Page 101 of The Mountain Echoes
I lead them across the yard, pointing out the feed lots, the cattle rotation plan, and the south pasture where we’ve just begun spring grazing. I walk them through our soil amendment logs, show them the mineral blocks, and explain our fly control practices.
Everything’s logged, tagged, and in compliance.
I’m starting to relax.
So far, everything’s by the book.
We head toward the older storage shed by the equipment barn—the one we rarely use.
One of the inspectors lags behind a moment, then calls out, “Ma’am?”
I turn.
“We’ve found something.”
What does he mean bysomething?
I’m already moving.
I had such hopes for today, and now the day has turned electric with panic.
The inspector is holding something in a clear zip bag.
I stop cold.
It’s a plastic container. Faded label. Bright red lid.
My stomach drops.
“What is that?” I ask, stepping up to him, though I already know.
The inspector looks at me, stern-faced. “This was discovered in a locked cabinet in your south equipment shed. It’s a synthetic pesticide. Non-organic. Not on your disclosures.”
“I’ve never seen that before.” Outwardly, I’m exuding serenity as if this happens all the time, but inside I’m freaking the fuck out. “We don’t use that. We’ve never stored chemicals like that—especially not near certified operations.”
The inspector’s expression shows his irritation. “You’re saying you didn’t know it was here?”
“I know it shouldn’t be here,andit wasn’t there when I last checked, which was just a week ago.”
None of the inspectors says a thing. They just keep taking notes.
Maverick’s truck pulls up, kicking up dust.
He climbs out and takes one look at my face, then the inspectors, and strides toward us.
“Hey, darlin’. How’s it goin’?” he asks. There’s a quiet, dangerous edge to him that I’m starting to learn.
I point to the container. “They…foundthatin our storage. Something I’ve never bought or used.”
Maverick frowns, leans in to look. “That’s a banned Class 2 pesticide. Gemma, there’s no way Aria would be careless enough to keep that near an organic lot.”
Of course, he knows all these people. He’s one of the wealthiest ranchers in Wildflower Canyon; they all probably pay homage to him.
Gemma purses her lips and shakes her head.
“I need to know who had access to that shed,” the inspector who found the pesticide interjects.
“Well…all of us,” I say.
