Page 24 of Guard Bear (Return To Fate Mountain #5)

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Joy stared out the windshield, her fists clenched tight with rage. The truck ate up the familiar curves of the mountain road, but Andre was driving too fast, taking turns that made the tires protest. His jaw muscles jumped with each clench of his teeth.

The documents on his phone sat between them like a live grenade. Fifty years. Someone had wanted their destruction for fifty years.

Her mountain lion paced beneath her skin. Every landmark they passed—the lightning-struck pine, the outcrop where she'd seen her first golden eagle—felt different now. As if Samuel Prescott's ghost had been watching her whole life, waiting for his grandson to finish what he'd started.

Buck and Maria waited at the kitchen table when they walked through the front door. Her father's weathered hands wrapped around a coffee mug, her mother's fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the scarred oak surface. They looked up as Joy and Andre entered, and something in their faces shifted.

“Dad, what do you know about Western Development Associates? A series of offers to buy the property when you were a kid?”

Her father’s eyes widened with recognition, but he shook his head in confusion. “It sounds familiar. But…”

"Show them," Joy said quietly.

Andre set his phone on the table and began swiping through the photographed documents.

Each image landed like a blow. "Western Development Associates was Samuel Prescott.

" His voice stayed level, professional, but Joy heard the tremor underneath.

"These are the offers he made for Timber Bear Ranch. "

The escalating dollar amounts filled the screen. Formal letters turned desperate. Legal threats replacing polite requests.

Buck went perfectly still. The kind of stillness that came before an avalanche.

"Western Development?" The words emerged slowly, as if pulled from some deep place. "I do remember that name."

Joy's breath caught. Her father's eyes had gone distant, looking past the phone to something decades gone.

"I was maybe eight. Men in expensive suits kept coming to the house. Lawyers. Their cars didn't belong here—too shiny, too clean for ranch roads." Buck's fingers tightened on his mug. "Dad and Grandpa Harrison would disappear into the office. Voices got loud. Mom cried."

His hand flattened against the wood, feeling for old tears.

"They kept coming back. Different men, same suits, same offers we didn't want. Grandpa finally got a restraining order." Buck's gaze sharpened, returning to the present. "But we never knew who was really behind it. The offers just... stopped one day."

"Samuel Prescott died in 1978," Andre said quietly. "Three years after his resort plans collapsed."

Maria reached across to touch her husband's hand. "My father told me they just vanished. Like smoke. He thought they'd finally understood the ranch wasn't for sale."

"They understood nothing." Joy's voice came out ice-cold. "They just went underground. Waited."

Her mind raced through the recent attacks, pattern recognition flooding her system like adrenaline. "Every single attack has been during a community gathering."

She counted on her fingers. "Hampton Orchard during the apple festival. The brewery during festival planning. The nature center before the grand opening. My hives right before my honey harvest."

Understanding dawned in Buck's eyes. "Sunday is our monthly family dinner.”

"Everyone will be at the main house," Maria whispered.

"On the land Prescott died wanting," Joy finished.

Andre's phone buzzed against the table. He grabbed it, thumb swiping to read. His face darkened.

"Tyler's been tracking wire transfers between the shell companies." Andre's voice had gone deadly quiet. "Multiple payments to MW Security Services. It's registered to Marcus Webb."

"Who's Marcus Webb?" Buck asked.

"Former military contractor. Specializes in what he calls 'hostile asset recovery.'" Andre's knuckles went white around the phone. "Tyler intercepted dark web chatter. Webb's recruiting a team for a 'land clearing operation.'"

Another buzz. Andre's jaw clenched harder.

"Tyler just tracked Webb's credit card. Gun store in Portland this morning. Bulk ammunition purchase." His voice dropped to a growl. "Then tactical gear—night vision, communications equipment. Now he's at a truck rental place. Multiple vehicles."

The kitchen went silent except for the tick of the old clock above the stove. Each second felt heavy, counting down to something inevitable.

"He's coming," Joy said. "Sunday, during dinner, when we're all together. When we're distracted by family and food and?—"

"He's not taking this land." Buck's voice cut through her spiral. He was already standing, moving to the old rotary phone on the wall. "Not from my father. Not from me. Not from my children."