Return to Oak Valley

by Shirlee Busbee

  Concentrating first on Williams, in a series of lightning and violent punches, Sloan soon had the big man slumped and groaning against the far wall of the living room. A kick to the groin and an uppercut sent Scott spinning backward to land in a moaning pile on the floor.

  Gasping for breath, wiping away the blood from his cut eyebrow, Sloan stood there, swaying just a bit from the damage he'd taken. His body was one long ache and, gingerly, he touched his ribs, wincing at the pain that lanced through him. Jesus. A broken rib, that's all I need.

  He walked over to where Scott lay and nudged him with his toe. When Scott rolled over and looked up at him, Sloan said softly, “Stay away from Shelly Granger. She has any more trouble of any kind, and I'll come back to visit.” Despite his busted lip Sloan smiled, a smile even more terrifying than his earlier one. “And if I have to come back…you won't like it…trust me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grimacing against the pain, Sloan turned around, stopping short at the sight of Jeb leaning against the jamb of the front door. For a second the two men confronted each other, then Jeb said dryly, “You forgot to tell him to cancel the lease with Shelly.”

  Sloan nodded. “Yeah, I did.” He turned back to Scott and poked him with his toe. When Scott half sat up and looked blearily at him, Sloan said, “See Sawyer and tell him you want out of the lease with Shelly Granger. First thing Monday morning, you tell him you're eager to end it. No money.”

  Scott hesitated. Jeb strolled over to stand next to Sloan. “You have a problem with Sloan's request?” he asked politely.

  Scott glanced from one face to the other, for the first time seeing the family resemblance. There was no yielding in either face, and, flopping back down on the floor, he muttered, “Sure. No problem. I'll call Sawyer first thing Monday morning.”

  “Appreciate it,” Sloan said, and began limping toward the door.

  Jeb regarded Scott for a moment longer. “I take it everything is OK here? No complaints, or anything like that?”

  Scott flashed him an incredulous look. “Get out,” he grated. “Just get the hell out of my house and take your trained ape with you.”

  Jeb grinned. “Glad to. Just wanted to make certain.”

  Jeb wasn't grinning when he caught up with Sloan, who was leaning against the front fender of the Suburban. “You OK?” he asked as he rested one arm on the top of the vehicle.

  Sloan grimaced. “I'll live, but it'll be a few weeks before I want to do that again.”

  “Take it from me,” Jeb said quietly, “don't do it again—ever.”

  Sloan squinted at him from his swollen eye. “You going to arrest me?”

  “If you pull a damn fool stunt like that again, I will.” He pointed a finger at him. “You're lucky, you know that. You took on two of them—not smart. And you broke all kinds of laws.” When Sloan started to speak, Jeb held up a hand. “I don't want to hear it. I'm on thin enough ground as it is.” Then he ruined it by grinning. “Nice work. I've been wanting to do that for a long time. I especially liked that uppercut you gave him after you threw him against the wall.”

  Sloan started to smile, then groaned as his split lip made itself felt. “How long were you watching?”

  “Since you drove up.” He jerked his head down the street. “I'm parked in Mrs. Nolan's driveway. Figured you'd drive right on past—which you did. Knowing you and how you feel about Shelly, I was pretty sure you'd come after him.” He smiled faintly in the darkness. “Thought you might need some backup, but you handled it just fine, son.”

  Sloan shook his head, pain lancing through him. “Jesus! I'm too old for this sort of thing.”

  Jeb clapped him on the shoulder, and Sloan winced. “Remember that the next time you get all riled up.” He sent him a considering glance. “You OK to drive home?”

  “Yeah. I'm fine—or I will be once I've made it to bed—for a week.”

  Jeb laughed and sauntered off into the darkness.

  Shelly woke Saturday morning tired, crabby, and depressed. The events of the previous evening were fresh in her mind and, as she dragged herself from the bed, she marveled at how swiftly a really great time had turned into a nightmare. One minute her only worry had been if she could resist Sloan's advances and then the next…She sighed. And the next, her dream for the future of Granger Cattle Company had been shattered.

  The shower helped, but she still felt groggy and out of sorts. Looking at the clock and noticing that it wasn't much past 8:00 A.M. she wasn't surprised. She'd only had a couple of hours' sleep—if that.

  She trudged downstairs, trying to work up some enthusiasm for the day. It was Saturday, not a normal workday, although on a ranch and with livestock there was no such thing as a weekend, but except for feeding and care of the stock, they did slack off some, and the hours stretched out endlessly before her. The loss of Beau weighed heavily on her and while she usually ran out to the cattle pens first thing every morning, this morning she was hard-pressed not to burst into tears every time she thought of the cattle. Poor Beau. As for Milo Scott…her face set, and her hands clenched into respectable fists. The next time she saw him, she'd probably forget she was raised a lady and kick his balls right up into his throat. She smiled at the picture. Yeah. She'd enjoy doing that.

  Feeling a trifle better, she followed the scent of coffee and frying bacon to the kitchen. Maria was bustling around in front of the stove, and Acey was seated at the kitchen table.

  “Morning,” Shelly said as she helped herself to a mug of coffee and joined Acey at the table. She eyed him appreciatively. He looked almost rakish with his bandaged head. “How're you feeling?”

  “Beyond my pride takin' a beating, I'm not doing too poorly. Head aches a little. Like I told Maria, when I explained what happened last night, the scratch looks worse than it feels.”

  After laying the last piece of bacon on a paper towel to drain, Maria turned around and glared at the pair of them. Hand on one hip, she demanded, “I suppose it never occurred to anyone to call me when all this was going on last night.”

  “Wasn't last night,” Acey murmured. “This morning. Hell of a time to wake you from your beauty rest.”

  Maria snorted. “At my age I am beautiful enough.” She fixed a gimlet stare on Shelly. “You should have called me.”

  Shelly grimaced. “Maria, it was one, two o'clock in the morning. There was nothing you could have done except lose sleep.” She grinned. “And eat pie. I was never more thankful that you keep the freezer stocked with those apple pies of yours than last ni—er, this morning.”

  Maria looked slightly mollified. She turned back to her cooking for a minute and, after pouring pancake batter on the big black griddle on the stove, pointed a spatula at Shelly, and ordered, “The next time something like that happens, you call me—at any hour of the day or night.”

  Shelly nodded, her expression grim. “Let's hope nothing like that happens again.”

  “It won't,” said Acey decisively. “We're putting locks on all the gates and, for the next little while, Nick and I are going to take turns patrolling the cows at night.”

  “Count me in,” Shelly said. “If we take turns, no one has to lose much sleep.”

  Acey's dogs started up a ruckus, and they all heard the sound of a vehicle pulling in behind the house. A moment later, purple shadows under his eyes, Nick strolled into the kitchen. Spying the pancakes his mother was flipping on the griddle, he said, “Hot damn! Timed it just right for breakfast.”

  “Do you ever think of anything other than food?” Shelly teased.

  Helping himself to a piece of bacon, he grinned. “Oh, yeah. Like Acey here, I think of women a lot. But unlike Acey, I get to do something about it.”

  Acey sputtered in his coffee. “I'll have you know that I do quite a bit about it, myself,” he said grandly. “And better. You young studs think in terms of quantity—you're too dumb to know that it's quality that counts.”

  Maria and Shelly both groaned. “Please,”
Shelly begged, “not this morning. You're both studs, let's leave it at that.”

  “Damn right,” Acey said.

  Half an hour later, her stomach full of Maria's sourdough pancakes, Shelly drove the Bronco into town. She didn't know exactly what she was planning on doing, but double-checking that Beau's carcass had been removed from the side of the highway seemed a logical move. Sloan had said he would take care of it, and she didn't doubt that he had; she was grateful that was one decision she didn't have to make. She slowed when she reached the site of the accident, relieved that there was no sign of the dead bull. Don Bean must have been out early taking care of the grisly task. On her return, she stopped at his place, her face paling when she drove around back of his big metal shop and caught sight of Beau's remains lying stiffly on the back of a large flatbed truck.

  Wearing a pair of grease-stained blue denim overalls, Don came walking out from his shop. After wiping hands the size of Virginia hams on a red rag, he stuffed the rag in his back pocket and pushed back the ubiquitous baseball cap on his head. Standing next to her vehicle, he said, “Morning. Sorry about your bull.” He jerked his head in the direction of the flatbed. “I wasn't certain where you wanted the body dumped. Thought I'd call you in a little bit.”

  Shelly smiled with an effort, keeping her gaze averted from the truck. “Thank you for getting him off the road so quickly.” She swallowed. “Uh, you're not going to drive him through town that way, are you?”

  Don Bean was a big, beefy man, about six-foot-two, barrel-chested, and dripping wet, he weighed around 240 pounds. He was about Sloan's age and he'd been running his own business almost since the day he'd graduated from high school. If you wanted tractor work done, from road to ponds, you called Don Bean. Welding? Yep, he did that—when he had time. Timbering? When the rain quit, he'd be happy to do that, too. Construction? Well, he'd be willing to turn his hand to that—if the price was right. He was a well-known, well-liked good ole boy: His humor could be rough, his tongue brutal, and he didn't take crap off anybody. He was also known to be handy with those ham-sized fists, but his good heart and his good humor endeared him to just about everyone. Grinning at Shelly, he drawled, “Don't worry, the trip through town won't bother ole Beau none.”

  “I wasn't thinking of Beau,” she said tartly. “I just don't think he's a pretty sight for any kids to see.”

  His bright blue eyes laughing at her, Don said, “Oh, in that case, I've got a couple of yellow tarps I can throw over him.” He winked. “I planned to do that anyway. Don't want some do-gooder old lady having a heart attack or calling animal abuse.”

  “Thanks, Don, I appreciate it.”

  He waved her away. “No problem. Accidents happen. Don't give it another thought.”

  Shelly paid him and pulled away.

  She wasn't in any hurry to go home, afraid that all she'd do would be to mope around the house and barns. Seeing M.J.'s apple red pickup parked at the side of the Blue Goose, she pulled in beside the other vehicle.

  The aroma of frying ham and cinnamon rolls teased her nostrils as she pushed open the door and walked inside. Hank looked over his shoulder from where he was busy cooking up something on the grill and grinned at her. He tipped his hat. “Ah, good morning to you, darlin'. Couldn't stay away from my cooking, could you?”

  Shelly smiled. “Well, I haven't actually tried your cooking yet—it was Megan's efforts I tried, remember?”

  “So it was. So it was. But you're here now…”

  Shelly shook her head. “But not to eat—just some coffee, maybe. I'm looking for M.J.”

  Several of the tables were full, mostly with couples or families; some she recognized, some she didn't; the ones she did called out a friendly greeting as she walked to where M.J. was sitting at a table for two tucked into a corner near the wood stove. As she joined M.J. she eyed the plate of sausage gravy and biscuits in front of M.J. and regretted her full stomach. Though tempted to try a half order, when Sally came to the table she settled for coffee.

  Shelly and M.J. made conversation until after Sally had placed the heavy white mug in front of her and gone on to serve another table. Sally had barely turned away before M.J. pounced.

  Brown eyes gleaming, food forgotten, M.J. leaned forward and said, “If you aren't the slyest thing. How dare you have a date with Sloan Ballinger and never breathe a word to me? Am I or am I not your best friend? Am I not the only person in the world who knows all your innermost secrets? Such as the fact that you have been known to eat peanut butter right from the jar—in bed?”

  Shelly took a sip of her coffee. “How did you hear about it?”

  “Bobba,” M.J. said cheerfully, smiling at her. “And Chuck Brannigan. And Bill Tanner.”

  “Jeez, is there anybody in the valley who doesn't know what happened?”

  “Well it's not noon yet, so there's probably a few souls who haven't heard the valley drumbeat.”

  Shelly grimaced and shook her head. “I'd forgotten how quickly news spreads.”

  M.J. swallowed a bite of her biscuits and gravy, and, her face sober, she said, “Listen, all teasing about Sloan aside, I'm sorry about Beau. I know he meant everything to your plans. Were you able to find out how they got out?”

  “Someone hit Acey on the head, opened the gates, and drove them down to the valley floor,” Shelly said baldly.

  “Oh, no. How horrible! Who would do such a thing—and why?”

  “The favorite culprit at the moment is Milo Scott, but we don't have any proof.”

  “The lease!” M.J. exclaimed, her cheeks pink with anger. “That bastard! I'll bet he did it to get you to back off trying to break the lease.”

  “That's the best guess. I can't think of anyone else who would be that malicious. And it couldn't have been an accident—not with Acey getting his head bashed.”

  They discussed the subject for a few minutes, then, pushing aside her half-empty plate and reaching for her coffee, M.J. said, “OK, enough of that. Now give.”

  “It was just dinner,” Shelly said, not pretending to misunderstand her. “We're trying to, um, be friends. Make a bridge between the Granger and Ballinger families.”

  M.J. hooted. “And I've got a bridge in Brooklyn I can sell you cheap.”

  Shelly flushed. “It was just dinner. And he was a perfect gentleman. We ate in Ukiah, seeing Reba and Bob Stanton, by the way, and arrived back in the valley in time to find Beau lying dead alongside the road.”

  “Gross. I guess that would pretty much put paid to any romance.”

  “Sure did.” Honesty made Shelly admit, “I'm not so certain that it wasn't a good thing—not the cattle being turned loose, but having something to concentrate on other than each other.” She frowned. “I don't want to rush into anything with Sloan.”

  “Rush? Are you forgetting that you've had seventeen years to think about him? That certainly doesn't sound like rushing to me.” M.J. shook a finger at her. “And face it, kiddo, we're none of us getting any younger. If I had a hunk like Sloan Ballinger hanging around me, I'd be rushing him.” Morosely, she added, “Good men are hard to find anywhere, and especially in the valley—I should know. Except for some ‘prove myself sexy’ romps right after the divorce, I've haven't been laid in months.”

  “Thought you were off men.”

  M.J. winked. “I like sex, and for sex you need men.” She sighed, dropping the brazen attitude. “At least I do. Believe me, vibrators are not all they're cracked up to be.” She fiddled with her coffee mug. “It's not as if I'm looking for another husband—there are the boys to consider, and between them, and running the store, it isn't like I have extra time on my hands. But sometimes, I don't know, I get lonesome for male companionship—and not just in the bedroom. Sometimes, the boys, the store, and my friends—even your scintillating presence—aren't enough for me. Marriage is one place that I don't want to go for a long, long time, if ever again, but I wouldn't mind having a no-strings-attached sexy affair with a decent guy.”

/>   Thoughtfully Shelly studied her friend. “What about Danny?” she asked curiously.

  “Danny!” M.J. almost shrieked, her blue eyes bugging. “Our Danny? Good God, I'd rather go to bed with my brother—if I had a brother.” Scowling, she demanded, “Whatever gave you that idea? Danny Haskell is the last guy I'd go to bed with.” She snorted. “Danny, I can't believe you said that.”

  “I can't either,” Shelly admitted ruefully. “It was just…I don't know—you're single, he's single, and you can't deny that he's handsome.”

  “Yeah, but Danny…I dunno. It'd seem incestuous or something…I think.” M.J. shook her curly blond head. “Nope. Not Danny.” She flashed Shelly a lecherous grin. “But tell me about that cousin of yours. Didn't you say he was coming out to visit? Maybe I can make him feel welcome. Real welcome.”

  “Roman? I don't know how smart that would be. I adore him, but I can't say that he's dependable when it comes to women—he's always been the love 'em and leave 'em type.” Shelly looked troubled. “No. I don't think you'd want to tangle with Roman. He's a great guy if he's your relative, but otherwise…” She shook her head. “No. You don't want an affair with Roman—Roman would break your heart.”

  “Probably, but the sex might be worth it.”

  M.J. was still half-trying to convince Shelly that Roman would be perfect to help chase away her sexual doldrums when they walked outside. Spotting Danny and Jeb standing by Danny's patrol car across the street, Shelly waved. Turning to M.J., she said, “I'll say good-bye now. I want to thank Jeb again for his help last night.”

  M.J. nodded. “You want to get together this weekend?” For someone usually so cheerful and bouncy, she looked downcast. “I miss my boys,” she said softly. “The house seems so empty without them racing around and driving me half-crazy—even though I tell myself that I like the peace and quiet when they're with their father.” She grimaced. “Which is true for about five minutes.”

  “Sure. Why don't you come to my place tonight? We can make up a batch of caramel corn and watch You've Got Mail—I bought the video last week. Bring a change of clothes and stay the night.”