He lifted the man slightly and looked underneath, then gently lowered him. “There’s a rock with blood on it there.” He pointed. “And blood on the back of his shirt. I’d say stabbed, maybe shot, but I’m not a medical examiner.” He looked around. The ranch was quiet. There should have been guests moving around, staff working on evening chores, the sound of food preparation in the kitchen.

“What is it?” She was scratching her neck and staring intently at his expression.

He reached for his holstered pistol. “Darby, I have no idea what’s going on, but I want you to stay close to me, okay?” He kept his gaze on the surroundings and felt, more than saw, her nod.

The wind bent the tops of the pines, sounding like distant traffic. The rapping of a woodpecker was followed by the scratchy rac-rac-rac of a Steller’s jay.

The big draft horse sidestepped away from the smell of blood. “Bram—”

“Shhhhh.”

“Look at the dogs.”

Both Maverick and Holly were running back and forth, sniffing the ground. Then they took off toward the barn.

He waved her behind him, then led the way. They entered the side door open to the horse pasture. Inside, Bram held up his hand and listened. He couldn’t hear the dogs. He helped Darby with the straps and buckles on the Belgian’s harness, then removed the heavy collar. He left her to unbridle and turn the horse loose in the pasture while he examined each stall. At the last one, he stopped.

“Here’s another one.”

Darby joined him. “Who is it?”

“One of the workers, a maintenance man from West Yellowstone. I never caught his name.” He moved over to the man and checked for signs of life. “Looks like he was struck on the head, just like the wrangler, then stabbed or maybe shot as well.” When he straightened, he expected to see Darby on the verge of collapse. Instead her jaw had tightened and her eyes narrowed.

“How many people were here when we left?” she asked.

Bram placed the broken brake handle inside his belt to free his hands. “The staff, maybe four or five of them. Roy, Wyatt, Angie, Cookie . . . the remaining art students . . .”

“Grace, Stacy, and Peter. And where did Liam go? We’d better find them.” Without a word, she headed out of the barn.

Bram ran to catch up with her. “We need to stay together. Whoever did this could be out there . . . waiting.”

*  *  *