Chapter 12
“Slow down,” I say. I put my hands up to get him to look at me, but he’s too far lost in his panic to really even care. “Explain it to me again.”
Peter looks like he’s seen a ghost. His hands are trembling, and he’s been running them through his hair as he paces around the bunkhouse.
“I went up to the back pasture and all the fences we fixed two weeks ago have been cut,” he pauses, taking a shallow breath. “They’re all gone, Bode. The entire herd we had back there just… gone.”
His arms swing wide before he crouches, the stress eating away at his lanky height. “You guys did finish the fences, right?”
Flashes of Maggie’s cold-bitten nose flicker in my mind. That golden smile was all a distraction, but I knew we finished those fences. Even before she turned Snow White and found Wanda. “We finished them,” I cement, which does nothing to quell the anxiety rolling off Peter in waves.
He stares up at me like I’ve got four heads, and it's then that I realize he’s waiting for instruction. Waiting for some magical answer from me that I don’t have. “Just the wires?” I ask.
“They broke the posts too.”
Great. Even if the weather hadn’t been constant snowfall and slush, those pastures are too far back for us to have been able to see any smoke.
“Go to town and get concrete and metal posts and get twice the wire.” I hear the bunkhouse door creak open and slam against the inside wall. I don’t even need to turn around to know Ford’s shit-storm is waiting behind me. Peter stands to his full height, showing respect for his Lead. “Go, Peter.”
His eyes flicker between us before he shuffles past and leaves to follow my orders.
“How bad?” Ford grunts.
“The whole herd,” I grumble, turning back to him. Ford’s drenched, his jeans dark with water, and his jacket covered in heavy flakes of snow that stick to his hat and collar. “And apparently the entire fucking fence line.”
“Goddamnit,” he curses, kicking the already rickety coffee table.
“There’s gotta be something we can do to get that herd back.” My hand digs into my scalp, reminding me I need to shower and catch my hat as it slides off my head. “Twelve Acres can’t do that, can they?”
“They can,” Ford bites. “There’s no proof we fixed those fences.”
“Maggie can–”
“No.” He interrupts me before I get the words out. Even if we filed a complaint with Livestock Enforcement, there’s no way we can prove it, because we hadn’t tagged or branded the herd yet. A choice I’m currently regretting as Ford turns on me.
“I want game cameras set up out there. Along that whole fucking treeline, I don’t care how many it takes.” There’s a vicious look in his eyes, and I know it’s not directed at me, but at the moment it sure as hell feels like it is.
“I’ve already got Peter going into town, grabbing supplies to fix the fence.”
Ford stares at me for a moment and nods, like he was momentarily surprised I hadn’t fucked around. “Every animal that sets foot on this ranch gets tagged and branded. No more waiting to avoid this legal bullshit.”
“You hear from the lawyer again?” I ask, knowing full well that he’ll either tell me to mind my damn business or actually, for once, be upfront with me.
“I gotta head to Helena tomorrow.” He glances up at me. “Which means I need you to handle this.”
“Like handle it? Or handle it?” I ask. There is a huge difference, but we'll deal with whatever he says next. Ford stares at the ground with one hand on his hip, his thoughts churning as he tries to come up with a solution.
He shakes his head with another rough sigh. “No, I don’t want you retaliating when I’m not here.”
“I got Crew here, we can deal with those assholes,” I push.
Maybe too hard. The anger is bubbling, and in moments like these, I wasn’t the picture of control.
If a few hands from Twelve Acres went missing, no one would notice, and it sure as hell would make me feel a lot better if their blood paid for those cows.
“I said no.” Ford squares his shoulders.
“Ford–”
“No, goddamnit!” His dark eyes narrow on me and I watch as all the muscles in his neck and jaw tighten. “If something happens to the ranch and I’m not here, it’s another piece of ammo Wyatt has against Dot for the ownership. It’s not happening.”
Ford’s worrying about things that aren’t ever going to happen.
Dot’s biological son is a piece of work, city boy who never gave two fucks about Whiskey River.
There’s no way in hell that she'll let him sell this ranch, but Wyatt has been sniffing around like the land already belongs to him, and he’s never been above cheating and scamming his way into a win.
I understand Ford’s worry, but I disagree with it.
“So what do you need me to do then?” I ask, not trying to hide the disdain.
“Continue like nothing happened. Fix the fence, get the cameras up, and keep an eye on everyone,” he orders, and his voice fades out.
“That’s more Crew’s job,” I grumble, hearing the implications in his voice. He’s trying to give me more responsibilities on the ranch because if Wyatt grows a pair of balls, Ford is the first person he’s going to cut. This is about preserving the line of command on the ranch in case of war.
“Then do what you’ve been doing and keep an eye on Maggie.”
Maggie.
I stare at him for a long moment, knowing that starting a secondary fight isn’t in my best interest, but if one more person tries to force my hand on that ball of sunshine, I might lose my mind.
Despite that, every muscle in my body is betraying me, my heart leads the way, and agreeing to Ford’s request before my brain even has the chance to keep up.
“When were you gonna tell us she’s basically the third Lawson?” I ask, trying to play off how entangled I am.
“It wasn’t relevant,” Ford scoffs, his hand coming up into his scruffy beard.
“It is relevant,” I argue. It is very, very relevant.
“No, it ain’t. Maggie is a ranch hand, like the rest of them.” He tries again to get me to drop the conversation, but I can’t. Not anymore. There’s something bigger than all of us going on, and she’s tangled in it now, whether we like it or not.
“Yeah,” I scoff, “one that has gotten us a hell of a lot more Dot delivered lunches, muffins, and deadly looks from you.”
“Sorry, was it me that allowed her to bring back a half-dead calf?” His brow arches. “I don’t remember Maggie being the one to finish that barn either.”
“Someone had to,” I say, doing my best to brush off the way it had made me feel to see that smile on her face. I can hear her giggle in the back of my mind, and it’s infuriating as I try to convince not only Ford but myself that he’s wrong. That there's no inkling of what he’s implying going on.
“No, they didn’t. You had to for the same reason Crew had to finish that cabin.” A smug smile forms on Ford’s face.
There it is. The accusation that I’m tripping the same way Crew had. But this is different. Crew had been in love the second he saw Logan, he never stood a chance against that storm.
“That’s not the same thing,” I argue feebly, because maybe I want him to be right. Maybe just once, I want to feel something else outside of being responsible for everyone. Fuck, maybe I enjoy the sunshine on my tired skin after what feels like an endless winter.
Maggie-Mae is driving me to insanity.
“Fine.” Ford’s words are clipped, and I know this isn’t a fight I’m winning, not today, not in this moment. “It’s not the same thing. Ignore her and focus on the ranch.”
“Screw you and your passive-aggressive bullshit, Ford,” I say with a bristle.
His smile fades a touch, pressing back into that tight, angry line I’m so used to. “You’re in charge while I’m gone, so get that shit done before I get back. Crew’s on auction duty this week.”