Chapter 12
BLAINE
W e gathered in the kitchen—me, Jake, Tre, and Hector—crowded around Jake's tablet like it held the answers to everything.
"Here," Jake said, tapping the screen. "Camera three. North fence line."
Then movement.
A figure emerged from the tree line. Male, based on the build. Baseball cap pulled low, dark jacket, moving with purpose. He walked along the fence, stopping every few feet to do something I couldn't quite make out.
"What's he doing?" Tre asked.
"Watch," Jake said.
The figure crouched near a fence post. His hands moved quickly—too quickly for the camera to capture clearly. Then he stood, moved to the next post, repeated the process.
"He's tampering with the fence," Hector said, his voice flat. "Loosening the wire. Making it look like wear and tear."
"So when it fails, it looks like neglect," I said. "Not sabotage."
"Exactly."
The figure finished his work and disappeared back into the trees. The whole thing took less than five minutes.
"Can we see his face?" I asked.
Jake shook his head. "He kept the cap low the whole time. Knew where the camera was, or got lucky." He swiped to another image—a still frame, zoomed in. "But I got this."
The figure's jacket had ridden up as he crouched. On his belt, barely visible, was a logo. A brand. I leaned closer, squinting at the pixelated image.
"Is that?—"
"Cole Ranch Supply," Hector said. "Vernon Cole's company. He gives those jackets to all his employees."
"That's not proof," Tre said. "Anyone could have that jacket."
"It's not proof," Jake agreed. "But it's a start."
I stared at the frozen image, anger building in my chest. This wasn't random vandalism. This was calculated. Methodical. Someone was systematically trying to destroy my family's ranch, and they were doing it in ways designed to look like accidents.
"What do we do?" I asked.
"We document everything," Jake said. "Keep the cameras rolling. Build a case."
"And in the meantime? Just wait for them to sabotage something else?"
"We increase patrols," Hector said. "Check the fences every morning. Every evening. Catch them in the act."
"That's a lot of ground to cover."
"Then we cover it." Hector's jaw was set. "Your grandfather didn't build this place just to watch it get torn apart by Vernon Cole. And I didn't spend forty years here to let that happen either."
There was fire in his voice—more emotion than I'd heard from him since I arrived. This wasn't just a job to Hector. This was his life. His legacy too, in a way.
"Okay," I said. "We increase patrols. We document everything. And we figure out who that guy is."
"I might be able to help with that," Jake said. "I've got a contact from my corporate days. Private investigator. Discreet. If Cole's got employees doing his dirty work, she can find out who."
"Do it."
Jake nodded and stepped away to make the call.
Tre was still staring at the tablet, replaying the footage. "This is insane. This is actually insane. We're living in some kind of rural crime thriller."
"Welcome to ranch life," Hector said dryly.
"I thought ranch life was horses and sunsets and learning to appreciate the simple things."
"It's that too." Hector headed for the door. "But mostly it's fighting to keep what's yours. Always has been."
He left. Tre and I exchanged a look.
"He's not wrong," I said.
"I know. That's what's terrifying."
Caitlin called around noon.
I was in the equipment shed, pretending to understand the tractor engine while Miguel patiently explained what was wrong with it. When her name flashed on my screen, I stepped outside so fast I nearly tripped over a toolbox.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual and probably failing completely.
"Hey yourself." I could hear the smile in her voice. "How's your morning?"
"Eventful. We caught someone on the security cameras last night. Tampering with the north fence."
"What? Are you serious?"
"Two AM. Guy in a Cole Ranch Supply jacket."
"Blaine..." Her voice shifted from warm to worried. "This is getting serious."
"I know. Jake's hiring a private investigator. We're increasing patrols." I leaned against the shed wall, suddenly exhausted. "It's fine. We're handling it."
"You don't sound fine."
"I'm fine. I'm just—" I let out a breath. "I'm tired. And angry. And trying to figure out how to protect this place from someone who's been doing this for years without getting caught."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm coming over."
"You don't have to?—"
"I have to check on Starlight anyway. Post-colic follow-up." A pause. "And I want to see you."
Those words dissolved the tension in my shoulders.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Another pause, softer. "Is that okay?"
"That's very okay."
"I'll be there in an hour."
"I'll try to wash off some of the tractor grease."
"Don't bother. I kind of like you dirty."
She hung up before I could respond, which was probably for the best because my brain had completely short-circuited.
I showered anyway. Changed into a clean shirt. Ran a hand through my hair approximately forty-seven times.
"You're being ridiculous," I told my reflection.
My reflection didn't argue.
Caitlin's truck pulled up at one-fifteen. I was on the porch with a cup of coffee, pretending to check emails on my phone.
She climbed out, grabbed her medical bag, and walked toward me with a smile that made my chest ache.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
We stood there for a moment, suddenly awkward. Last night we'd kissed like the world was ending. Now, in the bright light of day, neither of us seemed to know what to do.
"So," she said.
"So."
"This is weird, right? It feels weird."
"Little bit."
She laughed—that short, surprised laugh I loved—and the tension broke.
"Come here," she said.
I stepped closer. She reached up, straightened my collar—a gesture so casual and intimate it made my heart stutter.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi."
"I broke up with my boyfriend last night."
"I heard."
"And then I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about kissing you."
"Same. The thinking part. Not the boyfriend part."
She smiled. "Good to know."
"For the record," I said, "I'm trying very hard to respect the 'slow and careful' thing you mentioned."
"How's that going?"
"Terribly. I've wanted to kiss you since you got out of the truck."
"Only since then?"
"Since last night. Since the first night. Since you walked into that barn and looked at me like I was the biggest idiot you'd ever met."
"You were kind of an idiot."
"I know. I've improved."
"Marginally."
"Ouch."
She grinned. Then she rose up on her toes and kissed me—soft and quick, a promise more than anything else.
"There," she said. "Now we can both stop being weird."
"I'm not sure one kiss is going to fix the weird."
"Then we'll just have to keep practicing."
"I'm very dedicated to practice."
"Good." She stepped back, all business again. "Now show me Starlight. I have actual work to do."
"Right. Work. Professional vet visit."
"Exactly."
"Nothing personal about it."
"Nothing at all."
But she was smiling as she said it, and so was I, and when our hands brushed as we walked toward the barn, neither of us pulled away.
Starlight was doing beautifully. So was Sunrise, who had grown noticeably in the weeks since her birth—leggy and curious and absolutely fearless.
"She's going to be a handful," Caitlin said, watching the foal investigate her medical bag with aggressive enthusiasm. "All that confidence? She'll either be a champion or a complete terror."
"Can't she be both?"
"Probably." She gently redirected Sunrise away from the stethoscope. "Your grandfather would have loved her. Hector says Earl always had an eye for the spirited ones."
"Hector said you reminded him of my grandfather. This morning."
Caitlin looked up, surprised. "He did?"
"He said Grandpa Earl always judged people by how they treated animals and how they handled pressure. Said you passed both tests that first night."
"That's..." She blinked. "That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me."
"Hector doesn't give compliments lightly."
"No, he doesn't." She turned back to Starlight, but I could see the pleased flush on her cheeks. "I wish I'd known your grandfather. From everything I've heard, he was a remarkable man."
"He was." I leaned against the stall door, watching her work. "He taught me to ride, you know. The summers I spent here as a kid. He'd put me on one of the older mares and lead me around the paddock for hours. Patient as anything."
"You rode?"
"Past tense. Very past tense. I haven't been on a horse in twenty years."
"We should fix that."
"Is that a professional recommendation?"
"Personal." She smiled over her shoulder. "Every rancher should know how to ride. Even the ones who came from Silicon Valley."
"I'll add it to the list. Right after 'don't get sabotaged by the neighbors' and 'figure out how to run a breeding operation.'"
Her smile faded slightly. "Speaking of the sabotage—show me the footage. After I'm done here."
"You sure?"
"I want to see what we're dealing with."
We. Such a small word to make my heart do such stupid things.
"Okay," I said. "I'll show you everything."
We sat at the kitchen table, shoulders almost touching, watching the footage play on Jake's tablet.
Caitlin's expression darkened as the figure emerged from the trees. She watched in silence as he worked along the fence line, methodical and unhurried.
"He knows what he's doing," she said. "That's not random vandalism. That's someone who understands fencing."
"Hector said the same thing."
"And that jacket..." She zoomed in on the still image. "Cole Ranch Supply. That's bold."
"Or careless."
"Cole's never careless." She sat back, frowning. "He's been doing this for years without getting caught. Why would he suddenly get sloppy?"
"Maybe he's getting desperate?"
"Or maybe he wants you to know." She looked at me. "Think about it. He confronted you at the town meeting. You made it clear you're not going to sell. So now he's escalating—and he's letting you see just enough to know it's him, but not enough to prove it."
"Psychological warfare."
"Exactly. He wants you on edge. Wants you to know he can get to you whenever he wants."
"It's working," I admitted. "The cautious part."
"Good. Keeps you alert. Careful." She reached over and squeezed my hand. "But don't let it make you stupid. Cole wants you to react—do something impulsive that he can use against you. Don't give him that."
"So what do I do?"
"Exactly what you're doing. Document everything. Build your case. And don't let him see you sweat." She smiled grimly. "You beat him by outlasting him. By being smarter, more patient, more stubborn."
"I can do stubborn."
"I know. It's one of your better qualities."
I turned my hand over, lacing my fingers through hers. "Stay for dinner?"
"I can't tonight. I have a farm call at four, and then I need to catch up on paperwork." She squeezed my hand. "But tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow works."
"It's a date." She paused. "An actual date. Not a 'strategic planning session' or a 'thank you dinner.' An actual date."
"I'd like that."
"Me too." She stood, gathering her bag. "Walk me out?"
I walked her to her truck, our hands brushing the whole way. At the driver's door, she turned to face me.
"Be careful," she said. "With Cole. With all of it."
"I will."
"And call me. If anything happens. If you need anything."
"I will."
She kissed me—longer this time, deeper—and I forgot about Cole and sabotage and everything except the feel of her against me.
"Tomorrow," she said against my lips.
"Tomorrow."
I watched her drive away, my heart full and my mind already counting the hours until I'd see her again.
Then I went back inside to figure out how to stop Vernon Cole from destroying everything I was trying to build.