Chapter 12 Reid
I'd been sitting on the guns since the night at the lean-to. Three days of running the east fence, knowing what was buried out there under that tarp, turning over the same question. Who the hell was Jennie Benson, really. What did she have to do with those guns? She’d been watching us, thinking she was concealed and obscured, but I’d known she was there.
She’d been on the ridge, just observing.
She wasn’t a geologist, that much I was sure about. She had some sort of formal training. I was damn sure about that, too. Before I went any further helping her, I needed to see something for myself.
She was good. Too good for someone who was only supposed to be testing soil.
We’d done a solid week of morning rides, and she'd given me her attention, her questions, her dry read on every fence post we passed, and nothing else.
Every time something caught her off guard, she just filed it away behind those too-big glasses and moved on.
I'd worked out a route that would take us to the guns without looking like I was taking us there.
East along the creek, north toward Coleman's old cattle road, a jog through the mesquite.
She didn't know this land well enough yet to read where we were headed.
By the time she figured it out, it would already be in front of her, assuming she already knew they were there.
Jennie was already waiting by the time I reached the old sycamore at the trailhead. She had Jupiter out again. Jennie herself looked unrested, hair pulled back in something that resembled a ponytail just really crooked. Her shirt was untucked, and she had dark circles under her eyes.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded, adjusting her glasses. “Haven’t been sleeping the best. For the Coleman house to be so nice, their mattress is lumpy.”
“Your call. Want me to lead you around today?”
She paused, considering it, then said, “Sure, yeah. I want to see what you think matters today.”
We headed east in a silence more awkward than comfortable, neither of us wanting to break it.
The ground was still slick from the rain, but the horses didn't care.
Jupiter moved with her usual economy, never a wasted step.
Ghost was jumpier than usual, ears twitching, nose in the wind, reading something I couldn't name.
She broke the silence first. "The older woman with the gray braid. She's on the porch every morning."
She was curious about the Maddox people. "That's Midge."
"Midge." She waited, but I didn't add anything. "Is she family?"
"She’s basically all of our grandmother, but she’s Calder’s blood grandmother.” I pushed Ghost around a low branch. "She ran the ranch with Calder's parents, and she stayed after they died and raised them. I've known her my whole life."
Jennie nodded slowly. "The kid?"
"Noah. He's eight. Sloane's boy."
"Who's Sloane?"
"Calder's sister. She works remotely." I didn't say what kind of work, because it wasn't my business to say. "She's the sharp-looking one who rides a gray horse."
Jennie was quiet for a moment. "I've seen an older man with white hair and a belt buckle that catches the light."
"Buck Rawley. He's been on Maddox land longer than I have."
"What does he do?"
"Whatever needs doing." I thought for a second. "He taught me to ride."
She took that in. "There's a woman with nearly white hair. Wild. She wears a beat-up hat."
"Ash." She waited again, so I kept going. "She showed up last year with a saddle and no explanation and outworked every hand we had in a week. So she stayed."
Jennie smiled at that, just the corner of her mouth. "And the one in charge."
"Calder."
"What's he like?"
I took a minute with that one. "You'd have to meet him. There's no short version." I glanced over at her. “There’s Eli, Calder and Sloane’s younger brother. We sort of all raised him, and we didn’t always do the best job.”
She just raised her eyebrows at that. “Is that all?”
“Gray and Jace are our other two hands. You won’t meet men you can trust more than them. Except maybe me and Calder.”
We rode a little further before she said, "You're fond of all of them."
It wasn't a question. I didn't answer it. I took us along the creek, then veered north, toward the edge of Coleman land. Jennie didn’t say a thing, just followed, but she was watching, storing every shift of the route, every glance at the horizon.
She rode with the same focus she brought to everything, all business, no panic, always three moves ahead.
At the stand's edge, Ghost pricked his ears toward the brush. I gave him the rein and let him drift off the path, like I was following his nose.
She followed, tight to my left flank. Even with the foliage, she didn’t flinch when the thorns caught her pants or a spider web ghosted her face. She was a lot tougher than she let on. I liked that about her.
We reached a break in the trees. I dismounted, then tied Ghost to a low limb. Jennie did the same, but slower, eyes always on the next detail.
We walked the last fifty yards. Then I stopped. A camo tarp, staked at the corners, half-buried in the low scrub. Someone had put work into hiding it. Not quite enough.
Pretending I’d never seen it before, I crouched and put a hand on the nearest stake. Jennie came up beside me without being asked, scanning the area, reading the shape of whatever was underneath. She wasn't asking questions yet. She was measuring.
I lifted the corner. Then I pulled the whole thing back.
Three crates. Military-issue. The first was stenciled, padlocked, heavy, the lid stamped BERGARA. The second was open a crack, rows of magazines visible inside, the glint of brass and matte black steel. The third was smaller, set apart from the others like it had been added in a hurry.
Jennie crouched, careful not to touch, and studied the markings. She didn't ask what was inside. She already knew.
“Any chance this is legal?” she asked, voice dry as bone.
I shook my head. “Not unless they changed the laws last night.”
She stood and dusted her hands on her jeans. “How long’s it been here?”
I considered lying, carrying on with the ruse that we’d come upon it together by chance, but something told me to tell her the truth. I went with my gut. “I found it on a run three nights ago.”
She fixed her gaze on me, searching for the tell. I let her look.“You wanted me to see this.”
I just looked at her, waiting for her to give me more.
She did a slow 360-degree scan of the clearing. “You think someone is planning something?”
I shrugged. “It’s not for hogs. That kind of gun is for people.”
She exhaled, then walked a wide circle around the stash, careful not to leave footprints in the mud. She took a photo with her phone then pocketed it. “You told anyone else?”
“No,” I said. “Just you and the Maddox hands who were with me when we found it.”
She believed me. I could see it. She leaned against a tree, arms crossed. “You want to tell me what you’re really worried about?”
I hesitated, then said, “You ever heard of a man named Lance?”
She went still in a way that told me a lot. “Not locally,” she said. “Why?”
“He came through maybe a year ago. Asking questions about Maddox Ranch. Then he disappeared. Word is, he wasn’t exactly friendly.”
She didn’t blink. “That supposed to scare me?”
“No,” I said. “Just thought you’d want to know.”
She chewed on that. “You think the guns are connected to him?”
“Could be,” I said. Probably not, but I needed to figure out who she was and why she was here.
She squinted at me. “When did you say he was here?”
I gave a non-answer. “A while back. A year or so. I can ask around if you want more.”
She shook her head. “Don’t. I’d rather keep a low profile, if that’s possible.”
We stood there a moment, neither of us wanting to be the first to look away. Eventually, she said, “You know, you could’ve just told me. No need for the performance.”
“It wasn’t a performance,” I said, honest. “Just wanted to see how you’d react.”
She laughed, a short, sharp sound. “And?”
“You’re better at this than I am.”
She leaned in, real close, her eyes gone hard. “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. She grabbed the front of my shirt, pulled me down, and kissed me like it was a dare. I let her have the lead, let her tell me how much she wanted, and when she wanted to stop.
When she broke away, she said, “That’s what you really wanted, wasn’t it?”
I smiled and wiped my lip where she’d bitten. “No, not the only thing.”
She looked at the crates, then back at me. “You think this ends well?”
“No,” I said.
She touched my hand, softer this time, then turned and walked back toward the horses.
I followed, the wolf in me howling to catch up.
We rode the long way home in silence. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t say anything at all.
When we reached the spot where we usually split, patted the mare’s neck, and said, “See you tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I rode back to the ranch slowly. She hadn’t been surprised at all about the guns. She already knew. Which meant she was either in on it or already investigating it. I had no idea which.