by Janet Dailey
“Anything else?”
“Don’t think so.” A burst of laughter from the bar area drew his attention. Idly he ran his glance over the crowd, noting that the Anderson brothers had moved to the pool table. “Busy night.”
“It’s Friday,” Sally replied as if that explained everything, then looked in the direction of the noise and blaring music, her expression colored by something thoughtful and a little sad. “We used to fill up mostly with cowboys from the surrounding ranches. They were a wild and rowdy group out for fun and a good time. They never had much money to spend. Cowboying still doesn’t pay that much. It’s one of those jobs you do because it’s in your blood. The crowd we get now mostly came here chasing the high dollar Dy-Corp pays at the strip mine. In some ways, they’re just as loud and crazy as the cowboys were, but it’s an angry loud, I’ve noticed.”
“A little homegrown philosophy, Sally?” Logan chided lightly.
She smiled at herself. “Age does that to you, I guess. Or maybe I notice it more because I’m not as happy in my work as I used to be.”
“There’s been talk you might be selling out.”
“I’ve been here thirty years. Maybe it’s time to call it quits.”
“Thirty years. I guess you know about everyone around here.”
“Sooner or later, they all come in here.”
On impulse, he asked, “You don’t, by any chance, know who might have a winch mounted in their truck?”
“You mean besides Emmett?”
“Emmett Fedderson.” He wanted to make sure they were talking about the same person.
“Yes. Off the top of my head, he’s the only one that comes to mind. But you might ask him. I may have the monopoly on food, but he has it on gas.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She started toward the kitchen. “I’ll have DeeDee get your food right out.”
Logan nodded and took a sip of his coffee, then settled back in the chair and waited for the caffeine to kick in and revive him. As relaxed as he looked, he never lost that sense of alertness. He had lived the life of a lawman too long for it to ever leave him completely. His eyes kept moving, noting the comings and goings around him.
Across the way, Lath chalked the end of his cue stick, leaned over the table, and took aim on the white cue ball. He drew the stick back and shot it forward, sending the ball crashing into the triangular grouping of colored balls. Amidst the clatter and rumble of balls spinning across the felt-covered slate, Lath straightened and walked around to a side pocket, picked up the chalk again, and rubbed it on the tip while he studied the table. Rollie stepped to the side, out of his way, both hands clamped around his own pool cue.
“Do you think he suspects us?” he asked in a voice audible only to his brother.
“If he does, it’s only ’cause you’re acting so damned guilty.”
Lath knocked the twelve ball in a corner pocket. Straightening, he threw a glance at Rollie, a smile forming. “Relax, will ya? He hasn’t got a single clue that’ll lead him back to us. He can suspect till he’s blue in the face, but without proof, he can’t touch us.”
“I know that,” Rollie mumbled, uneasy and vaguely sullen, his glance sliding across the room.
“Then whatcha worried about, huh?” Lath changed his stance, maneuvering for a shot at another ball. “Have some faith, little brother. Didn’t I say they wouldn’t find those cattle till today? Didn’t I?”
“Yeah, it’s all coming down just like you said it would, but just what the hell did we accomplish?” Rollie challenged him. “Sure, we butchered a beef and killed some cows, but so what? Calder’s got insurance to cover a loss like that. Ma’s right. We didn’t hurt Calder at all.”
The blue-chalked tip of the cue stick hovered a fraction of an inch from the white ball while Lath let the words sink in. Grimness plucked at a corner of his mouth. “Not this time, we didn’t. But we will, I promise you that. I just got to figure out the right way to do it.”
“Do what?” Rollie asked, catching something in Lath’s voice that had his eyes narrowing.
“When I got it figured, I’ll tell you.” He tapped the stick against the cue ball. It rolled forward, struck the edge of the striped fourteen ball and sent it spinning toward the far side pocket, where it grazed the bumper and caromed away from the hole. Lath swore good-naturedly at the miss, and stepped back from the table. “Your turn, little brother.”
As Rollie moved up to survey the table, the door opened and Emmett Fedderson plodded into the café-bar, dressed in his habitual rust orange jumpsuit, a billed cap covering his nearly bald head. He paused to catch his breath and mop the sweat from his face with a soiled handkerchief.
“There’s another one that needs to be hurt,” Lath remarked and lifted his beer bottle, taking another swig from it. “Only he’ll be easy to do.”
Gathering himself, Emmett turned toward the crowd at the bar and yelled above the music and noise, “I’m fixing to close up. Any of you need gas to get home on, you better get it now.”
“I’ll take you up on that, Emmett.” Lath flashed a sudden grin, a peculiar gleam in his eyes. He shoved his cue stick at Rollie. “Hang onto this, little brother. And don’t be cheatin’ while I’m gone.”
Rollie took the stick and watched as Lath sauntered over to Fedderson and held the door open for him, then followed him outside.
Rollie had a moment’s pity for the old man, but it was quickly gone. He propped Lath’s stick against the table and took aim on a solid-colored ball poised on the edge of a corner pocket.
Outside the restaurant, Lath waved a hand toward an old pickup sporting a new primer coat the color of rust. “Hop in, Emmett. I’ll give you a lift to the station and save those legs of yours a few steps.”
Emmett didn’t trust him, and it showed in the look he gave him. But the day had been a long one, and his tired body was feeling it. He nodded and said gruffly, “Obliged for it.”
It took him a minute to haul his bulk into the cab, then collapsed hard on the seat, wheezing a little from the effort. Even that little bit of exertion had sweat beading on his face. He dragged the soiled kerchief from his pocket and wiped it over his mouth.
A low chuckle came from the driver’s side. Emmett saw Lath watching him. The light from the restaurant windows shone through the windshield, partially illuminating his face, giving Emmett a glimpse of lips curled back in a laughing grin and of eyes that had an animal sheen to them. For a dry-mouthed instant, he had the eerie feeling that he was riding with Lucifer himself.
“You’re getting old, Emmett,” Lath turned the ignition key. The engine coughed a couple times, then caught with a reluctant rumble.
“Tell me somebody who ain’t,” he garumphed, facing the front again, uneasy and determined to conceal it. “You sure ain’t getting any younger yourself.”
“Now that’s a dyed-in-the-wool fact for sure, Emmett.” He reversed the pickup away from the restaurant and aimed it toward the lighted canopy over the gas pumps. “The difference is—I got a long life ahead of me.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you.”
“Emmett,” Lath said and clicked his tongue in mock reproach. “You ain’t so old that you forgot, only the good die young?”
He laughed again, and something in his laughter made Emmett’s skin crawl. It started him thinking about old Mrs. Anderson’s overdue account and Lath’s constant prodding for it to be reopened. He stole a sideways glance at Lath, certain it was a subject he’d bring up again. It was just a matter of how soon. Irritated by the prospect, he shot a look at the gas gauge, illuminated by the dash lights. Its arrow hovered near the full mark.
“It don’t look to me like you need any gas.” He flicked an accusing finger toward the gauge.
“You can’t pay any attention to that. Rollie tells me it was broke when he bought the truck.” The pickup rolled to a stop beside the pump island. Lath shifted the gear stick into Park and switch
ed off the engine, glancing sideways at Emmett as he did so. “I honestly can’t tell you whether I’ll be charging ten or twenty dollars’ worth of gas.”
“You won’t be charging anything. I told you before, you haven’t got an account with me, not till you pay what you owe.” Emmett spoke with force to combat the scared, crawly feeling in his stomach.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Emmett. I’m truly sorry. You don’t leave a fella much choice.”
“What do you mean by that?” Emmett frowned, half turned in his seat, the passenger door pushed partway open.
“Mean?” Lath feigned a look of innocence. “I meant just what I said. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. You understand that, don’t you?”
Emmett searched through that answer word by lazily drawled word, seeking something that would justify this growing uneasiness. But he could find no concrete threat in any of them, not separately or together. He climbed out of the pickup and shut the door. “It’s cash or no gas,” he said through the window.
“You called it, Emmett. No gas.” Lath started up the truck and drove off, the sound of his cackling laughter floating above the engine noise and sending a shiver down Emmett’s back.
He tried to shake it off, but it clung to him, echoing in his mind all while he went about shutting down the gasoline pumps and locking up for the night.
There was no smile on Lath Anderson’s face when he walked back into the restaurant. His glance swept coolly over Logan without lingering. It might have been accidental that he looked in his direction at all, but Logan didn’t think so. Lath Anderson was the kind that always liked to know where the law was.
“More coffee?” Sally paused beside his table, coffeepot in hand.
“Please.” Logan nodded and dragged his attention back to the steak on his plate, slicing off his second bite. “Does Lath Anderson come in here much?”
“He’s been in a few times.” Tilting the pot, Sally poured coffee into his cup. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
Sally smiled at that. “No law officer is ever ‘just curious,’ but that’s okay. I won’t ask you to explain.”
“I’m not sure I could.”
“I know what you mean.” Her smile faded. “Even as a boy, Lath never caused any trouble, but you always had the feeling he could.”
“Everyone has the capacity to cause trouble.”
“You’re probably right.” She breathed in deeply and let it out in a sigh. “If there’s anything else you need, just holler.”
“I will.”
After the first few bites, the edge was off his hunger, and the meal became no different than a thousand others that he’d eaten alone, without conversation to liven it. He listened to the laughter from the bar area, and the constant run of talk, holding himself away from it as he had always done—except that night when Cat had walked over to him and pulled him into it.
Annoyed that he had allowed the thought of her to cross his mind, Logan washed the last bite of food down with a swallow of coffee, rose from his chair, dropped some tip money on the table, then gathered up his hat and the check and walked over to the cash register.
With the pool game over, Lath sat at the bar and stared at Logan’s reflection in the back mirror, tracking him as he paid for his check and crossed to the door. After it swung shut behind him, Lath took a long pull on his beer, then set it back on the bar counter, idly turning it in semicircles.
“I don’t get it,” he murmured. “That guy’s got too much smarts to be in this out-of-the-way place.”
“What guy?” Rollie glanced over his shoulder.
“Echohawk.”
He squared back around to the bar and shrugged. “Maybe he just likes it here.”
“Maybe. Then again, maybe he’s lost his nerve.”
“He doesn’t act like he’s lost it.”
“No,” Lath conceded. “But I’d sure like to know.”
“Personally, I hope I never have to find out.” Rollie tipped the bottle to his mouth.
Lath chortled and slapped him on the back, gripping his shoulder and giving it a shake. “By God, little brother, you’re smarter than I thought you were.”
Both pleased and a little embarrassed, Rollie said, “Hell, I am your brother.”
They both laughed.
It was late when Logan finally finished up all the paperwork and made the long drive to his ranch. He bypassed the house and drove straight to the barn. Tired as he was, he still had the horses to feed. Leaving the lights on, he climbed out of the patrol car and headed toward the barn’s wide door.
“I already throwed ’em some hay.” The voice came out of the deep shadows near the barn.
Whirling in a crouch, Logan had the holster flap loose and his hand on the gun butt before the voice registered as a familiar one. Even then the high alertness didn’t leave him, his gaze raking the shadows, seeking the source of it.
“Step out where I can see you.” That same tension gave his voice the hardness of command.
Culley O’Rourke separated himself from the shadows without the slightest sound. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Logan.”
“What the hell are you doing here, O’Rourke?” He straightened slowly, gripped by an anger that came from being caught completely off guard.
“Just waiting around for you to come.”
“It’s usually my enemies who wait in the shadows, O’Rourke.”
“I reckon that’s so.” He nodded, then lifted his hand, motioning toward the corral. “Like I said, I noticed your horses hadn’t been fed, so I went ahead and threw ’em some hay.”
“Thanks.” Logan made an effort to rein in his anger. “I had to work late finishing up some paperwork.”
“I know.” Culley studied him with a bright-eyed watchfulness. “I saw you with the kid today.”
“The kid.” For a puzzled instant, Logan didn’t know who he meant. Then he remembered Calder’s young grandson. “How did you see me? Where were you?”
“Up on the bluff.”
“What were you doing up there? That’s not Shamrock land.”
There was a small lift of his thin shoulders that seemed to shrug aside the question. “You can see for miles from atop that bluff.”
“What do you know about those dead cattle?”
“About as much as you do.”
“And what’s that?”
“From what I could tell, they looked like somebody used them for target practice.”
“How were you able to determine that? Did you go down there?”
“Didn’t have to. I got me a pair of field glasses. I watched you dig a bullet out of one of the carcasses.”
“I understand you do a bit of wandering at night. You haven’t heard anything that might have been gunfire the last few nights, have you?”
“Who’s to say they were shot at night?”
“Good point.” Logan smiled, some of the tension finally easing. “At the same time, I can’t imagine anyone doing it in broad daylight.”
“I don’t remember hearing gunshots,” Culley said, at last answering the question. “But if the wind was blowing just right, it probably would have carried to the north range.”
“Is that where you were?”
“There, or somewhere on the Shamrock or else around The Homestead.”
“Where’s The Homestead?”
“That’s the name they gave Calder’s house.” O’Rourke paused and cocked his head to the side, eyeing Logan with open curiosity. “What made you become a cop?”
“A psychiatrist could give you a long answer to that.” A smile half tilted his mouth. “But some people are just born warriors.”
That was a new concept to Culley, one he had to think about. A warrior: he liked the sound of it. It conjured up images of a man willing to fight to protect those in his care. “You got any family?”
Logan shook his head, the smile fading. “Not anymore.”
“My dad wasn’t much, bu
t he was there. That’s sayin’ something nowadays, when a man sows his seed and never gives a damn about the baby that grows from it. There was a time when folks held a man accountable. Now they figure a man’s happiness comes ahead of his responsibility, and look to the government to take care of the kid. But the government can’t raise a boy to be a man.”
“I suppose not.” Logan had never cared much for politics. “Do you have any ideas about who might have killed those cattle?”
“I haven’t given it any thought.”
“How about someone who might be carrying a grudge against the Calders?”
Culley exhaled a laugh. “The list would be as long as your arm. Practically everyone around here has come up against the Calders at one time or another—and come out the worse for it.”
Detecting a bite of bitterness, Logan probed, “Even you?”
There was a long pause while O’Rourke studied him with close scrutiny. “Let’s just say, I didn’t shed no tears when I saw those buzzards feasting on Calder beef. It seemed a kind a’ poetic justice.”
“For what?”
“The dozen head he shot.”
“Your cattle?”
“Some were mine, some were MacGruder’s, and a couple carried the Circle Six brand.”
“When was this?”
“Close to forty years ago. Long before your time.” The clipped answer indicated his reluctance to discuss it further.
Logan didn’t let that stop him. “What happened?”
“There was a drought. Our wells had dried up and the grass grazed to the ground. And Calder had that north range without a cow on it and water in the river. We drove our herds onto it. We couldn’t afford hay, so it was either that or watch them starve to death. Calder met us, told us to turn back. When we didn’t, he told his men to start shootin’ our cattle. They did.” The bitterness of the memory was in his voice and his expression. “I know we were in the wrong, but I still remember how those cows fell.” He dragged in a cleansing breath. “It’s hard land, and it breeds hard men to hard ways. The Calders are about as hard as they come.”