Page 52 of Branded

But the muscle memory is still there. The comfort of having firepower. The dark satisfaction that comes with being the one with the most guns and the most men when conflict arises.

We ride out in formation. Nathaniel, who has given up playing it safe, takes his group off to the east, Dad’s heading west, my group of eight men plus Lennox heading straight south toward the Marshall boundary. The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the Texas sky in violent reds and oranges, and the symbolism isn’t lost on me.

Blood and fire. That’s what this night might become.

Beside me, Lennox rides in silence, her face unreadable in the failing light. I want to say something, explain, justify, apologize. But there aren’t any words that could make this better.

18

LENNOX

By the time we get to the fence, the sun is gone, and the once vibrant sky is black now, and the only sounds are the rhythmic beat of eight horses’ hooves and the creak of leather saddles moving through darkness toward the Marshall property. I keep Duchess close to Cisco because he’s told me to. Following Sebastian’s silhouette, my heart is hammering so hard I think everyone can hear it. This is wild. We are armed riders crossing onto another ranch’s land to take back stolen cattle. In Montana, this would get you arrested. In Texas, this is just a Tuesday.

Sebastian raises his fist, and the entire group halts. I pull Duchess to a stop, listening for sounds, but there are none beyond the breathing of our horses and men shifting in their saddles. Ahead, barely visible, is a fence line. The boundary between properties.

“Wire cutters,” Sebastian says quietly, and Pete moves forward with tools. Within seconds, the fence is cut, and the wire is peeled back to create an opening wide enough for horses.

There is no turning back now. We are officially trespassing.

We move through single file, horses picking their way carefully in the darkness. Once we are across, the group forms again, and Sebastian gestures for us to move forward. My hands are slick with sweat despite the cooling night air.

“Stay close,” Sebastian murmurs to me. “If anything happens, you get low in the saddle, and you ride back the way we came. Don’t wait for me.”

“Sebastian, I’ll be fine,” I whisper.

“That’s an order, Lennox.”

Before I can argue, he urges Cisco forward, and we are moving again. Deeper into Marshall territory, toward whatever waits in the darkness.

“Boss,” one of the ranch hands calls softly. “Thermal’s picking up heat signatures ahead. Multiple. Could be cattle, could be people.”

“How many?”

“Hard to tell. At least twenty, maybe more.”

Sebastian holds up his hand again, stopping the group. He pulls out night vision binoculars, scanning the darkness ahead. I watch his body language shift, tension rippling through his shoulders.

“What is it?” I whisper.

“Cattle. Ours, from the brands I can see.” His voice is tight. “But there’s men with them. Four, maybe five. Armed.”

My stomach drops. “They knew we were coming.”

“Or suspected.” He passes the binoculars to the ranch hand beside him. “Jackson, take two men and circle east. Pete, take two west. When I give the signal, we all move in at once. Surround them before they can react.”

“And if they shoot?” Jackson asks.

“Then we shoot back. But nobody on our side fires first. We’re here for our property.” Sebastian looks back at me. “You stay here with Miguel. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

“Sebastian,” I plead. I don’t want to leave his side, I don’t want to stay with Miguel. I’m sure he’s great, but Sebastian is the reason I’m in this mess. He should be sticking with me.

“Lennox.” His voice hardens. “This isn’t negotiable. You stay here where it’s safe, or I tie you to a tree. Choose.”

“Fine,” I hiss. “But if you get shot, I’m not riding in to rescue you.”

“Love you too, wife.” He laughs, then turns to the older ranch hand beside me. “Miguel, she moves, you stop her. You may have to shoot her, but I’ll understand.”

“Yes, sir.”