Takin' The Reins

by Stacey Coverstone

  “Where are we?” she asked, craning her neck. He parked the Mustang and shut off the motor.

  “This is called The Lodge. It was built in the early 1900’s. I thought you’d like it.” He left the top down and escorted her up the walk as she studied the Victorian work of architecture.

  “It’s fabulous. We’re having dinner here?”

  “Yep.” They held hands and strolled past a garden of brilliant summer flowers. Inside, the inn was decorated in dark wood and deep colors. A hostess greeted them at the entrance to the restaurant.

  “Welcome to Rebecca’s. Do you have reservations?”

  “Yes,” Wyatt answered. “Brannigan is the name.”

  Jordan noticed a portrait of a bewitching young girl with striking green eyes and bright red hair hanging in an ornate frame on the wall behind the hostess. The hostess checked her reservation list and ushered them into what appeared to be an upscale establishment.

  “Who’s the girl in the portrait?” Jordan asked once they were seated.

  “Rebecca. The restaurant is named for her. She’s our resident ghost.”

  That wasn’t what Jordan expected to hear, but apparently the woman was too busy to explain more. She handed them menus and scurried off. They were seated at a table along the west-facing wall that consisted entirely of windows, which provided them with a stunning landscape view for which to watch the sunset.

  Throughout their stay, a player piano entertained the diners with romantic tunes. Jordan and Wyatt never stopped talking, except to laugh, or to touch hands and gaze into each other’s eyes, which they did often. At one point he said, “I feel like I’ve known you all my life.” Covering his hand, she told him she felt the same. As they finished off the thick slice of triple chocolate cake they shared, their waitress stopped by to ask if they would need anything else.

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “Could you tell me the story about Rebecca?”

  “Sure.” The girl had probably told the story a hundred times. She rattled it off like she’d memorized a script. “Rebecca was a young woman working here as a maid in the 1930’s. She was very flirtatious and had several beaus at a time, including a lumberjack who had a quick temper and a jealous streak a mile long. Unfortunately, Rebecca was not very discreet when it came to her dalliances, and the lumberjack caught her in a compromising situation with another man one day. He flew into a terrible rage and murdered her.”

  “Oh, my.” Jordan had no idea the story would turn so gruesome. “That’s awful.”

  “Rebecca has haunted the lodge ever since. Dozens of employees and guests have seen her wearing a long dress and wandering the halls. She’s a mischievous spirit who uses the telephone in Room 101. She also likes to make flames appear in the fireplaces. One of her favorite games to play is moving ashtrays around in our Red Dog Saloon.”

  “Have you seen her personally?” Jordan asked the waitress.

  “No. I don’t believe in ghosts.” When she left the bill on the table, Jordan thanked her for telling her the tale. After Wyatt paid the tab and they were walking out, she said, “Do you believe in ghosts, Brannigan?”

  He shook his head. “No. Why? You don’t plan on disappearing on me, do you?”

  “There’s not a ghost of a chance of that happening,” she replied before kissing his clean-shaven cheek.

  When they returned to his house, Tag welcomed them with sleepy eyes. “Were you a good boy?” Wyatt asked. Tag thumped his tail against the wall. True to his promise, Wyatt offered the dog a bone wrapped in a napkin. The Border Collie snatched it up and ran into the master bedroom. The two of them followed and found him curled on the end of the bed chewing his bone.

  “He usually sleeps in here at night,” Wyatt explained.

  Jordan cocked an eyebrow.

  “Sorry, Tag,” he said, gently shoving the dog off the bed and herding him to the living room. “Tonight you’re sleeping on the sofa, because three’s a crowd.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Early the next morning, Wyatt tried his best to keep her in his bed longer, but Jordan turned the tables on him.

  “I have horses to turn out,” she said. “I’m a rancher now. Chores won’t get done on their own.” He laughed, unable to argue with her. She drove home and parked at the barn. Houdini was standoffish again when she let him out of his stall.

  “I’m not scoring any points with you, am I?” she apologized. She let all the horses into the field and then turned on the radio and sang along to country songs as she mucked the stalls. When that was done, she topped off the water tubs in the pasture. As she worked, she replayed every moment she’d spent with Wyatt, and every word he’d said to her over the past couple of days. Her mood soared, evidenced by the fact that she was humming as she jumped into the Jeep and parked it in the driveway in front of the house.

  As she strolled up the sidewalk, she reached into her purse for the house keys. The name of Addison Stillwell had nearly vanished from her mind when something brought it all rushing back. There, nailed to her freshly painted front door, was an envelope with a rope of coarse blonde hair twisted around the nail. With her heart pounding in her ears, Jordan ripped open the envelope and read the brief note out loud:

  “Ms. Mackenzie, I’ve discovered you’re even more stubborn than your aunt was. At first I found you to be a challenge, and a worthy opponent. I admired your spunk. As the days go by, however, I am becoming less and less amused. I can wait no longer. My destiny calls. I want the Lucky Seven and I intend to have it. Since nothing, up to now, has convinced you to sell me the ranch, I’m making one last offer. Meet me Friday night at nine o’clock at the fairgrounds outside the ticket booth. Be alone. This is your final warning. Come prepared with your deed signed over to me, or the mare dies.”

  Although the note wasn’t signed, there was no doubt as to who had written it. No one, other than Addison Stillwell believed owning the Lucky Seven Ranch was his destiny. She laughed aloud realizing how stupid he was to write her a threatening note, especially one that practically confessed to having harassed her in order to get her to sell the ranch. She stuck her key in the door and slammed it shut behind her. If he hurt Buttercup… Her ire began to rise like a kettle set to boil. Heading straight for the phone, she dialed Wyatt’s number, and he answered on the second ring.

  “We have to do something,” she exclaimed after reading him the note.

  “Take a deep breath and calm down,” he counseled. “Buttercup is not in danger at this point. Even Addison is not heartless enough to kill that mare. If anything, he knows good horseflesh when he sees it. He wants to frighten you again.”

  “Does he actually believe I’ll meet him alone at the fairgrounds, after all he’s done to me?” she grumbled.

  “I think the man has gone ‘round the bend. At least you now have evidence of extortion and threats. We’ll take the note to the Alamo police.”

  “Wait,” she said. “I hear a car coming up the drive. Let me see who it is.” She suddenly wondered if Stillwell would be so brazen as to send his goons to her house in broad daylight to scare her. Her hands trembled when she inched back the curtain. When she returned to the phone, she let out a sigh of relief. “It’s Rachel Massey and her dad. They’ve come to look at the horses.”

  “Okay. Try to relax. Leave it to me to figure out what to do about Addison. All right?”

  “All right. Thank you, Brannigan.” She hung up and took a couple of cleansing breaths before stepping outside to meet Mr. Massey. It was a good sign that the pair had hauled a horse trailer behind them. Putting on a cheerful face, she greeted them in the driveway.

  “Hi, Jordan,” Rachel said. “This is my dad, Don Massey. Dad, meet Jordan Mackenzie.”

  “Hello, Mr. Massey. Nice to meet you.” She gripped his hand firmly.

  “Glad to meet you, young lady. Shall we go take a look-see at those horses of yours?” He was already walking toward the field. His bandy legs jingled with the music of spurs. Jordan suspected he’
d been straddling horses since he was a young tyke. He puffed on a cigarette and wore a ten- gallon hat. He was so comical looking she had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from chuckling. Rachel must take after her mama, she thought.

  The life-long rancher inspected each horse’s teeth and hooves. He ran his hand down their legs, raised their tails, and even checked their privates. After a thorough examination, he chose three and wrote out a check on the spot. All the while, Houdini had been following him around the field like a pup.

  “Is this the famous goat I saw on TV?” Massey chuckled, finally acknowledging the curious animal. Houdini nibbled at the hankie hanging from his back pocket and peered at him with impish eyes. “The one that was lost in the thunderstorm?”

  “Yes, one and the same. Houdini was looking for his faithful companion, a horse named Buttercup. She’s still missing.” When Jordan rubbed Houdini under the chin, he spoke his goat language.

  “Maaaaa.”

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Massey said. “First celebrity I’ve ever met.” As he loaded the horses into the trailer, he continued chatting.”Seeing this goat reminds me of a conversation I overheard last night at the pool hall.”

  “Dad, what were you doing at the pool hall?” Rachel asked with suspicion.

  “What do you think, daughter? I was playing pool.” He winked at Jordan and wiped his damp brow with the hankie from his pocket, not seeming to notice that the corner had been chewed off. “Two fellas were in there, drunk as skunks, and the one was bragging about how they’d stolen a horse. Said they’d had to hogtie some mangy goat that was buttin’ ‘em and wouldn’t let ‘em get near the horse. Then he said this SOB they work for was refusing to pay them for a few jobs they’d done, so they’d come up with their own scheme to blackmail him with the very horse they were sent to steal for him. That’s about all he got out before the other fella whacked him on the shoulder with a pool stick and told him to shut up.”

  Jordan felt her pulse accelerate. She and Rachel acknowledged each other silently.

  “Did you recognize either of the men, Dad?”

  “Yep. The one doing all the talking, I did. It was that Mexican boy, Cimarron Cruz. I remembered him because he came around asking for a job a couple of years ago. I hired him, but the fool never showed up to work. I heard later he got thrown in jail for some damn reason. Oh, excuse my language, ma’am.” He nodded at Jordan.

  “Did they say anything else about the horse, Mr. Massey?” she asked.

  He closed the trailer gate, latched it and thought a minute. “Yes. The other man told Cimarron he was a moron. Then he said, now the cops will be out at my place snooping around.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Massey,” Jordan replied, pumping his hand with enthusiasm.

  “Thank you, young lady. These are some mighty fine horses I just bought.” As he and Rachel pulled away, Rachel hollered out the window, “See you at the rodeo tomorrow night!”

  “I’ll be there!” Jordan ran into the house, dropped the check into her purse, and picked up the phone.

  ~ * ~

  Cole was puzzled when he first heard Wyatt’s voice on the other end of the line. Wyatt got straight to the point and described his plan. When he finished, he asked, “Are you in?”

  “You couldn’t keep me out.”

  ~ * ~

  Joe Campbell gritted his teeth and thumped Buttercup with a whip, even though it did no good. The mare had already kicked the stall wall down and bit a chunk out of his hand. Blood oozed through the gauze bandage he’d wrapped around it, and his anger continued to rise as he tried but failed to settle her inside the barn.

  “That damned horse! I’ve a notion to shoot her right now and be done with it,” he growled, yanking her halter and roughly tying her off to a post. He grabbed a muzzle from the floor and clamped it around the horse’s nose.

  “If you do, I’ll knock the hell out of you,” Cimarron warned. He glared and then went back to shaving a callous off the heel of his bare foot with a pocketknife.

  “You won’t knock anything out of me.” Joe raised the horsewhip menacingly above Cimarron’s head. Cimarron dropped the knife and lifted his arm to protect his face.

  “I…I’m just saying we gotta use that horse to bribe Mr. Stillwell, Joe. He’ll pay us what he owes us if we threaten to kill her. That horse is the only thing standing between him and that Mackenzie woman’s ranch that he wants so damned bad.”

  “I know that, you idiot.” Joe threw the whip into the dirt and paced the barn floor, running his fingers through his greasy hair. “Are you clear on the plan?”

  “Yeah,” Cimarron replied. He pouted as he drew a dirty sock over his sore foot and shoved it back into his boot. The two of them headed outside. Joe closed the barn door and secured it with a lock.

  “What the hell?” Cimarron pointed across the yard. “Look, Joe! Something’s on fire!”

  Joe saw red flames licking the sky and took off running. “It’s my shed!” He sprinted to the water spigot and stopped short. “Where’s the hose?” he shouted.

  “I see it! It’s over there.” Cimarron pointed some twenty feet away. The water hose lay coiled on the ground like snake.

  “Drag it over here,” Joe ordered. Cimarron bundled as much of the hose as he could into his arms and pulled it. In the meantime, Joe scooped up handfuls of dirt and tossed it onto the raging fire. “Dammit!” he yelled, seeing his efforts had little effect. He dashed over to Cimarron and together they hauled the hose to the spigot. Joe twisted the water hose on as fast as he could and cranked the knob, while Cimarron grabbed the sputtering end and aimed it toward the flames.

  Absorbed in their task and all sound deafened by the roar of the fire, neither man heard the thunk of metal on metal when Wyatt broke the lock on the barn door with the whack of a wrench. But both heard his whoop and his hollered, “Yah!” They turned in time to see Buttercup fly out of the barn with Wyatt on her back. He clung to her white mane as she galloped away. Joe was the first to realize what was happening. When he did, he pitched his hat on the ground and flew to his truck. Diving inside, he turned the key, which was in the ignition, but the engine only whined. He cranked again, and again it whined. In a split-second decision, he reached for the rifle hanging in the back window, jumped out of the truck, and cocked the rifle as he ran to the middle of the yard to take aim at the fleeing horse and rider.

  Cimarron continued to douse the burning shed as he watched Joe take aim. Buttercup tore down the road with her mane fluttering like a flag. Suddenly an engine roar drowned out that of the crackling fire. A truck squealed from around the corner of the barn. It barreled straight toward Joe. Momentarily stunned into inaction, he hesitated before swinging his aim to the oncoming vehicle. But he moved too slowly. The truck thundered by, so close that he fell backward, off-balance. His shot went wild with the bullet whizzing toward the cloudless sky. The truck spun past him, kicking up gravel. It gained the road and sped off to disappear around the distant bend. The horse and rider were no longer in sight either, long gone.

  “Damn it to hell!” Joe stumbled to his feet. He turned to see that Cimarron had shut off the water. The hose lay on the ground, the last trickles of water seeping into the earth. What was left of the shed was charred and smoking.

  “Look, Joe. I found these cut wires lying on the ground.”

  Joe grabbed the frayed wires out of Cimarron’s hand. “They’re from my truck.”

  “Who was on the horse?” Cimarron asked. “Did you get a look?”

  “Wyatt Brannigan.” Joe scowled. “Did you see who was driving the pickup?”

  Cimarron shook his head.

  With steel-gray eyes staring down the road, Joe vowed, “Whoever it was, they’re both going to pay.”

  ~ * ~

  Wyatt and Cole hid Buttercup in a safe place and gave her fresh water and grain. Wyatt stroked her nose and then he and Cole shook hands.

  “Good work,” Cole said.

  “B
ack at ya, scout. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Are you going to tell Jordan?”

  “I’m going to tell her Buttercup is safe, but that’s all for now. My main concern is her safety, and to get our evidence to the police. I want all three of those bastards to pay for what they’ve done to her.”

  Cole pulled a small digital camera from his shirt pocket. “I snapped some pictures of Campbell’s truck fender. It clearly shows the scrapes and green paint from Jordan’s Jeep. I also have photos of the Lucky Seven sign that was vandalized as well as the obscenities that were painted on her barn. It’s not much, but it’s something, I guess.”

  “That’s right. We’ll use the pictures to show how they’ve been harassing Jordan. Let’s head to the police station in Alamo.”

  ~ * ~

  Officer Rafael listened carefully to the story the men told together. He was a young man, but Wyatt—who considered himself a good judge of character—felt Rafael spoke and behaved like a competent and dedicated upholder of justice.

  “I saw the news reports about Ms. Mackenzie and the goat that saved her life,” Rafael said. “Tell me, Mr. Brannigan, why isn’t she here with you now to file her own complaint?”

  Wyatt didn’t hedge at telling a little white lie. “She’s at home recuperating from her injuries. Cole and I have firsthand knowledge of everything that has happened to her since she acquired the Lucky Seven. One or the other of us has been a witness to it all.”

  Cole added, “Ms. Mackenzie and I went to the sheriff’s department in Tularosa on the day she was forced off the road, but as far as we know, the sheriff hasn’t conducted an investigation. She’s not heard from him since that day.”

  “It was good thinking to take photos,” Rafael told him. “But I can’t guarantee they’ll be sufficient to use for a case of harassment.”