Chapter 35: Chapter 35

LANCE

The livestock sales are extremely profitable for us. We bring home several thousand dollars, a few new deals, and two empty trailers.

It felt great to be a part of the sale again and reconnect with old acquaintances in the industry, but I’m very much looking forward to getting home to Wren.

It’s the first time we’ve been apart for this long since we met and I’ve realized how much I hate it.

The whole drive home, I have a huge smile on my face and try not to speed. The others decide to stop for lunch but I press on so I can get there a little sooner.

As I pull up to the driveway, I can’t help but feel like something is wrong.

Big Red is completely closed up, and as I pull up into the parking lot next to it, Puck comes running out of the doggy door alone. He’s whining and barking and looks completely distressed.

I hop out of the truck.

“Puck, what’s wrong?”

He just whines and moans and jumps on me then races back to the barn. I immediately book it for the door.

It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the dark and I don’t see anything amiss. I call for Wren, but don’t hear a response. I walk to the other side of the tractor and my heart drops.

Wren is lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. I race to her and turn her over. Her face is swollen and puffy, and she’s unconscious.

“Wren?!”

I immediately feel for a pulse. The second or two it takes me to find it feels like the longest of my life. Finally, the drumming of her pulse and her chest rising and falling registers in my brain.

She’s alive.

I have to get her to the hospital right now.

I scoop her up in my arms and struggle to get to my feet. My legs are stiff from lack of movement.

“Help! Help!” I don’t even realize I’m the one yelling for help until I get outside and look around.

I don’t see anyone. The place is a ghost town. I look down at Wren’s bloody face trying to think what to do next. I run to her truck and manage to get the door open with her still in my arms.

As gently as I can, I place her on the front seat. She doesn’t stir, which makes my insides clench. I run inside, grab her keys, put Puck in her apartment, then run back downstairs.

I slide into the driver’s seat and start the truck, which revs to life.

The drive to the hospital is terrifying. Tears stream down my face as I think about what happened, what she went through alone.

I’m sick with anger and rage, but I manage to drive safely and get us to the hospital about twenty minutes away.

On the way, I call Grant and my mom to let them know Wren has been attacked and we are on our way to the hospital.

Mom and Dad were planning to detour on the way back for a few nights but decide to return immediately.

Grant was already almost to Bryxton and will investigate the cameras and grounds and let me know what he finds.

I tear into the hospital parking lot and park at the emergency parking entrance. I run around the truck and lift Wren in my arms again, trying to be as careful as I can.

“Help! Somebody, help us!”

Nurses and hospital staff surround us and start peppering me with questions while they put Wren on a gurney.

“What happened?”

“How old is she?”

“How long has she been unconscious?”

“What are her injuries?”

“Patient is breathing.”

I answer their questions as best I can as I walk back with them. Finally, a nurse stops me.

“Sir, we need to assess her injuries. You can wait in the waiting room.”

“No, no, I can’t leave her. I need to be with her.”

“Are you her husband?”

“No, but I’m her, er, partner.”

“Then we’ll come talk to you when we know more. Give us some time.”

The nurse turns and disappears through a door that says “Employees Only” and leaves me alone.

My heart is beating violently in my chest as I walk back toward the waiting room. I start pacing and thinking about all the details.

Wren was inside the barn, which was closed up.

The office door was open, but I didn’t see if anything was taken.

There was blood on her shirt, but I didn’t see if she had any other wounds besides her face.

I suddenly feel sheer rage again. Somebody beat her, somebody laid their hands on Wren. I will find them if it’s the last thing I do. They will pay.

Just then, my phone rings. The screen says “Grant.”

“Hello?”

“The only vehicle in and out of the ranch today is an unmarked box truck.”

“There was supposed to be a delivery of supplies today from J.R.’s, is it them?”

“Doesn’t say so on the vehicle, but I’ll call them next. We can see movement but they blocked most of it with the truck.”

“Okay, anything else?”

“The safe is missing.”

“From my office?”

“Yes, and I went to check on Puck but the keys to the apartment are missing from the back of the file cabinet. Do you have them?”

My heart turns to ice.

“Oh yeah, I do. I’ll check on Puck when we get back,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, let me know if you find anything else.”

“Okay.”

I hang up.

They took the spare keys to the apartment and shop.

I could give a fuck about the safe—there’s about $10,000 and some paperwork in there—but we’ll have to change the locks on everything when this is over.

The scarier revelation is whoever set this up knew where the cameras were, and they knew Wren would be alone. That means everyone is a suspect and everyone includes Grant.