Page 1 of Killer on the Homestead (Bent County Protectors #2)

Duncan Kirk stood in the front yard of his childhood home while his dad chattered on about the improvements they’d made to the old foreman’s cabin.

He would have rented a car and driven himself, or hell, bought one, but he’d only just gotten cleared to move from an immobilizer to a soft sling for his shoulder. The drive would have been too long and too painful on his own.

He could have hired a driver, but no matter how much money he had to spare, his parents would have seen it as an insult.

So his father had picked him up at the airport and driven him…home.

Funny to think of Bent County, Wyoming, as home when he’d barely spent more than a handful of holidays at his family’s ranch since he’d left for college.

But it was home, all the same. Because baseball had been home for these odd fifteen years, and now it was gone. Duncan hadn’t really thought about or missed the ranch or Wyoming in all this time, but now that he was here…

It was surprisingly comforting.

The house didn’t look the same. Nothing really did. Bent County had expanded and grown, and his parents’ ranch had come along with the times.

But still, it was nothing like his house back in LA, his life in California. The life he was returning to was nothing like the world he’d been living in for almost half his life.

Six months ago, he’d been pitching in front of a sold-out crowd in Dodger Stadium.

World Series. Game seven. The moment every little kid who loves baseball dreams of.

It was supposed to be his crowning achievement.

Oh, he’d thought he had a few years left in him, but he knew he was reaching the peak of what he could do.

Age would take him eventually, but not yet. Or so he’d thought.

He’d gone through his normal warm-up, been amped and buzzed at the noise of the home crowd.

He’d visualized a complete-game shutout, obviously.

He wasn’t too greedy to think of a perfect game.

He’d have been happy with anything that resulted in a win, but in the pregame, it was all about seeing the end. Knowing it was within his grasp.

He’d taken the field. Stared down the intimidating leadoff hitter known for his power and speed. Then he’d thrown one pitch, felt a terrifying snap in his shoulder that had sent a numbness down his entire arm, and watched the ball sail over the catcher’s head.

He’d come out of the game. His team had lost.

And his career was over.

Really over. The doctors had made that clear.

He might get his shoulder back to functioning in a somewhat normal capacity, with lots of work and years of healing, but not the kind of shape that could throw a ball over eighty miles an hour, and with the kids coming up these days topping triple digits, he didn’t have a prayer.

Everything he’d worked for since he could remember was gone. It was always coming for him, that inevitable end. He just wished he’d had some say in the when, and the how.

Instead, he was back in Wyoming. Still a young man, all things considered, but feeling old and wrung out.

When his mother opened the front door and stepped onto the porch while drying her hands on a dishrag, a wave of love and nostalgia swept over him strong enough to make him smile and forget the dull pain in his shoulder.

He walked up to the porch as she walked down the stairs. She enveloped him in a tight hug, though she was careful about his left shoulder. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

For a moment, he just stayed there. He didn’t know what the hell to do with his life without baseball, but his steady, stable parents and the sight of the ranch that had been in their family for well over a century reminded him that he’d figure it out.

He pulled back, smiled down at his mother. “Good to see you, Mom.”

“You would have seen me sooner if you’d let me fly down for your surgery,” she said, swatting him with the dish towel. “Come on now, dinner’s waiting.”

It was four o’clock in the afternoon, but he wouldn’t say no to his mother’s cooking. He walked inside, Dad trailing behind and bringing in his bags, even though Duncan had told him he’d handle it.

It was going to take some getting used to, being back with his parents who did as they pleased.

But at least he wasn’t staying in the main house.

None of them would survive that. The cabin that had been built for a foreman generations back would suit.

A lot smaller and more rustic than he was used to, but that was fine.

He took a seat at the dining-room table Mom had already set. He let her fuss, mostly because she liked it and partly because his shoulder was killing him. It was time for another painkiller, but he needed to eat before he took the pill.

And to not take it around his parents. His mother would fuss no matter what, but he wanted to keep the fussing to a minimum. If she knew he was still in a lot of pain…

Well, he’d be back in his childhood bedroom, and that wasn’t going to fly.

They ate together much like they did when he came home for Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Dad talked about the ranch. Mom caught him up on the goings-on in Bent County, though he only remembered half the names she mentioned.

The Youngs still lived next door, though Tim had died and Joan had moved to Florida.

Their daughters ran the ranch now, though mostly the oldest, Audra.

He remembered Audra as a serious girl with serious eyes, a year or two behind him in school. The younger sister, Rosalie, had been the polar opposite. He remembered, with some fondness, when she’d punched one of his high-school teammates for trying to cop a feel on the bus.

She was a private investigator, according to Mom, at some place in Wilde. Duncan wasn’t surprised at that. The main things he remembered about Rosalie Young were her red hair and the way she always liked to stick her nose into trouble.

Mom told him about an issue with a cousin of theirs not too long ago, and even bigger trouble a while back, when the mysterious Hudson family disappearance had been solved after years of being a cold case. Which had led to the gruesome discovery of years of dead bodies in a cave in the state park.

Mom claimed she’d told him about all this already, but he didn’t remember it. In fairness, he didn’t pay attention to much aside from baseball when the season was in full swing. Or in the offseason, when he was already planning on the next season.

Now there was nothing to plan for.

He really thought he’d moved a little closer to acceptance in the past few months of doctor’s appointments and discussions of options, then surgery and the inevitable bad news, but something about being home was like finally fully admitting defeat.

Even more so than the retirement announcement he’d had to make.

He was not going to deal with that horrible sinking feeling at his parents’ dinner table. He’d wait until he was alone in the cabin, tucked away for the night.

Dad’s phone chimed, and Duncan was surprised to see his father check it without one admonition from his mother. They shared a look and Dad scooted back in his chair.

“I’ve got to go check on some things. I’ll be back.”

Duncan watched his father go, then looked at his mother, who was staring very hard at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Because he could think of no other reason his mother would accept anyone reading a text at her dinner table and then leaving, unless it was an emergency.

He watched his mother consider her answer. Then look over her shoulder as if to make sure Dad was gone. “It’s nothing.”

Which was clearly a bald-faced lie. “Mom.”

She sighed. “He won’t want me to tell you.” She looked over her shoulder again. “He’s already mad at me for being pushy.”

“Pushy? You?”

She scorched him with a mean look in response to his sarcasm. “We’ve had some cows disappear is all.”

“Disappearing? How do cows disappear?”

Mom waved away the question. “Dad’ll figure it out.” She smiled, but there was some worry in the new lines on her face. “Except…” She sighed. “You have to pretend I didn’t tell you.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a Scout, Duncan,” she said, but she almost smiled at the old joke. “It’s just strange. In all our years of ranching, we’ve never seen such a thing. Because cows just don’t go missing . Not one by one like this.”

“Is someone taking them?”

“That’s one theory.”

“If someone’s stealing them, why hasn’t he called the police?”

“We don’t know for certain anyone’s stealing them.

It may be a bad spot in the fence. Or maybe some silly prank.

” She sighed. “Dad talked to Sheriff Hudson, but that’s Sunrise, and we’re unincorporated.

Bent County is who Dad would need to file a report with, and he’s stubborn.

Doesn’t like their new ‘modern’ sensibility.

I guess they hired a detective from Denver, over that good-for-nothing cousin of his’s kid.

” Mom shook her head disgustedly. She had no fondness for some of Dad’s extended family.

But Duncan wasn’t interested in old family feuds. “So what’s he doing about it then?”

“Worry himself to death,” Mom said with a scowl. She sighed, leaned close and lowered her voice, even though Dad was long gone. “He’s afraid he’s getting old and forgetful. He even went to the doctor of his own accord.”

Duncan was surprised at how hard that hit him. Once Dad had broken his arm and refused to go to the doctor for days . Until Mom had threatened to knock him out and drag him to the hospital herself.

“Nothing came back, except a bit of high cholesterol, go figure. But he’s still embarrassed that something’s going on under his nose.

Worried. Blaming himself. I’ve tried to get him to call Bent County.

I’ve talked to the ranch hands, tried to get them to convince him to call, but… Well, you know your father.”

“Stubborn is an understatement.”

She smiled fondly. “He certainly didn’t pass that trait on.”

Duncan grunted.