Cowboy Under Siege

by Gail Barrett

  Still struggling to regain her composure, Bethany managed to nod. “Sure, I—”

  “Don’t you dare move. I’ll get Donald and be right back.”

  Bonnie Gene rushed off. Cole’s thigh bumped hers, putting Bethany’s nerves on further alert. “I see she hasn’t changed,” she said in the suddenly awkward silence.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.” He rose, dragged his stool a foot away, and she battled back a sliver of hurt. But he was right to put some space between them. Bonnie Gene was a notorious matchmaker—and the last thing Bethany wanted was to encourage her. This was just coffee between old friends, not the rekindling of their high-school romance.

  Then the kitchen doors sprang open and Cole’s uncle came out, accompanied by Bonnie Gene. Donald had added a few pounds to his midsection over the years, but his friendly blue eyes hadn’t changed. And he still wore his short, white hair in that oddly lopsided style, which gave the renowned businessman a deceptively guileless look. “Bethany, it’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to be here.” She realized, with surprise, that it was true. In Chicago, she was always surrounded by strangers, an anonymity and freedom she liked. Still, there was something comforting about running into people she knew.

  Bonnie Gene filled their cups with steaming coffee. “Now tell me, how is your father doing?”

  “Not great,” Bethany admitted. “He’s in a lot of pain. That’s why I’m here, to fill his prescription.”

  Bonnie Gene clucked. “A man his age shouldn’t be on a horse.”

  “Can’t keep him off it,” Cole said, his deep voice rumbling through her nerves.

  “That’s right,” Don cut in, sounding belligerent. “A man’s got a right to live his life the way he wants no matter how old he gets.”

  Bethany sipped her coffee to hide a smile. Everyone knew that Bonnie Gene kept her husband on a short leash, especially when it came to his beloved cigars.

  Bonnie Gene rolled her eyes at her husband and turned to Cole. “And how about Hank? How’s he doing?”

  Cole made a sound of disgust. “The same. Still hiding in the house, leaving the rest of us to deal with his mess.”

  Bethany stole a glance at Cole’s handsome profile, a reluctant spurt of sympathy twisting inside. She’d heard about the senator’s infidelities. His mistresses had been popping up like gophers in a hay field, dominating the tabloids for weeks. And the media was having a field day, relishing the California senator’s spectacular fall from grace—especially given the “family values” platform on which he’d built his career.

  She could imagine how the scandal affected Cole. Hank had been a lousy, self-centered father from the get-go, ignoring his wife and children to pursue his political career. His absence and indifference had wounded Cole deeply, turning the neglected child into a wild and rebellious teen—until his desperate mother had sent him to Montana to live with his Uncle Don.

  Donald and Bonnie Gene’s patience had subdued Cole’s anger. The rugged Montana land had given him a reason to live. Now just when Cole had put his life together, his father had come back—creating havoc Cole surely didn’t need.

  “Has he told you any more about what’s going on?” Bonnie Gene asked him.

  Cole shook his head, the furrow deepening between his dark brows. “I was hoping he’d said something to you.”

  “You mean about La—” Bonnie Gene glanced at Bethany and clamped her hand over her lips. The men exchanged uneasy looks, and a strained silence fell over the group.

  There was something they didn’t want her to know.

  Bethany pretended to study her coffee, experiencing a sudden feeling of hurt—which was ridiculous. Cole had no reason to confide in her. She hadn’t been part of his life in years.

  “About anything,” Cole finally said. “You heard that someone shot three of my cows?”

  “Shot them?” Bethany snapped her gaze to Cole. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded, his grim gaze shifting to hers. “I found them by Honey Creek.”

  Bethany’s heart tripped. Another wave of sympathy surged inside. That ranch meant everything to Cole. He’d slaved for years to buy it with Dylan, working with a single-minded intensity, sacrificing everything for the land—even his relationship with her.

  His uncle leaned on the counter. “You called the sheriff?”

  “Yeah. Wes Colton came out to look, but there wasn’t much for him to go on. I doubt it’s a coincidence, though. All this trouble started when my father showed up. That’s why I was hoping he’d talked to you.”

  Donald’s face flushed. “No, he hasn’t called me.”

  Bonnie Gene turned to her husband and frowned. “Then why haven’t you called him?”

  “Why should I?”

  “He’s your brother, your family. And he needs you, no matter what he did in the past.”

  Cole grunted. “Family or not, I wish he’d go hide somewhere else. Bad enough I’ve got the paparazzi tramping through my fields, leaving the gates unlocked. Now I’ve got someone killing my cows.”

  “That’s not Hank’s fault.” Bonnie Gene topped off Bethany’s coffee. “Not that he’s a saint—not by a long shot. What he did to your mother and you kids…” She pursed her lips in distaste. “He deserves to be horsewhipped for that. But no one is all good or all bad, not even Hank.”

  She turned to her frowning husband. “And you need to forget your blasted pride for once and talk to him. He’s your brother, for Pete’s sake. He needs your help.”

  Donald’s expression turned mulish. “He can call me if he wants to talk. I have nothing to say to him. Now I need to check on the food.” He pushed through the swinging doors to the kitchen and disappeared.

  “Stubborn man,” Bonnie Gene muttered under her breath.

  Bethany took a swallow of coffee. Cole’s father was a piece of work, all right. He’d alienated his wife and children, and had been estranged from his half brother, Donald, for years. Now even his mistresses appeared fed up.

  The soft chimes of a cell phone interrupted her thoughts. Cole reached back, the motion showcasing the impressive definition in his biceps, and pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He frowned at the display. “I’d better take this.”

  He rose and walked a few steps away. His broad shoulders stiffened, and Bethany knew instantly that the news was bad. “How many?” he asked, his deep voice clipped. “All right. I’ll be right there.”

  He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to face them, tension vibrating off his muscled frame. “I’ve got to go. Someone dammed up Rock Creek, just above the northeast pasture, cutting off water to the cows.”

  Bethany’s heart squeezed. Without water, cattle died fast. “Are they—”

  “I don’t know how many we’ve lost yet. No one has checked that pasture since your dad got hurt, so they might have gone without water for several days.” He angled his chin toward the bar. “Sorry to run.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ve got more important things to do than sit here and talk to me.”

  “Yes, go on,” Bonnie Gene urged him. “Just let us know what we can do to help.”

  He nodded, his mind obviously elsewhere, then strode across the wooden floor to the door. He flung the door open, making the cowbell clank, and stomped across the porch outside.

  Filled with compassion, Bethany watched him go. He’d be torn up about the suffering animals and furious that someone had attacked his ranch—not to mention angry at the financial loss.

  “He’s a good man,” Bonnie Gene said, echoing her thoughts. “And a lonely one. He just needs the right woman to soften him up.”

  Warning bells clanged. Bethany swiveled back to Bonnie Gene, determined to nip that train of thought. “Don’t look at me. Cole and I are old friends, nothing more.”

  “Of course. I know that.” Bonnie Gene gave her an innocent look. She pulled a small photo album from her apron pocket, set it on the bar, and flipped it open,
turning it so Bethany could see. “You haven’t seen my granddaughter yet. Eve’s daughter, Patience. My little angel is four months old.”

  A darling, red-haired baby girl smiled up at her, softening Bethany’s heart. “Oh, my. What a doll.” She slowly flipped through the pages, remembering when she’d dreamed of forever with Cole.

  She straightened, shocked at the direction of her thoughts. She had no future with Cole. He’d never marry her, no matter what his aunt believed—a lesson she’d learned years ago.

  And no way could she delude herself—because that would only bring pain. It had taken her years to get over him the first time, years to resign herself to harsh reality and finally move on with her life.

  And no matter how cute Bonnie Gene’s granddaughter was, no matter how much Cole still made her pulse pound, she couldn’t succumb to dreams.

  She was older now. Definitely wiser. And she would only be here for two short weeks. She had to keep her emotional distance, not allow herself to get swept up in Cole’s problems and begin to care.

  Because that was a surefire path to heartbreak—an experience she refused to repeat.

  Determined to hold fast to that resolution, Bethany drove through the towering log entrance to the Bar Lazy K Ranch an hour later and headed to her father’s house. The main ranch buildings were clustered around a large, grassy triangle a quarter mile in from the gate. The barn, workshops and machinery sheds formed one end of the complex. In another corner stood the foreman’s log cabin, where her father currently lived, with the ranch hands’ bunkhouse beyond that. Cole’s house—a lavish, two-story stone building with floor-to-ceiling windows—stood apart from the other buildings, taking advantage of the mountain views.

  She parked the truck beside her father’s cabin, then got out and glanced around. Several men worked near the machinery shed, loading a backhoe onto a flatbed trailer. Others strapped shovels to four-wheelers, preparing to deal with the dammed-up stream. She didn’t see Cole, but his truck was parked by the tractors, so she assumed he was still around.

  She climbed the wooden porch steps, her father’s prescription in hand. Then she hesitated by the porch swing and took another look at the men. Even from a distance she could feel their tension, which was easy to understand. Ranchers worked hard under tough conditions—from winter blizzards reaching forty below to sweltering summer heat. Seeing their work destroyed would infuriate them.

  Troubled, she pulled open the door and went inside. Her father sat reading the newspaper in a recliner near the window, his broken leg propped up, his crutches lying beside him on the braided rug.

  “Hi, Dad.” She bent and kissed his leathered cheek, careful not to bump his bruises and scrapes. “I’ve got your pain medication. Have you had breakfast? You want me to scramble you some eggs?”

  “I can do it,” he grumbled. “I don’t need you to wait on me.”

  “I know that.” She stifled a sigh, remembering Bonnie Gene’s comment about stubborn men. “But since I’m up…”

  “Fine.” He set his paper aside. “But just get me one of the sandwiches Hannah brought by. She put them in the fridge.”

  “All right.” Still thinking about Cole’s cattle, Bethany entered the kitchen and took the medicine out of the bag. Maple Cove had its share of crime—domestic disputes, meth labs, occasional thefts. But to deliberately destroy someone’s livelihood…

  Incredulous, she shook out a pill, then went to the sink to fill a glass from the tap. Above the sink the white lace curtains fluttered around the open window, framing a view of the old-fashioned clothesline in the small backyard. That was Maple Cove—sheets drying in the sunshine, kids playing baseball in their grassy yards—not cold-blooded killings and sabotage.

  Still unable to believe it, she returned to the living room with the pill. “Here you go. Take this while I get your food.”

  He leaned away. “I don’t want to be all drugged up.”

  “It’s only for a couple of days until the worst of the pain is gone. You need to rest,” she added when he opened his mouth to argue. “I heard you thrashing around all night.” She set the glass on the side table and handed him the pill.

  “Since when did you get so bossy?” he muttered but dutifully gulped it down.

  Leaving him to his morning newspaper, she crossed the wooden floor to the kitchen and readied his food. But his comment sparked a sliver of guilt. She didn’t visit her widowed father as often as she should. And he was getting older; his thinning white hair proved that. But she led a busy life in Chicago and could rarely get away.

  Still feeling guilty, she put the sandwich on a plate and carried it out. She rearranged her father’s pillows, making sure he was comfortable, then sat on the adjacent couch. It wasn’t just his advancing age that bothered her, but that she’d lost touch with the everyday happenings in his life—his accident, the trouble on Cole’s ranch…

  “I saw Cole Kelley in town,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me your horse dragged you?”

  Her father swallowed a bite of sandwich. “It wasn’t important.”

  “How can you say that? You could have been killed. Don’t you think I deserved to know?”

  “What was the point? There was nothing you could do about it.” He returned his attention to his food.

  He was right, but she still wished he’d told her. She drummed her fingers on the couch. “So how did it happen? Cole said Red—”

  “It was an accident, that’s all. So just drop it.”

  Bethany blinked, shocked by his testy tone. Her father never lost his temper. He was the most even-keeled man she knew. But pain put everyone out of sorts.

  She studied his craggy face, the deep lines testament to a lifetime spent working in the wind and sun. “Cole told me about the cattle getting shot,” she said, changing the subject. “And now the stream’s dammed up.”

  Her father paused in midbite. His gaze shot to hers. “What stream?”

  “Rock Creek. He just found out a little while ago. The cows couldn’t get any water. He doesn’t know how many head he might have lost.” She leaned forward. “You think it has something to do with his father? Cole said the problems started when the senator showed up.”

  Her father paled. “I don’t know.”

  “You must have an opinion. You’re here every day.”

  “I said I don’t know.” Rusty’s voice turned defensive. He scowled and tugged his ear. “How would I when I’m stuck in here with a broken leg?”

  He was lying. The realization barreled through her, stealing her breath. No one else would have noticed, but she’d played cards with her father for years—and that pull to the ear invariably gave him away.

  But why would he lie? What could he possibly have to hide? Surely he wasn’t involved in the sabotage. He was the most honorable man she knew.

  Still scowling, he got up, grabbed his crutches and hobbled away. Bethany slumped on the couch, stunned by his behavior, questions spinning through her mind. Her father would never harm an animal. And he would never hurt Cole. It was insane even to have doubts.

  But then what was he hiding? Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Was he merely embarrassed about his accident or something more?

  Her thoughts and emotions in turmoil, she rose and walked to the window and gazed out at the busy men. One thing was clear. Something bad was happening at the ranch. And her father might know more than he’d let on.

  Cole stalked past on his way to the ranch house, his broad shoulders rigid with tension, anger quickening his stride. She hugged her arms, knowing she shouldn’t care. Cole and his ranch weren’t her business. She had her own problems to deal with—namely Mrs. Bolter’s death. She didn’t need to worry about Cole.

  But as he passed, a sinking feeling settled inside her, her heart winning the war it waged with her head. She couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. Cole was in trouble, his ranch under attack. And no matter how badly their relationship had ended, it wasn’t in her nature to
withhold her help.

  She stepped away from the window, her mind made up. She’d settle her father down for a nap, then ride his horse to the stream. On the way, she could stop in the pasture where he’d had his accident and search for clues.

  If her father was hiding something, she would find out.

  Chapter 3

  Bethany galloped across the field on her father’s mare an hour later, the brisk wind brushing her face, a heady sense of exhilaration flooding her veins. The brilliant blue sky soared above her. Wheat-colored grass carpeted the rolling rangeland on every side. Closer to the mountains, hills rose like gnarled fingers, their ancient, glacier-carved valleys shadowed with aspens and pines.

  She slowed Red to a walk, her breath coming in ragged gasps, the scent of dried grass filling her lungs. The ever-present wind rustled in the silence—whispers from her ancestors, her father had said. She smiled at the fanciful thought. She’d always loved imagining her father’s people traveling through these foothills, hunting for buffalo. They’d seen the same, unchanging scenery that she did, felt the same, unending wind. Even now the sheer magnitude of the wild land awed her, the beauty a balm to her soul.

  Pulling herself out of her musings, she angled her hat against the midday sun, then guided the mare toward the fence marking the perimeter of Cole’s ranch. She’d detoured on her way to the dammed-up stream, hoping to find the spot where her father’s accident had occurred. Although she doubted he had anything to do with Cole’s problems, he was lying about something—and she intended to find out what.

  Keeping Red to a walk, she scanned the pasture. A gopher scurried by. The western wheat grass bobbed in the wind. She pushed up the sleeves of her long-sleeved T-shirt, growing warm in the sun. But in typical Montana fashion, a storm front was due to arrive any day now, dumping snow on the mountain peaks.

  She continued riding along the fence line—past the circle of stones forming the old teepee ring, past a cluster of Black Angus cows. A dozen yards later, she spotted a churned-up section of ground and stopped. Hoof prints and tire tracks crisscrossed the dirt, but they didn’t tell her much. It rarely rained this side of the Rockies, so they could have been here for months.