“You don’t have to pay me,” he said awkwardly. He had trouble meeting her eyes. “I could just, like, help out. You know?”
“If you’re willing, I’ll accept gladly,” she said. “Except you’ll be paid.”
He frowned. “You got someone to stay tonight? You shouldn’t be alone.”
Remembering the expression on Jed’s face when she suggested Troy as her guardian, Linette smiled shakily and said, “I do have someone, but thank you. He’ll be along a little later.”
Apparently, she was a better liar than she’d thought, because after his six hour shift, her young employee waved goodbye in a friendly way and drove off in his sorry excuse for a pickup truck.
Even though the sun remained high in the sky, she felt a chill. No, she wasn’t looking forward to a sleepless night on watch for that scum sucker who thought he’d scare her with some tricks and then steal from her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t up for it. Or that she’d let herself depend on a man who’d walked out on her so abruptly, she hadn’t even had the forewarning to brace herself.
Alex Burke’s offer had been nice, but what was she going to do? Flutter her eyelashes at him and sweetly thank him for protecting the little woman? It wasn’t like they’d been long-time friends, or friends of any kind. There was no history of helping each other out. She’d have no way to reciprocate.
She set her jaw and started for the house. She’d sworn off men, thank you, and she hadn’t only meant for sex. And maybe, if she were honest with herself, it wasn’t only men. Her mother hadn’t exactly proved herself to be a reliable prop, either. Linette’s childhood wasn’t as bad as Jed’s, but her ability to trust was somewhere between fragile and nonexistent. She was better on her own, that’s all. And she shouldn’t have to keep reminding herself of something so basic.
Or was going it alone to face down danger beyond her capabilities just plain dumb? Pride goeth before the fall, etc.
Beyond her capabilities? There were other ways to combat evil than physical force. Women did it all the time, she thought with a trace of bitterness.
Late lunch, she decided, and last chores. For now, she wouldn’t think about tonight’s return to the treehouse, where she’d stand guard on the horses that meant everything to her.
*****
Jed stopped at his house to make a sandwich before he set out to talk to Brady Price.
While he ate, Jed took out his phone and scanned for Kiger Mustangs for sale.
Several sites came up, although he quickly discovered that most included half-Kigers, Appaloosas and any trail horse. He found a couple of Kiger ranches selling some stock, and was disconcerted by relatively low prices. Admittedly, the breed wasn’t well known. Still, he had to wonder: did the piece of shit trying to steal a young foal from the LB Kiger Ranch know anything about the breed? Did he care? Had he surveyed the mares and foals during daylight and picked out a prime prospect, or did he just grab the first one he could get his hands on?
Jed leaned toward the latter. If somebody tried to sell a Kiger filly or colt, however promising, without bloodlines, he’d meet with low-ball offers. He might also encounter suspicion. Nobody sold a foal so young he should still be with his mother.
Jed didn’t like thinking about what the guy had had in mind for that baby. Mutilation? Although if that were the case, why hadn’t he committed the atrocity right there in the pasture? Or did he just not get a chance?
Jed wished his mind didn’t turn so readily to hideous possibilities that wouldn’t occur to most people.
And, damn it, how did Linette imagine she’d make a living if her horses weren’t worth any more than that?
He sighed and pocketed his phone before rubbing a hand over his scratchy jaw. Only a day and a half from his last shave, and he already itched.
A ten minute drive took him through the open gates of the White Oak Ranch. He’d been here once before to talk to the boy’s father, Nelson Price, about branding his calves. He immediately recognized the man who crossed the yard from the barn to meet him.
“Detective Dawson.”
“Mr. Price. I understand your son recalls something that might interest me?”
“Hard to tell if it really will, but it seemed best to let you know. Brady’s in the house. You’re welcome to let yourself in, unless you’d rather I sat in on this talk.”
“Doubt there’s any need for that.” Jed nodded and went to the house. The side door led through a utility room into the deserted kitchen. He called, “Brady? Your dad said you’re in here.”
The thud of feet on the stairs let him know he’d been heard.
A typically lanky boy appeared in the doorway. He wasn’t a big kid, but still his feet and hands looked outsized. His wasn’t the worst acne Jed had seen, but it wasn’t good. The boy’s gaze went to Jed’s badge and weapon, and he said, “Um, officer…”
Jed held out a hand. “I’m Detective Jed Dawson.”
Brady stared at it as if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Then, cheeks flaring red, he held out his hand, too.
After they belatedly shook, Jed said, “Why don’t we sit down.”
“Oh, uh, sure.” They both took chairs at one end of the farmhouse table. “I didn’t know…I mean, I didn’t expect…you know.”
Jed hoped the boy wasn’t always so incoherent. He knew he’d better proceed carefully if he wanted to mine any useful information from sixteen-year-old Brady Price.
“Relax,” he said. “There’s no pressure here. Your dad said you’d woken up and heard or saw something going on at the Webb place the night Gary was killed. Any little thing can turn out to be useful.” He smiled. “Most interviews, I end up empty-handed, so don’t worry if your father got excited and sent me on a wild goose chase, okay?”
The boy bobbed his head. “Sure…um, okay.”
Jed suppressed a sigh. “So, thinking back to that Thursday night.” Which was…nine days ago. He’d have to ask why the kid hadn’t spoken up sooner. “Were you home during the evening?”
Brady looked surprised. “Well, yeah. I almost always am. I mean, I have to help with the stock. You know. And I usually have some school work.”
Jed thought back to his years fostered by a ranch foreman. There’d always been an assumption that he’d set to work as soon as he got off the school bus, dumped his pack and had a snack. He’d let himself forget that was likely be the norm for ranch kids around here, too.
“How late did you stay up?”
“Not very late. I mean, the bus comes at, like six-thirty.”
Jed winced. “That’s early.”
Brady shrugged in apparent resignation. “We’re way out of town. Anyway, first bell is at seven-thirty.”
Jed had sort of known that. He often saw the afternoon school buses dropping middle-school and high-school kids off before three o’clock. However, he was rarely up early enough to see the morning buses.
“What time did you fall asleep?”
The teenager eyed him warily, as if fearing he’d be chewed out if he stayed up too late. “Like, ten?” he said finally.
“Was your window open?”
He nodded.
“What woke you up?”
Brady frowned, actually appearing pensive. “I think it might have been a gunshot. I decided I must’ve imagined it, or…I guess I’d have woken Dad up. You know?”
Jed nodded encouragement.
Reassured, the boy seemed to gaze into space. “I heard shouting and cattle bawling.”
“Vehicle engines?”
“I guess.” He sounded doubtful on that point. “I sorta thought Mr. Webb woken ’cuz his herd got worked up. Like if there was a coyote in the pasture. It made sense that he’d have gone out and yelled to chase it away and maybe even taken a shot or two.”
Brady was right; that did make sense – except for the engine sounds. The boy had presumably known about the cattle rustling problem, but maybe he’d been thinking like teenagers behind the wheel of a car di
d. Bad things didn’t happen to them – or, in this case, to their families or neighbors.
“Any chance you made out any words when you heard the shouting?”
Seeing Brady’s forehead crease again and the puzzlement in his eyes, Jed held his breath to keep from distracting the boy.
“This is weird,” he said after a minute, “because I thought I heard someone yell, ‘jeans’. Like pants or something. But that’s dumb, isn’t it?”
“You sure there was an S sound on the end?”
The boy gaped at Jed. “You mean…like the DNA stuff?” Then his eyes widened. “Or I heard a name? Gene?”
“What do you think? Is that possible?”
He nodded jerkily. “I must’ve just thought the jeans part. Like, why’s that guy yelling about blue jeans? You know?”
“I do know.” Jed leaned back in the counselor’s chair and smiled. “Our brains make those leaps all the time. The leap makes sense of something illogical.”
“I wish I’d heard more. Or…” He looked away, color rising again to his cheeks. “Woken up Dad. I’ve been feeling bad. If somebody found Mr. Webb sooner, maybe…”
However irrational the guilt, this was why he’d kept his mouth shut. Satisfied now that he knew, Jed shook his head. “From the injury he suffered, we know he died instantly. You couldn’t have saved him by getting help.”
“Really?”
“Really. I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
Brady let out a whoosh of air. “I’m glad. I mean, not that Mr. Webb is dead, but, you know…”
“I do know.” Jed rose to his feet as a signal and held out his hand again. “Thank you. You were an excellent witness.”
Brady jumped up, knocking his chair back. He blushed again as he righted it and clumsily shook hands.
Jed let himself out of the house, his mouth quirking at the memory of how humiliating it had been to be so gangly, he didn’t have adequate control of his too-big feet and hands.
That amusement faded quickly.
Gene. That lying sack of shit.
*****
It was aggravating to find herself having to consciously identify every night noise instead of being able to let her mind do so automatically. Casual assumptions didn’t cut it tonight, though. This was too important.
Was that an owl hoot, or could it be a signal sent by a conspirator to another? The tap, followed by a hollow thud? Horse hoof on the wooden floor, or a man briefly stumbling as he crept through the barn? It went on and on, the quiet of the night filled with a myriad of small sounds. Normally she slept through them, while nocturnal creatures of all kinds came awake.
A squeak of alarm. Poor mouse.
A whisper in the grass. Snake?
Once again, Linette was reassured by the small plane passing overhead even if it hadn’t done her any good the previous night. This time, the light played over her property. Patrol cars drove slowly by at something like hour intervals, too. No doubt ordered by Detective Dawson.
She ached fiercely at every passing thought of him. Seeing him again, waking to find him beside her bed, driven to protect her, that had complicated her feelings even if she’d buried her confusion under anger this morning.
Was guilt all he felt? His patience and tenderness argued otherwise. And then there was the fact that he had come to this rural county on the other side of the United States from his – and her – native Georgia. He had to have followed her. What other explanation could there be?
Anger reawakened as she reminded himself he’d then avoided her like the plague.
An annoying inner voice murmured, Could he have been nervous about how you’d react to him?
And then there was the shooting in which he’d been involved.
Linette scrunched up her face. Involved? Yeah, not the right word. He’d somehow moved into position without his prey ever seeing him, used his scope or maybe only his instincts to zero in a man’s head, and pulled the trigger. What he’d done was use his sniper skills to kill again. Justifiably, but his nation, his officers, had believed that what they’d asked him to do in Iraq and Afghanistan and who knew where else was justified, too.
Thinking that filled her with renewed rage. No one should ever have asked that of a young man who’d never had the security of a real home, had no bedrock to hold him up when hideous memories came, as they inevitably would. When he was filled with self-loathing. It was no doubt unpatriotic of her, but Linette didn’t expect to ever forgive the army in general and Jed’s commanding officers in particular for what they’d done to a good man.
She snapped back to the present. Was that a car coming? No, it sounded more like a truck than a car, and was moving well below the speed limit. In fact, it almost stopped at the foot of her driveway.
She lifted her binoculars, despite their limited use in the dark, and saw the rack of lights atop a white SUV. Sagging in release from the burst of adrenaline, she rolled onto her back for a moment.
Staring up at the stars scattered over black velvet, the clarity so much greater than she’d ever seen before, Linette knew she’d been a fool to turn down help. What had made her think she could stay awake all night and still do her work during the day?
What if nothing happened tonight, or tomorrow night, or the one after that? Remember, there’d been days between the unpleasant pranks.
She needed help. And she knew who she wanted here, if only she could summon the beginnings of forgiveness.
There’s the rub, she thought ruefully, then made an awful face. Really? She was quoting Hamlet?
The famous speech came as if she’d heard the tragedy performed yesterday.
To die, to sleep
To sleep perchance to dream:
Ay, there’s the rub.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
And oh, yes, she knew exactly why she had committed that particular speech to memory years before.
It always made her think about Jed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Walking a semi-circle around Linette’s property Sunday night while ensuring she didn’t see him demanded Jed’s full attention. What he’d give for night-vision goggles. As it was, with the moon barely a crescent, he moved slowly and was careful where to put his feet. The ranch fences were solidly constructed with boards, thank God; the long gash on his back from the barbed wire burned every time he bent forward, twisted or flexed nearby muscles. Linette’s fences he easily climbed.
Still, dark shapes kept rearing from the darkness. Most turned out to be horses, but he found a water tank, a roofed structure that would offer protection from rain, snow or a glaring sun. The pastures were dotted with trees, too.
The one place he didn’t venture was in front of her house and barn. If she was up in the treehouse, she’d see him and probably call 911.
After each lap he walked, he’d return to sitting in his truck parked in an overgrown turn-out presumably created to allow access to a pasture or field no longer cultivated. With grasses overgrown and sage brush taking over, it wasn’t obvious at all. In fact, he’d found it yesterday only because he had walked the shoulder half a mile each direction from Linette’s ranch in an attempt to figure out where the man trying to steal the foal had parked. It couldn’t be too far; he wouldn’t have wanted to be seen in the middle of the night leading a leggy, frightened colt along the road.
Recent days had been dry enough, Jed had failed. The horse trailer and truck had either been parked along the road – although he spotted no obvious tracks on the softer earth of the shoulder – or in a neighboring driveway.
He’d turned off the overhead light so he could leave the driver side door open and listen to a peaceful night.
Jed was left with too much time to think.
He tried to keep his mind on the investigation – although it was hard to be dispassionate now that Linette was part of it. He’d started by scanning voter rolls and the motor vehicle records for other people with the first name of Gene. Unfortunate
ly, there were a number, and what if the ring of cattle rustlers were really Crook County or Grant County residents? And then it had belatedly occurred to him that Jeanne, whatever the spelling, was a reasonably common name for women. He shouldn’t leap to assume no woman would be involved in the crimes. As he’d already noted, there were a number of women ranchers in the county, and that didn’t count the women who helped their husbands to a greater or lesser extent.
His belief that Gene Baxter was his man didn’t falter.
That got him to wondering again why any member of a so-far successful cattle rustling operation would take extra risks to steal a two-month-old foal not worth a staggering amount of money. Jed found himself shaking his head again. His gut said this was separate and had to do only with Linette – but he couldn’t be sure.
Linette.
He’d met her just over five years ago when he went riding with Niall Callaghan, an army friend who boarded a quarter horse at a ranch less than an hour drive from Fort Benning. He’d wandered over, curious, to watch a woman working with what he’d immediately sensed was a dangerous horse. Seeming unafraid, she’d been infinitely patient yet firm, countering the animal’s every attempt to rear or buck, encouraging obedience. Her voice, gentle and husky, had gotten his attention as fast as her slender, graceful body or the thick mass of maple brown hair and a face that was more pretty than beautiful – but had stunned him for reasons he never had nailed down.
Jed had asked her out, she’d accepted, and a month later he left his base housing to live with her. They had most of a year together until, as the date for him to leave on his next deployment neared, he had felt ice encasing him, a fraction of an inch at a time. He was a killer, a trained assassin. That made him something less than human. Linette deserved better than him. A thousand times better.
All the Lost Little Horses (A Desperation Creek Novel Book 2) Page 9