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“And what about the men who worked with Mary?” she pressed. “What are you going to do there? Because you can be sure Malcolm hired them. Mary’s cruel, but she doesn’t have muscle to have pulled this off on her own. Do you have any idea the kind of strength it takes to shear a sheep, even badly?” Her Bruce had taught her that on her first summer in Ireland.
“When I interview Mrs. Kincaid, I plan to ask her about any associates—assuming we find the torn dress.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and she held back the urge to shove it away. “But we may not, Bets.”
Because Mary had her cauldron up and would burn it. Her spirit plummeted. That bitch was going to slip through their grasp again. She swung around and marched through the crowd. “It’s never going to end,” she whispered harshly.
Liam caught up with her. “Mum, you need to take a breath.”
She stopped, fearing she was going to lose her grip on her emotions. She needed to stay mad, or she’d never get through this. “Did you hear what he said? A fine, Liam! That’s all. They must have known nothing would happen to them.”
“Yes, they knew,” Linc said, arriving with his long strides along with Donal. “Easier to intimidate us this way and circumvent harsher crimes.”
“It’s ballocks,” Donal ground out. “But it is the law, if you can believe it. Men have lost an entire herd to dogs in this country and all the dog owner receives is a piddly fine. Rarely any compensation to the farmer for the loss of the sheep. It’s a disgrace. Sheep put bread on people’s tables.”
Ghislaine arrived with Taylor. “The law might not work in our favor, but public outrage is going to be red-hot by the time we’re done. That I promise.”
“We’ll have more photos for you to take,” Liam broke in as Taylor came to his side.
Bets could see how much of a unit they had become in the way they instantly wrapped their arms around each other’s waists. She was glad for that.
“A bunch of us are going to head over to Carrick’s sheep and start spray-painting,” he told them, “and then we’ll move on to whoever else wants their sheep marked. The Kindness Sheep aren’t gone. And we’ll make sure Malcolm and Aunt Mary and everyone working with them knows it.”
She fought tears as her pride in her son rose up. He was such a good, strong man. Bruce would be so proud.
Donal raised his fist. “Count me in. We’ll spray-paint every sheep in Ireland if we have to, and with Malcolm’s face on the sheep’s arse if it comes to it.”
“That would be a sight,” Linc drawled, rubbing his jaw. “But we should stick to the high road. The lawyers are looking into what we can do, and Wilt will be drawing up a new security plan for everything we didn’t think was at risk before.”
Bets picked up a handful of wool and let the wind take it. “You should include sheep this time.”
“We plan to. We’ll install cameras like we did for your roses after Mary hacked them to bits,” Linc assured her, rubbing her arm.
“To what end?” Bets pointed to where John Hart was talking to his other Garda officers. “The laws suck. Mary can hack up my roses and work with Malcolm to saw the words off sheep and nothing will be done. Even if she’s found guilty, all she’ll have to do is pay a measly fine. And I bet Malcolm will pay it for her—just like he did with the one she got for trespassing. They’re kicking our asses, Linc!”
“We need to contact Arthur Hale and give him an update,” Taylor said in a flat voice. “A man like Malcolm with all that power has to be brought down by corruption and side dealing. I’m betting there’s plenty of dirt to be found if we manage to dig deep enough. Public outrage isn’t going to cut it, although we should still keep up the pressure there.”
“She’s right,” Liam said, looking around the circle. “We’re playing amongst the trees while Malcolm is burning the forest. Now, I’m off with the other men to make a statement. Taylor, you call Arthur and get him doing what he does best while you and Ghislaine pepper the media with what happened on this land. Linc?”
“I’m talking to our lawyers,” her cowboy said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Bets?”
She thought about the best way she could contribute. “I’ll show Wilt the pastures where we’ll want to add cameras.”
“It might be a good idea to add them to a few other spots in town,” Donal suggested. “Places we all frequent whose business owners are agreeable. The Brazen Donkey comes to mind.”
“It’s a plan,” she said, nodding, hoping it would make her feel better.
By the time Wilt was hanging the last camera over the sheep fields, in Sorcha’s trees no less, her spirits weren’t as raw. Carrick had brought the newly sprayed sheep over to the green pastures around the arts center. He’d done it to make a statement, she knew. She watched as three sheep walked past, reading the words on their large cream-colored bodies.
Love. Always. Triumphs.
Looking around, she hoped to see Sorcha. But didn’t. Except someone had to be responsible for that sign surely. “Dammit, that’s going to make me cry.”
Her phone rang. When she pulled it out of her jacket, her breath stopped. Her screen said it was an unknown number, but she just had a sense.
“I think Malcolm is calling,” she shouted to Wilt, who hastily climbed down the tree and ran over to her. She showed him the screen. “I figured I shouldn’t answer it alone.”
He took out his phone and pressed a button. “We’ll record him if your instincts are right. Go ahead.”
Tapping the screen to answer the call on speaker, she answered. “Hello?”
