Page 1

Chapter one

To the baker

Mason

The worn leather of my saddle creaks with every plodding step that Hank takes. His pace is a little slower after a day of sorting heifers from the main herd.

“Mason? You copy?” My brother’s voice comes through the tinny speaker of the two-way radio hanging from my collar.

Hank’s dapple gray ears twist at the noise, but the steady rhythm of his hooves doesn’t change.

“Go ahead, Dix.” My throat feels like it has gravel in it from yelling all day.

“Yea, we got the last truck in. But, we’re still shy about forty head.” There’s a length of static after his last word before the line goes quiet.

I bet he wanted to say more.

Well, fuck.

There weren’t any signs of predator pressure when we were rounding them all up. If they've had a hard winter, they usually have battle scars.

I even mentioned to Ford at one point how healthy everyone looked. The remote valley pasture seemed to do them good this year.

My thumb finds the button on the radio. “You think some of them split off? Maybe ended up on the north forestry parcel?” We’ve had some wander that far, but it’s always been in lean years.

“No.” He leaves zero doubt. “You gotta see this yourself.”

God damn it. I hate it when he gets all mysterious.

My spurs touch Hank’s flanks just enough to hurry his pace.

Everyone gave me shit for picking a colt with a little Appaloosa in it, but his stamina is worth every ridicule.

About halfway back to the ranch, a black and white blur cuts through the high weeds, causing Hank to blow softly through his lips.

“It’s about time you showed up, Caesar. Where the hell have you been?” The loping Border Collie straightens his ears mid-stride, then falls into an easy run near the horse’s feet.

“Slacker.” I couldn’t have cut all those stubborn cattle without his help. So, I guess whatever cow pie he found to roll in was worth it.

He ain’t coming in the house without a hose down though.

I can hear the bawling long before I see the ranch buildings poking up through the trees. Masses of black and red animals mill within the paddocks, all crying about their new confines.

Caesar cuts off towards the first pen and tucks his head between two weathered fence rails to lap at one of the big troughs.

Hank’s nose shifts in his direction, then falls back in line.

“I know, boy, we’re almost done.” I pat his neck in reassurance. It’s been a long day, but there’s a fresh alfalfa bale waiting for him in the barn.

A thousand wild eyes watch me ride in, but it’s the narrowed brown ones of my brother that catches my gaze.

As I dismount, I hand my reins to one of the ranch hands standing nearby. “Trevor, make sure Hank gets a thorough brushdown. He worked his ass off today.”

Watching the bounce in that kid’s step after a long day on range makes me shake my head. Are they getting younger? Or am I getting older?

Patting my gelding’s shoulder as he passes, I try to walk off the sore twinge in my legs before I reach Dixon’s side.

His denim jacket is pulled up tightly, and the white fur trim rubs against his scruffy cheek when he turns.

“Mason, I think we’re being rustled. I didn’t want to say it on the radio.” His leather gloves creak gripping the bars of the sorting pen.

“That’s not a light accusation.” It’s still a hanging offense in these parts.

Well, it should be.

“Yea, but look.” He gestures at a yearling heifer that’s staring us down.

She snorts as I walk closer to get a better view.

“Check the brand.” Dixon calls as he waves his arms to keep her attention.

I move to where I can see her back hip to get a look at the outline of our sign. Backwards B and a G for Black Gulch.

Except this has a newer mark obscuring the faint scar beneath it.

Someone tried to cover it.

I feel like I’ve been gut punched.

“How many are like this?” Whoever did this is taking money out of my pocket and food off of my table.

My teeth grind as I stalk back over to Dixon.

He scratches his dark whiskers and smooths down his mustache. “This is the only one I’ve seen with the double. My guess is that she escaped.”

Anger drives my foot to connect with a wooden post at a high speed.

Didn’t help. All it earns me is a sore foot.

Cranky and limping, I head to the main house without another word.

I need to call the brand inspector to verify, then the Sheriff.

“Mason?” Dixon paces after me until his hand lands on my back. “Still want me to load these out? We had a nice settle rate, almost ninety-five percent confirmed bred.”

“Yea. Tell Ford we need more guys out on range. If that many yearlings are missing, who knows about the rest.” Stomping up the stairs to the covered porch, I take a second to look back over the sea of beef lowing in my front yard.

Dixon and I have managed to build this up from a small farm to an enterprise.

But, this is the first time I’ve had animals taken like this.

It’s years of work just to produce a single cow. Now, someone thinks they can come in and claim them? I understand now why cattle theft was a hanging offense for so long. The idea of stringing someone up or dragging them through the briars sounds pretty appealing.

Dixon’s wise enough to leave me alone. He might be a doctor, but sometimes he seems to think that means he knows more than I do about the ranch. It can make him come across as arrogant and pushy when he decides to voice his opinions.

I’m glad he isn’t saying what’s on his mind today.

“Dad?” Sawyer steps from the hall. His face is smeared with mud and looks like he’s heading to the shower. “Did Uncle Dixon tell ya?”

He might be barely eighteen, but he’s grown up helping since he was big enough to walk.

I can see the concern in his big blue eyes.

“Yea. I gotta find Blue’s number.” The corkboard hanging near an old rotary phone is covered in push pins and sticky notes.

“Why haven’t you saved it on your phone?” His tousled dark hair falls over one raised eyebrow.

“Sawyer, I love you, son, but if you don’t get out of my sight right now, there’s a solid chance I’m gonna throw something at you.” The knot of anger swirling in my stomach is something I haven’t felt in over a decade.

Not since Carolyn died.

He holds up his hand in surrender and disappears into the bathroom.

Smart kid.

It only takes a moment of cussing to find the phone number. A torn piece of notebook paper dangling from a rusty tack.

The calendar wobbles as I tug the scrap free.

Sophia! I almost forgot that this was her last week of school.

Crud. That means her big rodeo is this Saturday.

What kind of father would I be if I missed her barrel racing because I had to stay home and babysit cows?

Ford has to be the next person I call after Blue. I bet he knows more guys I can hire on to help keep an eye on things.

I’m lucky to have him. He’s the best damn ranch manager I could have ever found.

But first, I have to call the brand inspector. “Blue? I need you to come out. I have a problem.” I stare out the window at the high headed heifer pacing in the holding pen.

Fury burns through my palm against the cool glass.

“Sure, Mason. I can’t make it until Saturday though. I’m checking tags at the fairgrounds tomorrow and Friday.”

Fuck.

“Thanks. I’ll probably see you there.” I bring Sophia’s horse to all of her events. She’s been able to drive a truck and trailer since she was twelve, but it’s my excuse to go with her and make sure she’s safe and set up.

“Oh, yea. I always forget Sophia does the barrels. I bet she gets the purse. She’s a talented girl, and that mare of hers is a rocket!” He got kicked in the thigh by that horse when she was just a filly. She came close to making him sing soprano.

“She’s put in the hours. Alright, let me know when you’re planning on coming out. I’ll have the sheriff meet us.” This is turning into a shitshow.

“Gotcha. Sounds serious. I’ll text you.” His line clicks when he hangs up.

Losing forty head, at least, and I’m gonna miss my baby girl’s championship ride?

I glance at the dusty family photo on the fireplace mantle. Carolyn’s soft smile from the gilded frame twists my stomach.

I’m trying. But, keep feeling like I’m failing.