He waved at John, who was in the machinery garage replacing belts on a tractor. Brett and Thad drove off in the Gators, leaving room for Mason to back his truck up to the shed. In silence, he and Colt loaded the box with hay and alfalfa.
“Did you suspect Brett before we ran into Gus yesterday?” Mason asked without looking as he lifted another bale. Just the idea of questioning Brett’s loyalty sent a sliver of guilt through him. He was his sister’s husband, his brother-in-law, and a ranch hand, and Brett had never once given any kind of indication that he wasn’t on board with how Mason ran the ranch. Trina had certainly never said anything that would make him question Brett either.
“Yep,” Colt replied without hesitation. “I suspect everyone. I know you don’t like the idea that anyone who lives or works here could be out to get you, but everyone is a suspect until no one is.”
“I hate thinking that about anyone here,” Mason grumbled, even as he felt more and more that it was a possibility.
“I know you do,” Colt said with compassion in his voice. “That’s why I’m here.”
Mason frowned at the reminder. Colt was here for a job, not for him, no matter what had happened the last few days or how things would be now that they were on solid ground again. It would serve him well to remember that.
“He certainly has the means,” Mason agreed reluctantly. “He lives here, knows where the cameras are, and of course, he’s my brother-in-law, so no one would suspect him. But why?”
“Love or money,” Colt answered matter-of-factly. “Those are the most common motives behind crimes.”
Mason snorted. “I can’t see how either of those things could be the drivers. He has my sister for love, earns a good living here, and really has no expenses. I can’t see how money would be the issue.”
“But what happens to the ranch if something were to happen to you?” Colt paused, the muscles in his biceps and forearms bulging as he held a bale of hay and looked pointedly at Mason.
The answer to that question had danced around in the back of his mind since Gus planted the seed, but he’d shoved it down every time. He didn’t want to think that his family, or his staff, could live such a good life here but still be so greedy they would hurt him to take what he had. They all had it. Sure, his name was on the deed, but his ranch was for everyone to enjoy. He swallowed thickly.
“It transfers to the next oldest living sibling.”
“Right.” Colt’s words were sharp and tight, as if they tasted sour. “In the event of your death, the ranch passes down to Trina and, by marriage, to Brett. He stands to gain the entire property, free and clear.”
Mason stood silent for a few seconds before hefting up another bale. “But Trina would never let him sell off chunks of this land. It’s been in the family for three generations, and she loves it.”
“We don’t know what goes on in anyone’s marriage, Mase.” Colt tossed the hay onto the truck and wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “What we see on this side of closed doors isn’t always the same behind them.”
Mason conceded that Colt had a point, but he wasn’t about to voice it. He flat-out refused to believe that could be what was happening. Especially where his sister was concerned.
With the truck loaded, Mason closed the tailgate, and when he opened the door to climb into the cab, furballs of black, white, and blue flashed past him. His breath caught, startled by Marley and Diesel, who’d come out of nowhere to hop into the truck. He shook his head and huffed a laugh at the two goofs. They never missed a chance to go out to the pastures with him.
Mason got in and shut the door, but Colt stood on the other side with the passenger door open. He was grinning at the dogs and then raised a “what do I do” look at Mason.
“Come on, you two.” Mason gently shoved at Diesel, who was closest to him. “You two get in the back.”
The dogs obediently crawled into the small back seat of the cab, and Colt hopped in. Brett and Thad would start with the farthest pastures and work backward, so he headed for the closer, smaller enclosures. They’d meet up in the middle somewhere so Mason could get an update on the horses they’d checked. The daily feeding included herd checks to make sure the mustangs were all accounted for, as well as get eyes on them to ensure they were all healthy and sound. It was a big part of the day, what with the largest herd moved to a five-thousand-acre section for summer grazing.
“I am concerned about how much animosity there is toward you from the Bristows.” Colt picked up their conversation from the hay shed. “Whether Brett has anything to do with them or not.”
“Gus is an asshole,” Mason agreed. “His sons are worse, especially Gentry. Actually, Grayson, the youngest, isn’t allthatbad, but I don’t think any of them would resort to death threats.”
“You never know,” Colt said as he rolled down his window. “No one ever suspected little old Dorothea Puente.”
“Who?”
“She ran a boarding house in California back in the early 1980s and murdered her boarders for their Social Security checks. She was in her fifties.”
“No way.” Mason shook his head. “Some sweet little old lady was a serial killer?”
Colt nodded. “Not so sweet. News outlets called her the Death House Landlady.”
Mason whistled, and the dogs perked up. “Guess you never know.”
“Which is why I always say everyone is a—”
“—suspect until no one is,” Mason finished his sentence.
