Page 14 of Where They Belong

“I told you to wait,” Colt snapped, but there was no authority in his voice. He shoved the phone into his jacket pocket.

Mason ignored him as he shouldered past and then froze at the sight before him. His brain couldn’t compute what his eyes were seeing. The blood in his veins boiled. His vision turned red, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Cuervo,” he gasped. “What thehell. . .”

His beautiful golden-and-white-coated horse was covered in blue spray paint. A bull’s-eye was painted on his face, and X’s and zigzags were sprayed over his mane, neck, and legs. On his barrel was sloppily written DOG MEAT.

Cuervo’s head hung low, and his pinned-back ears flicked forward when Mason approached.

“Oh, my boy . . .” Mason’s voice cracked from the tightness of his throat, and anger shook his body.

He gently slid a trembling hand down Cuervo’s face—the paint was dry.

How could he feel like destroying everything in his path to find and punish whoever did this and needing to break down and cry in a corner at the same time?

“I’m so sorry, Mason,” Colt said softly from behind, though he sounded a million miles away. “I swear we’ll find who did this. They will pay.”

Mason didn’t respond. He couldn’t unlock his throat to talk just then. The only thing that mattered was getting all that horrific graffiti off his horse.

“Anything I can do to help, boss?” Thad asked.

“H-hand me the halter,” Mason rasped, then cleared his throat and more strongly said, “And fill a bucket of warm soapy water for me.”

“On it.” Thad handed over the halter that was hanging on a hook in front of the stall.

“Thanks,” he muttered and slipped the halter over Cuervo’s ears with still-shaking hands.

“And me?” Colt asked. He stepped back to make room as Mason led his horse from the stall.

Mason paused beside Colt. He didn’t turn to face him, but with a venom in his voice he’d never thought himself capable of, he growled, “Catch thefuckerwho didthis.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Colt nod, and then he led Cuervo to the hitching post in front of the barn, where he loosely tethered him to the wood bar. He turned on the hose and began spraying him down.

A moment later, Thad returned with the bucket of soapy water, a sponge, grooming gloves, and a metal scraper.

“Anything else you need?” Thad’s voice was somber as he rubbed Cuervo’s nose.

Mason shook his head. “No, thanks. Oh, wait.” He dug the keys for his truck and a piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and handed them both over to Thad. “Can you run into town for me? There’s a list of supplies we need, and there’s some mail on the seat that Katie needs sent off.”

“No problem.” Thad collected the items. “I’m sorry about what happened to your horse. That shit ain’t right.”

Mason nodded and turned back to wetting Cuervo’s coat. The initial shock and anger had begun to recede, and his body no longer shook, but only if he kept his focus on the task of cleaning the paint off and notwhyhe was cleaning it off.

“Hang on, Thad.” Colt pushed away from the doorframe, where he’d been watching Mason from. The heels of his boots crunched on the dirt and gravel in front of the barn. “Tell me everything that happened before you go.”

Mason tuned them out, pulled on the grooming gloves, and dipped his gloved hands in the soapy water. He began with the disgusting words on Cuervo’s side and started gently scrubbing the graffiti away. Blue streaks tracked crookedly down Cuervo’s barrel and dripped to the ground to form puddles around his hooves and Mason’s boots. He sent up a silent thanks that the paint was water-based—anything else would have been a whole other nightmare to remove.

“I’m so sorry, my boy,” he said quietly to Cuervo.

His anger hopped on a roller coaster and crested again as he scrubbed. It was one thing to vandalize the barn, to threaten him, but to come after his horse . . .? That bullshit didn’t fly. Rage scorched his insides for the umpteenth time. No. Absolutely no way in hell would he stand for that.

He would never understand how anyone could harm an animal—and honestly, didn’twantto understand that kind of screwed-up mentality. He didn’t understand why someone would target his ranch either. Haverstall Mountain had been in his family for three generations, and while he had changed the focus of it since he’d taken over, it wasn’t like he was cutting down huge swaths of lush forest to build condos for rich folks’ vacation homes. Sure, some of the old wranglers had been upset about the shift away from commercial cattle ranching and left or didn’t want to work under Mason in particular, becausegay, but those who’d stayed on were happy.

Are they?

He pursed his lips. Of course they were. He would trust any of his hands with his life.

Cuervo snorted and stomped a foot as Mason rinsed the blue away to leave his shiny buckskin and white coat gleaming in the early morning sun.

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