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“Thanks for wrangling them back.” I clenched my jaw, my gaze lingering on the destruction. All the while, thoughts of Eryn flickered unwanted through my mind. I knew she wouldn’t do this—she was all sunshine and peace signs, not fence wreckers and chaos. But what about someone who wanted to support her? She’d managed to get the whole town eating out of the palm of her hand. But that seemed crazy.
“Any idea who'd do this?” Mitch asked, pulling me from my musings.
“None that sits right,” I admitted, but suspicion was a weed that took root fast.
“What about Billy? He quit right after that dust-up you two had. Wasn’t too happy ‘bout it.”
“Billy’s too dumb to be this precise. Besides, if he’d have done something, I would think he wouldn’t have waited.”
“What about those workers over at the Culver place?”
“What about ‘em?”
“I don’t know a single one. Not saying they did it, but they’re the only ones around here right now. And they work for that woman. Could’ve maybe gotten some rotten ideas.”
“I don’t know about that, but you’re right about one thing. They’re the only people around here I don’t know and don’t trust.”
“Should get the sheriff out here. Make a report.”
“Yeah. I’ll call him now.”
“Also heard something peculiar,” Mitch added, his tone lowering. “Culver place got hit too. Construction equipment vandalized, materials scattered like a tornado swept through.”
“Is that right?” I squinted at the horizon, wondering if this was more than coincidence—a sabotage dance where we both were unwilling partners.
“Yep. Town's buzzin' about it.” Mitch scratched the back of his neck, looking every bit the part of a man who'd seen too many years to be surprised by much.
“Guess I better take a ride over there later, see if what they're saying is true.” The words tasted sour on my tongue, but I couldn't deny the pull of concern.
“Could be related,” Mitch mused, watching me with those knowing eyes that seemed to see right through a man.
“Could be,” I echoed, feeling the weight of the day ahead.
I strode back toward the house to fetch tools for repairs, each step heavy with the burden of suspicion and a begrudging sense of responsibility.
* * *
I’d finished with the sheriff and was half-way through mendin’ the fence—a task that seemed never-ending on the best of days, when I saw Eryn approach. Her usual light, almost bouncy stride seemed weighed down today—like she carried the world on her slender shoulders.
But I noticed she was wearing jeans and boots—real ones. And damn, if she didn’t look the part of a Montana girl already. The closer she got, the more my heart raced, and it wasn't just from the frustration simmering inside me.
“Gray Anderson,” she greeted, her voice betraying a hint of steel beneath its warmth. “We need to talk.”
“Seems that way,” I replied, leaning against the wooden fence, arms crossed in front of my chest.
“Just what are you playing at?”
“I ain’t playin’ at nothin’, princess.”
She rolled her eyes, but then noticed what I was working on.
“Your fence—what happened?” Her eyes searched mine for truth, but suspicion clouded their usual shine.
“Same thing that happened to your equipment, I reckon.” I couldn't help the edge in my voice. “Someone's playing a dirty game.”
“So you heard about my worksite? It’s been completely destroyed. It’ll take weeks to get back on track.”
“Good way to muster up sympathy with the city council.” I didn’t know why the fuck I said that. I regretted it the second it came out of my mouth, but it was too late.
