Chapter 56
LILY
The drive to Turner Ranch feels longer than it should.
I force myself to breathe evenly, to keep my hands steady on the wheel, to run through the tactical checklist I've memorized: professional demeanor, minimal eye contact, treat the animal and leave. Don't ask questions. Don't linger.
But keep your ears open.
Fortunately, I doubt I’ll run into Kelly. He’ll probably be busy doing other things. He didn’t even take the time to call me—usually it’s the foreman who calls me out to a ranch.
The Turner Ranch spreads out before me as I turn onto the long gravel drive. I follow the road all the way up to the main barn, where I park my truck and kill the engine.
Ray Hutchins is waiting for me. I’ve met him a few times since I took the job here in Iron Ridge. He’s a man in his fifties with weathered skin and the kind of build that comes from decades of physical labor.
He nods as I approach, his expression neutral. “Thanks for coming out, Doc. Bull's in the south corral.”
I follow him past the barn, my veterinary bag heavy in my hand, my awareness sharp and focused.
That's when I see him—Patrick Kelly.
He's leaning against the fence near the corral, arms crossed, his posture deceptively casual. But his eyes are on me.
My stomach drops. I tell myself it’s nothing more than curiosity. I’m likely the only woman on the ranch right now—unless they have a cargo hidden somewhere—so of course he’d stare. You’d stare at a flamingo among pigeons, right?
Ray doesn't seem to notice. He's already walking toward the bull, in a pasture not far from the metal shed I scoped out last week. He gestures to the animal's front leg. “Started favoring it yesterday. Thought maybe he stepped on something, but I can't find any obvious injury.”
I force myself to focus on the bull even though I can feel Kelly’s eyes still on me. The animal is massive—easily two thousand pounds of muscle and aggression. He snorts as I approach, his eyes rolling white, but Ray keeps him steady with practiced ease.
I set my bag down and move slowly, letting the bull see me, letting him adjust to my presence. “Easy,” I murmur. “Nobody's going to hurt you.”
I run my hands down the bull's front leg, feeling for heat, swelling, any sign of injury. The bull shifts his weight but doesn't pull away. I focus on the examination and clinical assessment, repeating in my mind that I’m not suspicious. I’m being exactly what I'm supposed to be: a veterinarian doing her job.
But my skin prickles with awareness. Behind me, Kelly's stare is like a physical weight.
“Looks like a stone bruise,” I say finally, straightening. “Nothing serious, but he'll need a few days of rest. Keep him off hard ground if you can and rub liniment on him, twice a day. If he gets worse, call me and I’ll get you some anti-inflammatory meds.”
Ray nods. “Appreciate it, Doc.”
I reach for my bag, ready to leave, ready to get the hell off this property. Ray escorts me back toward my car.
“You’re the vet?”
Kelly's voice cuts through the air, casual and conversational.
I freeze, panic threatening to close my throat. Pressing my thumbnail into my finger, I force myself to turn around slowly and meet his eyes for the first time.
His eyes are pale blue, sharp and assessing, and they almost make me throw up. I frown, figuring I can pass off my reaction as bewilderment. “No, I just carry the doctor’s bag for kicks,” I say before I can stop myself. I wince inside. Not exactly the way to keep incognito.
I try again, hoping to smooth this over and fade back into the woodwork. “I’m Dr. Carter, the vet. I took over Dr. Harrison's practice a year ago.”
“From where?”
The question is innocent enough. But there's something in the way he asks it—something that feels like a test.
“Colorado,” I lie smoothly. “I needed a change of pace.”
Kelly's mouth curves into something that might be a smile. “Iron Ridge is definitely a change of pace.”
I force myself to return the smile. “That's what I'm counting on.”
Ray clears his throat. “I'll walk you back to your truck, Doc.”
I nod, grateful for the escape route.
But Kelly pushes off the fence and falls into step beside us. “Small town like this, it must be hard for a single woman.”
My blood chills. I swallow my fear, managing to say, “You’re assuming I’m single.”
“I swear I know you from somewhere.”
I shake my head, hurrying toward my truck. “You’ve probably seen me if you’ve been out to any of the local spots, like the Rusty Spur or the diner.”
“Right.” He snaps his finger, but it doesn’t feel genuine. It feels like he’s setting a trap for me. “I saw you last week at the bar. You were there that night too, right, Hutchins?”
“We always go Friday nights,” Ray says, stopping a good distance away, like a normal person.
“The boys do like to unwind,” Kelly says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he glances over his shoulder. “Hutchins, did you check to make sure Michaels unloaded the delivery truck that arrived this morning?”
Ray winces. “I’ll go do that. Thanks again, Doc Carter.”
I watch him leave, torn between getting away from Kelly and following him to see what they’re unloading. I catch Kelly watching me like he knows what I’m thinking. Was it a trick to see how I’d react? I focus on reaching the truck.
Kelly stays with me, a little too close. His tone is light, conversational, but his eyes are locked on my face, searching. “Friday night you were talking to Mason Rivera.”
The mention of Mason's name sends a jolt through me.
I keep my expression neutral. “He was sitting at the bar and we talked for a few minutes. Do you know Mr. Rivera?”
“Rivera's an interesting guy.” Kelly's smile doesn't reach his eyes. “Keeps to himself mostly. But he's got a reputation.”
I don’t know what that means, and I’m not sticking around to find out. I open the car door and toss my bag in before I turn to Ray and try to smile. “I’ve got to get going to my next client. Have a good day.”
Kelly braces his hand on my open door, crowding me. “You know, I could swear I've seen you before. Before you moved here, I mean.”
My blood turns to ice. It takes everything in me not to kick him, jump in my truck, and race away. “I don't think so. I've never been to Montana before this year.”
Kelly tilts his head, studying me. “Maybe it's just one of those faces. You remind me of someone.”
I force a laugh. “I get that a lot.”
He doesn’t laugh. His gaze drops—just for a second—to my arms.
I'm wearing long sleeves. I always wear long sleeves. But the way he's looking at me makes my skin crawl, like he can see through the fabric to the ink beneath.
“Well,” I say, my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my chest. “I should get going. I’m late for my next appointment.”
Hoping he’ll back off, I start to climb into the truck.
Kelly's hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.
The contact is sudden, brutal, and my entire body goes into fight mode. Every instinct I have screams at me to pull away, to reach for the knife strapped to my ankle, to defend myself.
But I freeze, because Kelly's not looking at my face anymore.
He's looking at my wrist.
I tug on my arm, but his grip tightens. He pushes up my sleeve with his other hand, rough, efficient, like he's done this before. The fabric slides up, and the barcode tattoo is exposed.
Kelly stares at it for a long moment.
The world narrows to his hand on my wrist—to the tattoo burning like a brand. I see the recognition flood through him—the pieces clicking into place, the understanding crystallizing into certainty.
Then his eyes lift to my face.
A cold, predatory certainty fills them, and his hand bites into my wrist. “I thought I knew you.”
He smiles, small, calm, and utterly chilling. Like finding me isn’t a surprise—it’s a gift.