Page 23 of Killer on the Homestead (Bent County Protectors #2)

Duncan couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so god-awful, but he looked at his father and knew that he’d suffer through a hundred days more of his god-awful if he could take even one weight off his father’s shoulders.

He’d forced Dad to eat some breakfast, drink some coffee, then walked down to the stables with him. He tried to think of something to make small talk about, but every topic Dad cared about felt like a minefield.

Mom was better at this kind of thing, but she was also better at hospitals. At logistics. So waiting for Owen’s prognosis there with Terry made more sense, but that didn’t magically allow Duncan access to the tricks of the trade to keep Dad busy.

They were walking the fence line between the Young Ranch and Kirk property, checking out gate locks, when Duncan’s phone chimed. A text from Mom. He read it then relayed the information to Dad.

“Owen’s stable. He’ll be all right.”

Dad nodded slowly, took a few more steps, then came to a stop. He rested an elbow on the fence post and looked over the ranch that stretched out in front of him.

“I called his grandmother. My cousin.” He looked so damn grave, Duncan didn’t know what to say to that.

“You know, I don’t take those kids because their parents want them out of trouble,” Dad said, staring at the horizon.

“I think if that’s all it was, your mother would put her foot down.

But she knows, I took those kids because their parents don’t care about their trouble, and someone should. ”

Duncan stared at his father for a full minute in absolute stunned silence. He’d never considered… He always assumed Dad’s relatives called him up and begged them to fix their kids, and because Dad was a softie, deep down, he couldn’t say no.

It had never occurred to Duncan that Dad took it upon himself to help.

And it should have, he realized here in this quiet moment. Mom handling Hunter’s funeral should have made it clear to him. These cousins , or friends of cousins, or whoever Dad had taken in over the years hadn’t needed straightening out so much as a soft place to land.

And Dad had found a way to give that to them. Completely and selflessly, simply because he couldn’t stand the idea that someone wasn’t cared for.

“I called his grandmother,” Dad continued.

“My own cousin. We used to spend summers together right here, the lot of us running around while my grandmother and grandfather kept us whole and busy and loved . I called his own damn grandmother, and she… She basically said it was the boy’s own choice.

Like he ever had a choice with parents who didn’t care.

Grandparents who didn’t care.” Dad shook his head, and Duncan didn’t know that he’d ever seen his father so upset, except maybe at his own mother’s funeral.

“That boy could have died, and not her nor his parents gave half a damn. Despicable, is what it is. Far worse than anything Owen’s gotten himself messed up in.”

Duncan had always known his dad was probably the best man he knew, but he’d never actually thought about it. Comprehended what that meant.

And now that he had, he had to say something . “I hope you both know how much I appreciate you. The both of you. Everything you sacrificed for me over the years. I’ve never thanked you, but I’ve always appreciated it.”

Dad grunted, shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and naked emotion. Which Duncan supposed was why he’d never vocalized it before.

Dad squinted, shaded his eyes. “Looks like Rosalie’s truck is coming on up,” he said, not engaging with Duncan’s comment at all.

“She wants to take a look through the bunks. I don’t imagine you could make sure no one comes back while we do that?”

Dad nodded grimly. “I’ll make sure. Everyone’s out, either in the south or north pasture, and Terry is at the hospital. I’ll keep an eye out for anybody returning and give you a call if I see someone headed that way.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated a minute, because leaving Dad alone seemed like a bad idea.

“You go on. I want to get to the bottom of this, before another boy winds up dead or this close to it. You go on up and meet her there. I won’t crumble apart.”

“No, you never have.” So Duncan couldn’t allow himself to either. Duncan patted his father on the shoulder, then walked toward Rosalie’s approaching truck. They’d get to the bottom of it. If anyone could, it was Rosalie.

Once he reached the truck, she rolled down the window and leaned out, so he headed to the driver’s side.

“Hop in,” she greeted. “I’m going to park down at your cabin. Then walk up to the bunks. The less chance of someone noticing me poking around the bunkhouse, the better.”

It was a good thought, so Duncan followed her instructions. He climbed into the passenger seat, then looked over at her as she drove. She’d put on a little makeup, but he figured it was just to hide how tired she looked.

She pulled to a stop in front of his cabin, but he didn’t get out right away. He reached across the center console, swept his thumb under her eye. “You ever going to sleep, Red?”

She studied him for a minute, neither of them leaning into the touch or away from it. Almost sizing it up, deciding what to do about it. But she didn’t react either way. Just kept still and fixed him with her own stern look.

Which was a lot different than last night . Before everything had gone off the rails. But he thought of his dad, torn up about Owen and the people who didn’t care about him, and knew he needed to focus on getting to the bottom of this.

Not figuring out him and Rosalie.

“You ever going to not be in pain, Ace?” she finally asked him after all those beats of silence.

He sighed in spite of himself, dropped his hand, and rotated his bad arm a little. “Feels like the answer is no, but it just takes time. The pharmacy said it might be a day or two before they can get the prescription filled.”

“You’re telling me a millionaire can’t get himself some pain pills before a few days?”

He scowled a little, because there probably were strings he could have pulled, but he didn’t like pulling them here. It felt…embarrassing.

“I’ll be just fine.”

“No doubt. You need your sling? Something to take the edge off?”

He glared at her. “You babying me?”

“If you need babying, look somewhere else.”

“Yeah, you like to pretend you’re real tough, Rosalie, but you know what’s clear to me?”

“What?”

“You’re a big old softie.”

She snorted. “You’re a little delusional there, Ace,” she said, hopping out of the truck before he could reply.

But he knew he wasn’t. There were people she had a soft spot for, and somehow, he happened to be one of them. It didn’t hurt his ego any that she seemed frustrated about it or in denial about it. She’d get over it at some point.

But first, they had some mysteries to solve.

They walked up to the bunkhouse. Rosalie considered bringing up last night. Laying down some ground rules. Like maybe that it was a one-off.

But she knew she’d be lying to herself and him if she said any of that, and since now wasn’t the time or place to try to dig into a lie—especially after the softie accusation—she decided not to mention it at all.

And if she was irritated he didn’t bring it up, didn’t even mention it or try to pursue a line of conversation about it, well… She’d deal with that later. When he wasn’t accusing her of being a softie .

It grated for a wide variety of reasons because it was both untrue and…true. When it came to certain people, she couldn’t keep her defenses up and hard outer shell in place. Certain people, like all men , had always been easy to harden herself against.

But she couldn’t seem to manage with Duncan.

Which was going to get her hurt, and she knew it. So she wanted to avoid it because she wasn’t a masochist.

Apparently, except when it came to him.

He didn’t try to make conversation on the walk over to the bunkhouse, and she told herself she was grateful for it. Silence was great for thinking, and she needed to be thinking about what she was looking for.

Something… Something . Anything that might give her even half an idea to go on. Because this was just getting more and more confusing as more terrible things happened.

Duncan unlocked the front door and gestured her inside. She’d been in this room before, when they’d talked to Owen the day of the murder. So, that wasn’t what she’d come for today. “You know which room is Owen’s?”

“No, but I might be able to figure it out.” He moved through the common area, back to a long hallway with lots of doors. Only one of them was open. Duncan gestured to it. “This would be my guess.”

Rosalie brushed past him and stepped inside. It was in disarray. There were muddy boot prints from more than one person—probably the paramedics and cops. So, yeah, Owen’s room. There were two beds in it—one on either side. “Did he share a room?”

“Not sure, but I can find out.”

“Probably with Hunter, if he did,” she said, more to herself than to Duncan, trying to get in the right frame of mind. Because investigating was her job, and she was damn good at it. She’d searched plenty of rooms before. She’d found evidence of theft, affairs, abuse.

She had to keep an open and agile mind. She had to think like the person she was investigating.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Duncan asked.

“I’m not sure. The police confiscated the pills.

I’m sure they searched the area. Took pictures of what they found so they can connect it to your case.

I don’t know that I can magically unearth something they didn’t, but I want to look.

Get a sense of things.” She pulled a pair of latex gloves out of the cross-body bag strapped to her chest and began to pull them on.

Since Duncan was giving her a funny look, she gestured around the room. “Don’t touch anything. The police might come back to take prints, like they did at your place.”

“Fingerprints,” Duncan said, frowning. “Right.”

“Having second thoughts, Ace?”