Rory Wood’s eyes snapped open a full minute before her alarm was set to go off. She lay still for a moment, listening to the wind whistle through the eaves of her small ranch house. The pre-dawn Wyoming sky was just beginning to lighten outside her window, promising another crisp autumn day.
With a sigh, Rory swung her legs over the side of the bed and silenced her phone before it could start blaring. No point in waking the ghosts, she thought wryly, glancing at the framed photo on her nightstand. Her mother’s smile beamed back at her, arm slung around a teenage Rory’s shoulders. Just out of frame, Rory knew, was her sister, Ramona.
The familiar ache settled in her chest as she padded to the bathroom. Ten years since the accident that took her mother’s life and Ramona’s…well, Rory still wasn’t sure what had happened to her sister. The not knowing was sometimes worse than grief.
Shaking off the melancholy thoughts, Rory focused on her morning routine. She showered quickly, the hot water sluicing away the last vestiges of sleep. As she toweled off, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. At twenty-eight, she still had the lean, athletic build of her rodeo days. Her honey-blonde hair was cropped short now, practical for her job as assistant sheriff. But her eyes—a deep, stormy blue—were older somehow. They’d seen too much.
Rory dressed efficiently in her tan uniform, checking her belt to ensure her gun, radio, and other equipment were secure. She’d long since stopped feeling the weight of the badge on her chest, but she never forgot the responsibility it represented.
The coffeemaker gurgled in the kitchen as Rory pulled on her boots. She poured the steaming liquid into a travel mug, adding a splash of cream. The rich aroma filled the small space, chasing away the last of the morning chill.
Outside, the vast Wyoming landscape stretched in every direction. Rory paused on her porch, taking a moment to breathe it all in. The sun was just peeking over the distant mountains, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. A hawk circled lazily overhead, riding the thermals as it searched for breakfast.
Rory’s weathered pickup truck started with a familiar rumble. She eased down the long driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. The county sheriff’s office was a good thirty-minute drive, but Rory never minded. These quiet morning drives, with nothing but the radio and her thoughts for company, were often the most peaceful part of her day.
As she drove, Rory’s mind wandered to the day ahead. She’d be partnered with Evan Tate again, as she had been for the past few months. Evan was…well, complicated was probably the kindest way to put it.
They’d known each other since high school, back when Rory was the rodeo queen and Evan was the shy kid who always sat in the back of the class. Now, as a fellow deputy, he looked at her with a mixture of admiration and something else—something Rory wasn’t quite ready to name.
Evan was a good cop, there was no denying that. He had sharp instincts and a way of talking to people that put them at ease. But there were times when his insecurity shone through, moments when he seemed to be waiting for Rory’s approval before making a decision.
It was exhausting, if she was honest with herself. Sometimes, she just wanted a partner who could stand on their own two feet without leaning on her.
The sheriff’s office came into view, a squat, brick building that had seen better days. Rory parked her truck and grabbed her coffee, nodding a greeting to Deputy Sarah Lightfoot as she climbed the steps.
Inside, the bullpen was already humming with activity. Dispatch radios crackled, phones rang, and the smell of stale coffee hung in the air. It was a far cry from the glitz and excitement of the rodeo circuit, but Rory had found a different kind of thrill in this work.
“Howdy, Wood,” Sheriff Don Harlan called from his office. “Tate’s waiting for you in the briefing room.”
Rory acknowledged him with a quick salute of her coffee mug. She liked Harlan—he was tough but fair, and he’d been a reliable source of advice as she navigated the transition from rodeo star to law enforcement.
She found Evan poring over a stack of reports in the briefing room. He looked up as she entered, a smile lighting up his boyish features. “Hey, Rory. Ready to keep the peace in Bearclaw County?”
“Always,” Rory replied, settling into a chair across from him. “What’s on the docket for today?”
Evan shuffled through his papers. “Looks like a pretty standard lineup. We’ve got a noise complaint out on Ridge Road—probably just old man Henderson’s rooster again. Then there’s a report of some teenagers loitering around the abandoned Simmons place. Oh, and we need to swing by the high school, do a follow-up on that vandalism case from last week.”
Rory nodded, mentally plotting out their route. It was shaping up to be a quiet day—the kind where the biggest excitement might be helping Mrs. Abernathy get her cat out of a tree again. But Rory had learned long ago never to take the calm for granted. In her experience, trouble had a way of finding you when you least expected it.
They headed out to the patrol car, Rory automatically sliding into the driver’s seat. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Evan fiddled with the radio, settling on a country station playing softly in the background.
“So,” he said, a note of hesitation in his voice. “Did you, uh, have a good weekend?”
Rory glanced at him, sensing the loaded question beneath the casual inquiry. “It was fine,” she said carefully. “Caught up on some chores around the house, took my horse out for a ride. You?”
“Oh, you know. Same old,” Evan replied, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I, uh, I was wondering if maybe sometime you’d like to—”
The crackle of the police radio cut him off, much to Rory’s relief. “All units, we’ve got a 415 at 1242 Pine Street. Caller reports a domestic disturbance.”
Rory flipped on the sirens as Evan responded to dispatch. The quiet day would have to wait.
They arrived at a small, run-down house on the outskirts of town. Shouts could be heard from inside, punctuated by the sound of breaking glass. Rory and Evan exchanged a look before approaching the front door, hands resting near their weapons.
“Sheriff’s department,” Rory called out, rapping sharply on the door. “Open up, please.”
The shouting stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a disheveled woman in her mid-thirties, a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek.
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s my husband. He’s drunk again, and he—”
A crash from inside the house cut her off. Rory gently but firmly moved the woman aside, stepping into the cluttered living room with Evan close behind.
A burly man stood swaying in the center of the room, a broken lamp at his feet. His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the deputies.
“Get the hell out of my house,” he slurred, taking an unsteady step forward.
“Sir, we’re just here to make sure everyone’s safe,” Rory said, keeping her voice calm and level. “Why don’t you have a seat and we can talk about what’s going on?”
For a tense moment, Rory thought the man might lunge at them. But then his shoulders sagged, and he collapsed heavily onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. “I just…I lost my job, and the bills are piling up, and I don’t know what to do…”
As Evan began taking the man’s statement, Rory stepped outside to speak with the wife. It was a familiar story—good people pushed to their breaking point by circumstances beyond their control. The vast, unforgiving beauty of Wyoming often came with an equally harsh economic reality.
An hour later, they were back in the patrol car. The husband had agreed to stay with a friend to cool off, and Rory had given the wife information on local support services. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a start.
“You handled that well,” Evan said as they drove to their next call. “The way you talked that guy down…I don’t know if I could’ve done that.”
Rory shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “It’s just experience. You learn to read people, to find the right words to defuse a situation. You’ll get there.”
They spent the rest of the morning following up on minor complaints and keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. As they patrolled the winding back roads of the county, Rory found herself reflecting on the path that had led her here.
She’d never planned on becoming a cop. Growing up, all she’d wanted was to follow in her mother’s footsteps as a champion barrel racer. And for a while, she’d lived that dream. The trophies gathering dust in her spare room were a testament to her success.
But then came that fateful night. The call about the accident. The long, agonizing hours in the hospital. And finally, the devastating news—her mother was gone, and Ramona was…where? The police had found no trace of her at the crash site, just an empty passenger seat and a smear of blood on the window.
In the aftermath, as her father retreated into a haze of grief and alcohol, Rory had found an unexpected mentor in Frank McAllister, the sheriff at the time. “Old Ironsides,” they called him, and it wasn’t just because of his steely demeanor. He’d seen something in Rory—a determination, a need for answers—and he’d guided her toward a new purpose.
Now, years later, Rory couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The badge she wore wasn’t just a job. It was a promise—to protect her community, to seek justice, and maybe, someday, to uncover the truth about what happened to her sister.
The afternoon sun was high in the sky when they stopped for a late lunch at Annie’s Diner. The place was a local institution, its vinyl booths and chrome-edged tables seemingly unchanged since the 1950s. A bell jingled as they entered, and the rich smell of coffee and fresh-baked pie enveloped them.
“Well, if it isn’t Bearclaw County’s finest,” Annie herself called from behind the counter. The spry septuagenarian had been serving up home-cooked meals and local gossip for as long as anyone could remember. “The usual for you two?”
Rory nodded gratefully, sliding into their regular booth. A few minutes later, Annie set down two steaming plates of her famous meatloaf, along with a slice of apple pie “on the house.”
As they ate, Rory and Evan discussed their remaining calls for the day. The easy camaraderie they shared over work was a stark contrast to the awkward tension that sometimes arose when things got more personal. Rory knew she’d have to address it eventually, but for now, she was content to keep things professional.
They were just finishing up when Rory’s radio crackled to life. “Assistant Sheriff Wood, come in.”
Rory frowned at the urgency in the dispatcher’s voice. “This is Wood. Go ahead.”
“We’ve got a situation out at the Montero ranch. Sheriff Harlan wants you and Deputy Tate to respond immediately.”
Evan was already reaching for his hat, but Rory held up a hand, signaling him to wait. “What kind of situation are we talking about?”
There was a pause, and when the dispatcher spoke again, her voice was grim. “It’s…it’s bad, Rory.”
“How bad are we talking?”
“I guess that depends. How bad would you say murder is?”