Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  Lust, on the other hand, was familiar and manageable, but he had to rein in unwanted possessive urges and protective instincts. If he’d jumped into that corral while that pimply-faced prick had his hands on Maddy, he’d have decked him. Not cool. Maybe acting engaged had simply confused his libido. Like hell.

  He walked his horse into the stall and peered across at Maddy. “Okay, Sherlock, just what the hell did you find out?”

  “Just a doggone minute, Donovan. I won our little horse race, so you have to wait. You go first.”

  He flipped up the stirrup and fender. Working his jaw, he loosened the cinch. Sensing the strain in his hands, Bandito shook his head. Holt soothed a palm down the sleek neck. “Will told me about a hand they had who left the day after Rob and Sara died.”

  Maddy’s single blink wasn’t the reaction he expected. Not surprised? But she’d tell him her news in her own damn good time. The woman could give lessons in obstinate.

  He explained the Circle-S boss’s offer for Ghost Mountain. “I wonder if his stubborn pride got him killed.”

  Maddy shook her head. “I can’t see Will Rafferty committing murder for Ghost Mountain. Hey, maybe there’s silver in that old mine someone wants. But Will? No.”

  “What little silver there was played out long ago. But that wasn’t what I meant. I don’t know what I meant.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

  Maddy lugged her saddle off the mare and deposited it beside the other. “Family pride may not’ve caused Rob’s death, but it may have kept the ranch from prospering. Like his older brother, he didn’t like accepting help from others. Even old friends.”

  She was something. Holt felt his mouth tilt in spite of his doldrums. “Think you’re pretty smart herding me into having extra hands for the branding.”

  “Quid pro quo. The cowboy action shooting should be fun.” She grinned and picked up a curry brush. Starting on her mount’s coat, she said, “What did Will say about the drifter?”

  “In March, he hired an extra hand to help finish the stable. Fellow named K.C. Riggs was thirty-six according to his driver’s license. Drove a small RV and kept to himself.”

  “I imagine most of these drifters who sign on as temporary hands are loners. So what else?”

  “After he left, Will checked out his Social Security number. No such animal. Keeping to yourself isn’t damning, but high-tailing it when he did sure is suspicious.”

  “So’s living under an assumed name. I read a mystery once where a woman used old obituaries to find aliases. She pretended to be the person and requested a card from Social Security to replace her lost one and used it to get a driver’s license. Is it really that easy?”

  “Unfortunately. Unless someone digs a little deeper, like Rafferty did. I’ll phone the sheriff and grill Luke Saturday sometime during the branding.”

  “Do you suspect Luke?”

  “Like I told Will, I suspect no one and everyone. I’m just asking questions.”

  He hauled the saddles over to the rack in the adjacent tack room. After placing the saddle blankets upside down on the saddles to dry out, he returned to slip the gelding’s bridle free. “Your turn, McCoy.”

  Maddy had just finished placing buckets of water in both stalls. A mischievous grin curved her lips. “The cliché of the strong, silent type must have originated with the cowboy. It’s like coaxing a wild animal to eat out of your hand. But he’ll talk if he has something to argue or brag about.”

  “You mean Slick.” Tension coiled in his gut, but he forced himself to relax.

  “A pretty face, but easily blinded by a little flash.” She sashayed closer to Holt, swaying her hips seductively.

  He knew exactly what she meant by flash, and it didn’t come from a camera. Holt grabbed her upper arms and forced her to stand still before him. Her scent drifted through his senses, obliterating horse and leather smells.

  “So you suckered him in.” Just like me. And Rob. He drew his brows together into a scowl, his only shield. “Go on.”

  She smiled. “Slick boasted he could rope and wrangle better than anyone in three counties. Faith had told me about that drifter, so I let on I’d heard this Riggs was a fair hand with animals and a lasso.”

  “Are you getting to the point anytime soon?”

  Her smile faded to a grim line. “After he finished sneering about the drifter not knowing a hammer from a horse, he dropped the big one. He saw Riggs in his camper cleaning a high-tech high-caliber rifle. Riggs slammed the door in his face.”

  His pulse spiked at her words. High-caliber rifle. Like the one that shot out Rob’s tires and fired at Holt and Maddy that morning.

  “H-Holt. You’re hurting me.” She was prying at his fingers clamped on her arms.

  Horrified, he relaxed his fingers and dropped his arms. He took a step back. “Shit. Sorry, Maddy.”

  “Slick didn’t see anything else like a scope or ammunition, I’m afraid.” Questions but not blame in her eyes, she rubbed her arms.

  Holt stalked back and forth in front of the horse stalls. Flames of fury licked at him, but a cool head was the only recourse. He had to be an investigator, not a brother, and not a target. “Riggs had no motive for killing my family. According to Will, he didn’t even know them.”

  But someone did. And that someone had wanted them dead.

  “Could he have met Sara when she went to the Circle-S to visit Faith?”

  “By the time Riggs showed up, Rob was keeping Sara away from there.”

  “Ah, the Ghost Mountain thing. And you don’t think he was just hunting that morning? Maybe after the truck crashed down the mountain, he took off because he was scared.”

  “Any hunter who shoots game with an exploding .50 caliber bullet won’t have any trophy or meat to bring home. No, if he shot at their tires, it was deliberate.”

  “But why?” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she bit down on it.

  “The only explanation is that someone hired Riggs to kill them.”

  And the one behind the murder has returned. Or hired another killer.

  Fear for what could happen to Bobby edged into his brain, and he pushed it away. He’d telephone the sheriff right away. If that office had done nothing about finding Riggs, he knew a few guys in the Denver DEA office who’d help him.

  He had to do something. And fast.

  Horror darkened Maddy’s eyes. “A paid killer? Like a...hit man?”

  “If it’s true, that about lets anyone at the Circle-S off the hook. That operation’s in the black, but professional hired guns cost more than a gold-trimmed saddle. Even if Will Rafferty expected to dig ore out of Ghost Mountain, at the price of silver today, making any money would take years.”

  Gut as tight as a cinched saddle, he slammed a hand against the tack room wall. “No, if someone’s paying this Riggs or whoever he is, they have more resources than anyone around here. Why? And who would have that kind of money to target Rob and Sara? And now maybe—”

  “You...and me? Who indeed?” Tears glistened, and she hugged herself, but not because of bruised arms.

  He drew her into his arms, and she came as willingly as she had by the stream. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave now. You signed on for baby care, not murder.”

  “I’ll stick. If I leave, it will be because I’m no use to you. Or Bobby. And for no other reason.” She trembled, but didn’t raise her face for his kiss.

  Thank God. If she had, he might not stop this time. Her warm curves fit him perfectly, and he could feel her contrasting textures against his chest—the softness of her breasts and the insistent hardness of her nipples. His need for her scraped at him with hot claws. He was no longer certain sex with Maddy would cleanse her from his system.

  He had a plan for finding K.C. Riggs or whoever the shooter was, but what would he do about Madelyn McCoy?

  *****

  The telephone receiver dropped into its cradle with a soft click. He spread his fingers on the polished mahogany
of the desk, then picked up a custom-made silver-and-gold inlaid knife and scraped it beneath his polished fingernails.

  The man standing before the desk took a cautious step closer. “Success, jefe?”

  “The fool!” The long knife blade snapped shut and open again. “He has failed again.”

  His employee licked his lips. “If you will permit, perhaps it is just as well. Your enemy does not yet know why he should fear your vengeance.”

  His pulse faltered with sudden doubt, which he took care not to show. With deliberation, he closed the knife and placed it on the desktop. “Perhaps not.” He reached once more for the telephone. “I shall make certain he does.”

  *****

  As if Bobby knew the day would bring excitement, he woke the household up long before dawn on Saturday. Maddy didn’t mind. She was as eager as he to begin the biggest day in the life of a ranch. Billowy white clouds blocked the sun, but forecasters promised mild temperatures and no rain.

  Esperanza and her sons, Danny and Sean, arrived as Holt and Bronc were starting the branding fire and readying the tools. Maddy held Bobby in her arms as she and Holt greeted them at the corral.

  The two O’Grady boys looked like amalgams of their parents. They had the blue-black hair of their Ute ancestry, but the Celtic features and lanky build of their father. From the excited gleams in their brown eyes, they couldn’t wait to be real cowboys, do real cowboy work. In well-worn boots and trendy baggy jeans, they swaggered into the corral.

  “You fellers ready to wrestle some calves?” Bronc said, with a sidewise wink to their mother.

  “You bet. I been practicin’ on little brother here,” replied Danny, directing a punch at Sean’s shoulder.

  Apparently used to his brother’s fists, Sean ducked. “Danny couldn’t catch a calf if it sat on his feet, Mr. Bronc. I’m your man.”

  “In the old days,” Bronc explained to the boys, “they heated the irons over a wood fire, but our fire’s propane-fueled. More reliable.” Spelling out their tasks for the day, he led them over to the pen where the calves had been separated from their mothers.

  When Holt approached, Maddy turned Bobby toward him. Holt put a hand on her shoulder and bent to blow zerberts against Bobby’s belly. She nearly purred at the warmth of his almost caress. The baby squealed with delight and waved his fists. Your fan club.

  “As long as Espie’s okay with both the cooking and my little buddy here, you’re all set to do the vaccinations and ear notching,” he said to Maddy.

  “I can help Espie too if she needs me.” Maddy raised her chin, ready to begin.

  He tilted his hat to the women before disappearing into the barn.

  Her heart thumped at the sight of his long-legged stride. He was every inch the proud rancher. The short chaps called chinks he wore were more practical for working on the ground to do the branding, and they accentuated his lean butt. And his denim shirt brought out the matching blue of his eyes, compelling against his tan. She sighed.

  He was working so hard to make a go of this shoestring ranch, trying to be stoic and brave. Maybe he was even softening a little. After all, he’d accepted the extra help she finagled without blowing up at her.

  “He’s good with them, isn’t he?” Espie said, a bemused expression on her broad face.

  Maddy blinked in confusion. “Them?”

  “My boys. Bronc’s good with them.”

  Hoping Espie hadn’t noticed her distraction, Maddy forced her gaze to where the ranch hand was showing Espie’s sons how to tackle a calf. “A kind man,” she agreed. “He’s as patient with them as he is with the horses. Do those boys know what they’re in for with this operation?”

  The housekeeper laughed. “I don’t know. They’ve watched from atop a fence before, over at a friend’s place, but there’s nothing like the real thing.”

  The real thing. Today was the real thing, for sure—the real heart of ranch existence, rooted in tradition, branding the new spring animals as your own. Protecting the calves by identifying them and vaccinating them against diseases that could wipe out the herd.

  Over the last few years, Maddy had pushed out of her head how much she missed this life—its rituals, its animals, its oneness with nature. Being part of it again brought home to her how artificial was her part in it. How temporary.

  Yesterday’s shooting had terrified her, for more than one reason. Holt seemed convinced the shooter was the same person who killed Rob. Slick’s glimpse of the drifter’s rifle seemed to support that. That the killer might be after her and Holt was chilling enough, but the experience had also forced her to face what lurked in her heart. And to see that she couldn’t stay here.

  She couldn’t leave with no one to care for Bobby and with the grandparents’ lawsuit hanging over Holt like an executioner’s ax. Yet if she stayed much longer, she feared she wouldn’t be able to leave at all. She had long ago given her heart to Bobby. With every shared moment, every small intimacy, every kiss, she felt herself falling in love with Holt.

  He’d replaced sniping with pride in her accomplishments. Whenever she looked into the banked fires of his cobalt gaze, his obvious desire kindled sparks deep within her and shunted aside the fact that he felt he couldn’t trust her. His strength and relentless loyalty, his determination and pride gave her a sense of security and protection that she liked much too much. Oh God, what am I going to do?

  She had no answer to the question.

  After handing over the baby to Espie, Maddy ducked into the barn to help bring out the implements of their work for the day—bottles of vaccine, syringes, antiseptic sprays, and ear-notching and castrating tools.

  As soon as they were ready, Luke Rafferty and another cowhand he introduced as Sonny arrived in a high-wheeled black pickup with the ranch brand, an S inside a circle, as a logo on the side panel. From the horse trailer behind, Luke unloaded his horse.

  Holt circled the vehicle, scanning it up and down while Luke saddled up. When the deputy gazed at him quizzically, he said, “Nice truck. Do much off-roading in her?”

  “A bit around the ranch is all. Why?”

  Holt’s lips curved briefly. “Thinking about new wheels.”

  Maddy shook her head at the odd exchange. She made a mental note to ask later.

  After everyone was assembled inside the corral, Holt said, “Let’s get to it, folks. We’ve got about a hundred of these little critters to tackle.”

  With that call of the ringmaster, the circus began. The day before, Holt and Bronc had gathered up the cattle and stashed them in the nearby meadow. About twenty of the brick-red-and-white calves had already been separated from their mothers and penned beside the corral. Mothers and calves mooed nervously to each other.

  Bronc and Luke mounted up, ready to begin roping calves. Both riders wielded seventy-foot leather braided reatas, nothing like the simple rope Maddy had practiced with. She grabbed her camera from her case parked beside the corral fence so she could capture the action.

  Bronc lassoed the first heifer’s hind legs, and the O’Grady boys dragged-carried the bawling animal over to the branding fire.

  “That’s it, boys. Danny, sit on her neck and grab onto that foreleg,” Bronc yelled. “Sean, pin those hind legs or you’ll catch it.”

  The calf and the boys struggled in the dust, and the humans almost lost the battle. Finally the calf lay on its side. Once immobilized, the animal quieted.

  Maddy set aside her camera, ready to start her work for the day. She injected the first of three vaccinations.

  “You do the ear notching next,” Holt ordered. “The branding’s last.” Observing her every move, he rotated the branding iron in the propane fire.

  The ear notching tool worked a little like a hole punch, and she’d done that before, but being so close to the red-hot branding iron tightened her stomach.

  When she finished her tasks, he nodded his approval, then applied the Valley-D brand, a V overlaid with a D. She winced at the burnt hair smell and t
he calf’s bellow for mama, but dug in her heels. She could do this. After she dusted the brand with antiseptic powder, the little heifer scrambled to her feet in a flurry of kicked dust.

  From then on, the day was a blur of dust, the stench of burned hide, and bawling calves. Bronc and Luke worked together as if they’d performed as a tag team for years, alternating loops to capture the calves. Then the O’Grady boys wrestled each wriggling calf over to the branding site and held it down for the duration.

  Besides administering the Valley-D brand, Holt’s job was to snip the testicles from the bull calves, determining their destiny as beef. Maddy covered the incision with antiseptic spray before the animal was released. Once the two of them eased into a rhythm, their part of the process took less than two minutes.

  As soon as a calf was on its feet, Bronc herded it into the meadow to mother up, brief pain and indignities forgotten. The process began all over again with a new batch of calves.

  Espie called them in for lunch at noon, and none too soon. Maddy had aches in places she didn’t know she had muscles, and Danny and Sean looked like the entire adult herd had trampled them into the dirt.

  “You ready to call it quits?” Holt said, eyeing her with skepticism.

  She grinned at him. “When you are.” No way was she yielding. A little nourishment and she’d be all set.

  Espie had prepared a meal fit for a working crew—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and a mountain of vegetables, followed by apple cobbler. Everyone fixed plates from the spread on the table and found a place to sit down and shovel it in.

  Maddy observed Holt following Luke out to the porch. Interrogation time.

  Chapter 16

  Holt collapsed into one of the rocking chairs. “I sure do appreciate your coming over to help out like this.”

  Luke placed his dusty Stetson on the small table beside him, then smoothed his blond hair. He forked up a mound of potato. “Ridin’ and ropin’ sure beat whatever my big brother would have come up with for me to do today. I might have to catch forty winks before riding patrol tonight, though.”