Cowboy Firefighter Christmas Kiss

by Kim Redford

  And now here he was, following in their wake so many years later. He felt honored and humbled, stirring up dust from the past to settle into the present.

  He kept a lookout for rustlers, but as they headed north, all was quiet except for the well-wishers camped out here and there along the trail. He saw more signs about Fernando, urging him home for Christmas. The drive was slow, passing the turnoff for one ranch after another until he saw Wildcat Hall up ahead. He’d soon be near Ivy…but did he want to talk with her? He didn’t want to stir up anything, not on the trail drive. Still, his heart was hurting, even in the middle of his current success.

  When he got close, he could see the Settelmeyers had outdone themselves. They’d placed an old-time chuck wagon with big, wooden wheels and white canvas stretched over the top out front. They’d set up food and drink provided by his family’s Chuckwagon Café behind the wagon in the beer garden. He could smell the delicious aroma of barbecue and all the trimmings that had been placed in long, aluminum trays on top of picnic tables.

  Cattle and drovers were spread out behind him on Wildcat Road. They’d be passing the Hall in waves, so there wouldn’t be too many people in the beer garden at once. At least that was the plan. Now he saw that a lot of the spectators were already making their way to the Hall for a community gathering, like in the old days. He hadn’t expected that aspect of the cattle drive, but he was happy to see that the tradition lived on.

  He looked for Ivy and saw her right away. She was serving food in the beer garden and chatting with folks. She’d dressed in western wear and looked good—real good, if his body’s response told him anything. Maybe he’d better keep his distance. He didn’t want any type of emotional confrontation.

  When he reached Wildcat Hall, he slipped off the roan and grabbed a bottle of water in a tub of ice out front. He’d stay near the road in case someone needed something, then he’d quickly head back out.

  As he watched the cattle, he felt someone come up behind him. He glanced back, saw Ivy, and his heart picked up speed.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” She looked at him with veiled eyes as she held out a sandwich wrapped in paper.

  “I can’t stay long.” He sounded stilted and knew it, but he couldn’t stop his powerful reaction to her.

  “Slade, I want to talk with you about last night.”

  “There’s not time now.” He grabbed the sandwich, careful not to touch her fingers.

  “I don’t want it coming between us.”

  “That happened the minute you called your Realtor friend.”

  “I didn’t know anybody here. I wanted to go home. I didn’t expect a buyer to show up.”

  “It’s a historic site.”

  “I understand the importance now.” She held out a hand, beseeching him. “I want to apologize for my thoughtless actions.”

  He shrugged and took a step back, squeezing the sandwich in his fist. He was getting angry all over again. She obviously thought a few words could make everything right, could put everything back, could heal the gulf between them.

  “I talked with Fern last night, and she said—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” He tossed the water and the sandwich in a nearby trash barrel, then walked over and leaped into his saddle.

  “But, Slade, please…”

  He didn’t look back as he rejoined the cattle drive, pushing his roan to the front of herd. Maybe later, he’d be ready to listen to what she had to say, but not now…not in the middle of the trail drive. He had to make sure the cattle got safely to Steele Trap II.

  And his heart was just going to have to hurt.

  Chapter 34

  Slade rode in front of the cattle drive, keeping watch, waving at spectators, reading “Fernando Home for Christmas” signs, enjoying the entire experience. He glanced back, taking in the colorful sight of cattle and drovers, horses and dogs. They were coming into the final stretch. The sun had moved from east to west during their long day. Now, a brilliant sunset of red and orange set the western horizon ablaze. And up ahead was the new Steele Trap II sign above the entry to the ranch.

  Suddenly, he felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. But what? He thought back to Ivy. Was she okay? She’d been fine, at least physically, when he’d talked to her. She’d even apologized for her actions. He appreciated it, even felt the tightness in his chest ease a bit with her words. Maybe he should’ve let her continue, but he’d been impatient—too much was happening too fast and he didn’t want a confrontation in the middle of the trail drive. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe it wouldn’t have taken long, and he wouldn’t be uneasy now.

  Yet he didn’t think it was Ivy. Something else was bothering him…something just under the surface like an irritating itch. Ranchers and farmers learned to watch for those signs, because they were at the mercy of nature so much of the time.

  He focused on the ranch. Trouble. All of his senses came on alert. They hadn’t seen the rustlers all day. Could they be here? Had they decided to hit the ranch instead of the cattle drive? With everybody gone and concentrated on the event, they had plenty of time to get in and out with no one the wiser. He should’ve left guards on duty, but he hadn’t wanted to deny any cowboy the opportunity to be part of the trail drive. He’d needed the sheriff and his deputies with him. And he’d hoped the thieves were long gone.

  Hindsight was perfect, but it didn’t help him now. He glanced back again. Sheriff Calhoun and two deputies on horseback weren’t too far behind him. If the rustlers were at the ranch, he didn’t want the cattle drive going in there. It’d be too dangerous. Somebody could get hurt. If the thieves weren’t there, then his worry was for nothing.

  He had to make a decision, and he had to make it fast. He wouldn’t take a chance. He’d go in alone, check out the situation, and call the sheriff for backup if he needed it. Hopefully, his instincts were haywire because he wasn’t thinking straight due to Ivy. But everything in him was screaming trouble.

  He wasn’t concerned about getting over the cattle guard on horseback, because at both ranches they’d opened up a line of fence so the cattle could easily be driven to pasture. He turned toward that open section now, urged his roan into a gallop, and thundered into his ranch. He saw nothing amiss, so he slowed down and turned onto the road leading up to the house. Surely the rustlers wouldn’t be so bold as to come out the main gate.

  As he headed up the lane, a big truck—two ton at least—with an attached gooseneck kicked up a cloud of dust as it barreled toward him. He realized the rustlers must have seen him. Not only had they seen him, but they were headed straight at him to run him down as they drove out the front gate of the ranch ahead of the cattle drive. One way or another, he had to stop them, even if he was a lone cowboy on horseback and way overmatched by the monster truck.

  He rode off the road, jerked his trusty .44 Magnum Henry rifle out of its saddle sheath, levered a round into the chamber, and raised it to his shoulder. He thought about shooting the tires, but the big truck could roll a long way on the rims. So he aimed at the truck’s front grill and fired to take out the engine, so they couldn’t go anywhere with his cattle. He quickly cranked the lever for another round and fired again, then again and again, drilling holes in the grill every time. The truck had so much momentum it kept coming, but the engine died and the truck finally rolled to a stop.

  He rode closer and aimed his rifle at the windshield. “I’ve got five rounds left,” he shouted. “Don’t make me use them.” He aimed the rifle with one hand and pulled out his phone with the other. He called the sheriff.

  “Heard the shots. What’s going on?” Sheriff Calhoun asked, sounding calm and in control.

  “You’d better get up here. I’ve got the rustlers pinned in their truck.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I caught them on their way out hauling a load of my cattle.”

  “Bold
as brass.”

  “I hear you.” He kept an eye on the shadowy figures in the cab to see what they’d do next. “I’ll call Oscar for help.”

  “Sounds good. We’re on our way.”

  While Slade waited for the sheriff, he quickly phoned Oscar.

  “Looks okay from here,” Oscar said. “How’s everything on your end?”

  “You’ll be hard-pressed to believe it, but I’ve got the rustlers pinned in their truck. We’re waiting for the sheriff.”

  Oscar hooted and hollered. “Perfect end to a perfect day.”

  “They were headed out on the main road, if you can believe their nerve.”

  “I believe it…but it’s odd they’re just now leaving the ranch. They’ve had most of the day to get in and get gone.”

  “Odd, yeah. But okay by me. We’ve got them.”

  “That’s the main thing.”

  “If you’ll slow down the drive, we’ll finish up here. I don’t want anybody getting hurt.”

  “You got it.”

  Slade slipped his phone back into his pocket just as the sheriff and his deputies rode up to him.

  “Good job,” Sheriff Calhoun said. “Come on. Let’s see what we got inside that truck.”

  Slade kept his rifle aimed at the cab as he rode closer with the sheriff and deputies.

  “Come on out and put your hands on your heads,” Sheriff Calhoun called, stepping down from his horse, followed by his two deputies. He motioned for one deputy to go to the passenger side of the truck.

  Slade stayed on horseback, where he held a more strategic position in case the rustlers decided to make a run for it on foot.

  After a moment, the driver’s door opened and a man cautiously stepped down. He had shaggy, dark hair and yellow bruises on his face. He wore a shirt, jeans, and one boot. He also had a big, white cast on his left foot.

  “Put your hands on your head,” Sheriff Calhoun said.

  The rustler complied, swaying slightly on his feet.

  “You know you’re in a lot of trouble.” Sheriff Calhoun adjusted his belt with the big rodeo buckle.

  The rustler didn’t reply. He simply stared sullenly at the ground.

  “Bring that other guy around here to join his partner,” Sheriff Calhoun called to his deputy.

  When the rustler walked around the front of the truck, he looked similar to his partner, wearing shirt, jeans, and boots. Instead of a cast on his foot, he had one on his right arm.

  “Looks like you two were in a bit of a tussle,” Sheriff Calhoun said. “Identification, please.”

  “You can call me Tom. He’s Harry,” the driver said. “And that’s about all you’ll get from us.”

  “Frisk them.” Sheriff Calhoun motioned to his deputies. “Get their IDs. And cuff them.”

  Slade watched everything, ready to step in if things went south or he was needed by the sheriff and his deputies.

  “No wallets. No nothing.”

  “That’s not an accident,” Sheriff Calhoun said. “Looks to me like we’ve got a couple of pros on our hands. Did you rustlers ever work North Texas before?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom said.

  “And we wish we’d never heard of Texas.” Harry glared at everyone.

  Sheriff Calhoun just shook his head as he looked at the two men. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble around here—time and expense, too, not to mention the loss of cattle.”

  “No walk in the park for us,” Tom said. “One more time and you’d have seen the last of us.”

  “Right…one last time,” Sheriff Calhoun said, disbelief coloring his voice. “Slade, would you check the cab and see if their IDs are in there?”

  He nodded, holstered his rifle, dismounted, and walked around the front of the truck where the engine still steamed, hissed, and pinged. He stepped up to the cab, doing his best not to touch anything as he glanced around. It was a mess. Fast food wrappers. Empty pop and beer cans. If the IDs were there, it’d take a day to find them.

  He started to back out, then stopped as something on the floorboard caught his attention. He saw an open box filled with electronic equipment…and everything fell into place.

  He backed out and slammed the door behind him, feeling like he’d been way too slow since the heists had started on his ranch. He stalked over to the sheriff, seething inside.

  “What’d you find?” Sheriff Calhoun asked.

  “Big mess. Good luck finding any IDs, but I bet their fingerprints will do the trick.”

  “I wouldn’t take that bet,” Sheriff Calhoun said.

  “But I did find out what’s made us such easy targets.”

  Tom and Harry snickered, glancing at each other in amusement.

  “What?” Sheriff Calhoun asked.

  “Drones.”

  “Got to give us credit,” Harry said in a proud voice. “We’re twenty-first century all the way.”

  Sheriff Calhoun just shook his head. “If you’re such smart cookies, how come you ended up getting caught? You had time to be on your way long ago.”

  Harry glared at Slade, adjusted his stance on his cast, and spit on the ground. “Look at us. We’re slow as molasses due to… What the hell kind of bulls do you raise around here anyway?”

  “Fernando! You two clowns snatched him?” Slade pointed at the casts, then started to laugh. “He took you both out?”

  “Ha!” Harry said. “He took out three of us when we tried to transfer him from one trailer to another.”

  “Shut up,” Tom hollered.

  “Why? They got us.” Harry frowned at his partner.

  “We got us a bargaining chip,” Tom said. “Don’t blow it.”

  Slade exchanged a look with Sheriff Calhoun as they both realized at the same time that something was going on beyond cut-and-dried cattle rustling.

  “What the hell kind of name is Fernando for an Angus bull anyway? That breed’s Scottish.” Harry sounded disgusted by the whole idea.

  “Reggie Rogers.” Slade glanced at the sheriff. “He must be the third rustler.”

  Sheriff Calhoun nodded at the thieves. “So you had an inside man help you take Fernando. Why’d you want that bull anyway? He wasn’t easy, not compared to backing up a trailer, loading up cows, and heading out.”

  “That’s our bargaining chip,” Tom said.

  “How so?” Sheriff Calhoun asked.

  “You’re right,” Tom said. “Not our normal way of taking cattle, no way, no how, but the money was the best—or should’ve been if that bull hadn’t fought his way out.”

  “We’re sick of hearing how sweet-natured Fernando is from that little girl on the radio,” Harry said.

  “Storm is my niece.” Slade clenched his fists. “You better be careful how you talk about her.”

  “We can’t figure out how that bull came to be so popular,” Tom said, shaking his head. “It was bad enough to lose him, but that’s made it a hundred times worse.”

  “Yeah,” Harry said, then spit on the road. “Saw his picture everywhere. Folks rooting for him to get home by Christmas. Crazy.”

  “That’s what got us into this mess,” Tom said, agreeing. “I guess a special bull is a special bull.”

  “What do you mean?” Sheriff Calhoun asked.

  “That’s our bargaining chip,” Tom said.

  “It’ll go easier on you both and Reggie, or whatever his name is, if you come clean,” Sheriff Calhoun said. “Sounds to me like somebody got you into this fix. Let me help you straighten it out.”

  “Lots of folks have been hurt by your actions,” Slade said. “Cattle rustling, barn burning, pickups crashing. You have a lot to answer for.”

  Tom looked at Harry, then back at Sheriff Calhoun. “If you cut us some slack on the charges, we can give you the name of the
man who hired us to snatch Fernando.”

  “I can’t do that,” Sheriff Calhoun said, “but I can ask for leniency on the charges. I’d be happy to do what I can if we nail this guy.”

  Tom consulted with Harry again, then nodded. “Name’s Brux Brennan. He’s got a big spread in East Texas.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Slade said. “He doesn’t need Fernando. He’s got some of the best bloodlines in the state, if not the country.”

  “Not the point,” Tom said. “Some guy named Werner bested him when Fernando was auctioned, and he’s had a bee in his bonnet about it ever since.”

  “You’re kidding.” Slade just shook his head. “All this for revenge? Mr. Werner was a fine man…gone now and a big loss to our community.”

  “Don’t know nothing about Werner. Just Brennan,” Harry said.

  “Are you willing to make statements and sign them attesting to these facts?” Sheriff Calhoun asked. “We’ll need your other partner to do the same thing once we pick him up.”

  “Reggie won’t be hard to nab,” Tom said. “He’s more bunged up than us, so he’s still in bed.”

  Slade felt a surge of satisfaction at that news. At least a little justice had come out of all the injustice.

  “Okay,” Sheriff Calhoun said. “We’ll get him and we’ll get Mr. Brennan, too. Nobody’s going to get off scot-free.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Slade felt a vast sense of relief that his ranches were safe again. If Fernando were back, everything would be fine, but the big bull was still in the wind. He heard an engine so looked back to the ranch’s entry and saw an SUV driving up fast. Doors opened and folks leaped out.