Page 78 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“Alright.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “So, we got a vulnerability at the creek culvert. And the back door’s the weakest entry because it faces away from the bunkhouse and the barn.”
“We could bar the culvert.” Thomas crossed his arms. “Drop some heavy rocks in the channel. Or put a grate across it.”
“Grate’d be better.” Mason nodded. “Iron bars, sunk into the creek bed on both sides. Water flows through, but nothin’ bigger’n a trout gets past.”
“That’s a day’s work, minimum.” Pa leaned against the fence. “Ironwork, settin’ posts in the water, anchorin’ it so the spring runoff don’t rip it out.”
“I can help with the ironwork.” Jonah stepped forward. “I’m still useless with a pitchfork, but I grew up around a forge in New York. My—uh, I did some work near a blacksmith’s shop as a kid. I can handle iron.”
“Good. You and Mason handle the grate. Thomas, I want you on the back door. New lock, a proper deadbolt, and a bar on the inside. The kind that drops into a bracket. I don’t want a picked lock bein’ the only thing between somebody and my family.”
“What about the windows?” Pa straightened up. “Ground floor’s got six windows, and half of ’em got latches a child could jimmy with a butter knife.”
“New latches on all of ’em. I’ll ride to town this afternoon for the hardware.”
“I’ll go.” Thomas held up a hand. “You stay here with Grace and the baby. I’ll get the hardware and be back before dark.”
Logan opened his mouth to argue—because Logan argued on principle about everything that involved somebody else doing a job he’d planned to do himself—
“I ain’t askin’, Logan. You need to be at the house. Grace needs you at the house. I’ll get the damn latches.”
“And I’ll ride the perimeter again after lunch.” Pa pulled his hat down against the sun. “Full circuit. Take my time. If somebody’s been watchin’ this property, they left signs somewhere. Bent grass, boot prints near the tree line, somethin’. I’ll find it.”
Logan braced both hands on the fence rail. The wire hummed under his palms. Beyond the wire, the south pasture rolled out green toward the tree line, and beyond the trees, the creek ran its hidden course through the cottonwoods.
Peaceful. Just land and grass and the kind of quiet that used to mean safety.
Except the quiet had lied to him before. Two years ago, the quiet had sat over this ranch like a blanket while he’d ridden three days south on a cattle drive, and the world had come apart behind him.
The porch.
Ma on the porch. The sheriff’s words.Almost made it to the door.
And now, somebody had walked through that same house in the dark—past the nursery, past Grace’s room, past the room where a baby slept in a crib he’d carved roses into—and the fences hadn’t stopped them. The locks hadn’t stopped them. The gates and the wire and all the control Logan had poured into this property for two years… all of it built on the idea that if he just locked the world out tight enough, nothing bad could touch the people inside.
None of it had worked.
His hands tightened on the wire until the barbs pressed dents into his palms.
“Logan.” Pa stood beside him. “This ain’t the same.”
“Pa—”
“I know what you’re thinkin’. And this ain’t the same.”
“Somebody broke into our house while my wife and my daughter slept down the hall from me, and I didn’t—” His jaw locked. “I didn’t hear a thing. Not a footstep, not a creak, not a—”
“Neither did I. Neither did your brothers. Neither did Jonah, who—”
“Jonah was in the bunkhouse.”
“And he sleeps lighter’n a cat. Runs like one too.”
“That don’t make me feel better.”
“It ain’t supposed to make you feel better. It’s supposed to make youthink. Whoever did this knew what they were doin’. Knew the property, knew the house, knew how to move quiet. That ain’t your failure. That’s somebody who planned this.”
Logan stared at the tree line.
