The first thing Cole Tanner heard that morning was the sound of a horse screaming.

Not neighing.

Not whinnying.

Screaming.

It tore through the darkness outside his cabin and dragged him from sleep before the sun had even thought about rising.

Cole opened his eyes.

For several seconds, he lay perfectly still.

The room was black except for a thin line of moonlight beneath the curtains.

He reached beneath his pillow and found the revolver he kept there.

Another scream came from the direction of the barn.

Then silence.

Cole sat up.

At thirty-four, he had learned not to ignore unusual sounds on a ranch.

Animals had instincts humans often lost.

If a horse screamed in the middle of the night, there was usually a reason.

Cole pulled on his boots, shrugged into his coat, and stepped outside.

Cold desert air struck his face.

The ranch stretched around him beneath a sky filled with stars. The nearest town was twelve miles away. Beyond that were miles of dry grass, rocky hills, and abandoned mining trails.

His ranch was not large.

Two hundred acres.

Enough cattle to keep him busy.

Enough land to keep him alone.

And enough distance from civilization to make most people forget he existed.

That was exactly how Cole liked it.

He crossed the yard.

The barn doors were closed.

His horses were restless inside.

Cole approached slowly.

Then he heard something.

A whisper.

From inside.

“Please.”

Cole froze.

Someone was in his barn.

He drew his revolver.

“Come out.”

Nothing.

“I'm giving you five seconds.”

A woman's voice answered.

“Don't shoot.”

Cole frowned.

He opened the door.

Three women stood inside.

They were covered in dust.

Their dresses were torn.

Their hair was tangled from riding.

The oldest held a broken lantern.

The middle sister had a bleeding cut across her forehead.

The youngest was sitting against a wooden post, breathing hard.

Cole kept the revolver pointed downward but ready.

“What are you doing in my barn?”

The oldest woman looked at him.

She had dark hair and pale green eyes.

She was probably around thirty.

“We need somewhere to hide.”

Cole glanced toward the youngest.

“You being chased?”

“Yes.”

“By who?”

The woman swallowed.

“My father.”

Cole's expression changed.

“Your father?”

“He sent men after us.”

The middle sister laughed bitterly.

“He didn't send men.”

She wiped blood from her forehead.

“He sent killers.”

Cole slowly lowered the gun.

“Names.”

The oldest hesitated.

“I'm Anna Whitmore.”

She pointed toward the injured woman.

“My sister Rose.”

Then toward the youngest.

“And Lily.”

Cole looked at them.

Three sisters.

Three horses.

One bloodied saddle.

And whatever had happened, it had happened recently.

“You picked the wrong barn.”

Anna shook her head.

“No.”

She looked directly at him.

“We picked the only barn in the county where our father would never think to look.”

Cole stared at her.

“How do you know that?”

“Because he owns everything else.”

Cole's jaw tightened.

He had heard of the Whitmore family.

Everybody had.

Augustus Whitmore owned the largest cattle operation in the county.

He owned a bank.

A freight company.

Three general stores.

Half the water rights.

And, according to every rumor in town, enough judges and lawmen to make the law itself unnecessary.