Chapter 28
sarah
The call comes just after midnight. My phone rattles on the nightstand, and for a second, my sleep-heavy brain thinks it’s a nightmare.
Then I hear Cade’s voice, his words tumbling like rocks down a cliff.
“Dove, I need you at Blue Rock.”
I sit up. “Is Evie okay?”
“She’s fine. Fast asleep. Need you, Dove. Now.”
By the time I slam my truck door shut at the ranch, my heart’s already hammering, dread clawing through me. Floodlights blaze over the pens, throwing long shadows across the dirt. The air smells wrong—burned feed, sour water, and something coppery that makes my stomach drop.
Dodge waves me over, his hat low, a flashlight beam jerking across the ground. “Over here, Dr. K.” His voice is grim, flat.
I run, boots pounding the earth. What I see makes me stumble.
An Angus bull lies in the dirt, sides heaving, foam crusting at its mouth.
Not Thunder—thank God—but one of the younger bulls, strong and sleek just yesterday. Now he’s twitching, eyes rolled back.
“What happened?” I drop to my knees, already checking vitals. Pulse rapid, breath ragged.
Poison—again.
“Molasses,” Dodge says, giving the puddle a kick. “Stinks of kerosene.”
The fumes claw at my throat. Somebody spiked the molasses. On purpose. Cruel.
Cade’s kneeling opposite me, shirt half-buttoned, hair damp like he just rolled out of bed. His hands shake as he strokes the bull’s hide.
“Fix him, Sarah. Please.” His voice cracks. “I can’t lose one.”
I don’t tell him the truth—that it’s already too late. I work anyway, sliding a tube, flushing what I can, shouting for Dodge to bring buckets of clean water and charcoal slurry.
My hands move fast, automatic, even though my experience tells me my efforts are going to be futile.
The bull lets out one last shudder, a sound so deep it rattles my bones, and then he goes still.
“Goddammit!” Cade roars, surging to his feet.
He kicks a trough, sending it flying against the fence with a metallic clang.
His fists ball up, and for a moment, I think he’s going to break himself apart.
I push to my feet, wiping blackened hands on my jeans. I put a hand on his arm. “Easy, cowboy.”
Cade stands still. His face in the harsh floodlight looks carved from stone, but his eyes—they’re wrecked. Gutted.
My heart goes out to him. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him.”
He shakes his head. “I knew it was too late when I called you. But….”
“I know.”
“Who hurts helpless animals?” There is a wealth of grief in his voice. “I mean…fuckin’ hell. Why make him suffer?”
Tears prick the back of my eyes at his fury and his anguish. I tentatively slide my hand around his waist and hold him. His gaze snaps to me, and for a moment, it’s like he’s seeing me through fire.
He doesn’t hesitate; he pulls me into his arms and leans his head on my shoulder as if he needs me like he needs air.
I stroke his back, loving the solid feel of him. Loving how wonderful it is to be the person he turns to again. But I also hate how weak it makes me feel. Now, however, is not the time to assert my indignation. He needs me, and I will comfort him…as I would any other client. Right?
Yeah, Sarah, you go around hugging clients after their animals pass away. You do it all the time…not!
After a while, I tell Dodge he needs to call the cops, and not long after, the sheriff’s truck comes to a stop in the yard.
Sheriff Hugh Dillon steps out, his broad shoulders outlined by the floodlights.
“Dr. Kirk. Cade.” He nods. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
I fold my arms tight, trying to keep my voice even. “Poisoning, Sheriff. One bull down. I flushed what I could, but….” I glance toward the carcass, throat tightening. “We were too late.”
His face hardens. “This is different than what happened the last time.”
“That was monensin, this is…straight up kerosene.”
“And no one noticed?”
“They laced the molasses.”
He pulls a small notepad from his pocket, clicks his pen. “Walk me through it. Start from the beginning.”
As a vet, this isn’t the first time I’m talking to law enforcement.
For ranchers, animals aren’t just animals—they’re investments, reputations, livelihoods.
I’ve been called in more than once when a prize horse went down under suspicious circumstances.
Once a bay thoroughbred who’d just won big on the summer circuit, worth more than most folks’ homes.
He dropped dead in his stall overnight, and the owner swore someone had poisoned him.
It took hours of bloodwork and combing through feed samples before I found the culprit—a tainted supplement laced with a drug.
I take a breath and force myself to replay it—the call from Cade, the smell in the feed trough, the froth at the bull’s mouth, the charcoal slurry that didn’t work. Hugh writes quickly, the scratch of his pen harsh in the quiet.
I shift my weight, boots scraping against crushed rock.
“Sheriff, I’ve seen some bad cases in my time, but this ain’t one you can mistake.
Stinks like hell if you get close—kerosene’s all over his muzzle, all down his throat.
He didn’t just stumble into it. Somebody dosed him, made damn sure he swallowed it. ”
Hugh’s pen scratches. “You sure?”
Cade gives him a hard look. “A bull don’t drink that on his own, Hugh. You know that. They’ll lick salt, they’ll nose through grain, but they don’t lap up kerosene unless somebody forces it on ’em. The burns in his mouth, the way he went down….”
The sheriff squints. “So, how the hell does a bull end up drinking kerosene?”
“Like I said, mixed in with the molasses lick,” I explain. “Cattle will go for that sweet first, not knowing what’s under it. Once he swallowed, it burned him up from the inside out.”
Dodge spits in the dirt, muttering, “Sick bastards.”
Sadness pools in Cade’s eyes as they lock on mine. I give him a weak smile to comfort him. “That Angus was young, prime weight, just comin’ into his own. Worth more than some folks’ land. Losing him guts me. But it ain’t just the money—it’s what it means. Someone’s comin’ after me.”
Sheriff Dillon puts his notebook back into his pocket. “That’s what it looks like.”
I sigh. “Kerosene’s cheap, easy to get, and lethal. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
Hugh nods once, jaw like stone. “Anyone see anyone who shouldn’t be here?”
Dodge yanks his hat off. “We were at the bunkhouse. Got here when Cade called.”
Sheriff turns his attention to Cade again. “So, you’re the one who found the bull?”
Cade drags a hand down his face. I can tell he’s bone-tired.
“We’ve been on high alert since the monensin shit went down.
We check the pens regularly, night and day.
I spotted the bull staggering near the fence line.
I got there before he dropped, but his breath reeked of fuel.
He was foamin’, eyes rollin’ back, legs gone. I called Sarah. She got here in ten.”
He’s wrecked, and I can see it, so I take over as Dodge puts a hand on Cade’s shoulder.
“Like I said, I pumped fluids, flushed what I could, but he was gone no matter what I did. I went around and made sure the other animals were clear—checked every trough, pulled samples from the water and feed, ran my hands through it myself.” I can still feel the panic as I made sure the other animals were safe after Ranger died.
“Nothing else smelled off, no sheen, no taste of kerosene. I dumped and scrubbed the closest trough just in case, then refilled it with clean water. Dodge and Cade pulled the feed so nothing old stayed out. Right now, the rest of the herd looks fine, but I’ll keep checking vitals.
Whatever was done here, Sheriff, it was targeted. ”
The sheriff looks around. “Any cameras?”
“We have a few around the house, but…that’s for me to check on Evie if I step out at night,” Cade explains. “None on the ranch.”
Sheriff takes a deep breath. “Dr. Kirk, you know the drill. We’ll need samples of everything—the feed, the water, and the soil near the trough.
Since Bodie’s laid up, I’m asking you to stand in as the Wildflower Canyon’s consulting vet.
You’re my point of contact from here on out for any cases where we’re involved. ”
I feel a rush of pride and relief. I was worried he’d say that he’ll bring his own vet in from the outside because of all those damn rumors.
“Of course, Sheriff.”
“You’ll have to conduct the necropsy.”
“I was planning on doing it in a bit,” I assure him.
“You have everything you need?” he asks. “If not—”
“I do.”
My truck is always stocked with gloves, knives, scalpels, forceps, sample jars, and evidence bags.
“You want us to move him somewhere?” Dodge wants to know.
With a smaller animal, I’d ask to move away from where the other animals are penned, but Ranger is easily eighteen hundred pounds. We’re not moving him anywhere.
I shake my head. “No. Law enforcement insists the necropsy is done onsite to preserve the chain of evidence.”
Hugh bobs his head appreciatively, and he looks a little surprised.
I resist rolling my eyes.
I know my stuff, Sheriff. Ain’t my first rodeo or dead bull.
“Cade, I’ll get someone to come by in a few hours to take statements from your men.” The sheriff turns to the ranch foreman. “Dodge, you handle that and make sure my guys get access to everything they need?”
Dodge’s usual smirk is gone. “Yes, sheriff.” Then he looks around. “Someone has big hairy ones, don’t ya think? Came in here and poisoned Ranger. Probably picked him ‘cause he’s the youngest. Thunder would’ve kicked his ass.”
Hugh’s eyes sweep the yard, the fence line, the hills dark beyond. “Whoever did this knows your setup. Knows where to hit you.”
“Yeah,” Cade agrees.
“We’ll post a deputy to patrol the ranch gates for a while. But Cade….” His voice drops, heavy. “You need to amp up security.”
“I know.”