“You’re going to be okay, buddy,” I whisper. “Just a couple more stitches.”

Randy—no stage name yet, since he’s just a calf—gives a grunt of displeasure, but doesn’t move. The wound is clean and well-numbed, but it can’t feel great to have me tugging on his foreleg like this.

On the other side of the fence, his mother paces. Tammy—who’s still wearing her halter that says Dasher—stamps a hoof in the dirt and bangs her antlers on the gate. “Don’t worry, Mama,” I soothe. “We’re taking good care of him.”

Amber bends low over Randy and strokes the little guy’s nose. “Hang in there, sweetie,” she whispers. “You’re doing great.”

Brandon stops pacing behind Amber and moves toward the gate to pet Tammy. She’s having none of it. All she wants is to be with her calf. Brandon gives up and returns to my side as I fix the last stitch.

“There.” I sit back on my heels and nod at my sister. “You can let go of him now.”

Amber stands up and dusts her hands on her jeans. She helps me set Randy back on his feet, then turns to Brandon. “Thanks for putting that padlock on the gate.”

He nods, brow furrowed. “It’s a short-term fix. I wish I could do more.” He shakes his head, gaze still fixed on Amber. “I can’t believe you went after a cougar with a goddamn BB gun. And I thought your sister was a badass.”

“My sister is a badass,” Amber says, shaking her head. “She would have been smart enough to grab the damn .357 instead of the stupid BB gun and actually hit the cougar instead of the trees.”

“No one died.” I say it to reassure myself as much as anyone, though honestly I’m not sure who I mean. Randy? The cougar? Less death is always a good thing, but right now I’m too terrified to feel grateful.

Randy takes a few timid steps, and I watch his gait to make sure he’s moving okay. The sutures are clean and even, and I’m grateful I know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to repairing broken animals. Getting someone else out here at four in the morning would have been impossible, especially when every second counts.

Randy takes a few wobbly steps toward the pen where Tammy paces. His footing seems steady, and I say a silent prayer there’s no internal damage. No wounds I can’t see. He seems okay, but I want a second opinion.

“Thank God this is the one morning we’re closed to the public,” I murmur. “I can take him in for x-rays as soon as the clinic opens.”

“He looks good,” Amber says, her voice a little shaky. “Is it okay to reunite him with his mama?”

I nod. “Yeah. It might even help.”

The rising sun glints off Amber’s hair as she swings open the gate to the holding pen. Tammy hurries over to greet her calf, nuzzling the side of his face as she inspects every inch of him. She licks and nudges, snuffing at Randy until she seems satisfied he’s okay.

Amber trudges back to my side. “I’m glad it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

“And I’m glad you didn’t die.” I drag her into a forceful hug, my heartbeat slowing for the first time in an hour. “I still can’t believe you went after a damn cougar,” I growl into her hair. “You could have been killed. What the hell were you thinking?”

My sister shakes her head and pulls back. Tears glitter in her eyes, but she doesn’t cry. “I didn’t think. I heard the scream, and I had to do something.”

“You did good, kid,” I tell her. “You saved his life. Probably other reindeer’s lives, too.”

Brandon clears his throat behind us. “No one else is hurt?”

I shake my head, hardly believing it myself. “Cougars go for the weakest member of the herd.” I grit my teeth against an unexpected wave of anger. It’s not directed at the cougar, though. “The cougar probably watched for a long time, looking for who was the weakest. Who’d be the best target.”

Is that how it was in high school? Did someone spot weakness in me and go for the kill?

You’re not weak now. Not anymore.

Sometimes, I’m not so sure.

I turn and begin packing away medical supplies, conscious of Brandon right behind me. “We can’t be pissed at the cougar,” I mumble. “He was just following instinct. Looking for dinner.”

“Right, but that’s what we have gates for,” Amber says. “And high fences. So they can’t treat the herd like a breakfast buffet.”

I slam my medical kit shut and stand up. “This is bullshit.” I turn to Brandon, conscious of my hands balling into fists at my side. “You’re right. Your theory that someone’s doing this on purpose? I know you’re right.”

“I don’t want to be right,” he says. “I want this to stop.”

“So do I.”

Amber frowns beside me. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Brandon thinks someone’s doing this on purpose,” I say. “Someone who wants to hurt us or shut us down or—”

“Who would do something like that?” she demands. She looks at Brandon, and they exchange an uneasy glance.

“I don’t know,” I say.

Brandon’s jaw tightens as he shuffles his feet in the dirt. “What about installing video cameras?”

“How long would something like that take?” I ask.

He rubs a hand over his chin. “Let me make some calls. I’ve got a cousin who’s an electrician.”

“Sean?”

“No.”

“Bree?”

“No.”

“How many damn cousins do you have?”

“Enough,” he says, looking grim. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Jade. I promise.”

I love that he said “we.” That he sees us as a team, and that we’re on the same side. He takes a step closer and opens his arms like he’s not sure what else to do. I move into them, letting myself sag into an embrace that’s warm and solid and comforting. He smells like the hay bale he was sitting on earlier, and I can feel his heartbeat through the thick down of his jacket.

Amber clears her throat behind me. “I’m going to go make some breakfast,” she says. “I’ll make enough for you and Wonder Boy if you want.”

She turns and trudges out of the pasture, her footsteps crunching on frozen wood chips. I close my eyes and breathe in the cedary scent of Brandon’s jacket.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

I draw back from the hug, but keep my hands on his chest, not ready to lose contact just yet. “I’m okay. Pretty shaken,” I admit. “But it could have been worse.”

“So you believe me now,” he says. “That someone’s doing this on purpose?”

I nod, hating it that he’s right. Hating the sour taste in the back of my throat. “Things seemed mostly harmless up until now, but this.” I take a hand off his chest and gesture to the pasture. “She could have killed someone.”

“She?”

It’s not until he repeats the word back to me that I realize what I’ve said, or that I’m picturing Stacey Fleming’s face in my mind.

“Or he,” I amend. “It could be anyone.”

Brandon’s brow furrows, but he lets that pass. “Maybe we should make a list,” he says. “Come up with all the names we can think of and then go to the police.”

I frown, not sure I like that idea. “That’ll make me popular,” I mutter. “Going to the cops with a big list of community members I’d like to wrongly-accuse of crimes?”

“It’s not a popularity contest, Jade,” he says. “It’s your livelihood.”

“I know that,” I tell him. “But my livelihood depends on people not despising me. Or at least keeping the hatred to a minimum so they spend their money out here.”

Our voices have grown tense, and Brandon reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my face. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get some food. We can talk about this later.”

“Good idea.”

We’ve taken two steps up the path when the crunch of gravel punctures the silence. An engine’s rumble grows louder, and I turn to see a big white pickup lurching up the driveway. The logo for Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife glints on the door panel, and I stare at the ODFW lettering before shifting my gaze to the driver.

Matthew Lerten, a year ahead of me in school. He was one of the sophomores who stole my clay pig, and I wonder if he remembers. I’d heard through the grapevine that he’d been hired by ODFW, but I haven’t worked with him. He must be low man on the totem pole to be out here this early, and I brace myself for unpleasant news.

As he slams the truck door and saunters toward us, I’m hit with another flash of memory. Sophomore year. Matthew was a junior by then, and with Brandon already off at basic training, Matthew was the rising star of the school.

I never knew who slid slices of raw ham through the slits of my locker, leaving them to fester over spring break. I only knew the accompanying note that read, “Oink oink!” was scrawled on the same blue notebook paper I’d seen Matthew use in math class.

“Morning,” Matthew says.

He’s looking at Brandon, not me, and I don’t realize my hands are clenched until Brandon reaches for one. I uncurl a fist so he can lace his fingers through mine, but he steps forward to greet Matthew instead.

“Yo, Brown,” Matthew calls as he ambles up the driveway with his gaze fixed on Brandon. “Heard you were back in town. Didn’t know you were doing this.”

I’m not sure what “this” is meant to encompass. The job? Me? I shouldn’t leap to judgment, but the memory of festering ham and the fact that Matthew has yet to glance my way sets me on edge. I grit my teeth and order myself not to say anything I might regret.

“You’re lookin’ good, my man.” Brandon says as the two of them exchange one of those complicated male handshakes that ends with body-jarring shoulder slug. “What can I do for you?”

I grit my teeth harder as irritation swells. This is my property, my ranch. There’s no reason a Fish and Wildlife officer would show up here to shoot the shit with an old teammate. Matthew’s here for a reason, and it has nothing to do with Brandon.

As though reading my thoughts, Matthew shifts his gaze to me. His frat boy grin turns to a leer, and he gives me the first nod of acknowledgment I’ve gotten since his arrival. “I need to talk to Jade here,” he says. “We’ve got a problem.”

Four words no keeper of exotic livestock wants to hear from ODFW. I force myself to hold eye contact, wondering if it’s a help or a hindrance having Brandon here right now. The last thing I want is to look weak. Like the kind of woman who can’t handle things herself. I won’t give Matthew the chance to smell blood in the water.

I open my mouth to respond, but Brandon beats me to it. “What’s the problem?”

Matthew takes his eyes off me, seemingly relieved to deal with his teammate instead. “Well, it seems Jade here hasn’t renewed her Non-Native Cervid Holding License with ODFW,” he says. “These here Rangifer Tarandus could be a threat to native wildlife, according to ORS 496.021.”

He just butchered the pronunciation of every scientific term in that accusation, not to mention rattling off the wrong policy number. But those are the least of my concerns.

“That is absolutely not true!” I glare at Matthew, too annoyed by the false accusation to feign demure innocence. “I sent the forms by certified mail more than three weeks ago.”

Brandon glances over at me with a warning look. For what? This is my fucking ranch, my livelihood.

He turns back to Matthew with his nice guy smile pasted in place. “Look, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Brandon says. “Jade’s had a few wonky things happening out here on the ranch, and we’re actually starting to suspect someone’s trying to mess with her. Maybe that’s something we should be looking into?”

I grit my teeth, not liking the direction this has just taken.

Matthew adjusts his ODFW logoed ball cap and frowns at me. “That true, Jade? We got more than just a small problem here?”

I know damn well he doesn’t care. My relationship with ODFW has been touchy since the first day I filed for permits to open this place. Reindeer aren’t like cattle or sheep that authorities know how to regulate, and it’s been a learning process for all of us.

I order myself to keep breathing, to speak calmly and rationally. “There’s no pro—”

“Actually, Matthew, we’re thinking we might need to file a police report,” Brandon interrupts. “Maybe you could give us a hand getting the ball rolling?”

I’m so pissed I can’t see straight. Who the hell does Brandon think he is? The last thing I need right now is a bunch of cops swarming around this place. In a town this small, gossip spreads like herpes. If locals think there’s something wrong with the reindeer or the ranch or me, there might as well be. It’ll kill our business in the few days left before Christmas.

“Everything’s fine,” I snap. “Matthew, I have extra copies of the licensing paperwork. I even kept a copy of the certified mail receipt. I’ll bring all of it down to the ODFW office as soon as it opens today.”

I hope like hell it’s that easy. My duplicate copies went missing a week ago, but we should have backups. I’m meticulous about paperwork, and I need Matthew to believe that so he gets the hell off my property.

“I dunno,” Matthew says, scratching his chin. “It’s past the deadline now. I’m not sure I can—”

“Hey,” Brandon interrupts, directing his attention at Matthew. “Did I hear Austin Dugan is the chief of police now?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Matthew nods and looks at Brandon again. “You seen him since you got back to town?”

“Nah, but I’ve been meaning to give him a call.” Brandon leans against my fencepost like he’s chilling against a bank of lockers after a game, legs stretched out in front of him like he owns the place. “Maybe we can go grab a beer, catch up on old times.”

Matthew snorts and gives a mean little laugh. “You remember that time Austin and me pantsed Ziegler in the locker room?” He hoots with laughter, spittle gathering in the corner of his mouth. “Drake held him down and those two linemen—what were their names?”

“You mean Bollinger and Casey?” Brandon laughs. It’s an uneasy laugh, not as booming as Matthew’s, but still a laugh. “God, those guys were ruthless.”

“Yeah, remember how Pavlock squealed like a little girl when—”

“Look, I’m going to get back to work.” My voice breaks through their chatter like a whip crack, and they both snap their attention to me. I straighten my shoulders and stare right back. “You guys can keep doing your little trip down memory lane if you like, but I have things to do.” I take a few steps away, but keep my eyes on them. I’m not willing to turn my back. I just want distance between us, a space between me and the brittle laughter that’s making my skin itch.

“Aw, c’mon, Jade,” Matthew says. “You got a problem with squealing?”

He’s baiting me, I know. Reminding me of the Miss Piggy taunts. There’s a flicker of confusion in Brandon’s eyes, but his shit-eating grin doesn’t waver. He’s still playing the game, still hell-bent on being chummy with his teammate.

My vision clouds with red, and I blink hard to clear it. “I’ll bring by the paperwork later today,” I say. “You can show yourself off my property now.”

Matthew’s expression darkens, and Brandon’s isn’t too friendly, either. I don’t care. And I don’t wait for permission to go. I turn and march toward the house, keeping my shoulders square, my head high. Laughter rings behind me, echoing through the pasture. I don’t know the source of it, but the sound is like fingernails on a chalkboard.

By the time I reach the house, I’m breathing hard. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, along with the taunting memories.

Look at Miss Piggy go!

Hey, Little Piggy—you want some of this slop?

I’ll give you something that’ll make you squeal.

Tears streak down my face by the time I get the door open, but I’m too fucking mad to be crying. I swipe the tears away, stomping off snow in the entryway before yanking my boots hard enough to jar an ankle. I kick them aside and march up the stairs in my socks, heels pounding on the battered treads.

“Jade?” my sister calls as I stomp toward the kitchen. “Is that you? I’ve got Dutch babies in the oven and sausage in the—”

She freezes when she sees my face, her smile dissolving like sugar in a jar of vinegar. “What happened?”

“ODFW,” I said. “Matthew Fucking Lerten says we missed the deadline for license renewal. You know damn well I put that paperwork in the mail. You watched me do it.”

“You sent it certified, I know.” Amber grips her spatula tighter. “What’s going on?”

I shake my head, feeling furious and lost and hurt and a whole lot of other emotions I can’t possibly name.

“I have no idea, but Brandon’s out there yakking it up with him like this is some kind of football team reunion,” I growl. “Give them another ten minutes, and they’ll be setting up the barbecue out there.”

A wave of guilt floods my chest, and I know I might be exaggerating. It’s not like Brandon was called upon to take sides. But the sting of shame in my throat is stronger than guilt. Shame I haven’t felt for years, not since graduation day. Not since I learned to stand on my own damn feet.

“It’ll be okay, right?” Amber asks. “You can fix this.”

I don’t know if she’s talking about the licensing or something else. That something else is brewing hot and fierce in my chest. I don’t answer her, not sure whether to stay here and problem-solve, or to go upstairs and take a cold shower. Maybe I just need to calm down.

Before I can do anything, a door slams at the front of the house, and footsteps rattle up the stairs. Brandon charges in, looking equal parts annoyed and confused.

“What the hell just happened out there?” he demands. “What got into you?”

“What got into me?” I repeat, blood pressure rising high enough to make my head throb. “Let’s see, the guy I’m sleeping with just took the side of some jackass loser from ODFW who’s trying to discredit me. That’s what got into me.”

Brandon stares like he’s not sure which part of that to respond to first. “I wasn’t taking sides,” he says slowly. “I was trying to earn you some good credit with ODFW, since you seemed so determined to be pissy with him.”

“I don’t need your help, Brandon!” I slam a hand on the counter, wondering how he could be so dense. “And I sure as hell don’t need any special favors from your goon squad!”

From the corner of my eye, I see Amber wince. I know I should try to calm down, but I’m too mad right now to do that.

“Look,” I tell him. “We’re just a few days from Christmas, and the last thing I need right now is trouble with ODFW. I can’t risk anything that could jeopardize our ability to operate, or to get the permits I need to take reindeer on the road for events.”

Brandon frowns. “And you think being bitchy to Matthew is going to help?”

I smack the counter again. “Well, spilling all our problems to him or to your cop buddy sure as hell isn’t!”

“So you’re just going to ignore it?”

“No!” I snap. “I’m dealing with it. I’ve got the paperwork handled, and I’ll decide for myself whether to go to the cops and which cop to talk to. I sure as hell don’t need your asshole teammates out here—”

“Asshole teammates?” He folds his arms over his chest and stares me down. “You’re talking about people I grew up with. Friends of mine. What exactly is your problem with them?”

I glare at him, wondering if he’s daring me to say it. If I want to put it out there. “They’re a bunch of small-minded jerks, okay?”

“I see,” he says slowly. “And is that what you think of me, too?”

I don’t respond right away. It’s not that I think he’s a small-minded jerk. It’s that I need to take a few breaths before responding so I calm the fuck down and don’t say anything I’ll regret.

Amber clears her throat. “Look,” she says calmly, clasping her oven mitts in front of her. “Maybe we should all just take a step back and chill. We’re in this together, right?”

Brandon glances at her, then snaps his eyes back to me. “I don’t know, Jade. Is this a team thing, or are you going to shut me out?”

I drag my hands down my face, torn between wanting to play nice and needing him to know that I won’t stand by and let Matthew Lerten or any of the world’s bullies rule my life. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.

But one thing I do know is that this is all coming at the worst possible time.

“I don’t have the bandwidth for this,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’m up to here with Christmas stress right now. I can’t breathe or think straight, and I have so much to do I can’t sleep. I just—I can’t handle this right now, okay? This isn’t what I signed on for and—”

It takes me a second to realize Brandon’s face has turned to granite. He’s staring at me with his jaw clenched, not saying anything at all. He’s so quiet even Amber starts to shift uncomfortably.

“I should go,” my sister says. “Leave you two alone for a minute.”

“No, I should go.” Brandon stares at me for two more breaths, his knuckles white where he’s gripping the counter. “I think we’re done here.”

And without another word, he turns and walks away.