”

Trent nodded, his eyes scanning the horizon. “I lost count. There’s so much at stake. Did you know that our grandmother told me she was scared earlier? I’ve never in my life heard her admit that. And you couldn’t tell it by that speech she just gave.”

“I keep thinking, what if he’d set fire to the house or the bunkhouse or yours or mine? Why did he limit it to the woodshed?”

“You know as well as I do that woodshed is more than four walls that hold firewood. It’s where we keep the treated lumber for our open-air shelters, fencing, and repairs to the other buildings. That’s why it went up like a rocket. All that treated lumber was specially ordered from Ferguson’s. It’s expensive.”

“Someone knew that. An ex-employee, maybe?”

“I’m beginning to think that way. That list is short. How long have we been running the ranch with six hands instead of eight?”

“Two, maybe three years. Ever since those two guys left within weeks of each other.”

“Exactly.” Trent had barely slept, but when he texted Theo and Colt that he needed to talk, he shoved off Tate’s porch and met them in front of the burned-out shed.

“Do you have any ex-employees with a bone to pick with you?” Theo asked.

“Jeez. Is this place bugged? I was just about to offer up two names as a source for your main suspect. We had eight ranch hands at the beginning of 2023. Two disgruntled guys walked away within two months of each other. Porter Hays and Jesse Jessop. They came to us at the end of summer and stayed less than six months. They both had attitude problems, couldn’t work with any of our guys.”

Colt took notes. “Did they know each other before they started working here?”

“Could be. Woody reported they had issues about slacking off, lying, and starting fights. He was about to fire them when Jessop quit. We were in the middle of the breeding season, so we kept Porter around, but then a few weeks later, he left in his truck and never even came back for his last paycheck.”

“We’ll check both names out,” Theo vowed.

“The only problem with that theory is that these guys wouldn’t wait two years to come back and murder Barrett. They could barely shoot a .22, let alone pull off the kind of shot it took to kill him.”

“Maybe their aim improved over two years,” Colt suggested. “I’ve seen people hold a grudge for decades before deciding to get revenge for some slight that occurred years earlier.”

“Really? Well, these two guys were definitely heading for trouble. But we didn’t actually fire either one of them. They left on their own. So technically, there’s no motive.”

“Good point,” Theo reasoned. “But they’ll need checking out to determine if they were around Friday night. Have you decided whether or not to keep Hawk onboard?”

“I don’t see the point. We’ll manage our security from now on ourselves.”

“I understand how you feel,” Colt said. “But Hawk wants to stick around for Slade. They all do. They lost a man in this fight. Now, it’s personal for them.”

A tired Trent let out a sigh. “He said that?”

“He did.”

“I understand how the people you work with are like family. And we could use every able-bodied person who wants to stick it out. I’ll talk to Hawk. How’s Dolly?”

“Turns out she fainted,” Colt reported. “When she was able to tell the paramedics what happened, she said she hit her head on the doorframe in the dark and conked out.”

“Did she see the guy who shoved Slade down the stairs?”

“Nope. She ran into the sunroom because she thought she heard someone walking around the house. The last thing she remembers is Slade cutting off the lights and telling her to stay put while he checked out the noise.”

“We just can’t catch a break with this guy,” Trent muttered. “Where’s Hawk?”

“He’s sticking close to the medical examiner. Hawk still has to notify Slade’s wife about what happened.”

After lots were drawn, the ranch hands left the meeting and went to work, each taking up their assigned roles without complaint.

Left alone, Tate moved through her home, ensuring all the windows and doors were secured while her grandmother got ready to spend the night in her guest room.

Outside, the night was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of the ranch muted by the heavy tension in the air. Every shadow seemed to hold potential danger, and every creak inside sounded like a warning.

As the hours ticked by, the entire group remained alert. They paired up into teams on horseback. Trent and Tate took the eastern border, patrolling the perimeter, while Woody and Monty stood watch on the southern tip. Blake and Brock guarded the main house and the western front while Cecil teamed up with Lincoln to watch the northern boundary. That left Hawk, Drum, and Toby to shore up the middle section where Painted Heart was the most vulnerable.

Their radios crackled intermittently with updates, each one reassuring that all was clear. But the unease lingered, a constant reminder of the threat they faced.

When dawn finally broke, it was a relief. The golden light chased away the shadows and brought with it a semblance of hope. The team gathered again, tired but resolute, ready to face whatever came next.