Chapter 7 #2
Sierra moved through her violated home, cataloging the damage with a tightening fist in her gut. The kitchen had been ransacked—drawers pulled out, cabinets emptied, even the flour and sugar canisters dumped across the counters.
“Mom?” Huck’s voice was small. “Why would someone do this?”
Sierra knelt beside her son, pulling him into a hug. “I don’t know, baby. But we’re going to figure it out.”
Huck pushed away. “I’m going to check on my room.” He scampered up the stairs, and she nearly followed him when Rowan called from down the hall—
“The worst damage is in here!”
Sierra followed his voice to her grandfather’s office at the end of the hall—the room that had been his sanctuary, his command center for running the ranch.
Ransacked. Every drawer had been yanked out, papers scattered across the floor.
The old filing cabinets stood empty, their contents strewn everywhere.
Even the picture frames had been removed from the walls, the photos dumped carelessly on the desk.
“They spent the most time here,” Rowan said, crouching beside the overturned desk chair. “This wasn’t random. They knew what they were looking for.”
Sierra picked up a photograph from the floor—her grandfather with a prize bull from five years ago. The glass was cracked, spider-webbing across his proud smile.
“But what could Grandpa have had that someone would want badly enough to break in for?”
“Good question.” Rowan straightened. “What kind of records did he keep? Financial stuff? Ranch business?”
“Everything.” Sierra’s voice came out hollow. “He was meticulous about documentation. Breeding records, financial statements, correspondence with other ranchers, veterinary reports, land surveys…It was the detective in him.”
And then…wait. “The land surveys.”
“What about them?”
“He had a tube, over here in the corner. Land surveys that he’d gotten a few months before he…a few months ago.”
“Why?”
“There’ve been rumors lately about mineral rights in this area. Development companies sniffing around, asking questions about property lines and water rights.” Sierra’s pulse quickened. “What if someone was looking for documentation about our land boundaries?”
Rowan’s expression darkened. “That would make sense. Especially if someone was planning to challenge your ownership or make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”
She blinked at him. “Was that a Godfather reference?”
He sighed. “I’m just saying…remember Alden offered to buy your place, so—”
Right. She’d forgotten that he’d gone to his stepfather to ask about the rustling. And it hit her afresh. He’d done that…for her.
And maybe it was the destruction around her, maybe the softness of his voice, maybe just the fact that Rowan was here, standing in the middle of her messy life, but…tears burned her eyes. She put her hand over her mouth, turned away. Don’t cry. Don’t—
“Hey.” Rowan’s voice gentled, and suddenly he was there, his hands on her shoulders. “We’re going to figure this out.”
She turned then, and he pulled her against himself.
And oh, just like that, memory crashed over her. His strong arms around her, the rugged, manly smell of him, the sense that he had her.
Rowan and Sierra, with a big heart around it, forever and ever.
She just wanted to hang on. Never let go. Don’t lean in, don’t—aw. She was a goner against the hard planes of his body, the manly aftershave smell of him, the way his heart thumped against her ear. The man could still turn her to liquid.
He finally eased his hold on her, tipped up her chin, a question in his eyes. “You okay?”
Not even a little. “Yeah.” She stepped away. “What are we going to do?”
He stood in the room, hands on his hips, and Sierra could nearly see the tactical wheels turning in his mind. Finally, “We’re going to need help,” Rowan said quietly. “This is bigger than we thought.”
Rowan’s hands stilled on the security camera as his blood still simmered beneath his controlled exterior. Whoever had violated Sierra’s sanctuary had made a deadly mistake.
After they called the police, and after they’d taken photographs and dusted for prints, they spent the rest of the afternoon putting her house back together.
Then he’d started installing the security system, phase one.
He planned on having the entire perimeter locked down within a week. Phase two.
The front door sensor beeped as he tested the connection for the third time. Perfect. He moved to the kitchen window, adjusting the angle on the exterior camera until it captured the full approach to the house. His phone buzzed with the live feed—clear picture, night vision enabled.
He wouldn’t get caught off guard again.
The sound of truck tires on gravel pulled his attention to the window.
Saxon’s newly acquired Ford pickup—something that looked like it had seen better decades but ran clean—rumbled up the drive with Mack riding shotgun.
Both men climbed out, Saxon looking decidedly uncomfortable in his attempt at ranch wear. Phase three.
“Nice truck,” Rowan called from the porch, not bothering to hide his amusement.
“Don’t start.” Saxon wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and aviator sunglasses, which he took off to survey the scattered security equipment. “Dolly at the diner said it belonged to her late husband. Seemed I might blend in.”
Rowan shook his head. “Dolly? You’re on a first-name basis with the locals already?”
“Information gathering requires building relationships,” Saxon said, then grinned. “Not only does she make excellent pie, but she knows everyone’s business for three counties.”
“You just like pie.” Rowan grinned, the first genuine smile he’d felt since discovering the break-in.
Okay, maybe there might have been smiling on the inside when Sierra had clung to him earlier. Like she might need him.
“What did you find out about the mineral rights?”
“Still working on it. Property records require a delicate touch. But I’m making friends, earning my PI credentials one slice of apple pie at a time.” Saxon nodded toward the security equipment. “How’s the fortress coming?”
“Almost finished.” Rowan held up his phone, showing the camera feeds. “Motion sensors on all windows and doors, exterior cameras covering approach routes and the barn area. Everything feeds directly to my phone.”
Mack whistled low. “Impressive. Think it’s enough?”
The question hit the center of Rowan’s chest. Was anything enough when it came to protecting the people he loved? His mind kept circling back to the image of Sierra and Huck walking into their ransacked house, the stripped look on Sierra’s face.
“It’s a start,” he said finally.
“Do you think they found what they were looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hammer.” Saxon’s voice carried the weight of experience. “You know whoever did this will escalate if they don’t find what they’re looking for.”
“I know.” Rowan’s jaw tightened. “That’s why we’re going to find them first.”
The screen door creaked, and Huck bounced onto the porch, wearing work gloves that swallowed his small hands. “Mr. R! Mom said I could help with the wiring.”
Looking at the kid’s eager face, Rowan felt something shift in his chest. What a great kid. Once upon a time, he’d dreamed of having a son.
Wow, that came out of nowhere. “Want to learn how security systems work?”
“Yeah!” Huck practically vibrated with excitement.
“Mack, Saxon—meet Huck.” Rowan gestured to the boy. “Sierra’s son.”
Mack crouched to Huck’s level, extending his hand with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Huck. I’m Mack, Rowan’s brother.”
“You don’t look like brothers,” Huck said, shaking hands solemnly.
“Half brothers,” Mack explained. “Different mothers, same questionable taste in dangerous careers.”
Saxon nodded at the boy with professional courtesy. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Are you a cowboy too?” Huck asked.
“Private investigator,” Saxon replied. “Think of me as a detective who works for regular people instead of the police.” He turned to Rowan, however, and cocked his head. “See? I blend.”
Rowan rolled his eyes.
“Cool!” Huck turned back to Rowan. “Can we start with the hard stuff?”
“Absolutely.” Rowan handed him a small screwdriver. “First rule of security installation—measure twice, drill once.”
For the next hour, Rowan worked with Huck to install the remaining sensors while Saxon and Mack helped organize equipment. The boy proved surprisingly adept with tools, his small fingers perfect for threading wires through tight spaces.
“Like this?” Huck asked, carefully connecting red wire to red terminal.
“Perfect. You’ve got natural instincts for this kind of work.”
“My dad was good with his hands too.” Huck’s voice carried casual pride. “Mom says he could fix anything.”
The words hit Rowan harder than they should have. Every kid deserved a father to teach them things, to show them how to be a man.
“I’m sorry you lost your dad,” Rowan said quietly. “Losing a parent is hard.”
“Did your dad die too?”
The question caught Rowan off guard. “Yeah. I was just a little older than you when it happened.”
“How?”
“Horse kicked him in the head.” He sighed. “It was an accident. He was trying to break a wild stallion, the animal got out of hand.”
He left out the part where his dad had died saving Rowan’s life. Stepping in front of the horse and taking the kick meant for him.
Huck’s eyes went wide. “That’s scary.”
“It was.” Rowan set down his tools, giving the boy his full attention. “After that happened, I spent a lot of time here at your mom’s ranch. Your great-grandfather was…he was kind to me when I needed it most.”
“Grandpa Elway was the best.” Huck’s face lit up. “He taught me everything about horses and roping and being strong when things get hard.”
“He taught me those things too.”
Huck grinned.
They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Huck’s small hands steady as he helped position the final sensor. Something about the boy’s focus, his determination to get everything exactly right, struck Rowan as familiar.