Roaring Fork Roughstock (Roaring Fork Ranch #2)

12. Cici

12

CICI

I came down the stairs after checking on Mav, who was sound asleep, but didn’t see Porter in the living room, where he’d been a few minutes ago.

“Where did you go?” I said, going from room to room, looking for him. I finally found him in my father’s office, with his phone pressed to his ear as he paced. The sight of him looking so at home in that space was like an unexpected blanket of warmth.

“No, sir, I understand,” he said. “But if you could just confirm whether anyone else has ordered those specific casings from you besides Hank Morris.” He paused. “Yes, I know it’s been years.” Another pause. “Got it. I appreciate your time.”

He hung up, running a hand through his hair.

“The bullet maker?” I asked from the doorway.

He turned, not appearing surprised to see me there. “Yeah. Says Hank was his only client in this area. Never sold to anyone else.”

“That’s impossible.” I moved to the desk, picking up one of the shell casings. “These were shot recently. Dad’s been gone for two years.” My voice caught.

“I know,” Porter said quietly. “But the guy swears he hasn’t made a single round since your father’s last order.”

The implication hung heavy in the air between us. Either the bullet maker was lying, or someone had gotten access to Dad’s ammunition supply. Someone who’d been on the ranch, who knew where he kept things.

“We need to check the gun safe,” I said. “Dad always stored extra rounds there.”

Porter nodded. “Lead the way.”

The safe was hidden in the back of the bedroom closet he and my mom used to share, behind his old rodeo trophies. The combination was my mother’s birthday—something that had always made him smile. “You kids and your mama are the only sure things in my life,” he used to say.

When I opened it, my heart sank. The shelves were empty except for a single box of shells. But those weren’t the custom loads—just regular ammunition from the local sporting goods store.

“Someone cleaned it out,” Porter said, examining the dusty shelves that were clear where boxes obviously used to sit. “Recently too, from the look of it.”

“How would they know where to find them? The only people who knew about this safe were family and?—”

“Longtime ranch hands,” he finished. “People your father trusted.”

“Someone came into the house? Into their room?” I sank onto the edge of my parents’ bed when the implications made me dizzy.

From downstairs came the sound of Maverick moving around in the kitchen, followed by the clash of bottles in the recycling bin. The noise was a stark reminder of how fractured our family had become, how much life had changed since we lost our parents.

“Should we try talking to some of them? The ones who were here when my dad was alive?”

Porter shook his head. “I don’t want them to know we suspect anything yet. By the way, the guy I mentioned who could help with security upgrades is arriving today. His name is Decker Ashford?—”

“I can’t pay him?—”

He cut me off like I had him, except rather than use words, he kissed me. “I told you cost wasn’t an issue.”

“But how?”

He stroked my cheek. “You let me worry about that. Oh, and he isn’t coming alone. He’s bringing some of his crew, who will stay on after he’s gone. And as I said, Holt and Buck should be here this afternoon too. I’ll also make sure you meet Thorn, Bullet, and the other guys today.”

“Thorn?” Earlier, when Porter had said the name, it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“I’m surprised you’ve already forgotten someone that good-looking,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, I haven’t.”

Porter put one hand around my waist and pulled my body flush with his. “I might know a thing or two that could erase your memory of him completely.”

Promises, promises, I wanted to say. Except no matter how much my body craved his, we weren’t ready for that. We might never be. I realized Porter had just said something that I missed. “Sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“I said Thorn and the rest of the guys are staying in the south bunkhouse.”

“Right. Good.” When I glanced over at the empty shelves of the gun safe, a chill ran up my spine as I remembered something my dad always used to say. “Trust your gut, little girl. But remember—sometimes the truth isn’t what we think it is.”

My gaze met his. “Porter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

He tightened his arms around me. “I know you are, Cici, and I’m going to do everything I can to make it so you don’t have to be anymore, starting with upgrading the ranch’s security.”

“Upgrading?” I said, leaning far enough away to see his face. “Don’t you mean installing one that works?”

He smiled. “Yeah, well, I was trying to be nice.”

“You’re sure about the cost? I really can’t afford?—”

He silenced me with another kiss, one that made my toes curl. It deepened until we were both breathless. When we finally broke apart, the sound of a truck approaching drew our attention to the window. A dark SUV pulled up the drive, followed by a work truck.

“That would be Decker,” Porter said, his hand still resting on my lower back. “Come on. You should meet him.”

Outside, a tall man in work clothes was already directing three others to unload security equipment. He turned as we approached, offering a friendly smile that put me at ease.

“Cici Morris,” he said, extending his hand. “Decker Ashford. Porter’s told me what’s been happening here. We’ll have you set up by nightfall.”

Before I could respond, two more trucks pulled in. Porter’s oldest brother, Buck, got out and waited for their younger brother Holt to join him before approaching us.

“Good to see you again, Cici,” said Buck, hugging me. “Sure wish it was under better circumstances.”

After Porter thanked both his brothers for being there, Decker asked us to walk the property with him, pointing out vulnerabilities I hadn’t even considered. “Your current cameras haven’t worked properly in months,” he said, examining a unit near the barn.

“They haven’t?” I asked. While I hadn’t seen footage of anyone on the property, I had checked the feed regularly.

“The wiring’s been damaged,” Decker responded. “Mostly from weather and age, but some have been tampered with.”

“Hey, Thorn,” Porter said when another man approached.

When Decker paused, the man introduced himself.

“Miss Morris?” he stepped forward and said in a deep voice. “I’m Nash Roseman. Most folks call me Thorn.” He nodded at Porter. “Got those fence supplies you asked me to bring.”

A commotion from the barn interrupted my thoughts. We all turned to see Maverick in the doorway, his face pale. “Cici! Mesa King is down!”

Porter and I raced inside, followed by Thorn. The horse, one of our newer acquisitions and a most promising bucking-bronc prospect, lay thrashing in his stall, foam flecking his lips. My heart stopped when I saw the empty feed bucket.

“Call the vet,” Porter said to Thorn, already kneeling down to check the horse’s gums. “Now!”

The next hours passed in a blur of activity. Dr. Hanley arrived quickly, confirming my suspicion—someone had poisoned the bronc. As he worked to save him, Decker’s team began installing security cameras and sensors throughout the property.

“He’ll pull through,” the vet said later, after ensuring Mesa King was stable, although weak. “He’ll need constant monitoring for the next twenty-four hours at least.”

I felt sick. Who could be so cruel? “I’ll stay with him,” I said. “I just need a minute.” I rushed out to my truck and grabbed the rifle I’d aimed at Porter the day he arrived. It seemed so long ago, but in reality had been less than a week.

When I returned, everyone’s eyes opened wide, except Porter’s and Mav’s, which made me chuckle. The other thing neither did was caution me to be careful. Had they, they would’ve gotten a quick buttstroke with the barrel.

Dr. Hanley gave me a list of symptoms to be on the lookout for and said to call him immediately if I noticed any of them.

When night fell, Porter came in to check on me like he had more than once in the last few hours.

“As promised, Decker’s team finished installation,” he said.

“How is that possible with the size of this place?”

Porter chuckled. “I said the same thing when they worked on the Roaring Fork’s. I guess if you know ranches, you figure it out.”

I still had trouble accepting that he and his crew would do all that work for free. Most likely, Porter was covering the cost, which I wasn’t sure he could afford either.

“My brothers haven’t finished with some of the projects they were tackling, but said they’d be back in the morning. Oh, and Decker said two of the guys who came with him will be here for as long as necessary. I put them in the north bunkhouse.”

I cringed. “Tell them they can stay in the house.”

He shook his head. “It’s another one of their projects.”

This time, I groaned. “I don’t have the money, and you know it.”

Porter sat down beside me, reaching out to stroke Mesa King’s neck. “How’s he doing?”

“Good so far.”

“Oh, and Steel will train you on how the security system works tomorrow.”

“Train me?”

Porter smiled. “It’s pretty high-tech.”

“How is he?” asked Mav, walking up to the stall.

“He’ll be fine,” I told him, even though I wasn’t absolutely certain of that myself. At least not whether he’d still be a good bucking horse.

“Can we talk?” he asked Porter. “Alone?” he added when I started to stand.

I wanted to protest, but something in both of their expressions stopped me.

They’d only been gone a few minutes when Thorn approached. “Need a break?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

“You need to rest.”

I bristled. I’d have a hard time accepting anyone saying that to me except Porter or my brother. Even then, I might not take it well. Besides, there was no way in hell I’d leave the horse until I was certain he was past danger.

“As I said, I’m good.”

He looked to his right when we heard footsteps. “Hey, Buck. Just seein’ if Miss Morris needed anything before I called it a night,” he said, taking a step away from the stall.

“I brought coffee. Is there anything else you can think of you need right now?” Buck asked.

I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

“Okay, if I step in?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He handed me the cup, then sat on a second cot I hadn’t noticed someone brought in. “So, how are you holding up?”

“I’m okay.”

“What’s goin’ on with you and Port?”

I shook my head. “You always were a damn gossip.”

“You’re probably right about that.” He chuckled, then grew more serious. “The two of you are good for each other.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“I am.”

“He’s keeping secrets,” I said under my breath, admitting my fear for the first time.

“Aren’t we all?” He studied me. “Sometimes, secrets protect people we love. Sometimes, they destroy us. The trick is knowing which is which.”

“He broke my heart.”

Buck nodded. “I know he did, and while it was different, he broke ours too.”

I nodded, praying he didn’t do it again. To any of us.