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7

AUbrEY

A fter the riding lesson I try to make myself busy at the ranch but keep feeling like I’m getting in the way. Though Jensen was fairly kind and attentive while I was with Duke, he’s back to being grumpy and pretending I don’t exist, as goes for the rest of his crew (which, frankly, isn’t a bad thing since everyone except Eli gives me the creeps). It’s such a nice day, though, and I don’t want to hole up in the guest cottage, so I decide to jump in the car and head out to Lake Tahoe. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen the clear blue waters and being in civilization would probably help me stop ruminating endlessly.

It works, for the most part. I check out some stores, have lunch at a cute BBQ place, then grab a tea from a merchant and head out to the lake, finding a smooth boulder to sit on by the shore. The sun is high in the sky and strong enough that I peel off all my layers until I’m just in a T-shirt. I try to empty my mind and find solace in the natural beauty of the place, watching the azure water dance with the sun’s glare, but my brain is tugged toward Lainey, as it always is, then to Jensen.

There’s obviously something going on at that ranch. I’ve never met a cagier bunch of cowboys (not that I often meet cowboys) and I don’t have to be an FBI agent to know they’re all keeping secrets, even the affable Eli. What secrets, I don’t know, but I also know they’re more than just ranch hands. If I had to guess, I’d say that perhaps they’re involved in some local crime scene, which makes everything about this mission more dangerous. I’m not undercover, per se, but they can’t know my job, no matter what. They would immediately think that everything to do with Lainey is a ruse and if they find that out while I’m in the mountains with them, well…I’m not sure things would turn out so well for me.

I’ll have to be extra careful. Leave my badge hidden in the car. I should leave my gun there too, but it might end up being the only defense I have if things go south. I’ll just make sure to keep it hidden in my bag and if they ask, well, they shouldn’t be surprised that a lone woman would feel the need to keep a gun on her when venturing into the wilderness with five strange men.

As for Jensen, I’d like to trust him but at this point I can’t. I might need him to find Lainey, but that’s about all he’s good for. Yeah, he’s exactly my type but I’m self-aware enough to know that I have a shitty taste in men. Grumpy as fuck, with rough hands, plus a gravely voice, and potentially dangerous? Ticking all the red flags at once.

The drive back from Tahoe takes longer than it should. I keep pulling over, studying the turnouts and trails that Lainey might have taken, even though I know the search parties combed this area years ago. Even though I know, deep down, that she never made it this far into town. Someone would have seen her, but no one had.

How did she just…disappear?

The sun is setting by the time I turn onto the ranch’s drive, painting the mountains in shades of blood and gold. My muscles ache from this morning’s ride, but it’s a good kind of pain. The kind that means progress. At least I was able to face a fear of mine, even though I know it won’t be that simple going forward. Yes, I can ride in a pen, with Jensen at my side, but it will take time for me to be comfortable riding in steep and rough terrain. In a way I’m grateful for the storm rolling in. As much as I want to be hitting the trails already and getting the search for Lainey underway, my muscles will need time to recover.

I spot Jensen through the main house windows as I park, puttering around the kitchen. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m climbing the porch steps and knocking on the door.

“Everything okay?” he asks as he opens it, squinting at me, the golden light of the sunset making his face glow slightly, setting the amber in his eyes on fire.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I try not to stare at the way his T-shirt pulls across his chest. I clear my throat. “I just thought…maybe you could use some help? With dinner.”

He studies me for a long moment, then he steps back, leaving just enough space for me to squeeze past him into the house. His heat radiates against my arm as I pass.

“You cook?” he asks, heading toward the kitchen. “Cuz that would be helpful.”

I shrug off my jacket, putting it on the back of a stool. “I’m good at following directions.”

His mouth twitches at that, but he hands me the cutting board and a pile of vegetables. “Alright. Get choppin’.”

The kitchen is warm and fragrant with garlic and herbs. A pot of something simmers on the stove, and there’s meat marinating in a dish by the sink. Being here with him feels strangely domestic and easy, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

“Where’re the others?” I ask, washing my hands at the sink.

“Out.” He moves to the stove, stirring whatever’s in the pot. Then he hands me another knife and says, “Dice the onions first. Put them in the pot.”

He’s a bossy one, but I wouldn’t expect anything less. I get to work, trying not to notice how the kitchen suddenly feels smaller with just the two of us in it.

The rich scent of caramelizing onions fills the air as I slide the diced pieces from the cutting board into the pot. Jensen stirs, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the motion. Once again I have to remind myself not to stare. He hasn’t said much since we started cooking, but the silence feels companionable rather than tense, for once.

“What next?” I ask, wiping my hands on a dishtowel.

He nods toward the pile of vegetables. “Carrots. Slice them thin so they cook evenly.”

He really didn’t need to add that last part and I’m tempted to point out that I do know how to cook, but I bite my lip and grab another knife and get to work, the steady rhythm of chopping blending with the bubble of the simmering stew. Every so often, Jensen’s arm brushes mine as he reaches for a spice or adjusts the heat. Each fleeting touch sends a jolt through me, awareness prickling along my skin.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a while, voice low in the hush of the kitchen.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the carrots. “Just focusing.”

“On the vegetables or on the reason you’re really here?”

My knife pauses mid-slice. “I told you. I wanted to help with dinner.”

“Uh huh.” He leans a hip against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. “Most people, they want something from me, they just come out and ask. But you…you sidle up, make yourself useful. It’s…disarming.”

I set down the knife and turn to face him fully, watching him carefully. “You know what I want. It’s worth a hundred grand. You think I have some ulterior motive?”

“I think people are rarely honest about what they want.” His gaze is steady, assessing. “Especially people like you.”

“People like me,” I echo, my nerves prickling. “And what kind of person is that?”

If he calls me a city girl again, I swear to god…

“The kind who shows up out of nowhere, asking questions she already knows the answers to, waving money in the air.” He takes a step closer, crowding me against the counter, enough that my breath hitches. “The kind who watches everything, filing it away. The kind who doesn’t seem to be afraid of all the right things.”

A flush rushes through me and I swallow hard, my breath shallow. This close, I can see the pulse beating in his neck, the yellow streaks in his hazel eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

And I’d like to keep it that way.

“Don’t I?” His voice drops an octave, rough and intimate. “I know desperation when I see it. And I know just what desperation does to a person.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond the heat of his body and the intensity in his eyes.

Then he backs off and goes back to tending to the stew, as if nothing happened.

I stare at him for a moment, my heart slamming hard in my chest, a prickle of perspiration at my brow.

I clear my throat, not wanting to succumb to the awkwardness.

“Have you figured out what route we’re going to take?” I ask, my voice sounding pitchy.

He pauses and glances at me over his shoulder. “Can’t plan a route until you tell me more about your sister.”

Right.

“Okay. Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he says firmly before he turns back again. “Why she came here. What she was looking for. Where you think she might have gone.”

I sigh and lean back against the counter, not sure where to begin. It’s hard to talk about Lainey, not because I break down in tears (I’ve gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing my emotions), but because it’s impossible to not keep it at surface level. Which means Jensen is going to hear every ugly little detail about our lives and he’s someone who the less he knows the better.

But I launch into it. I talk about Lainey’s obsession with the Donner Party, about her mental health issues, about my mother’s death, then my father’s (though I left out the part of how he died, since I don’t want Jensen to know he was a cop), and how it took a toll on her. Then I talked about the men she was always with, ending with Adam, whom I always had a bad feeling about but couldn’t really articulate.

“A bad feeling?” Jensen asks. “How so?”

I chew on my bottom lip for a moment. “Let’s just say I have experience with certain types of men and he seemed exactly that type. Charming and seemingly easy-going, but controlling and quick to temper. I only met him twice, had them over for dinner, before she started declining and making excuses for him. I started to get the feeling he was isolating her, but it was hard to tell since they were both addicts.”

He nods, still busying himself. “So what do you think happened? Do you think he had something to do with her disappearance?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. As I said, Lainey’s obsession ran deep. Her dreams, the calling—she knew she needed to be here. But it wasn’t just that she wanted to experience what being on the trail would have been like. I don’t think that was it, not this time. It wasn’t historical reenactment, it was something else.”

“Do you think Adam encouraged it?”

“Possibly. I wish I’d gotten to know him better.”

He clears his throat and heads to the fridge. “Beer?” he asks as he opens it.

I really shouldn’t but I nod anyway, needing to take the edge off. “Please.”

He studies me for a moment, as if doubting what I said, then snaps the cap off via an opener nailed to the wall and hands it to me. Our fingertips brush against each other, and though I don’t feel literal sparks, I have to suppress a shiver from running down my spine, which is just as bad.

“Thanks,” I say under my breath, wishing he wasn’t staring at me so intently. It’s like he’s looking for something more than what I’m giving him, even though I’m trying to be as open as possible.

Finally he turns around and goes back to the stew. “So, Lainey and Adam come here and there’s no trace of them in town. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t in town. Could mean the cops didn’t do their job following up.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a given,” I tell him tiredly before having a sip of beer. It’s ice cold and hits the spot. “Cops are fucking idiots and girls like Lainey are never their priority. Not to mention if there had been any domestic violence between them, they’d probably choose Adam’s side. Seen it happen time and time again.”

“Have you now?”

His tone is innocent enough but I know innocent is that last word I’d use to describe Jensen McGraw. “It’s the Wells family curse,” I say, half-joking.

He seems to stiffen at that and I worry he thinks I’m lying and will probe further. The thing is, I’ve had good luck in relationships in that I’ve never been in an abusive one (probably because my idea of a relationship is a one-night stand) but I’ve seen far too many women go missing or killed because of them. So many times the cops have been called and the man has found a way to spin it, calling his girlfriend “crazy.” They always take his side.

“I’m guessing you didn’t hear anything about them,” I say.

“About your sister? No. Would have said so if I did. I just want to know her mindset, would be helpful to know where she could have ended up.”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I pause. “How familiar are you with the Donners?” Though his back is to me, he tenses again. “Sorry,” I quickly say. “I mean I suppose that’s a dumb question considering where you live.”

“Mmmm,” he grunts, having some of his beer. “I know my history.”

“Good. Well, because of Lainey, so do I. I’ve been doing some research and the only things I can think of is that she went to the original campsite where George Donner and his family were situated, which is a park near some estates, or she went to Donner Lake campground where everyone else was stranded for the winter.”

“Right,” he says, finally turning to face me. “Problem with that is we won’t find anything. At least I won’t. The campground is heavily trafficked, as is the other picnic spot. Hundreds if not thousands of campers every year. There will be no tracks or no trail, nothing that the cops wouldn’t have found back then. Even though they did a half-assed job, I’m sure that area was searched. Beyond that, you got capitalism. Real estate. Other than the park, nearly the whole lakefront is bought up with vacation homes. There’s no getting on private property.”

I swallow more of my beer, surprised at how quickly it’s going down. I really need to stop at one. The way it’s loosening me up, especially around Jensen, feels like a mistake in the making.

“So then we don’t have much of a route, do we,” I say, unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“I do,” he says, and I look at him in surprise. “You told me that she said the mountains were calling her.” He pauses. “There’s more to the Donner Party than what meets the eye. More than what the written accounts say.”

“How do you know?”

“I said I knew my history,” he says, an intensity blazing in his eyes. “History that’s passed down through generations. My relatives were here in the 1850s, not long after the party went missing. My great-great-great-grandaddy Jake McGraw was a tracker himself and those parties weren’t the only people to go missing in the area at the time. You gotta remember that their story, their strife, it attracted nationwide attention. People flocked here to see where it all happened, where all the gruesome events took place. There are things that maybe even your sister didn’t know.”

Now he has my full attention. “Such as?”

“Them mountains,” he says, pointing his beer at the darkened window and beyond. “They held people back but that didn’t mean people didn’t try to cross them, time and time again. They made routes. Some of them ended in tragedy. Some of them ended in dead ends. And, occasionally, some of them lead to civilization on the other side of the Sierras. People like James Reed made it to the Sacramento Valley. The party of the Forlorn Hope. But it was rare that the mountains didn’t take something in return.”

Okay, I didn’t take this gruff cowboy to be so philosophical but he says it without any irony. In fact, he’s serious enough that it puts a chill down my spine.

I cross my arms, as if to ward off the cold. “So what are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying,” he says. “There was never any doubt that we weren’t going to look for Lainey down here. We were going to look for her up there. You know that she wouldn’t have been satisfied sticking around these touristy parts. They would have gone up into the mountains, into the wild, far away from people. Explains why no one saw them.”

I mean, he’s right. I did figure she’d head into the mountains, since they were calling her and all. I guess I didn’t really pause to think about what that meant. I figured this whole area was considered the mountains. But Lainey wasn’t seeking out Donner Lake or the most infamous locations of the tragedy. She would have been looking for the obscure places, the places only someone as studious and obsessed as her would know about.

Places that Jensen McGraw might know about.

“What’s our route then?” I ask.

“I reckon we start low, still near the lake, just in case. It’s an area that’s left wild and isn’t built-up. Old Highway Road. We can camp by Donner Creek before we make a go for the summit. Once we’re at the summit, we can ride to the family cabin at Mount Judah before going onto Benson Hut. That should cover a lot of the old trails that people took at various times. Let’s just pray that?—”

The front door slams open, voices spilling into the house. Red, Cole, and Hank tromp into the kitchen a moment later, arms laden with grocery bags. Eli follows close behind.

“Think we got everything,” Cole says as they place the bags on the counter.

Red looks between us, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Well, don’t you two look domestic. Need a minute alone?”

“We’re fine,” I say quickly, finishing the rest of the beer. “Just helping with dinner.”

Cole snorts, unpacking the groceries with rough efficiency. “City girl trying to make herself useful. Ain’t that sweet.”

I bristle, but before I can respond, Jensen sets down his spoon with a sharp clack. “Aubrey’s a guest,” he says, voice brooking no argument. “She’s welcome in this kitchen same as anyone. I don’t see any of you offering to help. Ingrates.”

An awkward silence descends, broken only by the bubble of the stew. I busy myself by chopping up a handful of oregano and thyme that had been put to the side, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me.

Eli clears his throat and looks to Jensen. “Ran into Margaret in town. Said you should see your mother before we set off.”

Jensen looks up sharply, a warning in his eyes. “You told her we were leaving?”

Eli shrugs though he looks a little afraid. “I had to. She was asking about your plans for next week. Said you haven’t been answering her texts.”

“Who is Margaret?” I can’t help but ask.

“His mother’s nurse,” Eli says with sympathy.

“Right,” I say. “The twins said she had suffered a stroke. I’m sorry.”

Jensen’s gaze cuts to me, sharp and assessing. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Must be hard,” I venture, trying to glean more information. “Managing the ranch, taking care of her. Expensive, too.”

His jaw clenches. “We get by.”

“I think it’s admirable,” Eli says, though there’s a warning in his eyes. “Not many would do what you do, Jensen. Shouldering all that responsibility.”

“Family’s family.” Jensen’s tone is clipped, making it clear the subject is closed. “Now, y’all gonna help with this dinner like Aubrey here or just stand around jawing?”

The conversation shifts to ranch logistics and I watch from the sidelines, trying to catalog each interaction, each unspoken undercurrent. It’s interesting to know Jensen’s family history, that his relative was a tracker too, and during the time of the Donners. But I have to wonder how much Jensen really knows. I get the feeling he’s holding back on things I should probably know about.

By the time the stew is ready, the kitchen table is set and the ranch hands are washing up. Jensen ladles out generous portions, the rich scent of meat and herbs wafting through the room.

“Looks good,” Cole says, taking his seat. “Even with the city girl’s help.”

I roll my eyes and dig in.

Dinner passes in a blur of easy conversation, the kind born of long familiarity. They talk around me rather than to me, which I don’t mind, rehashing old stories. Every so often, I catch Jensen watching me, his gaze thoughtful. He knows I’m absorbing it all.

“Your mother,” I say when there’s a lull, though I know it’s a touchy subject. “Will I get to meet her while I’m here?”

Jensen sets down his spoon, expression closing off. “No. And why would you? You ain’t a friend, you’re just a client.”

He’s got me there. The only reason I want to meet his mother is to talk to her, see if I could gain any more information about her son and his crew.

“She ain’t much for company these days,” Eli speaks up, patting the edge of his mouth with a napkin.

“I understand. Is it just a nurse you have for help? When did her stroke happen?”

His eyes narrow. “She’s got what she needs. I make sure of that,” he says, ignoring my questions.

There’s a warning in his voice, but I press on. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply?—”

“Best not to imply anything,” Red cuts in, his drawl sharp. “Jensen’s business is his own and his family is none of yours.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over the table. Eli clears his throat, trying to change the subject, but the damage is done. I prodded too hard, said too much. Jensen stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floorboards.

“I got stuff to do,” he says. “Wind is picking up. Aubrey, it’s best you hunker down for the night. The rest of y’all know what needs doing.”

He’s gone before I can respond, screen door slamming in his wake. Red, Cole and Hank exchange a loaded glance before standing too, meals half-finished.

“Thanks for dinner,” Cole says to me, voice dripping with sarcasm before they step outside.

Then it’s just me and Eli, the silence thick with unspoken tension. I push my stew around my bowl, no longer hungry.

“I shouldn’t have asked about his mother,” I say quietly.

Eli sighs. “Jensen’s real private about family matters. Especially with outsiders. And one he’s not entirely sure about, from the looks of it.”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that Jensen…he’s got good instincts. Reads people well.” Eli leans back in his chair, studying me. “If he’s keeping you at arm’s length, there’s probably a reason.”

I can’t help but tense up.

“You think I’m hiding something.”

“No. But he thinks you’re desperate. And desperate people do unpredictable things.”

“Wouldn’t you be desperate too, if it was your sister who went missing and no one bothered to keep looking?”

He gives me a soft smile. “I reckon I would. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be dangerous.”

My eyes widen. “You think I’m dangerous?”

He stands, gathering the empty bowls. “I’m gonna clean up. Best you get some rest, Ms. Wells.”

I want to argue, to demand he explain himself. But something in his expression stops me. Something sad and knowing and a little bit afraid.

So instead I just nod, murmur a thanks for cleaning up, and head back to the cottage with more questions than answers buzzing in my head.

The winds have picked up by the time I step outside, clouds gathering above the mountains. The first stars peek through the twilight sky, but they bring me no comfort. Not with the secrets hanging heavy in the air, theirs and mine.

In the cottage, I bolt the door and pour myself a generous finger of whiskey that I got from Tahoe. The alcohol burns going down, but it does little to chase away the chill that’s settled in my bones.

I should call Diana. Let her know where I really am just in case things go south. But something stops me. The same something that’s been whispering in the back of my mind since I first set foot on this ranch.

There are pieces here that don’t fit. A puzzle I can’t quite see the shape of. And at the center of it all is Jensen, with his guarded eyes and his scarred knuckles and his secrets wrapped tight around him like barbed wire.

I need to get closer. Need to find a crack in that tough exterior. Because the answers I seek aren’t just about Lainey anymore. They’re tangled up with this place, these mountains, and these men.

And I know myself. I know what I’m like when I’m presented with a puzzle. I won’t stop until I unravel every last thread, no matter the cost.

With that thought, I toss back the rest of my whiskey, get into my pajamas, and crawl into bed. Outside, the wind howls like a lost child, rattling the windows. In the distance, an answer—hollow and forlorn, more wolf than coyote.

I burrow deeper into the quilt, trying to shake the certainty that settles in my gut with cold, leaden weight.

The storm is here but it’s only a precursor for things to come.