Page 16 of Dust and Desire (Sagebrush Cowboys #5)

Alex

A t six o’clock I left the barn, drenched in sweat, hay, and half the arena’s worth of dirt.

It had been a long hard day on the ranch, but I’d barely noticed.

After last night with Dustin, I was on cloud nine.

All I could think about were those beautiful blue eyes and the way they sparkled when I grabbed a fistful of his hair and told him to take every last inch of me in his mouth.

Talk about a power trip and an incredible show of trust on his part.

For a guy who’d been avoiding sexual relationships out of fear, he sure was eager to please.

I palmed my cock through my jeans as I walked quickly back toward the apartment.

Just thinking about last night made me hard.

I wanted to head to his cabin now, but I needed a shower first. Everything between us was a little too new to show up unwashed and stinking of horse.

Besides, I wanted to make a good impression, to make him think I was more put together than I really was.

Not that I ever did that for other men, but something about Dustin was special . I actually wanted him to like me.

And that, more than anything, was new for me.

Usually, I wasn’t the type to fuck the same guy two or three times.

After that they started to catch feelings and suddenly they wanted to talk about houses and families and settling down.

It always made me nauseous. Sure, maybe someday I’d want that, but I was twenty-five.

It could wait. And yet, with Dustin, I caught myself daydreaming about fucking him just as often as I wondered what it would be like to wake up with him, to make breakfast together, and to live the normal day to day at one another’s side.

I shook my head with a small scoff. Maybe I was just getting lonely. Either way, I was still going to go pick him up tonight. And if that went well, the day after too. I figured I’d take it one day at a time until I was sure of what I wanted.

However, the moment I came around the backside of the arena, I found my apartment door standing open.

I froze, my hand instinctively dropping to my side where I usually kept my knife when I was working.

But it wasn’t there. Then I remembered, I left it in the barn in my saddlebags.

I didn’t have time to worry about it though.

Something was wrong. I never left my door open, not even in a place as safe as Baker Ranch.

Approaching cautiously, I listened for any sounds of movement inside. Nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant calls of cattle from the fields. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I stepped onto the small stoop, peering inside.

“What the fuck...”

My apartment had been ransacked. The few possessions I owned were scattered across the floor.

My clothes were pulled from their drawers, my duffel bag emptied onto the bed.

Even the small kitchen area hadn’t been spared.

Cabinets hung open, my coffee mug was shattered on the linoleum, and all of my drawers were thrown open and emptied onto the floor.

I entered slowly, scanning for any sign of the intruder, but whoever had done this was long gone. The place wasn’t big enough to hide anyone. My jaw clenched as I surveyed the damage. It wasn’t just messy… it was deliberate . Someone had been looking for something.

My journal. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut .

I rushed to the bedside table where I kept it, yanking open the drawer. Empty. My heart pounded against my ribs as I dropped to my knees, searching under the bed, behind the dresser, anywhere it might have fallen. Nothing.

“Goddamnit,” I muttered, sitting back on my heels.

That journal contained everything, my thoughts about Baker Ranch, about the people here, about Dustin. Things I’d never say out loud, private moments I’d wanted to remember. And now someone had it.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket, scrolling to Logan’s number. He and Caroline were the heads of the ranch, if anyone should know about this, it was them. My thumb hovered over the call button as another thought struck me. What if this wasn’t random? What if someone had targeted me specifically?

Before I could overthink it, I pressed call.

“Alex?” Logan’s deep voice answered after two rings. “Everything alright?”

“Someone broke into my apartment,” I said, cutting straight to the point. “Tossed the place. Took some of my stuff.”

There was a brief silence. “Stay put. I’ll be there in five. I’ll call the sheriff. Don’t touch anything.”

True to his word, Logan appeared at my door minutes later, his expression grim as he surveyed the mess. Dakota followed close behind, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something harder, more vigilant.

“When did you last lock up?” Logan asked, crouching to examine the door.

“This morning before feed. Around 5:30.” I ran a hand through my hair, still damp with sweat. “Door wasn’t forced.”

“Picked, maybe,” Dakota offered, examining the lock. “Or they had a key.”

The implication hit me like a punch to the gut. “Nobody around here would do that, right? I mean… I get along with the other guys great?— ”

“Nobody on this ranch did this,” Logan said firmly. “Someone broke in.” He pointed over to the side window that sat behind the couch. The glass was broken inward. “They just let themselves out afterward.”

“The glass must be behind the couch,” I said, glancing back inside. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Jesus,” Dakota muttered, stepping through to peer behind the couch. “Yeah, it’s all back here. Looks like they covered their hand with something to muffle the sound.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he surveyed the damage. “What’s missing?”

“My journal,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “Had it in the bedside drawer. It’s gone.”

“Anything else?”

I did another quick scan of the room, checking my few valuables. “Don’t think so. My wallet’s still here, watch too. Just the journal.”

Dakota and Logan exchanged a look that made my stomach clench.

“What?” I demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Probably nothing,” Logan said, but his tone suggested otherwise. “Just seems odd they’d take something so personal and leave everything of actual value.”

Before I could respond, the sound of tires on gravel announced another arrival. Through the broken window, I could see a sheriff’s patrol car pulling up beside Logan’s truck.

“That was fast,” Dakota observed.

“Called him on the way over,” Logan replied, then looked at me seriously. “Alex, I need you to think. Anyone been asking questions about you? Anyone seem too interested in your business?”

I shook my head, then paused. “Wait. Yesterday at the diner, Dolly and I were talking about...” I trailed off, realizing how that would sound.

“About what?” Logan pressed .

Heat crept up my neck. “About Dustin. She was giving me advice about... well, about asking him out.”

Dakota’s eyebrows shot up, but Logan just nodded like he’d suspected as much. “Anyone else around? Anyone who might have overheard?”

“The usual lunch crowd, I guess. I wasn’t really paying attention to who else was there.”

The sheriff’s boots crunched on gravel as he approached, and I felt my pulse quicken.

In my experience, small-town cops could be hit or miss when it came to guys like me.

But when he appeared in the doorway, removing his hat to reveal sandy hair and kind eyes, I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.

“Afternoon, Logan. Dakota.” His voice was warm, professional. He looked at me. “I’m Sheriff Marcus Webb. You must be Alex.”

“Yes sir,” I replied, standing straighter. “Alex Reyes.”

“Hell of a thing,” he said, surveying the damage. “Mind if I take a look around?”

For the next twenty minutes, Sheriff Webb documented everything with the thoroughness of someone who actually cared about his job. He photographed the broken window, dusted for prints, and took detailed notes about what was missing.

“You’re sure it was just the journal?” he asked, pen poised over his notepad.

“Far as I can tell. Everything else is accounted for.”

“Any idea why someone would want it specifically?”

I glanced at Logan and Dakota, both watching me with expressions I couldn’t read. “I’m not really sure,” I replied. “It’s got a lot of personal stuff in it, but I don’t know why…”

There was a long pause.

“Logan? Dakota?” the sheriff asked, glancing back at the others. “Would you mind runnin’ up to the main house and checkin’ to see if any strange vehicles came through here today?”

The pair of them exchanged a look but nodded and headed back toward the house on foot .

“Now,” the sheriff said, turning back to me. “What aren’t you tellin’ me?”

I stared at the sheriff, my heart hammering against my ribs. There was something about his demeanor that told me he wasn’t going to let this go easily. His green eyes were sharp, assessing, but not unkind.

“I...” I started, then stopped. How much should I tell him? How much could I trust him with?

“Son,” Sheriff Webb said gently, “I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years. I can tell when someone’s holding back. If you want me to catch whoever did this, I need the whole truth.”

I took a deep breath, weighing my options. The journal contained details about my past, about the places I’d been, the people I’d left behind. Things I’d never told anyone at Baker Ranch. Things that could put me in danger if they fell into the wrong hands.

“There might be someone,” I said finally. “Someone from my past who’s been... looking for me.”

The sheriff’s expression didn’t change, but I saw his grip tighten on his pen. “What kind of someone?”

“An ex.” The words felt like sandpaper in my throat. “Keith Bordeaux. We were together at a farm down in Louisiana about three years back. Things ended badly.”

“How badly?”

I ran a hand through my hair, memories I’d tried to bury surfacing like oil on water. “He was... possessive. Controlling. When I tried to leave, he made it clear he didn’t want me to go. Said he’d find me wherever I went.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Not in so many words. But he made it clear that he considered me his property.” I met the sheriff’s eyes. “I left in the middle of the night. Took only what I could carry and never looked back.”

Sheriff Webb nodded, making notes. “You think he might have tracked you here?”

“I hoped not. I’ve been careful, never stayed anywhere too long, never got too familiar with people.

” I paused. “There have been a few times I thought he was on my tail, so I left as fast as I could. Always been ahead of him until now.” I paused for a moment.

“And the journal... it has details about everywhere I’ve been, everyone I’ve met.

If he’s taken it… well, he’s gonna learn a lot of things about me that he’s not gonna like.

Including everyone I’ve had relations with over the past three years. ”

“Do you think that could drive him to violence?” the sheriff asked grimly.

I hesitated, remembering Keith’s rage the night I’d told him I was leaving. The way his handsome face had contorted, how quickly his charm had morphed into something dark and dangerous.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think it could.”

Sheriff Webb’s expression remained professional, but I caught a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Have you noticed anything unusual lately? Someone watching you, unfamiliar vehicles around the ranch, hang-up calls?”

“No, nothing like that.” I glanced around the ransacked apartment. “This is the first sign I’ve had that he might be nearby. Hell, I don’t even know if this break-in was him.”

The sheriff nodded, making another note. “What kind of vehicle does he drive? Anything distinctive about his appearance I should be looking for?”

“Last I knew, he had a red Ford F-150. Older model, probably seven years old by now. Custom exhaust that makes it louder than it should be.” I swallowed hard.

“As for Keith himself... he’s tall, maybe six-two, lean build.

Dark hair that he keeps longer than most men last time I saw.

Green eyes. And he’s got this way of dressing.

.. always looks put together, even when he’s just in jeans and a t-shirt. ”

“Louisiana accent?”

“Yeah. Old money southern. The kind that makes you think of plantation houses and mint juleps.”

The sheriff’s pen paused. “I may have seen him. I saw a red truck matching that description in town yesterday. Parked outside the diner for a while, then later down by the Rusty Spur. Didn’t think anythin’ of it other than I’d never seen it before.”

My blood ran cold. “He’s here then. In Sagebrush.”

“Possibly.” Sheriff Webb closed his notebook. “I’ll keep an eye out, put a BOLO on the vehicle. In the meantime, I’d suggest you stay with someone else tonight. This place isn’t secure with that broken window.”

“I’m supposed to meet someone at seven,” I said, glancing at my watch. Nearly 6:30 already. “Dustin Corvus.”

The sheriff’s expression softened slightly. “The lawyer out at the tiny house? Seems like a good man. Awfully quiet though.”

“Yeah, I was going to pick him up for dinner, but now...” I gestured helplessly at the mess around me.

“Go on your date,” Sheriff Webb said, surprising me. “But be vigilant. I’ll swing by his place later to check on you both, if that’s alright.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” I hesitated. “Do you think I should I tell him? About Keith I mean?”

He considered this for a moment. “That’s your call. But in my experience, honesty is usually the best policy, especially when someone’s safety might be at stake.”

I nodded, my stomach churning at the thought of explaining my complicated past to Dustin. Would he still want me once he knew the truth? That I’d been running for years, that I’d put him in danger just by being close to him?

The sound of boots on gravel pulled me from my thoughts. It was Logan and Dakota returning from the main house.

“Nobody saw anything they cared to remember,” Logan said, shaking his head. “We’ve got so many classes goin’ on in the arena this time of year that none of us pay any attention to the vehicles drivin’ in and out.”

Marcus nodded. “Can you get me a copy of your class roster and their parents? I just wanna make sure none of those names are poppin’ up in my files.”

“Sure thing,” Logan nodded, gesturing for the sheriff to follow him. “I’ve got a copier up at the house.”

“Thanks for your help, Alex,” Marcus said, tipping his hat after he’d placed it back on his head. “I’ll keep in touch.” He paused for a moment, giving me a wink. “And good luck tonight.”

“Thanks, sheriff,” I replied, nodding back.

Maybe Sagebrush was a lot more accepting than I originally thought.