The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over Cedar Ridge Ranch. Montana’s June warmth lingered in the air, softening into gold as evening settled in. Millie and Clara trudged into the kitchen, shirts sticking to their backs, boots dusty, minds focused on only two things: dinner and sleep.
But before they could kick off their shoes, a commotion outside snapped their heads toward the door.
They rushed out just in time to see Mr. Jameson standing rigid near the grand entryway. Parked in front of the house were two sleek black SUVs, their engines still rumbling like caged animals.
Several men in dark uniforms were unloading cargo, but not luggage. And not people. Dogs.
Two Dobermans stepped onto the gravel drive like they owned it. All muscle and precision, their coats gleamed like black
