The Ranch

It was a beautiful, sunny morning in Central Texas. The blue sky was bright and cloudless as the cicadas buzzed the signs of an early heat. Scout luxuriously stretched out on her oversized couch as she repeated out loud the last line of the book His Lost Queen. "I love you too. More than you'll ever know." (His Lost Queen, Annie Whipple).

Scout quietly sighed and exited the reading app, in awe of the werewolf romance book series she discovered on Factbook. She had never dreamed of becoming a fan of the standard young adult genre, but Annie Whipple's Kidnapped By My Mate series had captured her attention from the first sentence to the last. She read the book in secret from her best friend while taking breaks from her never-ending duties.

Scout, a single rancher and Army veteran, lived in west Central Texas with her best friend Kat on her 750-acre piece of paradise. 42-year-old Scout was beautiful, complex, and pragmatic. She was no-nonsense about her daily life and the lives of her animals. Known for being tough and talented, she intimidated the boys around her, resulting in few relationships and no prospects for marriage. Men were rare; good men were even rarer. She often joked that she wanted a man who was more of a man than she was. A soft spot for romance was secretly tucked deep within her heart.

Five-foot-six, with generous curves and long, reddish-brown hair, she turned heads wherever she went, especially if she was carrying her gun. Dresses or jeans, she had the confidence of a queen in anything she wore. Deep inside, she felt she wasn't good or pretty enough. Anxiety and PTSD, lingering gifts from her Army days, left her uncertain about herself and her decisions. No one knew her confidence wasn't genuine except Kat.

Kat, a year older, was also a veteran. A little shorter than Scout, Kat was all personality with an aura of adorable naivety. She bounced through life with a happy outlook. Strawberry blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face except when carelessly tossed in a messy bun. Her outward appearance showed no hint of her inward character strength or expertise. She also struggled with PTSD and had a TBI (traumatic brain injury) from a tour in Iraq.

They had been best friends since meeting in basic training over 20 years earlier. Having served multiple combat tours in the Middle East, they teamed up to start a new, second life on Scout's ranch, enjoying their retirement. Each had a two-bedroom/two-bath cabin with a connecting backyard and two connecting covered porches. The back porch faced west, toward the winding Lampasas River and the Hill Country, providing gorgeous sunsets. To the south was Bend and the Colorado Park, providing endless hiking and fun. Life was good, and they were happy.

Scout stood up and turned to her 200-lb. brindle bull mastiff, a rescue dog from a busted fighting ring. "Too bad alpha werewolves aren't real! I can't believe I have a book crush! I need to get out more! Come Blue, let's check on the goats. I guess you're my date today."

She smiled, giving her massive, happy, goofy dog a good scratch behind the ears. He happily wagged his tail in response, then chased his tail because it distracted him. Scout sighed and shook her head, laughing.

She slipped on her worn, black western ropers and grabbed her dusty, faded, purple cowgirl hat. When she bought her ranch with her VA loan, her parents gave her these gifts, and they were always close to her.

She strapped on her Smith & Wesson 9mm and headed out the door of her cabin, her massive mastiff in tow. She stopped for a moment to pet her fixed feral cat colony and then headed to the barn, lost in thought over the handsome alpha from the book. Now that was a man. Not paying attention, she tripped over a tiger-striped cat and landed on her face.

At that moment, her radio crackled and beeped, startling her. Kat was trying to reach her. Scout had assumed she was in the barn. She popped into a push-up, then got up with the ease of a 42-year-old trying to be 18.

"Hey Boss, what's your 20?"

"Heading to the barn to get Sackett and then to the goat yard."

"I need you over at the south watering hole. We've got a big problem."

Scout ran to the barn and instructed Blue to "stay". She quickly saddled up her mare, Sackett, and headed over to Fish Crik, the only year-round water source on her ranch. When she arrived, she saw Kat standing over the mutilated body of a longhorn. Her horse, Chantry, was peacefully grazing while Kat examined the body, trying to determine what had destroyed the 1,300-pound steer.

"Shit! Kat! What happened? Where is the rest of the herd?"

"I moved them over to the Point. I have no idea. Have you ever seen this level of tearing? Something tore this steer open right down the center. The entrails are gone. There are also wounds on the head, and two legs were destroyed while the steer was alive, according to the blood pattern. This steer suffered badly."

Kat was in tears during her report. She adored all the animals on the ranch and would have defended the steer with her life. Scout hired temporary help during butchering time and sent Kat on a paid vacation every year. Kat could handle it if needed, but Scout didn't see the point of making her best friend endure that. Other than her soft heart, Kat was a hell of a cattlewoman and rancher. She was also a strong person, usually full of laughter and joy. Usually.

Scout swore again and removed her hat, running her hands through her hair and disrupting her usually neat ponytail. Pieces of flesh and bone were everywhere, but not enough to constitute an entire steer. A good portion of the body was missing. The area was a mixture of tracks, both the steer and the predator, but the blood spatter mixed with the dirt made red mud that obscured any significant details. Barely discernible was the ranch brand. A capital S with a small "c" and "a" over it represented the Sacandaga Ranch. It was one of their precious longhorns.

"Head back, get the backhoe, and clear your head. I'm going to look around. This is crazy." Scout wiped away tears as she spoke, trying to comprehend what she saw.

Kat rode Chantry back to the barn to get the backhoe and have horse therapy. Coming across that steer was shocking. It was not Kat's first rodeo dealing with dead livestock, but she had never seen that level of destruction. Something tortured that animal before killing and eating it. Whatever it was had to be huge to take down a steer of that size.

While Kat was getting the backhoe to move the carcass, Scout attempted to track the predator that had destroyed her longhorn. She was ready to kill whatever had done it, but it would suffer first.

She found some partial prints in the mud, ill-defined and massive, more prominent than her two hands together. She pulled her gun, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to defend herself with such a small-caliber pistol. She tracked the predator as far as she could until the trail was gone in the rocky cliffs of the river. She dejectedly turned Sackett around, unaware that evil eyes were watching her.