All the Lost Little Horses (A Desperation Creek Novel Book 2)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Almost a month before he was due to deploy, he packed his things and was waiting when she got home from work. He told her calmly, emotionlessly, that he wasn’t good enough for her. No point in dragging this out for a few more weeks, he said. Jed remembered wishing the best for her, and climbing into his truck. He didn’t let himself look back. As it was, he had never been able to forget her shattered expression.

  Now, with a raw sound, he slipped out of his truck and into the night for another patrol. Unfortunately, his feet knew the way, freeing his thoughts to continue inexorably to a conclusion he knew, in one way, but hadn’t wanted to accept.

  Back then, he’d convinced himself he was being noble. Freeing her to find a truly good man, a white-picket-fence perfect life he could never give her.

  A branch cracked under his feet. Cursing himself, he froze. Listened hard.

  All he heard was a snuffling sound and a soft clop of a hoof. A moment later, one of those dark shapes materialized. He held out his hand for the velvet soft lips to touch his palm. Smiling crookedly, Jed stroked the horse’s jaw and down the powerful arch of neck. The Kiger horses bore a remarkable resemblance to the Spanish Andalusians, for an obvious reason. This horse, dark enough he simply couldn’t tell the color of the coat, had the exceptionally long mane and forelock that was one of the most noticeable features of the breed. Not just long: thick, too. When he walked on, the horse accompanied him. He was momentarily tempted to climb on and see what happened, although he was really too large a man for a horse that couldn’t be over fifteen hands tall.

  The horse lipped the brim of his Stetson, knocking it off. Jed caught the hat on its way down.

  “Not a chance,” he murmured to his new friend.

  A whicker answered him.

  Jed continued along the fence line. Five minutes later, the horse drifted away, there one moment, gone the next. He wouldn’t be able to pick it out of Linette’s herd in daylight.

  Thinking her name brought a piercing pain in his chest.

  He hadn’t left her out of genuine nobility, he’d taken off like a terrified jackrabbit. What he felt for her was new to him. In retrospect, Jed didn’t know if he’d doubted what those feelings really were, or only understood that she endangered him more than the Taliban and ISIS fighters put together.

  He had loved her, and couldn’t trust that she felt the same, that he could depend on her not to hurt him. It was as simple as that.

  He had returned from that deployment not so much frozen solid as not present. His body went about his business, he spoke to people, played pool, sat on a bar stool and pretended to care whether the Atlanta Falcons had just gotten cheated out of a touchdown by the refs or not.

  Six months after coming home, he’d thought about checking to be sure Linette was okay. Not to ask her to take him back, of course not. Just…to reassure himself.

  He hadn’t, telling himself he’d let her go. Following up now would almost be stalking. But Niall returned from his own deployment and let Jed know he’d seen her out at the ranch.

  “She’s living with a guy and seems fine,” Niall said with a shrug.

  Jed nodded. “That’s good to hear.” His tone was perfect, close to indifferent. He doubted Niall had noticed that he’d excused himself from the gathering less than five minutes later.

  Tonight, he circled behind the barn and walked toward her house. He stayed in the darkness to the side where she couldn’t possibly see him, but he could make out the oak tree where he knew she was.

  Did this qualify as stalking? he wondered. Or was he excused because she’d let her stubbornness and pride turn her into an idiot?

  Or was he wrong and that kid who worked for her had stayed? Troy could be up in the treehouse, Linette sleeping peacefully in her bedroom. She might have male friends he knew nothing about, too. He’d been careful not to look too closely into her life when he wasn’t ready to try to step back into it. This minute, he regretted that. In fact, he regretted every mistake he’d ever made with her. His jaw clenched hard enough to break a tooth, but he made himself turn away and continue on his rounds.

  Jed swore under his breath. He was still scared of what she could do to him, and that was the truth. But maybe what he felt was meaningless. If he’d seen even a glimmer in her eyes…but he hadn’t.

  Didn’t mean he wouldn’t do everything he could to keep her safe, whether she liked it or not.

  *****

  Jed drove through town on his way to the sheriff’s department headquarters, intending to check in and then go home for a few hours sleep. He hoped he didn’t encounter Jarman. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the jackass.

  But before he even reached headquarters, his eye was caught by a crowd on the sidewalk outside Pronghorn Seed & Feed. All men, and from a block away he could see that tempers were hot.

  He called Grant, who picked up on the first ring.

  Jed explained and said, “Figured if I get lynched, someone should know why.”

  “Who’s in the crowd?”

  “’Bout what you’d expect. A bunch of ranchers who’ve been hit by losses. Austin Jackson, Frank Vanbeek, Dennis MacLeod…” He shook his head. “You’d think he’d be old enough to know better. Let’s see, something Erickson.”

  “The older or the younger?”

  “The son.”

  “Lars,” Grant supplied. “Listen, I’m on my way.”

  Jed didn’t argue. He still held some hope that the group of men were strategizing instead of whipping themselves into a rage that would allow them to do something really stupid, but the faces he could see didn’t bolster that hope.

  After parking at the curb only feet from the men, he climbed stiffly out of his pickup and circled the front of it. Voices fell silent and they all turned to look at him.

  He nodded in greeting. “Gentlemen.”

  A few returned his nod grudgingly.

  “Something happened I should know about?”

  “We’re just talking. That’s not against the law, is it?”

  That was Lars Erickson, the son who had hovered in the background while Jed talked to his father a few weeks ago.

  “You know it isn’t.” He raised his eyebrows as he scanned the group. Eight…no, nine men. Jed let his voice harden. “I see some of you are carrying.”

  “That’s not against the law either, last I knew.” Erickson again.

  Jed’s gaze roved. A few met his eyes, while others in the crowd didn’t want to.

  “You’re looking like a mob, which makes me uneasy.” He was glad to see Grant’s marked vehicle glide to a stop at the curb.

  “You’re acting like you think we’re the ones who’ve done something wrong,” Tim Brekhus said. He was one of many who had a spread small enough to make ranching a hobby rather than a serious attempt to make a living. He’d lost ten cows and calves, if Jed remembered right. Chances were good that hit him hard enough, he wouldn’t be able to start over.

  In fact, the serious ranchers weren’t here, with the exception of Lars Erickson. Jed doubted his father, the actual owner of the Bar Double E, would approve of whatever was going on here.

  Grant strolled up to join him, startling most of the idiots who hadn’t noticed his arrival. “Fellows,” he said with a nod that probably irritated them as much as Jed’s had. Maybe it was the gray, sheriff’s department Stetson both wore. Or the badges both displayed on their belts.

  “We’re just talking,” Austin Jackson said hastily.

  Right over the top of him, Lars snapped, “Doesn’t seem like law enforcement has been a lot of help. You may not have a clue who these fuckers are, but we do.”

  Dylan Hardin sneered. “We don’t have to stand by while—”

  Jed interrupted. “What makes you think we don’t have a clue?” He stared hard at them, focusing on one face at a time. And damn, he wished his head wasn’t throbbing. “Unlike you, we need proof to satisfy the prosecutor and convince a jury. We don’t have the luxury of turning on people
we don’t like, or who haven’t been hit by the rustlers yet. For God’s sake, use your heads! Some ranches have neighbors too near to make them good prospects. A couple of ranches that haven’t had trouble yet are on dead end roads. Rancher wakes up, hears something going on, all he has to do is call us and those rustlers will run right into a roadblock. Frankly, they’ve shown some discrimination so far. They started with the best quality beef – Whitney’s Wagyu calves, the Circle S’s and Arrowhead Creek ranches’ Herefords. Some small ranches – and I know damn well who you’re thinking about – don’t have the kind of cattle to justify the risk.”

  He could tell a few in this group were thinking now. Dennis McLeod was inching toward the glass doors into the feed and seed. Austin Jackson looked chagrined. He was mad, but also smart enough to hear the sense in what Jed was saying.

  “I’m asking you to cooperate with the sheriff’s department, not get in our way. Please don’t put us in the position of having to arrest any of you. You hear me?”

  He heard resentful mutters, but Jackson wasn’t alone in showing signs of backing down.

  “Yeah, but damn it, if I don’t get my cattle back I’m done for,” a guy named Blake Albaugh argued.

  “Do you really think if you all roar on out to some local rancher’s place you’re going to find a bunch of stolen cattle there?” Jed shook his head. “I’m here to tell you that I and other members of this department are looking. You know we’re doing flyovers.”

  There were nods.

  “We’re not finding the cattle. The pilot or the observer would have spotted an unexpectedly large herd or any size of herd where they shouldn’t be. They’re checking out federal land, too.” He paused again to meet a few men’s eyes. “I think the cattle have been taken out of the area. There’s got to be a temporary holding area, but you know Nebraska and Oklahoma don’t have brand inspectors to verify ownership. These guys can load a semi-truck, have your cattle two states away in no time.”

  He saw grief. Those with any sense had already known what he was telling them, they just hadn’t wanted to admit it. The majority of these men hadn’t carried insurance. Because of that, they’d lost the most.

  Jed squared his shoulders to finish. “I’m glad to meet any of you individually or in a group. Feel free to call. Just know that we won’t tolerate any vigilante acts.”

  After a little more back and forth, the crowd finally broke up, a couple of men going into the store, others circling around back to where they’d parked. Nobody lingered to talk to him right now.

  Grant asked if he’d seen Chris Jarman recently.

  “Yeah, he’s pissed.”

  Grant’s expression morphed into a scowl. “If he said anything—”

  “Just expressed his feelings. Who was I to judge?”

  “I almost hope he screws up again so I can fire him.”

  Forget the almost. Jed hoped the same. Jarman wasn’t in law enforcement for the right reasons, but Jed wasn’t worried. The guy’s attitude said it all. No lesson had been learned. He’d make that career-ending mistake any day. It had just better not involve Linette.

  Grant had been watching him. “And may I say you look like shit.”

  Jed let one side of his mouth curve. “Appreciate your honesty. I’m going home to sack out for a few hours.”

  Grant tipped the brim of his hat, grinned and walked back to his SUV.

  *****

  With a few hours of sleep clearing her head, Linette decided to spend the afternoon working with this spring’s foals. She wasn’t up to dealing with a frightened two- or three-year-old that outweighed her by a thousand pounds or so, however unlikely that was to happen.

  She did her best to avoid ever presenting her horses with scary experiences. She touched the foals as soon as their dams seemed comfortable with it. Many trainers waited to halter-break foals until they were weaned, but she preferred to start them on a line really young so it was never shocking. She didn’t begin seriously riding her horses until they were three-year-olds, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be accustomed to a blanket and even a saddle on their backs long before that. Because she was a small woman, she sometimes eased herself onto their backs sooner. She avoided traumatizing her horses at all costs.

  Linette had a six-week-old claybank filly named Paloma trotting happily around the small arena, obeying gentle commands, when she caught sight of a man watching.

  She’d used sheets of plywood along the fence to eliminate outside distractions. Jed stood behind the gate, the one place he could see inside and be seen. His right foot rested on the lowest bar and he had crossed his arms on the top one. He wore western boots, jeans, a crisp white shirt and a gray Stetson.

  He dipped his head. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Then I’ll finish with this session.”

  He might have been there for a while; when she worked with any of her horses, she shut out everything else. Right now, she needed to stay aware of what Paloma was thinking, when she quit having fun. Better to end the session than let her became bored. Preventing herself from becoming distracted was crucial.

  Of course, now she’d lost the magic, the feeling that the filly and she were communicating, as if the line stretching between them encapsulated a bundle of shared nerves alive with messages whisking back and forth. She was too self-conscious, even though Jed had watched plenty of other times while she worked with horses at the stable outside Atlanta.

  Finally she conceded defeat and brought Paloma to a walk then gently drew her in and stroked her face and neck. “Good girl,” she murmured.

  The filly nibbled the pocket on Linette’s shirt. She laughed and led her toward the gate, which Jed held open for them.

  Studying Paloma, he said, “She’s a beauty. Strong hindquarters.”

  “Yes, the Kiger aren’t lanky at this age. In body type, they have more in common with a quarter horse than with a thoroughbred.”

  “I don’t suppose there are many thoroughbreds in these parts.”

  She passed him without really looking at him. “You might be surprised. There’s an Oregon thoroughbred owners and breeders association. I understand there’s a circuit of racing at fairs in the summer.”

  “Huh.”

  She cross-tied Paloma in the barn aisle and started brushing her. The filly’s sensitive skin rippled, and she occasionally leaned into an especially pleasurable stroke.

  Jed laughed and said, “If you have another brush, I can do this side.”

  Linette found one and handed it over without saying a word, careful not to let her fingers brush his. Damn, she was invariably surprised anew at the crystal clarity of his blue eyes and the piercing quality of them.

  “You get any sleep?” he asked after a minute.

  “Some.” She stole a look at his face and saw lines deeper than they should be. “You look tired.”

  “I caught a few hours this morning.” He hesitated, distinctly wary. “I kept watch on your place last night.”

  Her hand stopped and she stared. “But…I told you I could take care of myself. You offered. I said no.”

  “Did I bother you?”

  “Obviously not,” she said stiffly, “or I’d have known you were around.” She frowned. “Where were you?”

  “Sat in my truck some of the time, walked a circuit through your pastures about every hour.”

  And she’d never heard or seen him. Although why that should surprise her, she didn’t know. He had often caught her by surprise because he moved so silently. Gravel didn’t dare crunch under his feet.

  Irritation was only a thin layer atop Linette’s stew of emotions. Somewhere beneath…there was undeniable comfort at knowing he’d been here if she had needed him. But also, she couldn’t deny a skin-crawling awareness that if Jed had wandered around the ranch without her seeing him, so could someone else.

  Determined he not see her confusion, she bent to pick up Paloma’s dainty front hoof, then her back one. Both were clean and heal
thy.

  Linette straightened. “You’re so sure he’ll come back.” She couldn’t quite make it a question, when she had no doubt of the answer. He – that dark, faceless threat.

  “I am.” Jed looked at her with a certain grimness. “Linette…the things happening to you seem personal. Do you have any idea at all who he could be?”

  She opened her mouth…and closed it, pressing her lips together. No. She’d thought about this enough. Why, after so long, would Theo have come after her? He’d probably gone through several women since her.

  Jed’s eyes narrowed. She might have imagined the curl of his lip that suggested contempt, but she didn’t think so.

  “You’re protecting someone.”

  “No. I wouldn’t. It’s not like that. I just can’t imagine—” Clear as mud.

  Jed shook his head and crouched to inspect Paloma’s remaining hooves. Linette trusted him; he knew horses, and she’d never seen him treat one with anything but kindness.

  “I was involved with someone after you,” she made herself say, even as she fixed her gaze on the bright square where the double barn doors stood open. “It didn’t end well, but I think he was glad to see the last of me.”

  “If you give me his name, I can check on his whereabouts. We can rule him out.”

  Panic swirled with humiliation. If she told him, he’d find out how low she’d sunk. She had fought hard since then to regain her self-respect. Jed would never respect her again, that was for sure. Which shouldn’t matter…but did.

  She shook her head. “There’s not a reason in the world he’d be doing this stuff. I’ve been in Oregon for over three years now. And no, before you ask, there’s been nobody since I got here. I’ve had it with men, present company included. I like my horses better.”

  Linette unclipped the line and led Paloma out to the pasture. Her dam, grazing in seeming unconcern, was also a claybank. Paloma’s coat was currently lighter than her dam’s, cream barely tinted with a hint of red. But like her mama, her mane, tail and legs were darker.

  “Not many of us achieve our dreams,” said Jed, behind her, his voice so gentle her knees momentarily wobbled.