Montana Unbranded. Nadia Nichols

the old cabin by the creek and headed for the ranch house. There were old kerosene storm lanterns hung in the barbecue area, illuminating the picnic tables in their soft light. In the gathering darkness she saw kids clearing away the supper dishes, the glow of coals and the slow lick of flames in the fire pit. She parked the Subaru and saw Molly coming down the porch steps toward her. She climbed out of the driver’s seat and the words rushed out of her, fueled by relief and adrenaline.

      “Molly! I’m so glad you’re here. The foal’s in the back of the Subaru. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. She was just born when I found her and it was such a struggle getting her down the mountain. Where’s Pony? Is Jessie around? The poor thing hasn’t eaten and she had to walk all the way down to the car and she’s so weak. I had the heater blasting to keep her warm but...”

      “It’s okay, you’re here now, you’re safe,” Molly said, giving her friend a reassuring hug. She peered in the back, the interior light providing illumination. “Wow, she’s so little. I think she just blinked—she can’t be dead. Roon and Jessie are down at the barn. Steven went to get them. Come with me, Dani. Sit down before you fall down.” Molly’s arm slipped around her waist and she was guided up the porch steps. “Sit,” she repeated. “We’ll take it from here. I’ll ask Ramalda to fix you a plate of food.”

      Dani sat. She’d begun to shake all over, not from the cold but from the relief of making it to the ranch and the release of her adrenaline. Molly vanished inside the kitchen and it was then that Dani saw the troops coming up from the barn. Steven was among them, and Roon and Pony and Jessie. Jessie was carrying her medical bag, and they all paused at the Subaru. Dani watched as the foal was lifted from the back of the car into Roon’s arms. She was as limp as a rag doll. “Bring her in the kitchen—it’s warm in there,” she heard Pony say. If they were bringing the foal into the kitchen, then she was alive.

      Dani felt her eyes flood with tears. “Thank God,” she whispered.

      “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her,” Jessie said as she climbed the steps, pausing to squeeze Dani’s shoulder. “You did a great job bringing her here. Do you know if she nursed at all before the mare died?”

      Dani shook her head and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I think she was born just before I got there. Her coat was still wet. I got some of the mare’s milk, though. It’s in my water bottle on the front seat of the car.”

      “Excellent,” Jessie said. “Colostrum could make all the difference. How did you know to do that?”

      “I grew up on a dairy farm,” Dani said. “All the newborn calves had to get colostrum.”

      Once they had all tramped inside the kitchen with the foal, Dani leaned forward and rested her head in her hands, overwhelmed with exhaustion and turbulent emotions. She drew a shuddering breath. The screen door banged and she heard Molly’s voice. “Here. I brought you a mug of coffee with a shot of whiskey in it. I know you don’t like whiskey but sip it. Slowly. Drink all of it. That’s an order. I’ll bring you a plate of food.”

      “I’m not hungry,” Dani murmured into her hands, not lifting her head. “All those dead horses... Custer’s dead, too. Who would have done this?”

      “Joseph? Make sure she drinks this. She’s in shock.”

      Dani lifted her head, and for the first time noticed the man sitting in the shadows, not four feet from her, sharing the same wall bench.

      She sat up, startled. “I didn’t see you.”

      “I’ll take care of her, Molly. You go check on the patient,” came Joe’s deep voice.

      Dani wiped her cheeks and drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly, struggling to get her emotions under control. Joe moved closer on the bench. She saw the reflection of lamplight on the mug he held out to her and took it from him. “Thanks.” She raised the coffee to her nose and the fumes made her eyes water. She took a tiny sip and felt the slow burn head south. “Awful,” she gasped.

      “Medicinal,” Joe said. “You need it right now. What happened?”

      “I went to photograph Custer’s herd and he was dead, along with three of his mares. All shot, probably late yesterday or early this morning. There’s good tracking snow in the higher spots, and on the road where I parked my car the boot tracks and tire tracks were clear in the mud.”

      “Who do you call around here to report something like that?”

      Dani drew a steadying breath. “We’ll notify Sheriff Conroy, and Ben Comstock’s the warden in these parts. Jessie knows him well. He’ll probably be the one to check it out.” She took another tiny sip of the fiery coffee. “There’s a big controversy over the wild horses on public lands. The ranchers who pay lease money to run their animals on the lands consider the horses an invasive species that steal the grass and water from their cattle.”

      “So, by their own measure, their cattle are also an invasive species?”

      Dani’s laugh was humorless. “Depends on your perspective. Anyhow, I doubt that little foal will live.” She stretched out her legs and winced from the pain. “I stashed all my photographic equipment by the side of the trail and my camping gear’s still up at the cabin. I’ll go back and get it all tomorrow. I don’t have the strength tonight and I seriously doubt anyone’ll be up there. It’s off-limits to motorized vehicles and not many people want to hike that far to camp.”

      “Any idea who might have shot the horses?”

      Dani rubbed a cramp in her thigh and took another tiny sip of coffee. “Hard to say. A rancher, maybe. Legally, the horses are protected as long as they’re on public lands, and Custer’s band was in a part of the national forest, but sometimes they stray. It’s tough to teach horses boundaries when they can’t read. Drought years are hard—they gravitate toward water and that’s usually a water source protected by a rancher. Even the water and graze on BLM lands is hotly contested. The situation can get really ugly. The government holds roundups yearly on public lands to keep the wild horse population in control, but a lot of ranchers don’t think that’s enough and want them all gone. Anyhow, my guess is, with the lack of snow this past winter, ranchers are already worried about the graze and water supplies. Any unbranded horse that strays off public lands is in danger, but this shooting was on public lands. Maybe a preemptive strike? They’re legally protected by the Wild Horse Act, but that’s in a perfect world, right?”

      She heard a wry laugh in the darkness. “Right.”

      “Jessie Weaver’s family owned these lands for generations, and let the wild horses run on them. She has some of the best bloodlines of pure Spanish mustangs, right here on this ranch. I met her through Molly but I actually heard about her before that through the Wild Horse Rescue. She’s legendary.” The whiskey made her stomach burn but Molly was right; she was feeling stronger. “She’s not only legendary, she’s really nice. She spoke at the Wild Horse Foundation meeting last fall, and she donates her time and experience to the Pryor herd during roundups. If anyone can save that little foal, Jessie can.”

      “If she lives, what’s in her future?”

      Dani took another sip. The whiskey didn’t taste so bad now. “I don’t have a clue. Do you want to adopt a wild horse?”

      “I doubt she would be happy in a big city.”

      “Are you?”

      “The city’s all I’ve ever known, except for a four-year stint in the military before joining the police department. And I guess guns and violence are the sum of my life experience.”

      “So you get shot up back east and come to the Wild West for some rest only to discover we have guns and violence, too. But really, Montana’s great. I love it here.”

      “So does Molly.”

      At that moment, Molly reappeared from the kitchen carrying a plate of food and a napkin rolled around silverware. “Ramalda