by K. Panikian
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”
“Sienna,” Logan growled. “Don’t do it. If you couldn’t handle the dominance challenge in the spring, you’re not ready to fight a lioness now. She’ll tear you apart.”
“No, she won’t,” I chided.
“But if you show them what you are?” he whispered. “Sienna, I can’t protect you from the Jackson alpha.”
“I don’t need your protection, Logan.”
“Look,” he said desperately, “come outside. I want to talk to you. I’m on your porch. I swear I’m alone.”
I looked down at my bare toes poking out from my blankets. One part of me knew it was a bad idea but the still wine-soaked part of me was feeling a little reckless. “Okay.”
I flipped the switch on my porch light and stepped out with a new bottle of wine and two glasses in my hands.
Logan blinked at me and smiled, his eyes warm. I poured us drinks and we sat. The night air felt amazing against my overheated skin and I watched the sickle moon’s reflection ripple on the lake surface.
“Come back to California with me,” Logan murmured. “This situation isn’t good for you. You can’t fight the lioness and reveal your monster. It’s suicide.”
I shook my head slowly, watching the wine slosh in my glass. “You can’t protect me in California either, Logan.” I ignored the word “monster” that echoed in my head. I already knew he felt that way about me. I agreed, too, some of the time.
“I can,” he urged, his breath quickening. “My alpha is old. The challenges will start soon. With you by my side, we could make the pack our own.”
Ah ha, I thought lazily. That’s why he’s been looking for me. Part of me, the young, hopeful Sienna, felt her heart break again. But the rest of me nodded in satisfaction. I’d known all along that was his purpose in finding me.
“No,” I said, admiring the clear tone of my voice. “No,” I said it again, shaping the word slowly and precisely. “This is my home.” I took another long gulp of my wine before refilling my empty glass. I offered the bottle to Logan and he shook his head, looking at me sadly.
“This wasn’t the right time to ask,” he said. “I’ll try again.”
I drank my wine and enjoyed the fruity burn as it slid down my throat in a hard swallow. He was ten years too late to tempt me to his side, but it still hurt to see him and refuse to help. I hoped he’d find his own path without me.
From the darkness, a rich, wild scent reached my nose. I smirked to myself. It’s a party!
August strode into the light, eyeing me before focusing on Logan. Logan swallowed a mouthful of wine with a choking snort.
“Sienna,” August said carefully. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with my out-of-town guest.” He turned unhappy eyes to Logan and added, “And you told me your name was Tom.”
“I go by my middle name when I’m on pack business,” Logan blurted, wilting. “I didn’t lie.”
I giggled at August’s frown and covered my mouth with my wine glass when both men turned to stare at me. “Logan and I go waaay back,” I sang. I hushed myself. “Shhh. Piper’s sleeping upstairs. She needs her rest.”
Logan raised his hands. “She was like this when I got here. I was just warning her that Blair’s on the hunt.”
August nodded. “That’s why I’m here as well. I didn’t know someone would beat me to the punch.”
I giggled again and took another careful sip, mindful not to spatter drops on my face as I emptied my glass.
“Why are you warning her?” Logan asked. “Your betas, including Blair, beat her up in the spring.”
I shook my head. “Not his fault. Didn’t know.”
August lifted his chin at me. “In vino veritas.”
I beamed, feeling relief that I’d acknowledged his innocence. I hadn’t wanted him to know that I didn’t blame him anymore, but now that the cat was out of the bag, I found I didn’t care so much. I giggled to myself again. The puma is out of the bag. Or the tiger?
Logan looked at me in horror as I smiled at August. He hissed, “Sienna, does he know? You can’t trust him!”
I turned my gaze to Logan, feeling my edges fuzz more. “Doesn’t know. Won’t tell him.”
“But he knows?” August asked, moving closer to the edge of the porch, the light illuminating his suddenly harsh expression. “This man knows your secrets? The ones you refuse to share with me?”
I blinked at August owlishly. I guessed that meant they weren’t in cahoots? Go figure.
“You can’t trust him, Sienna. He’s here gathering resources to betray and challenge his alpha.”
Logan started to protest and I waved my hand in the air, pointing at August. “Can’t trust you either. Want to. Can’t. Alpha. Can’t know.”
August stared at me, frustration simmering in his hooded gaze. I felt suddenly sick. Sweat bloomed on my face and my stomach rolled.
“Done. G’night. Go ‘way,” I mumbled and tripped back into my apartment, managing to shut and lock the door behind me.
In my bathroom, I rid my stomach of the wine before climbing into the shower. With every beat of cold water on my head, my mind cleared. I thought about what I’d learned from Logan and what I’d said to August. I thought again about Nick leaving. They always left. No one wanted all of me. As the frigid beads drummed onto my head, I cried again.
Chapter 9
Adjusting the sunglasses on my face, I glared at the bright morning light beaming into the parking lot. A small headache twinged behind my eyes, both from the wine and the excessive crying from the night before.
After my late night confessions, I’d fallen asleep in new pjs and woken up incredibly early, feeling heartsick but resolved. Logan wanted to use me. August would use me if he knew what Logan knew. Neither fact changed my purpose. And neither did the fact that a lioness was gunning for me.
I smirked as my Beast licked her lips. Just let me get her alone, where no one can see, I warned the Beast. Then you can have her.
After my early morning coffee, I made my plan. I would go and talk to Mr. Brisco, the elk rancher, all by myself. I’d find out how much stock he was missing, where and how it went missing, and what he was trying to convince Ted at the Elk Refuge to do.
And when Jordan passed along what she learned from Chief Palmer, I’d talk to the rest of the ranchers. I’d find a pattern, then find my poachers.
I hit the internet and discovered the address for Brisco Ranch. It was my day off and I texted both Jordan and Darcy, telling them my plan and warning them that Blair was loose and fired up. Neither texted me back, but it was still early.
On the road out of the park, I smelled snow in the air. The bison moved slowly across the landscape, eating voraciously, and I saw two bull elks with their horns locked, their hooves kicking up great clods of earth as they battled.
In Jackson, I turned west to the little town of Wilson. The Tetons poked sharply into the sky, their pointed peaks falling softly down to rocky slopes and evergreen-covered foothills. I drove past the base of a ski resort bustling with moving chair lifts and mountain bikers.
My GPS dumped me on a long, gravel road and I stopped at a high gate where a wooden sign proclaimed, “Brisco Ranch.” An intercom with a sticker directed guests to press the button and wait. I rolled down my window and pressed the button.
After a few minutes, a tinny voice echoed, “Hello? Who’s there?”
I cleared my throat and shouted back, “Hi! My name’s Sienna Wilder and I’m a park ranger in Yellowstone. I don’t have an appointment but I was hoping to talk to Mr. Brisco, if he’s available. If he can’t see me today, I’d like to make an appointment.”
A long silence followed before, with a sharp click, the gate swung open. The voice called out, “Follow the road. Stop at the barn. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks!”
I followed the winding gravel road and watched the gate swing shut behind me. On one side of the road, a large her
d of elk wandered, munching grass. On the other side, behind a tall fence, cattle grazed.
When I reached the large wooden barn, I parked and climbed out of my Subaru, inhaling the ranch odors—hay and grass, cattle and elk, and iron and steel. The bright blue Wyoming sky stretched from peak to peak and I felt enfolded in a cradle of rocky escarpments.
After only a couple of minutes of watching the elk graze, a truck pulled up beside me and a petite, older woman hopped out. She met my eyes with an assessing gaze, her long-sleeve shirt tucked into worn jeans and a battered hat rested on her head.
I stuck out my hand. “Hi, I’m Sienna.”
She grabbed my hand and I felt the tendons of her thin, strong fingers. Her dark eyes gleamed at me in her deeply tan skin, and I wondered if she had indigenous American ancestry. “Lori Brisco. This here’s my place.”
I smiled. “I didn’t mean any offense, asking for Mr. Brisco. If I could talk to you, I’d appreciate it.”
She nodded sharply and gestured at the barn. “Let’s go to my office.”
The barn smelled strongly of warm hay and alfalfa. A few equine noses poked their heads out over their stall doors and I moved to the far side of the corridor. Horses tended to dislike my scent and I didn’t want to stress them out.
I followed Lori into a well-lit office and sat where she pointed.
Opposite me, her chin on her hands, she raised her brows. “What can I do for you?”
I cleared my throat. “Like I said, I’m a ranger in Yellowstone. My cousin is in California and he just came into some land. He’s thinking about farming elk. I’ve heard your ranch’s name a few times in Jackson and I was hoping to pick your brain for some information to pass on to him before he starts acquiring any stock.”
Lori stared at me and I quelled the itch to squirm in my seat. Her gaze was heavy and weighted with expectation, like she knew I was lying and was waiting for me to correct my statement.
When I didn’t, she crossed her arms and said, “California will never work for elk. It’s too dry. In fact, I don’t know if the state laws permit it.”
I sat back, my heart sinking. Shoot. I should have said Colorado or Montana.
Thinking quickly, I offered, “He has land in Wyoming too.”
Lori shook her head. “I don’t recommend it. At least not if his land is near here. We’ve got a rustling problem and local law enforcement is doing a piss-poor job of solving it.”
My pulse sped up. “I saw you have your cattle fenced, but not the elk. Is that common?”
“Elk jump too high and it’s hard to fence them. We have eight-foot high fences at our borders that keep them in, but nothing internal. They stray in and out of the cattle pastures, but we haven’t had any disease outbreaks yet.”
“How do the rustlers get in?”
Lori sighed. “We don’t patrol the outer fence daily. It’s too long and we don’t have the manpower. We’re talking thousands of acres, you know.”
I nodded.
“Our elk are branded with our “B” but still, we notice every couple of weeks that some are missing. Over the course of this summer, it’s really added up. We’ve probably lost fifty elk, I’d say. That’s around fifty or sixty thousand dollars gone.”
I blinked.
“Our herd’s not that big to begin with. If we lose too much more, we don’t have enough diversity to sustain the stock into the spring.”
“Are the other ranchers experiencing the same rustling problem?”
Lori nodded decisively. “All of us.”
I wondered about that. If one ranch was stealing elk from its neighbors, the owner would be sure to pretend they had a rustling problem too.
“How do you make a profit?”
Lori waved her hand at me. “Same as cattle, but elk are cheaper to raise. Usually.” She grimaced and started to fidget, her fingers plucking at her pens on the desk, and I couldn’t think of any more questions to keep her attention.
“The elk you’ve lost,” I tried, “has anything been done to recover them?”
“Once someone cuts off the brand, there’s no way to trace them back to us here, no.”
“Your brand is a ‘B’?”
“Yeah, but that’s not unusual. There are a few of us in the area that use some form of a ‘B’ in our brands.”
I remembered my dinner with August. “Like the Ribbon B Ranch?”
Lori said, “Yes, that spread is just to the southwest of us.”
I tried to think of more questions but I could hear her phone buzzing in her pocket.
I stood and she rose immediately to her feet as well. I offered one last comment. “I ran into Mr. Brisco at the Elk Refuge a few days ago. He was talking to Ted about…” I left my sentence dangling.
Distracted, holding her phone already, Lori looked up at me. “Oh, I know. My husband’s trying to get Ted to sell him the Refuge’s old feed truck on the cheap. Ted can’t do it though. Federal property has to go through the auctions to get sold. I told him not to bother but he wanted to ask.”
I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard and deflated. “Yeah, that must have been it.”
Lori lifted her chin toward the door and I tossed up my hand. “Thanks for your help.” I let myself back into the barn and traced my path back to my car.
Behind the wheel, I debated my next move. There were other ranches in the area, but based on the information I’d gotten from Lori, I wasn’t sure how helpful it would be to talk to the other owners. If Jordan got the information from Chief Palmer, that might steer me in a better direction.
I pulled my phone from my purse and checked. No texts
Another truck drove up beside the barn and Mr. Brisco stepped out, his shoulders stooped but strong under a work shirt. He glanced at me quizzically for a moment and walked over to my car.
I stepped from the car again and stuck out my hand. “Mr. Brisco? My name is Sienna Wilder. I’m a ranger in Yellowstone and I was just visiting with Mrs. Brisco, asking some questions about ranching.”
He nodded at me and shook my hand—his was large and calloused, with thick fingers and old scars. “Did you get everything you needed?”
“I don’t want to take up any more time. I know you’ve got a lot to do.”
Mr. Brisco looked at me intently under the brim of his hat for a long moment before calling into the barn, “Mark!”
A moment later a teenager stepped into the sunlight, thin in jeans and a t-shirt and rubbing a piece of metal machinery with a dirty, oily cloth.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“Take Ms. Wilder around the elk pastures in the ATV.”
“Sure.” The boy smiled at me shyly and I smiled back.
“Call me Sienna, please.” I thanked Mr. Brisco and he waved before he stepped into the shady barn and out of sight.
I followed Mark to the ATV and as he climbed into the driver’s seat, I slid up beside him.
“I talked to your Mom a little bit earlier. I appreciate you taking the time to give me a tour too.”
“Beats rebuilding tractor parts.” Mark smelled like sweaty boy and straw and I relaxed next to him as we bounced across the pasture.
Pointing out different feed bins and watering stations, Mark talked about what the elk needed on a daily basis.
“We’ve got mostly cow elks in our herd. They grow almost as big as the bulls and they’re sort-of less aggressive. We have a couple of bulls over there,” Mark pointed to a far pasture and I saw antlers poking above the golden-green grasses. “We’re letting them in with the cows one at a time for the next few weeks. Then we’ll call Doc Lopez, he’s the vet, and he’ll check the herd. Any of the cows that aren’t pregnant yet, we’ll try and artificially inseminate.”
“Sounds expensive,” I said carefully.
Mark nodded. “Yeah, we borrow the equipment from the Ribbon B or the Bakers, and they charge us for it, then we’ve got to pay for the semen from the university.”
“You don’t just use
your own bulls?”
“We try to add a little genetic diversity to the stock every year.”
We stopped and Mark pointed to a far pasture that sloped part of the way up a steep hillside. “That’s where the rustlers keep getting in. We put up cameras, but still can’t catch them. The camera feed just goes black, like someone covers the lens, which is impossible because it’s high up on a pole. We wake up and there’s a hole in our fence and we’re missing ten or twelve cows.”
I squinted, looking at the fence line and the tall pole next to the trees. A big cat could climb that tree and reach the camera, I decided. I could do it. A small cat could, too, like a lynx or a bobcat. But not a wolf. I frowned.
“Your mom said all of the ranches are getting hit. Are any of them getting hit harder, or more often?”
Mark shrugged. “We’re all in competition with each other for the meat contracts in town and the rest of the state. We don’t want to look vulnerable so we haven’t talked about it with each other, or at least not that I’ve heard from my parents. We file the police report and then rebuild the fence.”
“Does Chief Palmer have any leads?”
Mark sighed, scratching his head under his hat. “I don’t think so.” He turned the ATV and we headed back to the barn, trailing dust when we hit the dirt road.
At my car I thanked him again and Mark flushed, shooting me a crooked smile. “Any time, Sienna.”
I climbed into my car and drove slowly down the gravel road, pausing at the gate, before stopping where the road hit the highway. I didn’t know what to try next. Maybe I could visit the Ribbon B while I waited on Jordan’s report?
My phone buzzed and I reached over to check it, putting my car in park. I had a missed call from Jordan a few minutes ago, probably when I was saying goodbye to Mark, and a voicemail.
Jordan’s voice, garbled and high-pitched, echoed loudly in my car. “SOS … betas followed … the park, Karns—” The message ended.
I stared at my phone, my heart in my throat, before pulling up a map of Jackson, searching for Karns. I found a park, Karns Meadow, and hit the gas, my tires spitting up a cloud of gravel as I careened onto the highway.
