Page 56 of Branded

Doctor Reeves clears his throat. “I’ll call for medical transport. Get him to County General. They’ve got an excellent surgical team.”

As the doctor moves away to make calls, I leave the medical facility and walk out into the night. The barn area is still chaos, ranch hands tending horses, checking weapons, discussing the ambush in low, angry voices.

I find Lennox near Duchess’s stall, brushing the mare down with mechanical precision. Her face is pale, her hands steady, her eyes distant. There’s blood on her shirt, dark stains I hope to God aren’t hers.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, grabbing her shoulders and turning her toward me.

“No.” Her voice is flat. “Your father?”

“He needs surgery. We’re taking him to the hospital.” I move closer, and she doesn’t pull away. “Pete told me you shot a man.”

“Yes.”

“First time?”

“Shooting a person? Yes. Shooting a gun? No.” She turns back and keeps brushing Duchess, the rhythmic motion apparently soothing. “He went down hard. I don’t know if I killed him.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I lean against the stall door. “How are you handling it?”

“I’m not.” She finally looks at me, and her eyes are empty. “I’m standing here brushing a horse and pretending I didn’t just shoot someone. Pretending this is normal. Pretending any of this is okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“No shit it’s not okay!” She throws the brush, and it slams against the stall wall. “You dragged me into a fucking cattle raid that turned into a firefight. Your father got shot. I shot someone. And now we’re all standing around like this is just another day on this fucking ranch.” Her voice rises with each word, drawing attention from nearby ranch hands. I grab her arm and pull her into an empty tack room, closing the door behind us.

“Keep your voice down,” I growl at her.

“Or what? You’ll punish me? Lock me up in a basement? Remind me that I’m your property?” She shoves at my chest. “I warned you this was a trap. I told you the Marshalls were baiting you into doing something stupid. But you went anyway, for what?”

“Because they stole from us.”

“And now your father has a bullet wound. How is that better?” She shoves me again, harder. “You almost got people killed tonight, Sebastian. Your own people. Your family. For what? Pride? Legacy? The need to prove you’re still a Texas rancher instead of a California resort owner?”

The accusations hit hard, because she’s right. Every word of it is right.

“Yes, it was a trap. Someone leaked our plans,” I say quietly. “Marshall knew we were coming. They were ready and waiting with superior numbers and firepower. This isn’t just about them stealing cattle. This is about setting us up for a massacre.”

That stops her. “What?”

“Someone on this ranch told them we were coming. Gave them our approach routes, our timing, probably our numbers.” I run both hands through my hair. “Dad’s right. We have a traitor.”

Lennox sinks onto a tack trunk, the anger draining out of her. “Who knew about the raid?”

“Family. Senior ranch hands. The men we asked to come with us.” I start pacing the small room. “Anyone could have made a phone call. Sent a text. We weren’t exactly subtle about preparing.”

“Who has a motive?”

“That’s what I need to figure out.” I stop pacing and look at her. “You’re good at reading people. At seeing things others miss. Help me.”

“Why would I help you? After you dragged me into the middle of that disaster tonight?”

“Because if there’s a traitor on this ranch, everyone’s in danger. Including you.” I sit beside her, suddenly aware of how close I came to losing her tonight. “I know you hate me. I know you’re counting the days until you can leave. But right now, we’re on the same side. Someone tried to kill us all tonight. I need to find out who before they try again.”

She studies my face for a long moment. “I don’t hate you, Sebastian,” she whispers, and she rests her head on my shoulder with a sigh. “Do you really think they will?”

“They drew first blood. They didn’t kill anyone, but they sent a message. Next time, they’ll come harder.” I take her hands, feeling them tremble despite her controlled exterior. “Next time, they might succeed.”

“Then we call the police. The sheriff. Someone with actual authority.”