Wyatt’s pulse pounded with fury. Riding low, he nudged his heels into his horse and urged it faster. Behind him, Judd’s steed kicked up grass too.

He wasn’t about to let Brawley drive his cattle off his land. No how, no way. He’d paid for each of the steers, branded them, and invested hours into fattening and watching over them. Brawley couldn’t get away with this. And he had to know it. Anyone with eyes in his head would see Wyatt’s brand, the block Mc seared into the hide, and sort out which cattle belonged to him in no time.

Wyatt just prayed his pesky neighbor was doing nothing more than riling up the cattle and driving them into the foothills.

The setting sun cast shades of pink and purple all across the mountain peaks. Daylight was fast fading, and he and Judd wouldn’t have much time to round up the spooked herd before darkness fell.

“There!” Judd pointed to the northeast.

Wyatt squinted where Judd indicated, but he couldn’t make out anything but grassland, brush, and boulders. Doggone it all. He should have figured with the way Brawley was all-fired up that he’d find a way to make trouble.

When Judd pulled ahead and veered toward one of the boulders, Wyatt followed, only to have his heart plummet when he realized it wasn’t a boulder.

It was one of the steers. Down. On its side.

With growing horror, he glanced around to the other forms that at a distance had looked like large stones. Now up close he recognized them for what they were. His cattle.

Judd reached the nearest steer first and was already hopping to the ground by the time Wyatt stopped next to him. Judd knelt and placed a hand on the steer’s flank. But Wyatt didn’t need to dismount and examine the animal. The blood trickling out of the bullet hole in its head told Wyatt everything he needed to know.

Brawley and his cowpokes had killed his cattle. Every single one.

The prostrate bodies were scattered over the grassland. None of them moved, not even to twitch. The rage that had been rampaging through Wyatt’s veins faded away to nothing, leaving him strangely empty, except for the haunting chant: You were a failure, and you’ll always be a failure.

Ever since Greta’s arrival, he hadn’t been setting store by his past mistakes. He wasn’t exactly sure what about her caused the chant to disappear. Maybe her confidence in him and her confidence in herself made him believe everything would end up alright. Or maybe it was their partnership and the way they worked so well together in running the ranch.