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

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Jed picked up the phone and poked the flashing red button. “Ms. Brown? This is Detective Jed Dawson. I believe we’ve met.”

  “I had my arms around you.”

  Jed laughed. “So you did.” On a bitterly cold night, she’d ridden behind him on an ATV.

  Now she asked, “Are you investigating the cattle rustling?”

  His attention snapped into sharp focus. “I am.”

  “Oh, good. Well, I saw something…” She sounded more hesitant than seemed natural for the woman he remembered. “Except now I’m doubting myself. The cattle I saw are probably just loose to graze on leased land.”

  “Ma’am, why don’t you tell me what you did see? Something about it made you uneasy.”

  “I called, so I might as well,” she said more tartly. “I trailered my horse today over near Parson’s Rimrock to take a ride. That’s something I don’t do more than a couple of times a year.”

  Parson’s Rimrock. Jed automatically blocked out the memories the name summoned and reflected that it would be hard to hide anything on the bare, flat land between the highway and the columnar basalt wall, the most impressive in Hayes County.

  “Did you ride up to the top?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did, and that’s where… Well, it’s been as much as twenty years since I’ve seen cattle out that way. These were in the distance, but I saw cows and calves. A couple of hundred, maybe. So I thought—”

  “You thought right,” he said with satisfaction. “I’m glad you reported this. We’ll check it out. Thank you very much, Ms. Brown.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ve known Gary Webb for years.”

  She was gone before he could comment.

  Jed pulled up a USGS map on his laptop and studied it. He’d been right in remembering that much of the area was federal or state land. However, some private land did lie beyond the rimrock. Jed had gotten a look at it some weeks back when he went up in a small plane to plan for the regular, night-time patrols. That one had been in daylight hours.

  Using binoculars, he’d allowed his attention to be momentarily snagged by the top of Parson’s Rimrock – called Butt Crack by local teens, a vulgar description of the substantial split separating one side from the other. He’d made his last kill there, wearing a ghillie suit to allow him to sneak up on another former army sniper determined to take out Grant Holcomb and his girlfriend, Cassie Ward. Jed had gotten him first. Killing the way he had threw Jed back into the shit he thought he’d crawled out of, but whatever the cost, he didn’t regret pulling the trigger.

  During that same flight, he’d noted some falling down ranch buildings and fences in bleak country on the edge of the county, but no cattle. Since that was a matter of weeks ago, he couldn’t imagine that a newcomer had bought the long-abandoned ranch, repaired fences and barns, and jumped right into cattle ranching. And, damn it, had the flights since avoided that completely empty area?

  Energized, he carried his laptop to Grant’s office, giving a tap on the half-open door before entering. “We may have caught a break.”

  When Grant heard who the caller was, he laughed. “Nice woman. Brisk and practical. As frozen as I was that night, I appreciated her help.”

  He studied the maps, after which they debated whether to fly over or just drive in.

  “Sneak in,” Jed corrected himself. “If I can find even one cow there with a brand identifying it as stolen—”

  “We could get a warrant.”

  Jed guessed his smile would scare most people. “Better yet. We can set up a trap. Somebody has to be checking on the herd, maybe tossing out hay, at least filling water troughs. Map doesn’t indicate so much as a creek running through that land.”

  Grant’s answering grin was equally predatory, his combat experience and years as a cop showing. “I like it. Getting in there without being seen might be tough, though.”

  “I’ll start by determining who owns the land. Legally, it would be good to have permission from the owner.”

  “You still don’t want to be seen.”

  “No.” Jed pushed himself to his feet. “But I know how to become a ghost.”

  Grant didn’t have to say a word.

  *****

  Jed didn’t enjoy donning the ghillie suit he’d brought home from Afghanistan and had worn only the once since, but given long practice it didn’t take twenty minutes for him to cut some fresh branches of sage and rabbitbrush to weave through the mesh.

  He’d determined that the state of Oregon actually had bought out the previous owner of the deserted ranch, and had reached the appropriate individual at DSL – the Department of State Lands – to give him permission to search on any or all Oregon state public lands for evidence connected to the cattle rustling.

  From a little-used road that cut cross-country from the highway, he spotted a dirt track near to being overgrown by the ubiquitous rabbitbrush that was more aggressive than the native sagebrush. He drove within half a mile of the fence line, parked in an unobtrusive spot and still covered the roof of his department SUV with a blanket constructed like his suit that he had last laid over his horse when he made the approach to Parson’s Rimrock. Jed jogged twenty-five yards or so away and turned back to see that the vehicle had virtually disappeared.

  Satisfied, he took out his binoculars and searched the landscape for movement, for any glint of metal, anything oddly shaped, but saw nothing. From then on, he moved in short bursts, bent over, pausing regularly to look again.

  Not until Jed got close to the fence was he able to see that it had been reinforced with fresh strands of barbed wire. Acknowledging a moment of grim satisfaction, he felt sure DSL wouldn’t appreciate illicit shoring up of structures or fences even if the purpose wasn’t to hide stolen livestock.

  Cattle were scattered across the land on the other side of the fence, grazing on the high desert bunchgrasses. Jed saw no vehicles even in the ranch yard, nor evidence of a human presence. Even so, he belly-crawled the last distance, cut a stretch of wire and rolled beneath the remaining strand.

  He moved just as carefully until he reached a cluster of Black Angus – or were they Wagyu? – with a sole white-faced, red-brown Hereford cow and calf in the midst. They appeared not to notice him. Jed moved close enough to snap photos of brands. The black calves appeared to be unbranded, but the Hereford calf did have one. Jed waited until a butt swung toward him to get a picture of the brand on one of the black cows. And, damn, he recognized it right away. Had these idiots really held onto Walt Whitney’s Wagyu herd this long, and not twenty miles from Whitney’s ranch?

  Sure they had – they’d wanted the calves to bulk up before being sold. These might be the most valuable cattle stolen.

  No need to take the risk of trying to get close to any of the other animals.

  After checking to be sure all the photos were clear, he belly-crawled back the way he’d come. Once on the other side of the fence, he pulled the wire toward the next post and did his best to anchor it with several rocks in hopes no one noticed it had been cut.

  Halfway back to his ride, he heard the growl of a truck engine. After turning, he stretched out flat behind a sizeable sagebrush and adjusted his binoculars. The graying wood of the ramshackle ranch buildings came into sharp focus.

  Black pickup truck. Two men climbing out, heads turning warily. Wide-brimmed hats hid their features. One was shorter, stocky, while the other appeared tall and lean. He was a stranger, Jed decided, but the shorter guy…he’d lay money that was Mason Thayer.

  Jed lay still, waiting until they were fully occupied running a hose from a large tank in the bed of the truck to a steel stock tank. Then he cautiously moved, a little at a time, until he’d made it back to his SUV.

  As he drove, he eyed the sun, already on its way down, and knew they wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to set a trap this evening. The surprising appearance of the two men in broad daylight made him wonder if the rustlers were always this bold, or if these two had other plans for t
onight. Surely they feared that regular traffic out here would draw attention. They’d pass better unnoticed at night, when fewer people were on the road.

  Tomorrow night, he decided, before any cattle were shipped away.

  *****

  When he arrived home – at Linette’s ranch, he corrected himself – he thanked Alex Burke, waiting until Burke left before following his directions to find Linette in the tack room. Head bent over her work, she was applying saddle soap to a leather line with a clip on end. Bridles were ranged around her, most appearing supple and glossy after treatment.

  Hearing his footfall, she looked up with a shy smile. “You’re early.”

  “Not much more I could accomplish today,” he said. He looked around and found a seat on a burlap bag full of shavings. The concavity at the top suggested the bag had served the same purpose before.

  “Did you accomplish anything?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Even he heard the satisfaction infusing his voice. “Most cops will tell you that their keen insight into criminal thinking and their brilliance in tying the dots together explains why they’re able to close investigations. I’m here to say that’s a lie.”

  Linette laughed, as he’d hoped. He loved seeing her face when she was open and relaxed.

  “Then how do you close cases, Detective Dawson?” she teased.

  “Luck. Pure luck. I depend on other people seeing what I didn’t.” He told her about Irene Brown’s phone call and his own reconnaissance. “Needless to say, don’t mention this to anyone at all, but we plan to set up an ambush tomorrow evening. We’ll probably nab only one or two of these guys, but they’ll talk.”

  Hearing the steel in his voice, she raised her eyebrows. “Do you plan to pull out some fingernails or something?”

  He grinned. “Tempting, but no. I already know who at least some of these men are. They’re whiny and immature. Keeping their mouths shut means accepting sole responsibility. Since a second degree murder charge is part of the package, I feel sure they’ll be eager to talk.”

  She studied him for longer than was comfortable, finally nodding and bending her head again over the line she was now buffing with a soft cloth to a sheen. Jed couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking.

  Then she told him.

  “You’ve always claimed to be a loner. How is it you’re so astute where other people are concerned?”

  He dodged. “Forget astute. It’s luck, remember?”

  She pinned him with a look.

  After a minute, he said, “You know I grew up in foster care.”

  Linette nodded, watching him with anxious solemnity.

  “You learn to read intentions.” He added reluctantly, “It’s a survival instinct.”

  Seeing her shiver, he reached out to lay a hand on her arm. “I don’t mean that literally.” Actually, there had been a few times, but he didn’t have to tell her everything. “You learn when to back off, when to stay quiet, when to—” Disappear before you took a fist to the face. “When to do what you’re told to do,” he substituted.

  Her hands had gone still, her attention all on him. “How many different foster homes were you in?”

  In the past, he’d shut her down when she asked these kind of questions. That was still his instinct – but she’d told him the most hurtful things from her childhood, and even he sensed there wouldn’t be any balance until he did the same.

  “Eight or ten.” Seeing her expression, Jed said, “I really don’t know. I was two when I went into the system. I have only scattered memories of the first few years.”

  “Nobody ever…wanted to, well, keep you?”

  “Only once. I had a foster dad who was a foreman on a good-size cattle ranch. His name was Mitch Jones.” Jed paused, remembering the wiry man with leathery skin who seemed to know everything about horses and cattle. He’d taught as much of it as he could to Jed, seeming to understand his foster son’s frequent suspensions from school. “He was…a good guy,” Jed said finally. “I was never sure why he’d decided to foster. I think I was his one and only. I stayed with him for three and a half years. Then…he got hurt. Kicked by a horse. When his leg didn’t mend, the ranch owner let him go. Mitch…” Jed had to swallow. “He called social services and they came to get me.” He had begged to stay with Mitch, who’d looked sorrowful and said, Don’t know where I’ll go or how I’ll keep myself, boy. You’ll be better off with someone else.

  He hadn’t been. The time with Mitch was the only stability Jed had known but for the army. His foster father wasn’t demonstrative. If he had been, Jed would have rejected any overtures. Even so, he knew now that his years with Mitch had included deep affection.

  “How old were you?” Linette asked quietly.

  “Sixteen.” He shrugged. “They placed me, I ran away. After a couple of repeats, I ended up in a group home. It wasn’t that bad. My birthday is in June—” Had he ever told her that? “—so I graduated from high school and aged out of the foster care system at the same time. I enlisted right away.”

  Linette still studied him. “Did you ever try to find your foster dad?”

  “Yeah.” Jed cleared his throat. “After my first couple of deployments.” He still wasn’t sure what had motivated him, but guessed that, if he asked, Linette would be able to tell him. “He’d gotten as far as Arizona. Far as I could tell, he’d been living on disability. Six months before I went looking, Mitch was killed in a single car accident. He’d been drinking.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She was the one to reach across the divide this time, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry I made you remember.”

  Jed had carried a hard knot in his chest for a lot of years. Now he became aware that the knot had softened, was maybe even dissolving. It was the strangest sensation. There’d been a time it would have panicked him. Knowing Linette could make him feel so much had panicked him. Now… Bemused, he smiled crookedly. “It’s okay.” More than okay. “Those were good years. I wish I’d looked for him sooner, except…maybe he needed to hold onto his dignity.” He’d never know, but he couldn’t change his hesitation, or Mitch’s decision not to allow himself to lean on anyone, including his foster son.

  Linette tipped her head. “You’ve changed.”

  “I’ve been telling you.”

  Her smile was tremulous. “I think I actually believe you.”

  “About damn time.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. The lead line and rag dropped to the floor, Linette not seeming to care as she wrapped her arms around his neck and met his kiss.

  Everything about her drew him, from her scent and taste to the way her body fitted against his. The small sounds she made, her curves and strength. And, man, he loved her hair. He wanted to free it from the braid…but the ever-vigilant side of him heard an approaching car or truck.

  Niall, Jed realized.

  Gentling Linette, easing back, he didn’t feel quite as much frustration as he would have even a day ago. It was different now, because he’d be joining her later in her bed.

  Something else he liked: the bewilderment on her face. Knowing she shut out everything and everyone else when she was in his arms kept at bay his edgy fear that she didn’t feel as much as he did.

  *****

  Linette felt more enthusiasm for cooking these days than she had in years. The hungry, hopeful way both men eyed the serving dish in her hands told her why.

  Apparently she’d missed the beginning of a conversation, because as Niall accepted the bowl from her and dished up a heaping pile of scalloped potatoes layered with ham, he said, “Nothing you can take to a judge yet.”

  “Are you still talking about undertones?” Jed asked. He helped himself to an equally ample serving before passing the bowl to Linette.

  Lucky she had already learned the extent of their appetites.

  “Mostly.” Niall frowned, but took a few bites before he continued. “Our police chief has favorites. The other officers resent being shut out. A cou
ple of those have begun complaining to me, but I get the feeling what they really all want is to be part of the in-crowd.”

  “High school all over again?” Linette said.

  “Too damn close. You were right,” he said to Jed. “Cattle rustling aside, this is a police department I wouldn’t want to have to depend on. It needs to be gutted before it’s rebuilt.”

  Linette couldn’t help noticing a certain energy in his voice. Intrigued by it, she wondered if Niall had just plain been depressed when he showed up in Fort Halleck. That would make sense; his wife had left him, he quit his job and began drifting around the country. Maybe being rootless didn’t suit him.

  Jed had been watching Niall, too, but his eyes briefly met Linette’s. She had the feeling he was thinking the same. In fact…had this been his plan when he sent Niall to work undercover? He clearly despised Police Chief Seward, FHPD’s one and only detective, and maybe the officers he’d met, too.

  After clearing half his plate, Niall continued. “Here’s the thing. My informants believe the ‘in’ guys are somehow making extra bucks. Maybe working some kind of security for Seward, they don’t know. But what kind of ‘security’ would he require?”

  Jed’s mouth curved, but his eyes were a particularly cold shade of blue. “We know the answer to that, don’t we?”

  “I’m itching to plant a listening device in his office—”

  Jed shook his head. “You know you can’t do that without a warrant. Getting the warrant is why you’re there in the first place.”

  “Are you doing fly-overs of his ranch?” Linette asked.

  Both men glanced at her. Jed answered. “Occasional. Remember that our pilots are all volunteers. It’s a little tricky to say, ‘We suspect our long-time police chief and want you to concentrate on his ranch.’”