speak to Sarah.
As soon as Weber left, Jackson led the small group back to the cottage to begin cleaning up.
âLooks like youâll need a new sofa and chairs,â he said to Sarah. âSome new curtains, too. Soon as you get time, weâll go into town and get whatever you need.â
She gazed up at him in surprise. âYouâre going to replace everything?â
âYou didnât think I would? What happened wasnât your fault.â
Sarah glanced away. âThank you.â
When she looked back at him, there was something in her face⦠It had never occurred to him that Sarahâs presence might have anything to do with the vandalism. Watching her now, he wondered.
Jackson made a mental note to call his brother,Devlin, have him do some digging. Dev owned a chain of security companies in the Southwest, including one in L.A. Mostly he managed them from his house in Scottsdale, close to the Phoenix branch. These days, his employees did most of the legwork, but Dev was still one of the best investigators in the business.
Jackson would ask Dev to sniff around, find out what he could about the young widow and her daughter.
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Dev wasnât home. His brother was off somewhere with one of his lady friends, or so Devlinâs Phoenix office manager said. Jackson wasnât surprised. A few years back, his youngest brother had suffered a bad breakup with the girl he planned to marry and since then, had become a dedicated bachelor.
âCan I take a message?â the manager asked.
âTell him Jackson called. Tell him I need to talk to him.â Jackson hung up the phone. Heâd get a return call sooner or later, but he wasnât holding his breath. Dev liked to live big and he usually did just that.
Instead of waiting anxiously to hear from him, Jackson spent the morning in the basement, working out on the weights, punching the heavy bag, then spending some time on the speed bag. He liked the physical exercise that had come to be a habit, liked to keep in shape. When he finished, he showered and pulled on his jeans and headed down to his foreman Jimmy Threebearsâs house, part of the original ranch compound, three bedrooms with a wraparound, screened-in front porch.
The residence, which sat on a knoll across from the barn, had been remodeled a number of times, and Jackson had done a bit more modernizing of the old wooden structure when he bought the ranch four years ago. Ashe approached, he saw Jimmyâs boys playing ball out in front.
âWhereâs your dad?â Jackson asked.
âHeâs up on the ridgeline, sir.â Sam, the twelve-year-old, shoved a hand through his gleaming black shoulder-length hair. He was a good-looking kidâboth of them were. They got good grades and were very good athletes. Jimmy had a right to be proud of them.
âDad says those loggers are filling the stream up with mud again. He went up to take another look.â
Jacksonâs jaw tightened. He had actually thought heâd had problems when heâd worked in Houston. After high school, he had used his boxing scholarship to earn a degree in geology then landed a job with the small, newly formed Wildcat Oil. He had taken part of his salary in stockâthe smartest move he ever made.
When the company expanded, then went public, he made enough money to retire from the oil business and live in comfort, buy the old Simmons ranch and become a cattlemanâwhich had been his lifelong dream.
One thing heâd learnedâa rancher faced just as many problems as an oil company and made a whole lot less money.
And now the damned logging companies were making things worse. They were cutting down trees in the national forest that bordered the ranch and causing him all kinds of trouble.
He shook his head. He still couldnât believe the taxpayers paid to build roads so the bastards could cut down trees. They were taking out those big seven-hundred-year-old