Page 10 of Death Valley

“I can tell. I just didn’t expect this search party to expand so quickly. Is it just the weather that’s an issue up there? The terrain? Wild animals?”

His smile fades slightly. “Something like that. Shall I show you to your quarters?”

5

AUBREY

The guest cottage sits at the edge of the ranch property, a small craftsman that mirrors the main house’s style but feels newer. Inside, it’s all knotty pine and leather furniture, decorated with old flannel blankets, a steer skull above the stone fireplace, old-timey paintings of cattle and cowboys on the walls.

I drop my duffel bag by the bedroom door and check my phone. No service, which I expected. The cottage has wi-fi though, and when I connect, I have an email from Diana asking where I am. I ignore that for now.

The bedroom is small but comfortable, with a queen bed covered in a patchwork quilt. The bathroom is surprisingly modern, with a glass-walled shower and heated floors. Someone’s stocked it with high-end toiletries—not what I expected from a working ranch. Then again, a lot about Lost Trail Ranch doesn’t fit my expectations.

I unpack, my fingers trailing over my gun that I quickly stuck into a zipped compartment at the bottom of the bag. I brought practical things—jeans, boots, flannel shirts—but now I wonder if any of it is truly suitable for horseback riding in the mountains.I know the temperatures can swing wildly up there, especially in October, but from the way Jensen was acting you’d think the mountains were covered in deep snow already. Thank god I had the foresight to grab my knit cap and puffer jacket before I left my apartment this morning.

The sun is getting low, painting the mountains in shades of gold and purple. I step out onto the cottage’s small porch, breathing in the fresh pine scent and rub my arms at the rapidly chilling air. From here I can see most of the ranch spread out below—the barn where horses are being led in for the night, the main house with its lights starting to come on, another low house beyond that, the paddocks where that red stallion is still running circles. Occasionally I hear a drawn-out moo of cattle, which indicates the ranch’s herd is beyond the trees somewhere.

Jensen is nowhere in sight.

The breeze picks up, carrying the smell of wood smoke. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote calls. Despite the peaceful scene, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Maybe it’s the way the shadows are lengthening across the yard, or how the mountain peaks loom against the darkening sky, but something about this place sets my teeth on edge.

I’m about to head inside when Eli appears on the path. He tips his hat to me.

“Evening, Aubrey. Thought you might be hungry,” he says, climbing the porch steps. “Jensen’s cooking tonight. He doesn’t do it often, but when he does…” He trails off with a smile that seems genuine enough. “I don’t think you should miss out.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to impose,” I tell him.

“No imposition. It’s an invitation. Besides, you should get to know the crew if we’re heading into the mountains together. Unless you’d rather eat alone? I could bring you a basket.”

The invitation seems innocent enough, but there’s something in his expression, concern maybe, or wariness, that makes mecurious. “That won’t be necessary. I would love to join you. Lead the way.”

The main house is warmer than I expected, filled with the smell of garlic and rosemary. Eli leads me through a mudroom where boots are lined up with military precision, past a formal dining room that looks unused, and into a large open-plan kitchen.

Jensen stands at a commercial-grade range, sleeves rolled up to show forearms corded with muscle. With his hat off, his dark hair flops across his forehead and there’s a dish towel thrown over one shoulder. The domesticity of the scene catches me off guard.

“Hope you like lamb,” Jensen says without looking up.

Red lounges at the kitchen island, drinking beer and watching Jensen cook with obvious amusement. “City girl probably prefers tofu,” he says under his breath.

“I eat whatever’s put in front of me,” I say, which makes Cole snort from his position by the window. He’s cleaning his nails with a pocketknife, the blade catching the light. Hank doesn’t seem to be here, which is a blessing. That man made me more uneasy than the rest.

“Pull up a chair,” Eli says, grabbing plates from a cabinet. The kitchen feels lived-in, everything well-used but organized. Copper pots hang from a rack, and there’s a row of cast iron skillets on the wall, seasoned to a perfect black shine.

I take a seat at the island, deliberately leaving an empty stool between me and Red. Jensen slides a bottle of beer my way, but I shake my head. “No thanks. Could I trouble you for some water?”

His eyebrow ticks up slightly, but he doesn’t comment as he fills a glass with water from the tap and places it in front of me.

“So, what brought you to Truckee?” Red asks, his drawl somehow sharper than before. “You come here just for Jensen?”

I nod slowly. “Read about him online this morning. Drove straight here.”

“Just like that?” Cole says roughly. “No research? No checking references?”

I meet his stare. “There wasn’t much to be found. Anyway, when you’ve been looking for someone as long as I have, you learn to trust your instincts.”

“And what do your instincts tell you about us?” Red’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Before I can answer, Jensen sets a steaming dish on the island. The lamb is perfectly seared, nestled on a bed of roasted vegetables. My stomach growls embarrassingly loud. I’d barely eaten today and suddenly my hunger feels borderline insatiable.

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