Page 10 of Savage Rancher
"Fuck," he curses under his breath, the word rough and strained.
He pulls back just enough to reopen the car door, guiding me inside with a hand on the small of my back. Once I'm settled on the seat, he leans down, his eyes dark and intense.
"I'll meet you at your place," he says, his voice low and commanding as he buckles me in. "You drive straight there. No stops. No detours. Stay in the car until I get there. Understood?"
I nod, unable to find my voice.
He closes the door and steps back, and I watch him stride back toward the body. As I turn on the car, my hands tremble, and I can’t tell if it’s because of fear or excitement.
13
EMMA
The drive home feels endless and too short all at once. I have a death-grip on the steering wheel the entire way. I keep checking the rearview mirror for Jake.
My headlights cut through the darkness as I turn onto the long dirt driveway that leads to the Circle H—my father's ranch. Well, my ranch now.
The ranch house comes into view as I roll up the drive. It’s a dark silhouette against the Montana night sky. No lights. No signs of life. Just the empty structure my father left behind when he died a month ago. I've been living here alone ever since, trying to make sense of the land, the legacy, and the loneliness, feeling vulnerable and exposed.
Not tonight. Tonight, I feel like I can breathe.
I pull up to the house and kill the engine. Through the pines that circle the house, I see faint light. The bunkhouse and Jim’s cabin are farther down the drive. Not even knowing the guys are there has been comforting.
But that’s all changed tonight.
It seems like a lot of time passes before Jake pulls in behind me, but it could easily only be a few minutes. The lights from the truck illuminate the front porch before he cuts them. I frown atthe fancy truck he’s driving. I wouldn’t have figured Jake to drive something that flashy.
His door opens.
I watch in the side mirror as he climbs out, his movements controlled and deliberate. He doesn't come to my car. Instead, he walks the perimeter of the driveway, his eyes scanning the property with the kind of focus that makes my stomach tighten.
He's not just looking. He's assessing.
What is there to assess? Eli’s dead.
I get out of the SUV slowly, my boots sticking a bit in the mud, and watch as Jake moves around the side of the house. He checks the back door first—testing the handle, examining the lock, his hand running along the doorframe. Then he moves to the windows, checking each one methodically.
I follow him at a distance, staying quiet, watching the way he moves. There's no wasted motion. No hesitation. His eyes sweep the tree line at the edge of the property, the barn in the distance, the long driveway that's the only way in or out.
He's treating my home like a tactical position.
It kind of turns me on because it’s territorial, like he’s staking his claim. But it’s also a little freaky, because it makes me feel like a bad guy is hiding somewhere and about to jump out.
Jake finishes his sweep at the front door, testing the lock and frowning when it turns too easily. He looks at me as I join him on the porch, his expression hard. "This lock is shit."
"It's been fine for the past month."
"It's shit," he repeats. "Anyone could kick this door in."
"No one's tried." I know better than to point out that the only person who was a threat is gone now.
"And no one will." He steps inside without asking permission, flipping on the lights and moving through the house with the same methodical precision. Living room. Kitchen. Hallway. He checks every window and door.
I stand in the doorway and watch him work, my heart pounding.
When he finally comes back to the living room, his jaw is tight. "You've got no security system. No cameras. Your locks are shit. You're five minutes walking from the bunkhouse and Hal’s cabin, and twenty minutes from the nearest neighbor down the road. The Turner spread butts up against the other end of your property."
"I know." I hug myself. I felt safer living in Chicago than I have since coming home to Iron Ridge.
