31. Arizona
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Arizona
I carry my coffee onto the porch and stop at the railing as I look across Dusty Spur. The ranch is awake, but it doesn’t feel the way it did a week ago.
Red works his way down the fence line replacing warped boards, lifting his head every few nails to scan the property before going back to the hammer.
Emmett finishes tightening a cinch beside the corral, gives the gate latch an extra tug, then moves on while Sadie follows with a grooming brush tucked against her chest. She’s completely unaware that everyone around her has started checking locks and fences twice.
Across the yard, Willy shoves a wheelbarrow toward the barn until the front wheel catches another rut and veers sideways.
“I swear you’re doing this on purpose,” he grumbles, dragging it back into line.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You’re losing an argument with a wheelbarrow.”
Willy looks over his shoulder without slowing. “I’m losing because it fights dirty.” He muscles it the rest of the way across the yard before abandoning it beside the barn and brushing his hands together. “Don’t trust it if it starts acting friendly.”
He shoves it toward the barn before it can embarrass him again, and I take a drink while I look across Dusty Spur.
Emmett tightens a cinch beside the nearest corral while Sadie follows him with a grooming brush tucked against her chest. Red replaces a warped fence board farther down the line, pausing when Sadie wanders toward the gate until Emmett guides her back with a hand on her shoulder.
Red returns to the fence once she’s clear, and the familiarity of the scene catches beneath my ribs. I know how each of them takes care of the people around them now.
Emmett checks what everyone needs before they ask, Red watches for trouble before it reaches the yard, and Willy keeps people laughing whenever the strain starts showing.
I came here expecting a few songs, a temporary room, and another road waiting when I got bored. Instead, I can read these men from across the ranch, and the house behind me has stopped feeling like a place I’m visiting.
Willy abandons the wheelbarrow beside the barn and heads toward me with an apple in one hand. “Are you planning to drink that coffee, or are you waiting for the ranch to inspire another song?”
“I need caffeine before inspiration.”
He takes a bite and braces one shoulder against the porch post. “I assumed talent did most of the work.”
“I let people believe that.”
His grin widens before he looks across the yard. “Enjoy the peace while we’ve got it because this place never stays calm for long.”
An engine sounds beyond the gate before I can answer.
Willy lowers the apple and watches a dark SUV turn onto the drive. Dust rolls behind it as Emmett straightens beside the corral and Red sets his hammer against the fence post.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Willy mutters.
The SUV stops beside the house, and Sheriff Hank Miller climbs out while a deputy remains in the passenger seat. Hank removes his sunglasses as he crosses the yard, and the concern across his weathered face brings Red forward to meet him.
“Hank,” Red says as they shake hands.
“Morning.”
Emmett wipes his palms on his jeans and joins them. “Everything alright?”
Hank looks toward the barn and pastures before answering. “We got another report from the rodeo grounds last night. A pickup sat outside the east fence after midnight.”
“Did anyone get the plate?” Willy asks as we leave the porch.
“The caller saw it from the road, and the driver was gone before my deputies arrived.”
Red folds his arms. “Was it near the damaged lock?”
“Close enough that I’m treating it as related.”
Sadie approaches with her grooming brush and presses against Emmett’s side. “Why’s Sheriff Hank here?”
“Ranch business,” Emmett tells her as he rests a hand on her shoulder.
She studies Hank before turning toward Willy. “Did he do something?”
Willy presses the apple against his chest. “Why does everyone assume I’m involved?”
“Because you usually are.”
Emmett guides Sadie toward the house and promises to help her finish brushing the mare after Hank leaves. She goes inside while glancing back at us, certain we’re keeping the interesting details from her.
The deputy waves Hank over from the SUV, but Hank raises a hand to show he’ll be there shortly.
I look toward Red as he rubs his thumb across the silver coin in his palm. He only reaches for it when his thoughts turn dark, and seeing it decides the question for me.
“Sheriff, can I ask you about Travis Mercer?”
Hank studies me before nodding toward the hay shed. “Walk with me.”
Red follows us with his eyes as we move away from the others, although he lets me go without interfering. Hank stops beside the shed and slips his sunglasses into his shirt pocket.
“What’s worrying you?” he asks.
“I’m pretty sure I saw Travis at the rodeo, and Red said he’s not been out of jail long.” I sigh. “I haven’t been able to shake the feeling he’s looking for a fight.”
Hank studies me as we walk beside the hay shed. “What do you think is going on?”
I glance toward Red, who’s back at the fence with his grandfather’s silver coin rolling through his fingers. “I think he wants Red looking over his shoulder. It seems like nothing is happening to hurt him, just cause him stress.”
Hank nods. “Travis has been seen in neighboring towns.”
The warmth drains from my hands despite the mug between them. “How close?”
“Mill Creek and Ashford. A gas station clerk recognized him, and another man matching his description was seen near a stock contractor’s property.”
“Has he been in Colter Creek?”
“We haven’t confirmed it.”
“Do you think he’s here for Red?”
Hank looks across the yard, where Red remains beside the fence with the coin moving through his fingers.
“I think Travis spent years blaming Red for everything that happened to him,” he says. “He made threats after the accident, but angry talk from years ago doesn’t give me enough to arrest him now.”
“It gives you reason to watch him.”
“It gives me reason to take every report seriously.”
The answer confirms more than he says. Travis isn’t a story from Red’s past anymore, and he’s close enough to reach Dusty Spur before anyone has time to prepare.
“I don’t think this is over,” I tell him.
“I’d listen to that instinct, but you need to use it wisely.” Hank meets my eyes. “You call me if Travis appears, and you stay away from unfamiliar vehicles. Don’t put yourself in danger.”
“I understand.”
“That answer would reassure me more if I believed you.”
“I’ll call before I run toward trouble.”
Hank’s mouth tightens as though he knows that’s the best promise he’ll get. “Make sure you do.”
Hank heads for the SUV, and the vehicle rolls through the gate a minute later. Work resumes around us because the horses still need feeding and the fence still needs repairing, yet the ranch feels more exposed than it did before Hank arrived.
Red heads back to the fence while Emmett disappears inside with Sadie, and across the yard Willy starts arguing with the wheelbarrow again as if Sheriff Hank never stopped by.
It’s a life unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
After lunch, I sit with Sadie on the back steps while she works through the same three guitar chords. Her forehead creases as she moves her fingers and strums again, producing a dull buzz.
“It hates me,” she says as she studies the strings.
“The guitar wants you to prove you’re serious, so move your finger closer to the fret and try again.”
She follows my instruction and manages a clearer chord. “Is it like math?”
“Guitars hold longer grudges.”
Willy crosses the yard with a coil of rope over one shoulder. “Finally, someone respects the emotional complexity of musical instruments.”
Sadie looks up at him. “Your singing made it angry.”
“My singing has helped entire communities.”
Sadie laughs and tries the chord again, and the strings ring clean enough to brighten her whole face. “I did it.”
“There you go.”
Emmett comes around the house carrying two pairs of gloves and smiles when he sees her holding the guitar. “That sounded good, peanut.”
“Arizona says I passed the guitar’s test.” Sadie turns to me. “Can my certificate have glitter?”
“I’ll use enough to make your father regret asking.”
Satisfied, she carries the guitar inside while Emmett watches her go. The gratitude in his expression unsettles me because he still looks surprised whenever someone stays for Sadie.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I tell him.
“I know, but I’m going to anyway.”
I take the gloves from him before he can say more. “What are we fixing?”
“The west fence.”
We spend the next hour replacing wire where one of the horses leaned against it. Emmett works the tensioner while I secure the clips, and Willy joins us with another roll before appointing himself supervisor.
He crouches beside my knot and studies it. “You’ve created interpretive fencing.”
“It’ll hold.”
“It may also confuse future generations.”
Emmett pulls the wire tighter. “Leave her alone and make yourself useful.”
Willy rises with wounded dignity. “I brought the wire.”
“You also spent ten minutes arguing with the wheelbarrow,” I remind him as I head toward the equipment shed for another roll.
His reply follows me across the yard, but I leave him to defend himself to Emmett. The afternoon heat presses over the buildings as I approach the shed, and I’m several yards away when Beau speaks from behind it.
“I don’t care what he said.”
I stop near the corner while his words carry across the packed dirt. He turns and I see the phone in his hand before I duck down to hide.
A pause follows, and Beau answers with his teeth clenched. “Because that wasn’t part of the deal.”
I edge closer to the wall while keeping my boots away from the gravel.
Wind moves through the trees and steals part of the conversation before Beau speaks again. “He’s going too far, and I said I’d handle it.”
The person on the other end responds long enough for Beau to curse beneath his breath. “Keep him away from here.”
He falls silent, and I remain beside the building while I sort through what I heard.
Hank has just confirmed that Travis is nearby, while Beau has access to the barns, the rodeo equipment, and every gate on the ranch. He also volunteered to keep watch over the missing supplies.
I tell myself Beau could be arguing with anyone, but every song I’ve ever finished started with the same feeling twisting in my gut long before the lyrics made sense. I never trust it at the beginning because I can’t explain it yet, and I don’t think I’m going to ignore it now.
I shift my foot, and gravel scrapes beneath my heel.
Beau ends the call before rounding the corner, his phone already moving toward his back pocket. His expression settles when he sees me, although his smile arrives after he recognizes who’s standing there.
“Arizona.”
“I need another roll of wire,” I tell him.
He gestures toward the open shed. “Left wall.”
I step forward, but he remains in the doorway as he looks past me toward Emmett and Willy.
“I didn’t hear you walk up,” he says.
“I wasn’t trying to hide.”
“I was distracted.” He moves aside with a brief laugh. “Work call.”
“Sounded heated.”
“Yeah.” His attention returns to me. “How much did you hear?”
He frames the question casually, yet his fingers press against the phone through his pocket. “Enough to know someone is testing your patience.”
His shoulders ease before he turns toward the shelves and pulls down a roll of wire. “You have no idea.”
He hands it to me, and moisture coats his palm despite the shade inside the shed.
“You heading back to the west fence?” he asks.
“Unless Willy’s promoted himself and fired the rest of us.”
Beau smiles more naturally. “He likes being in charge.”
“He likes the idea of it.”
I leave the shed and continue toward the fence until Beau crosses to the barn, then I double back around the building. A cigarette butt lies beside an old feed barrel where the dirt shows marks from someone pacing.
Beau smokes, which makes the cigarette easy to explain. The ash still pulls my thoughts toward the tree line where I found the same smell after chasing the person watching the ranch.
I study the crushed filter without touching it. Most ranch hands could buy the same brand, and suspicion can turn ordinary details into evidence when fear does the thinking.
Across the yard, Beau smiles at one of the ranch hands before grabbing another feed bag as though the phone call never happened.
Maybe I’m reading too much into a few overheard sentences after everything Hank told me about Travis, but I know this feeling too well to brush it aside.
Every song I’ve ever finished started with a line that didn’t make sense until much later—and right now Beau feels exactly like that unfinished lyric.