Chapter 33
aria
On a ranch, the day starts whether you’re grieving, sick, or tired.
The work must go on.
We still have cattle to take care of and two heifers that are worth more than their weight in gold, literally.
The alfalfa needs to be harvested real soon, and then we have to take that hay to the barn before the next round of storms rolls in. If it gets wet, it molds. Molded hay means respiratory infections, colic, and worse. So that means baling, hauling, and stacking.
The west fence line still needs reinforcement—Earl had patched it, but it needs new T-posts and tightened wire. That’s two days of work, maybe more, depending on the terrain and whether Wes’s sabotage included pulling any caps or splicing hidden weak points into the wire.
We need to rotate the younger stock back to pasture, clear out the east paddock for vet checks, and prepare for the calves to drop soon. That means catching, roping, checking the navels and joints, dehorning the bull calves, and recording their weights.
It’s gritty, repetitive work—but it’s how we track gains, prep for the next auction cycle, and keep disease out.
The heifers Duke and Elena gave us need close watching. They’re bred and due late summer. I’ll need to adjust their feed, isolate them if needed, and make damn sure we’re ready for a clean, low-stress calving.
And…we need to build a new fucking barn.
Vera’s reworking the pantry list because we burned through more supplies than expected during auction week.
Nadine is coordinating with the irrigation guy because the orchard pump is still giving us trouble, and I have to call the bank about possibly reworking the second note.
Not because we’re desperate—not anymore—but because smart means planning six months ahead, not six hours.
I walk the line between grief and grit, between missing Earl and honoring him.
He’d want fences mended, fields turned, cattle fed. And I’ll do it. We’ll all do it, rain or shine, grief or no grief ‘cause the land doesn’t stop for sorrow.
So, I get to work.
Maverick goes back to Kincaid Farms. I can only imagine how much he’s been missing taking care of Longhorn and me. I don’t feel guilty about it—at least I’m trying not to.
When I brought it up with him, he simply said, “It’s what you do when you love someone, darlin’.”
By midday, I’m sweaty and exhausted. I come back to the ranch house for a quick lunch. I have to go see Father McKay late afternoon to talk about Earl’s funeral. The thought makes my stomach convulse as the indelible truth once more slams into me: Earl is gone.
I’m on the porch with a mug of coffee when I see Maverick’s truck come down the long, dusty driveway.
My face lights up. I wasn’t expecting him now. We were going to meet Father McKay at church in a couple of hours.
He strides up the short stairs onto the porch and gives me a kiss. “Sheriff is on his way. He gave me a heads up.”
I stiffen.
There’s crime scene tape all over the barn and paddock. I’ve had forensic people here all day yesterday, dusting for fingerprints and picking up the pieces of the bomb that killed Hudson.
“I’ll ask Vera to have coffee ready.”
Maverick holds me back from walking into the house. “They found Wes, I told you. They’ve talked to him.”
“Okay.”
“Darlin’, there’ll be some hard truths to face.”
“About Celine, you mean?”
He nods, watching me for signs of distress.
I give him a wan smile. “I know.”
Sheriff Hugh Dillon removes his Stetson when he comes into the house. A man follows, he looks like law enforcement, but not from the sheriff’s office.
He introduces himself as Special Agent Belushi.
Something nasty crawls up my spine. FBI?
We go into the kitchen.
We sit at the dining table there—Maverick, me, and the two men who now hold the tangled threads of this nightmare.
The most important conversations in a ranch house often happen in the kitchen, around the dining table, with a steaming pot of coffee. This time is no different. Though, Vera left a plate of her chocolate brownies to sweeten the hard talk, as she put it.
“Aria, again, I’m sorry for your loss.” The sheriff drops his Stetson on the table next to his cup of coffee.
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
The sheriff leans back and looks at Maverick. “How much does she know?”
“Everything I do,” he confirms, which makes me feel relieved. He’s not hiding things from me, trying to protect me because, honest to God, that would piss me off to no end.
“As you know, Wes Boone is in custody. We got him this morning. Once we told him he’s going down for Earl’s murder, he’s been singin’ like a canary.” Hugh picks up his coffee cup.
I look at the special agent. “And what’s your role in all this?”
The agent looks like he stepped out of the television show FBI. He’s handsome in that military-crew cut sort of way. “We have an interest in Mr. Boone.”
“He’s hired muscle, works for a loan shark who’s on their radar.” Hugh jerks a shoulder toward Agent Belushi.
“This is the first chance we have had to get something on the higher-ups in an operation,” the FBI agent adds.
“Was he…Wes, hired by Celine?” I ask.
The sheriff nods and doesn’t look happy doing it. “She convinced Tate—who by the way, is singin’ his own song—to recommend Wes to you. She knew you wouldn’t doubt him.”
“None of us would,” Maverick quips.
“To give him credit, Tate didn’t know that Wes was there to fuck things up for you. Pardon my french, Aria.” The sheriff doesn’t look sorry at all for swearing. “He thought she was helping you out of a tight spot.”
“Mr. Boone has a specialty. He sabotages, creates accidents. Usually, to benefit his boss,” the agent fills in.
“How does Celine know Wes?”
“Through Hudson,” the sheriff tells me.
I frown for a moment and then put two and two together. “Through his loan shark buddies?”
I feel sick at the thought that my sister hates me so much, that Hudson hated me so much—that they went to these lengths to get me out of the ranch.
Maybe I should’ve sold it, I think, then Earl would still be alive.
“Wes was hired to sabotage the ranch, and he’s confessed to it,” the sheriff says, looking grimly satisfied.
“The cut fence line, the spiked feed, the sugaring—we’ve got him on all of it.
As for the rig? He’s claiming he didn’t touch it, probably ‘cause he knows that’s what killed Earl.
But his fingerprints are all over the damn thing, so he’s gonna be on the hook for that, too. ”
“The bomb?” Maverick prompts.
“That was Wes, too. He says he was going to blow up the barn and scare y’all, kill a few animals.”
“Hudson?” I whisper. “How was he involved?”
“Hudson didn’t know about the sabotage or the bomb,” Sheriff Dillon says. “That was all Celine, working with Wes. From what we can tell, Hudson found out too late—he was trying to disable it when it went off. That lines up with what the bomb squad’s initial report says.”
My entire body freezes. “What?” I manage to croak.
“According to Wes, the only person he talked to was Celine.” The sheriff looks at Maverick. “She called to tell him to double up on the sabotage after you talked to her.”
I feel the tension in Maverick’s body. “She didn’t buy my story.”
The sheriff nods in agreement. “Wes says that she told him to get it all in place and get the hell out, that you suspected what was going on, and that she was involved.”
Maverick smirks, shaking his head. “She’s smarter than she lets on.”
“She made it a federal case the moment she wired payment to Wes through an offshore account in the Caribbean,” Special Agent Belushi says, picking up a brownie and examining it before taking a bite. “We traced it easily. She didn’t even try to cover her tracks.”
“That’s why the feds are involved.” The sheriff jerks his chin toward the fed. “And good thing, too, ‘cause they’re helping expedite a whole lot of the computer and data stuff that would take us weeks.”
Maverick’s arm comes around me. I lean into him.
I have so many emotions playing inside of me.
Hudson was probably trying to save the ranch. Was this his way of making amends for a mistake he made when we were kids?
Maverick was right when he said I never loved Hudson. Now that I know what real love feels like, what Hudson and I had was young, tender, and fragile. It broke easily. Celine probably didn’t even have to put in much of an effort.
“What happens to Celine?” I ask.
“We’ve got enough to charge her with conspiracy, attempted murder, and destruction of property,” Agent Belushi answers. “She’s going to be under federal remand.”
“So…she’s been arrested?”
The sheriff purses his lips and then draws in a long breath. “Aspen PD picked her up at the airport. She had a one-way ticket to Havana.”
She was running away. The thought seems remarkably alien. This is my little sister, not some international criminal.
“Tate was with her. He thought they were going on vacation.” The sheriff doesn’t bother to hide his amusement at that.
“To a non-extradition country?” Maverick snorts. “How dumb is Tate?”
“From all the evidence we have, very,” Agent Belushi deadpans.
Anger and despair roil inside of me. Was all this worth it just for some money? What the hell had I lost Earl for?
I don’t know how to feel.
“Is there anything else?”
They shake their heads. “Just that…there will be a trial, and you’ll probably have to be witnesses,” the FBI agent informs me.
I push back my chair. My hands shake, but I stand. “I need to plan Earl’s funeral.”
Maverick rises with me, his presence filling me with warmth when I’m feeling very cold.
The sheriff and Agent Belushi stand up as well.
Sheriff Hugh tips his hat, grief softening his usually stern face. “Earl was a good man.”
“One of the best,” I whisper.
They leave. The screen door creaks and shuts. Maverick stays behind, watching me.
“Is any of this worth it? Worth Earl’s life?” I demand, voice barely audible.
Maverick grabs my hands. “Earl definitely thought so.”
I nod, tears silently slipping down my cheeks.
“I can’t believe the shit Celine pulled. Going to Havana? Seriously? What happened to her?”
Maverick cups my face with both hands. “I’m no psychologist, but I’d say with some certainty that Celine is a narcissistic sociopath. I don’t know if something happened to her per se, or if she was just born with some bad circuitry.”
“She’s going to go to prison.” I feel numb at the thought. In my head, Celine is always in designer clothes, glowing. The idea of her sitting in a cell in an orange jumpsuit is abhorrent.
“Yes.”
“I…can you help me get her the best lawyer possible?”
Maverick looks surprised for a moment. Then, he smiles wide. “You’ve got the biggest heart, don’t you, Aria Delgado?”
“I don’t know about that. But Celine’s my sister.”
“I know a few people. We’ll make sure she has a lawyer.”
“A good one,” I insist.
“A good one,” he agrees and kisses me softly. “Let’s go talk to Father McKay about Earl’s service.”
I tip my chin in acknowledgment.
“Do you think he’ll tell a bawdy joke during the service?” I muse aloud. “You know, in honor of Earl.”
Maverick lets out a soft laugh. “Let’s find out.”