When she tried to strike up a conversation with one of the ranchhands, Preston or Mac inevitably happened along. She didn't feel particularly threatened by their actions.
Just smothered.
Melinda tried amusing herself with her drawings. But she knew she couldn't take much more of being left in the dark. So on the fourth day following Preston's return, she decided she had to do something. As if reading her mind, Mac stopped her on the front porch that morning.
"I thought you might like to go riding today," he said with a tone of forced cheerfulness. "I've already told Carl to get you a horse ready. It'll help pass the time."
Melinda stood, arms folded, resisting the temptation to inform Mac that his sudden concern for providing her with a recreational pursuit was an obvious ploy to get her out of the way. She was certain the three of them had something planned that day, and they didn't want her to see what they were up to.
"A horse," she said skeptically.
"Sure. Go. Have some fun."
"And what if I don't want to go?"
Mac looked uneasy. "You should go."
"You mean I have to go."
"I didn't say that. Exactly."
Melinda thought about putting up more of a fight if for no other reason than to watch Mac squirm. But she really wanted that horse. At least this way, she could ride to a neighboring ranch and ask for a lift to town.
She wasn't sure what she planned to do at that point. She might follow through with her threat to hire a private detective. Or she might go straight to the police and convince someone to accompany her back to the ranch and help her find out exactly what was going on around here.
"Thank you," she said finally. "I would like to go riding."
"Good." Mac's dark eyes looked beseeching. "Look. When this is over, I hope we can…you know, be friends."
"When what's over?"
"Nothing. Just take the horse and enjoy yourself. Harriet's making the lunches."
"Lunches?"
"Carl's going with you."
"Is he?"
Melinda didn't argue. She had her horse, after all, and she would figure out a way to ditch Carl later.
When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, she saw a cheerful Harriet packing the lunches. Since the reconciliation between Mac and Preston had become so obvious, Harriet's usually fierce expression had relaxed visibly. She even poured Melinda a cup of coffee without seeming to begrudge the act.
"Have you noticed? It's like old times again between those two," Harriet said.
"I've noticed," Melinda agreed. "What do you think caused it?"
"Trouble." Harriet dropped her voice conspiratorially. "Trouble always brought them together when they was little boys."
Melinda tasted the bitter coffee, and tried to sound casual. "And do you suppose that trouble involves Roy Finch?"
Based on her previous interaction with Connie and Debbie, Melinda half expected Harriet to clam up at the name. Instead, the housekeeper unexpectedly laughed out loud with glee.
"Gal, I don't suppose it. I know it. That Roy Finch character has caused us nothin' but grief since he moved out here. And he's about to get his come uppance."
"What has Finch done exactly?"
"I have a pretty good idea, but can't tell you right now."
"Okay then. What are Mac and Preston planning to do about Finch?"
Harriet just smiled secretively in answer.
For just a moment, Melinda was tempted to do as she had been asked and simply stay out of the way. Maybe she should just trust the McClures to do the right thing.
But what if the brothers were brazen enough to attempt some type of vigilante action? What if Preston was mixed up in something illegal, and Mac wanted to keep it hidden? And what if their plan involved Joan, and she somehow got caught in the crossfire?
No. Melinda was determined to bring in someone from the outside. She was tired of being shut out. And she needed to do something on her own to help Joannie.
She took another sip of coffee. "So that ranch Finch owns. It's just east of here, isn't it?"
"I wouldn’t call it a real ranch, but…yeah."
Harriet collected a stack of dirty dishes from the table and placed them in the sink, where she began vigorously washing them. Melinda picked up a dish towel draped over the stove handle and began drying.
"So…who else lives nearby?"
Melinda feared she was being far too obvious. But Harriet seemed uncharacteristically eager for conversation and didn't seem to notice.
"That'd be the Bartons. Nice people."
"Hmm. I wonder where they live exactly."
Melinda placed a cup in the cabinet, and reached for another to dry. Harriet used a scour pad to attack a skillet, giving it extra elbow grease. Then she wiped a hand across her brow.
"You have to keep going east, past Eagle Ranch. The only road to their place branches off from the main route leading here." She gave Melinda a quick sideways glance. "You should know where it is. That's where Mac found you when you near-drowned."
Melinda's heart sank. "So to reach Eagle Ranch and the Barton Place, a person would have to go all the way back to where that road branches?"
She knew she would never manage to cover that kind of distance without the McClures catching up to her first.
Harriet, who finally seemed to be catching on, regarded her with narrowed eyes. "Carl is going riding with you, isn't he?"
"Of course. I thought it would be a good idea to get my bearings. You know. Just in case…"
"In case the old fool drops dead with a heart attack?" Harriet chuckled at Melinda's horrified expression. "Well, there used to be a direct road to the Barton place from here. It goes on up over that hill to the north of us. But the Eagle Ranch folks locked the gate a while back. Put up no trespassing signs. Downright unneighborly of them, if you ask me. Besides, some of that route crosses public land. They don't have the right."
Harriet took the dish towel from Melinda's hand, and then handed her a saddlebag. "Here's your lunches. Run along now, and don't worry about anything. Carl knows where to go, and he'll take good care of you. Oh, and tell him I remembered to put the matches in there, too."
"Matches?"
"It's a rule Mac has. Anyone going out on horseback has to take matches with them — in case of emergency, they might need to make a fire or something."
Melinda opened up the satchel and spotted a little round, clear pill box with matchsticks inside.
"It keeps them waterproofed," Harriet explained. "More reliable than lighters, too."
On her way to the stable, Melinda made one unorthodox stop at a tool box kept in the storage closet near the back door. Quickly she snapped open the lid and looked inside. Then she grabbed the wire cutters and slid them into the saddlebag.
Melinda stepped outside just in time to see the McClure brothers and Scott pull away in one of the pickups. Carl walked up to her at the same moment, and led her to the corrals where two horses were saddled.
One corner of his jaw was pooched out with chewing tobacco, and he spat before he could speak. "You all set to go?"
"Sure." Melinda looked over at the horses. "I — uh — wonder if I could ask you a little favor, though. If you don't mind, I really prefer to go riding alone."
Carl's face split into a wide, wrinkled grin as he spat another squirt of chewing tobacco between the hooves of a nearby horse.
"Don't worry, Ma'am," he said. "You can trust me to behave myself."
"No, that's not what I meant. I — " Melinda turned red, and looked around as she tried to think of some other way to win her argument.
She walked over to the horses and began stroking the small, brown-and-white spotted pony that she guessed probably was meant for her to ride by the length of the adjustment on the saddle stirrups. After she draped the saddlebag over the horse, it shoved its muzzle against her shoulder and snorted.
"That's Becky," Carl said. "She's gentle as a lamb."
&n
bsp; Melinda patted the horse's shoulder, and turned back to face Carl. She knew the imploring expression on her face must have appeared genuine for she did, in reality, feel desperate.
"Carl," she said. "Please don't take this personally, but I absolutely must have some time to myself. Since I've been here, I've been so worried about Joan. I'm at my wit's end. There comes a time — well, when a person has to get away to think in private. Away from the house, away from people. I promise you I'll be okay."
Carl had no real reason to suspect that her words were anything but honest. He wrinkled his brow and chewed fiercely on the tobacco, before letting another stream of juice squirt to his left.
"I don't know, Miss Bailey," he said at last. "Mac, he told me not to let you out of my sight."
Melinda stared out into the distance, and heaved a sigh. "What if I promised to stay on the roads? I'm an experienced rider, if that's what has you worried. And I am a grown woman."
"Which way would you be going?"
She waved an arm in a northerly direction.
Carl nodded his approval. "There's a real pretty spot on down that road a piece. You'll find an old spring where the deer like to gather. You might want to eat your lunch there. You'll be back well before sundown, won't you?"
"Of course."
"I can't see no harm so long as you stick to the roads," Carl agreed reluctantly. "I've got some chores that sure need tending."
Taking advantage of the moment, Melinda quickly untied Becky's reins from the corral and swung into the saddle.
Carl watched her anxiously. "Becky's kinda old. She don't mind a leisurely trot, but it might be kinda hard on her if you push her much faster than that."
Melinda smiled and reached down to firmly squeeze the old man's hand. "Thanks, Carl."
As she gently nudged Becky into a steady walk down the road, she laughed silently at Carl's suggestion. She wasn't the only one guilty of deception. She knew horses well enough to recognize that Becky actually was quite young and capable of considerable endurance.
The lie was just Carl's way of helping ensure her safety.
Melinda kept Becky at a deliberately slow pace down the winding road behind the ranch. Occasionally, when she turned to glance over her shoulder, she spotted Carl still standing exactly where she had left him. He kept watching until finally the road dipped into a low canyon, out of his sight.
That's when Melinda reined Becky off the road and into a thicket of trees to hide their progress up the hill. She instantly found the dim road Harriet had mentioned, the one leading toward Eagle Ranch property — and, from there, to the Bartons.
Melinda hesitated at the thought that she would have to temporarily pass through Eagle Ranch property. She had no desire to tangle with Roy Finch or any of his people. But surely this was a back route, not used that often by anyone.
If she stuck to the road, leaving it only to avoid being seen out in the open, she should be able to safely reach the Barton place without running into anyone.
She urged Becky onward, until she reached the locked gate. Then she explored the fence line until she found a likely looking spot. Reaching inside the satchel for the wire cutters, Melinda slipped out of the saddle and quickly snipped the barbed wire.
Once she had led Becky through the fence, she took care to repair the damage with some extra wire she found lying around. She didn't want anyone losing any livestock. And she especially didn't want to attract unnecessary attention.
Their path next took them down a rocky canyon bottom, where catclaws snagged at Melinda's pants legs. Prickly cacti impeded their progress as the horse picked its way carefully through the thorns. Becky then surged upward in a climb leading to a high ridge offering a view of the surrounding terrain.
Melinda rode about an hour, until she spotted a ranchhouse and a small adjoining cultivated field below her in the distance. Immediately, she urged Becky into a thicket of trees to stay of sight.
This had to be the Eagle Ranch headquarters.
Keeping the road in sight, Melinda dropped down over the opposite side of the ridge. This enabled her to keep out of sight of anyone in the buildings while she moved eastward.
As she continued her forward progress without incident, Melinda congratulated herself. This was going to be much easier than she thought. Then, she heard the low whine of a four-wheel drive vehicle straining its way up the road straight toward her.
"Uh oh," she whispered.
She panicked for a moment, imagining that she had been spotted and that Roy Finch himself was on his way to capture her. Using her heels, she goosed Becky — too hard.
Melinda almost was unseated as the horse shot down the ridge and into the canyon bottom below. When she finally reined in the horse, Melinda was breathing as hard as her steed. She waited a few moments until she heard the vehicle pass on by, continuing in a southerly direction.
Melinda was about to decide this wasn't such a good idea. She was on the verge of turning Becky around, when her horse suddenly nickered. In the distance, Melinda could hear a return nicker.
"What is it, girl?" Melinda asked. "Do you smell a comrade out there somewhere?"
Idly curious, Melinda gazed around to look for the other horse. Then she spotted a movement on a far ridge. It was a man dressed in camouflage clothing. And the high-powered rifle he held did nothing to steady Melinda's nerves.
He was pacing along the side of the ridge, avoiding the skylight and the attention his silhoutte might draw to himself. Melinda guessed he was a sentinel of some sort, but it appeared he had not sighted her. Her back was to the sun and he would naturally avoid looking in this direction.
Melinda desperately urged Becky to move into a thicket of pinon trees, which shielded them from all directions. She was about to backtrack and return to the safety of the McClure ranch when she spotted a deer trail, overgrown with brushy cover. It seemed to lead into the lower portion of the canyon that the sentry was guarding.
"No, Melinda," she whispered to herself. "Don't do it. Just go back while you can."
Nevertheless, curiosity threatened to consume her. After all this time spent looking for clues and encountering nothing but frustration, something told her that the answers she sought were straight ahead and down that trail. And she was equally convinced Joan was somehow tied in with all this insanity.
Against her better judgement, she urged the horse forward.
She quickly patted the side of her steed's neck. "Let's make a deal, eh, Becky? No more nickering. We don't want any nasty people to know we're down here."
As Becky carefully picked her way down the trail, Melinda peered anxiously through the brush ahead. At the same time, she began to doubt herself. Harriet had told her some of this land was public. So maybe the man on the ridge was simply a hunter.
Was it turkey season? Quail season? She didn't pay attention to such things.
But if he was a hunter, she might be able to hitch a ride with him into the nearest town. Until she knew for sure, however, it was probably best that she stay out of sight.
She kept the sun to her back, making it an ally in her efforts to conceal herself. During her painfully slow progress, Melinda occasionally caught a glimpse of the man on the ridge. She had almost convinced herself that he seemed harmless enough when a second armed man suddenly appeared beside him after walking up from the opposite side of the hill.
The two spoke briefly together, and then dropped back over the ridge, out of sight.
Melinda was close enough now that she probably could just call out to get their attention. But something told her to remain cautious. She quietly slid out of the saddle and tied Becky securely to a nearby bush.
Then, on foot, she sneaked quietly up the ridge for a closer look at what might be on the other side. She found another deer trail, helping her navigate her way through the underbrush. She walked slowly, trying to muffle her steps and avoid the rustling of dry pinon needles blanketing the path.
When Melinda topped the r
idge, she spotted a water tank on the other side of the canyon. Using a stand of pinons as cover, she walked part way downhill until she was able to get a clear view of a flat below her.
Trailers and tents covered with camouflage material were scattered about the grounds. She spotted a truck and large trailer marked with the Eagle Ranch insignia parked and hidden among some large cottonwoods. Several men dressed like the one she had spotted at the ridge carried bales of hay or pitchforks.
Then, she saw the horses.
Dozens of them. Ordinary mares with very extraordinary colts and fillies bounding beside them in individually built, small enclosures made of wood and wire. In the cover of the canyon and trees, they could not be spotted from the air.
Melinda frowned. She was no expert, but something deeply disturbed her about this scene. The mares looked sturdy enough, but their features were stocky and plain. Their heads were large and their legs were almost stubby. Almost all were a muddy brown or bay color.
Their offspring, in direct contrast, were sleek and proud — carrying a variety of markings and lines that spoke of good breeding. The long-legged young horses reminded her of the type of stock common at the McClure ranch.
One in particular caught her eye — a pure black colt with an elongated neck that was almost the exact image of the animal she had seen captured in the painting in Mac's room. He had to belong to Black Gold's bloodline.
But what was the colt doing here, in such an odd setting?
Melinda was sure, but she had seen enough. She was going to quietly slip away, return to Becky, and then resume her trip to the Barton place. But now she could hardly contain her excitement.
Finally, she had something to show the authorities. Once they were here, she would let them sort through what was going on. Whatever it was, she knew it couldn't be legal — not with the measures Roy Finch had taken to conceal this little enterprise.
Melinda's progress back up to the ridge was maddeningly slow as she put down one foot at a time, making sure that she did not dislodge a rock that might announce her presence with its clatter.
She breathed easier when she topped the hill, then dropped down on the other side of the clearing where her horse was awaited her.
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