5. Kat

FIVE

Kat

Life was hard after Ben's death.

I guessed that was normal…life was always hard after a loved one died, right? But with the weight of the ranch and now raising a preteen girl on my shoulders, it was worse. Overnight, I'd gone from being a single woman with my whole life ahead of me, to being a single substitute mom with the burden of a failing ranch.

I didn't know if I would survive it.

I'd been avoiding the post office for weeks, but I knew I eventually had to deal with what I knew was waiting…and somehow, it was still worse. With each envelope I plucked from my PO box, the weight grew heavier—overdue bills, final warnings.

They were badges of my failures.

Ben had counted on me to take care of Livy when he was gone. I was failing her.

I was failing myself.

I shuffled through the envelopes, the numbers and red letters blurring together. Ben's death had hollowed me out, left me grappling with the remnants of a life cut short. I should have been starting that new job in Texas, but instead, I was here, drowning in dust and debt on a ranch too big for one person to handle. Livy needed me, though, and I couldn't abandon her—not now, not ever.

A slip of paper fluttered to the floor—a contrast to the colorful barrage of overdue notices. No name, no address, just a block of typed text. I peered at it, turning it over in my hands…and my stomach lurched as I read the words.

It's time to sell, or there will be consequences.

My hands shook as I gripped the note, a chill slicing through me that had nothing to do with the fall weather.

Someone was watching us, waiting, ready to pounce.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice a little too sharp as I approached the counter. The guy there, Hank, with a name tag that screamed "I'm new here," fidgeted and looked up.

"Something I can help you with?"

I held the note out like it was evidence in a trial. "Have you seen anyone odd hanging around? Someone who might've slipped this into my PO box?"

Hank squinted at the paper before shaking his head. "No, ma'am. It's quiet here, mostly just folks coming in for their packages and leaving."

"Right." I tucked the note into my jean pocket, my mind racing. "Thanks."

Quiet was one thing Silver Ridge had always been, and that quiet had always felt safe. But as I left the post office, the quiet streets seemed dangerous. It had been quiet the day Ben had been shot, too…and now he was dead, and someone was watching us.

The sheriff's office was just down the street, a beacon of supposed safety in our small town. I pushed through the door, my boots tapping an impatient rhythm on the floor.

"Sheriff Callahan?" I called out, not caring for formalities or pleasantries. The police department was tiny—one room with a few desks, the sheriff's mixed in with the rest.

"Kat?" Callahan appeared from behind the desk cluttered with paperwork and half-empty coffee mugs. "What brings you in today?"

"This." I slapped the note onto the desk, the words screaming up at us both. "Someone left this in my mail. It's threatening, and I want to know what you're going to do about it."

Callahan picked up the note, reading it with a furrowed brow. He didn't look nearly as freaked out as I felt. "Calm down, Kat. We'll look into it. Could be some kids pulling a prank."

"Seriously?" I scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Since when do kids threaten folks to sell their land? Look, Ben's death stirred up a lot of talk, but this is something else. This is personal and dangerous."

He shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable under my glare. He should have been uncomfortable—they'd dismissed Ben's death as an accident, despite my arguments otherwise. Now, it looked like whoever had killed Ben was back. "We'll keep an eye out, Kat. It's likely someone trying to scare you because they think you're alone now."

"Think? No, Sheriff, they know I'm alone," I snapped, the frustration boiling over. "And I'm telling you, dropping the ball isn't an option here. Not when it comes to my family's safety."

Callahan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I understand you're worried. We'll do a drive-by on your property, check things out. But try to stay calm. Getting worked up won't help."

I barked out a humorless laugh. "Easy for you to say."

I didn't wait for his response, I spun on my heel and stormed out.

The drive back to the ranch was a blur of grey dust and growling engine. Each mile closer to home, my thoughts raced faster. Livy. The ranch. The damn note. I slammed the truck into park so hard the gears groaned in protest, flung open the door, and jumped out before the engine had even died down.

I was still seething from my conversation with the sheriff as I approached the house, but the sight on the porch almost made me crack a smile. Owen, my ever-determined cousin, sat there with a look of sheer frustration on his face as he tried to win over Bandit with a rawhide treat. Bandit, loyal to a fault, only replied with a deep-throated growl.

"Hey, give it up, Owen. He's not going to be your friend today," I said, trying to inject some lightness into my voice.

"Damn dog is more stubborn than you are, Kat." Owen shook his head but smiled, tossing the treat onto the porch railing in defeat. Bandit snatched it up in a flash.

"Stubborn runs in the family. And don't take it personally; Bandit's been on edge since…you know." I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. The shooting that took Ben still felt like an open wound.

"Yeah, I know." Owen stood up, dusting off his jeans. "Why don't you take a break? I made some coffee."

"Sounds perfect," I sighed. "Inside, Bandit."

The dog glanced between Owen and me before reluctantly trudging inside. I followed him in, the scent of fresh coffee hitting me right away. I poured myself a cup and went back to the porch—but not before giving one more instruction to Bandit. "And no more growling at Owen, okay? He's family."

Bandit huffed, as if he understood perfectly but had his reservations about the whole situation.

Coffee in hand, Owen and I settled into the worn wooden chairs on the front porch. The warmth of the mug was comforting, a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to have permanently settled in my bones since Ben's passing. We sat in companionable silence until Owen cleared his throat.

"How are things around the ranch?"

Jesus…I didn't know how to answer that. Bad? Horrible? Intolerable?

I just shrugged and made a noncommittal hum. "We're managing," I said.

Owen didn't seem satisfied with that, his brow furrowing.

"Kat," Owen started, hesitant, his eyes tracing the grain of the wood on the porch before meeting mine. "I know what you said after the funeral, but…maybe it is time to sell the ranch. You've been carrying this all on your shoulders, and?—"

"Stop." My voice was firm, even as something inside me splintered at the suggestion. "I know it's hard. Hell, I know better than anyone. But this land…this is more than just soil and grass. It's our legacy. Ben bled for this place."

Owen's gaze softened, and he leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. "I get that. But sometimes, fighting doesn't mean clinging to what was. It can mean finding a new path forward."

I mulled over his words, the coffee forgotten in my hand. Memories flooded in—Ben laughing as he saddled up a horse, teaching me to ride when we were kids, his face alight with pride every time he spoke of the ranch's history.

"Ben never gave up," I whispered. "He kept it going through droughts, through the recession, through Mom and Dad's accident…through everything. This ranch has seen generations of Martins. It's not just land; it's where our family's roots are tangled deep. And I…I wasn't here when he needed me most. Like—I know I was here when he died, but before, when things started to spiral…I was off sowing my wild oats."

"Kat, you had your own life to live. Ben understood that."

"Did he?"

"Of course. But he'd also want you to be happy. And if running this place into the ground is gonna break you, then what's the point?"

"Because it's worth the fight. Because I owe it to him, to us," I said. "It's not about being happy, Owen. It's about honor. It's about family. And I'll be damned if I let go without a fight—in his memory, for our future."

Owen shrugged, the lines on his forehead deepening with a mix of concern and resignation. "All right, cousin. Just remember you're not alone in this." He got up, standing tall in his worn-out jeans. "But I gotta head out, got work piled up to my ears."

"Thanks for the coffee," I said, forcing a smile. I appreciated Owen's help, sure…but something about his attitude rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe Bandit was onto something.

"Anytime. Just…think on it, yeah?" He shrugged. "Don't let pride be your downfall, Kat."

With those parting words, he strode off. I sank back into my chair, alone with the weight of the ranch pressing down on me like the overcast sky threatening rain on an already sodden field. The silence was broken by the sound of the school bus rattling down the road, its engine fading as it dropped off its last passenger.

My niece, trudging up the drive like every step was a battle.

"Livy!" I called out, brushing the stress aside for her sake. As she approached, backpack slung over one shoulder, I stood and held up my mug. "How 'bout some hot chocolate?"

She offered a half-hearted smile, her face drawn and tired—too tired for a kid her age. It broke my heart seeing her like this, so I tried lightening the mood as I followed her into the house. "You should've seen Bandit today, trying to scare off Owen. That dog's got more bark than sense."

She glanced over her shoulder, expressionless. Bandit had come closer to her and whined softly, but she didn't so much as look at him.

"I'm good without hot chocolate, Aunt Kat. I've got homework to do anyway."

I bit my lip, trying to hide my concern. "Okay…just let me know when you're done, alright? Lasagna for dinner tonight."

She left without another word and I heaved a sigh, my own fatigue settling in. I needed another jolt of caffeine—something to keep me upright and thinking straight. I'd been doing as much investigating on my own as I could, sure…but managing a ranch, running a business, and trying to solve a murder all at once was a pretty damn hard juggling act.

After pouring myself another cup of coffee, I stepped back out onto the porch and sat back in my chair. I wrapped my hands around the mug, the warmth barely registering against the chill setting into my bones. As I stared out at the horizon where the sun dipped low, I tried to shove away the hopelessness clawing at my insides. The future was uncertain, and each passing day weighed heavier on me.

Maybe Owen was right. Maybe it was time to call it and sell.

Just then, the sound of tires on gravel snapped me out of my reverie. "Damn it, Owen, what now?" I muttered, half-expecting to see my cousin's truck coming back up the drive.

But it wasn't him.

The truck was old—a beater, with a Semper Fi bumper sticker on the rear window. I flashed back to that horrible day, Ben bleeding out in my arms as salvation steered toward us…

What the actual fuck was Gabe Mitchell doing at my house?

I glared at the invisible figure in the truck, a cloud of dust obscuring him until he got out. He stepped onto the gravel driveway and the sinking sun caught in his messy chestnut hair. The sight of him, all easy confidence and rugged edges, sent an unwelcome flutter through me.

I didn't want to have these stupid feelings for Gabriel fucking Mitchell.

"Stop it, Kat," I chided myself silently. It annoyed me how much he'd filled out—how much I liked the look of him in a t-shirt, with those tattooed arms all tan and muscled. There was something about him that made my heart race—a feeling I despised. It made me feel vulnerable and exposed, and I hated that more than anything.

Yet as he leaned against his truck, as if waiting for permission to approach, I couldn't help but stare.

"Can I help you? Or is standing there part of your daily workout routine?" The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but Gabe just being here, uninvited, was enough to put me on edge.

Gabe pushed off from his truck, a frown furrowing his brow. "Came to check on you."

"Check on me?" I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm fine. Thanks for the concern, but you can leave now."

He didn't budge. "How are you holding up, really?"

"Get off my land, Gabe," I snapped, not in the mood for small talk or whatever game he thought we were playing. His presence, so unwelcome yet so undeniably affecting, was the last complication I needed.

"Kat, I?—"

"Did I stutter? Leave—or I'll have to get the shotgun, and you can be damn sure I know how to use it."

And with that, I spun on my heel, storming back into the house before he could say another word. The door slammed behind me, echoing my frustration.

Alone again, with my racing heart and the heavy silence of the ranch, I leaned against the door, willing myself to forget the look in his eyes—concerned, yes, but something else too. Something that stirred a warmth in me no fall breeze could snuff out.

I'd missed Gabe in the weeks since Ben's death…and I didn't like that at all.