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that this land she’d come to love so damn much was taken care of properly.
    â€œLet’s drive this cow home to her friends, boys,” she called out. Determination coursing through her, she walked over to Gypsy and shoved her boot in the stirrup. “Let’s do the job we’ve been hired on to do, then go pay our last respects to our boss, our friend, and hand-to-God, one of the best men I’ve ever known, Everett Cavanaugh.”

Two
    Deacon exited the
Long Horn
and strode across the lawn to the long, metal garage that housed his cars. He was pleased to see that in the six weeks since he’d last been on the property, much had been done to the house and barns. All three were framed in, and as he was flying over, he’d seen fencing around the entire property. Next he’d have his guys get on a foreman’s house, working pens, guest cottages, a pool area, and maybe a landing strip. If they kept up this pace, in nine months he’d be spending his weekends in River Black.
    He tossed his bags into the back of the custom charcoal Dodge Ram Laramie he’d instructed his staff to have readied and waiting outside. It had been a few months since he’d been behind the wheel of the diesel engine and those stellar three hundred and fifty horses, and damn, he was looking forward to it. No matter how citified he’dbecome in the past ten years, in his heart and guts, he was one hundred percent country boy.
    He slipped the key into the ignition, felt and heard the engine roar to life all around him, then hit the gas. Dust and gravel kicked up behind him as he peeled away, leaving his new, uncomplicated property for the lush, spiteful ranch he’d once called home. The ranch he’d loved, then feared, then despised, then ran from, then tried to take control of. Shit, could this be it? Could the place of death and pain and cruelty finally be leveled to the ground?
    The air rushing into the Ram’s cabin was sweet and always so achingly familiar. It filled Deacon’s nostrils, entered his lungs, and wrapped around his guts, squeezing the hell out of him. That was the thing about River Black—no, about the Triple C. Beauty was plentiful and endearing, but it masked the secret evil that lay beneath all too well and all too easily. Surrounded by spring-fed lakes, rugged mountain crags, and lush, expansive rolling grasslands, the Triple C Ranch sighed with contentment and prospered—even under the weight of a twelve-year-old unsolved abduction and murder and its terrible aftermath.
    The dense memory of his little sister, Cass, assaulted him as he passed through the wrought-iron front gates of the Cavanaugh Cattle Company. Granted, the forever-thirteen-year-old girl wasalways near to his cold heart, her free and gentle spirit propelling him forward, reminding him of the vengeance he sought and the salvation he would soon find. The grand property spread out before him on both sides of the drive. Time had been kind to the Triple C. Fresh paint glistened on the well-kept fencing, the miles of grassland looked thick and fertile, and every structure he passed, or spied in the distance, appeared well appointed and well kept.
    His lip lifted in a sneer. How the hell could something that had seen a devastation like Cass’s death, then witnessed the subsequent cruelty by two grieving parents who believed their three remaining children to be responsible, blossom over the years? Shouldn’t it be rotting out like a Halloween pumpkin come spring? Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe her words to him in the months following Cass’s death all those years ago were true. Maybe he and James and Cole had been the true blight on this landscape, and now that they were gone, it could flourish.
    Well, he’d see soon enough if that were the case.
    About a mile in, Deacon passed the barns, both painted cherry red, both expanded to accommodate big equipment and at least two dozen horses.