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Her little farm was thriving. The chickens had settled down and begun to lay again. The lambs were putting on weight. By now, they were down to one bottle feeding a day and eating plenty of grass and hay. Soon they’d be big enough to leave the pen and roam around the property—but not until she could build more protection around her precious vegetables.
Rose had warned herself not to make pets of animals that she planned to sell for food. But the lambs were so adorable, it was hard to keep from loving them. When she was in their pen, they would crowd around her, butting their wooly heads against her legs, wanting to be scratched. She’d even been tempted to give them names—but no, she told herself. That would only make the parting more painful when the time came to give them up.
Today she’d started on a higher fence around her garden, driving sharpened stakes into the ground with a heavy wooden mallet. Would the new fence be strong enough to keep out the hungry lambs and save her carrots, potatoes, lettuce, and peas? All she could do was build it and hope.
By the time the sun set behind the escarpment, she was too tired to eat supper. With the new fence less than half finished, she stowed her tools in the camper, rinsed off the sweat and dirt in the shower, pulled on her nightgown, and tumbled into bed.
Her sleep that night was deep but fitful, plagued by formless dreams with swirling shapes and strange animal cries that seemed almost human.
The rooster woke her at dawn. Still half asleep, she lay gazing into the shadows, vaguely aware that the morning was quiet, maybe too quiet. Something familiar was missing.
Realizing what it was, she jerked bolt upright in the bed. The lambs weren’t bleating to be fed, as they usually did.
Rose threw back the covers, flung herself out of bed, and stumbled to the door of the trailer. But even before she opened it, she knew what she would see.
Her lambs would be dead.
* * *
Tanner knew Rose to be an early riser. And even if he were to wake her, the idea of pulling her sleepy body into his arms and carrying her back to the bed made for an appealing fantasy. Either way, he’d been sleepless for hours, restless with the need to see her again. It was still early, but now that sunrise was streaking the sky, he couldn’t wait any longer.
Anxiety stirring, he drove the familiar road that skirted the edge of the Rimrock Ranch and ended at Rose’s property. What if she had gone? What if she didn’t want to see him? He had to be prepared for that.
A few minutes later, he spotted the trees that grew around Rose’s property. He could see her truck parked outside the new gate, and the back of her trailer, which faced the creek.
He parked his truck, climbed out, walked through the gate and around the trailer, and stopped cold.
Rose, still in her nightgown, was huddled on the steps of the trailer, crying her heart out.
“Rose!” Two strides took him to her side. He sank onto the step and wrapped her in his arms. She pressed her face against his shirt, her body heaving with sobs. “What is it, girl? What’s happened?”
Rose didn’t speak. She only turned her head toward a grassy clearing on the far side of a new chicken coop. Following the line of her gaze, he saw the metal pen with four lifeless, bloodstained, white forms lying inside. They were lambs, barely old enough to wean. His first thought was that some animal, like a coyote, had gotten into the pen and savaged them. But then he realized that their throats had been cut.
Rose was a tough little woman. But she must have loved those fool animals, because she was devastated. He cradled her close, kissing her hair and rocking her like a child.
“Who could’ve done this? Did you see anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I was asleep. But Bull hates sheep. He threatened to kill them if I didn’t get rid of them. I know it was him.”
* * *
Tanner sent Rose inside the trailer and ordered her to stay while he got a shovel and started digging a pit beyond the fence. Could Bull Tyler really have killed those lambs? Tanner had heard that Bull had a ruthless side, but the man he’d met a few weeks ago had struck him as a gentleman and a caring friend to Rose. It didn’t make sense that he would commit such a brutal act.
He would finish burying the lambs. Then he would go and talk to Bull. There had to be some explanation for what had happened here.
Tanner had dug the pit about a third of the way down when Rose joined him, dressed in her old clothes and carrying a short-handled shovel. Without a word, she stepped in beside him and began to dig.
“You don’t have to do this, Rose,” Tanner said. “Go sit down, or go back to the trailer.”
She looked at him, her bloodshot eyes blazing with silent rage. “If you hadn’t come by, I’d be doing this by myself,” she said. “Let’s finish this together. Then you can take me to talk to Bull.”
“Are you sure he did this?” Tanner thrust his shovel into the sandy earth. “Could it have been somebody else?”
Rose shook her head. “Bull said that if the lambs wandered off the property they’d be target practice. He must’ve decided not to wait. As for it being somebody else, look at the chickens. They weren’t touched. Ber
nice gave me those chickens. Bull would’ve known better than to hurt them. Anybody just wanting to harass me would have killed the chickens, too.”
“Let me go alone and talk to him, Rose. You’re upset. You’ll only make things worse.”
