Chapter 3
Three
Why Rowan had walked into her head and sat down last night, Sierra didn’t know. But he spent the better part of the night there, alive and looking exactly like he had the day he’d promised to come back.
They’d been doing something silly—in the barn, him pushing her on the big swing. And oh, she’d leaned into it. Leaned into him.
So no wonder she woke just a little ragged, her soul battered. Grief, out for purchase again.
Now the morning air bit into her lungs, the sweet smell of sage grass and pine drifting down from the mountain, a haze hanging in the morning air, turning the world gray and quiet except for the steady sound of hoofbeats on pastureland and the creak of leather.
She’d been on the back of her palomino, Honey, since dropping Huck off at school, needing to bring the cattle down for pregnancy checking before the weather turned.
October in Colorado meant snow could hit any day, and pregnant cows needed different feed, different care, different everything.
“We’re missing six more cows, Sierra.” Jake Martin rode up beside her, his young face serious beneath the brim of his hat.
Twenty-two years old and eager to prove himself, Jake had been working day labor for her since his high school graduation.
Good kid, solid worker, reminded her of someone she didn’t want to think about.
Six. Sierra’s stomach dropped. These were her best breeding stock, the cows she’d been counting on to carry next year’s calf crop. Without them, she wouldn’t have enough calves to sell come spring. Without spring calf sales, she couldn’t make the bank payment.
“Could be they drifted to the north pasture,” called Tomás Ruiz from twenty yards away. Older than Jake, more experienced, Tomás had worked for Grandpa Elway before his death. “Grass is still good up there.”
“Maybe.” But Sierra’s gut told her differently. Cattle didn’t just disappear, especially not her best cows.
The dream flickered through her mind again, an old memory of Rowan, laughing, working with her grandfather, not unlike Tomás or Jake.
She could still see him perfectly—the way his sandy-brown hair caught the sunlight as it fell across his forehead, those impossibly blue eyes focused with quiet intensity as he worked with a difficult horse.
He’d worn flannel shirts with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms that spoke of honest work, an interesting tattoo on his forearm that read, Trouble—that sounded right—and when he smiled…
well, when he smiled, it transformed his whole face from serious to devastating.
There had been something almost magnetic about the way he moved in the saddle, like he and the horse were extensions of each other, all fluid grace and controlled power.
Seeing him on a horse could simply undo her sad, pitiful teenage heart.
Stop.
What was her problem today? She hadn’t thought about Rowan for…okay, she often thought of Rowan. But she’d learned to live with the ache.
Maybe it was watching Huck mimic him so well with a rope last night.
“Sierra, you okay?” Jake, his gaze on her.
“I’m fine. Let’s check the north pasture before we head back.”
They rode to the high meadow, where Blackwood land bumped up against the national forest boundary.
The pasture stretched out in a gentle bowl surrounded by aspen and pine, the grass still thick and green from October’s rains.
Beyond the far fence line, the terrain grew wilder—dense stands of timber climbing toward granite peaks, the same rugged country where she’d tracked those lost hikers yesterday.
A dirt road wound along the edge of her property, toward the hiking area.
Past Wallace—er, Jenkins land. And from here, she could see the approximate area where they’d found Tom Hendrick’s body.
The thought sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the mountain air.
A few scattered cattle grazed near the far fence line.
“All yearlings,” Tomás said, riding back to her.
Sierra pulled out her phone and checked for cell service. One bar. “Jake, ride the fence line. Look for breaks, anything that doesn’t belong.”
“You think they got out?”
“I think six cows don’t vanish into thin air.”
She dismounted and studied the ground. Cattle tracks, horse tracks, the usual pattern of grazing animals moving across familiar territory. But there—near the fence line—something different. Boot prints. Recent ones, judging by the crisp edges and lack of weather wear.
“Sierra!” Jake’s voice carried across the pasture, sharp with urgency. “Found your fence break!”
She swung back into the saddle and rode toward his position. The fence section looked normal from a distance, but up close, the damage was obvious. Someone had cut the wire, then twisted it back together in a hasty repair job. Sloppy work, the kind done in darkness, maybe.
“This wasn’t cattle pushing through,” Tomás said, dismounting to examine the wire. “Clean cuts, deliberate spacing. Someone wanted our cows to walk right through here.”
Sierra got off Honey and studied the ground beyond the fence. More boot prints, vehicle tracks, and the clear pattern of cattle being driven rather than wandering. Her chest tightened.
“They were stolen.”
“Professional job too.” Tomás pointed to the tire tracks pressed into the soft earth. “Look at these ruts. That’s not a pickup truck. That’s something heavy. Big trailer, commercial grade.”
Sierra knelt beside the tracks, her SAR training kicking in as she analyzed the evidence.
Dual rear wheels, wide spacing between axles, deep impressions that spoke of serious weight.
Someone had backed a large stock trailer right up to her fence line and loaded her cattle like they were at a sale barn.
“Follow the trail,” she said, mounting Honey again. “I want to see where they went.”
The tracks ran a quarter mile, down through rough country, across a seasonal creek bed, and toward a dirt road that connected several ranch properties.
Sierra knew this road—it cut through what used to be Tom Hendrick’s place, providing access to half a dozen spreads, including her own. Perfect for someone who wanted to move stolen cattle without using main highways.
“This is where they loaded them,” Jake said, pointing to churned earth beside the road. “Lot of activity here. Multiple vehicles.”
Sierra dismounted again, walking the perimeter of the loading area. More tire tracks, cigarette butts, boot prints from at least three different people. This wasn’t some opportunistic theft by kids looking for quick money. This was organized, planned, professional.
The road stretched both directions, connecting ranches and providing access to county highways. But one direction led toward the spot where she’d found Tom Hendrick’s body yesterday.
Sierra’s blood turned cold. She looked up at Jake. “What if Tom Hendrick caught these people stealing cattle and they killed him for it?”
Jake frowned, and oops, she hadn’t exactly shared the details with him.
And if that was true, who was the man who’d shot him?
She stood up. “Never mind.” She pulled out her phone and started taking pictures of the tire tracks.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Grab the stragglers and push them to the rest of the herd. Then we’ll move them all to the pasture by the house. And call Morrie and let him know.”
She finished the pictures, then hiked back to Honey and helped with the roundup.
Back at the ranch, Sierra left Honey with Tomás and headed straight for her truck. The evidence wouldn’t last long if weather moved in. The tire tracks would disappear with the first hard rain. She needed to get this information to Mike Martinelli before the trail went cold.
“Where you going?” Jake asked as she climbed into the cab.
“Police station. Stay close to the house until I get back. And Jake—keep your rifle handy.”
“Want me to come with you? This could be dangerous.”
Sierra looked at his young face, earnest and concerned. Sweet. “No. I need you here in case they come back.”
“Sierra, do you think Hendrick was murdered?”
She looked at him. “Yes. I know he was. But now maybe we’re closer to figuring out why.”
“What if…” He looked down, slapped his gloves against his leg. “I just don’t want you to end up like him.” He gave her a wry smile.
“Listen. I have more than a little of my Grandpa Elway’s justice gene in me. I can’t sit on this, Jake. Keep an eye out. Morrie should be back from the store with parts for the bailer soon.”
He nodded and stepped back from the truck. “Just feels like we’re sticking our nose into another problem. And we’re already up to our ears.”
“Maybe. But my grandpa always said ‘Just handle what comes at you, one problem at a time.’”
“This feels like a bushel.”
“Maybe. But I can’t just sit here and wait for them to take everything I’ve got left.”
The words rooted inside her as she headed into South Eagle. She parked outside the South Eagle Police Station and sat in her truck for a moment, staring at the building where Detective Mike Martinelli worked.
Mike would listen. He would care. After all, they were still friends.
The door to the police station stood open, warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. Through the glass, she spotted Mike at his desk, coffee cup in hand, leaning back and chatting, nodding as if he were talking to someone.
Maybe she should have given him another chance. Although that felt so long ago, it seemed a silly thought.
Sierra took a deep breath and stepped inside. The receptionist looked up with a smile that faded when she saw Sierra’s expression.
“I need to see Detective Martinelli,” Sierra said. “It’s about Tom Hendrick’s death. And the recent cattle rustling. I think there’s a connection.”
“Go on back. He’s with someone right now, but I don’t think he’ll mind.”
She headed back, then knocked on the door frame. Mike looked up at her, and, for the briefest of moments, a look she couldn’t place flashed across his face—surprise? Worry? Panic?