The Climax Montana Complete Collection

by Reece Butler

She cleared the mouth from the stuff covering it, then sat back. It took a while for the little one to be born, but he and Jet watched silently, unmoving. Finally, mother and foal lay there, getting their breath.

  “Come feel his hooves,” said Lila excitedly. “This is neat.”

  Jet and Houston both went into the box and crouched down beside Lila. The foal’s legs were so thin Houston wondered how it would be able to stand. He touched the tiny hoof.

  “It’s soft!”

  “That’s so the hooves don’t hurt the mother,” explained Lila. “In a few minutes they’ll be hard, and then he’ll be able to stand.”

  They moved out of the way to let Mother Nature continue to do her thing. Sure enough, the spindly-legged creature managed to get upright. It took a few times, and he seesawed before finally walking stiffly, but he made it to his mom. By this time Sable was standing. She sniffed and licked him, learning about her baby.

  Houston’s melancholy had passed while watching the birth. It was such an amazing experience to see a new life emerge and to share the experience. The three of them leaned their backs against the wall, Lila in the middle. She was unable to stand still, bouncing on her toes and grinning as wide as any proud grandma.

  “What should we call him?” she asked.

  “He’s your horse,” said Houston. “Don’t you have names picked out?”

  “It’s not like he’s a purebred needing ten names to prove his dam and sire. Would you mind if I called him after you two? I was thinking of Texas Coal, since it’s another name for black, like Jet. I’d call him Tex.”

  Did she want something to remind her of them when they left? Houston lifted her hand and gently kissed her knuckles. “I’d like that,” he said.

  “Now that Tex and Sable are okay,” said Jet, “you can relax and let us care for you. It’ll soon be time for chores. Let’s get some sleep.”

  “As long as someone will hug me,” she replied.

  Houston put his right arm around her. Jet took her other side.

  “As long as we’re around,” said Houston, “there’ll always be someone to hug you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “What the hell? Now what?”

  Houston looked over his shoulder at the flashing red lights. He was already pissed off that Lila had sent them for a full medical workup first thing that morning. He’d had enough of that in the army. He did not enjoy being poked, prodded, and stretched. The medical staff took so much blood he’d called out for someone to save him from the vampires. They were not amused.

  “Last time the sheriff didn’t use the siren,” said Jet, slowing down. “Hope Lila’s okay. Maybe she wants us to pick up groceries.”

  “She’d call the sheriff to stop us because she was out of milk?”

  Jet turned to him. “You ever live in a small town?”

  “Nope. But I hear the rumor mill works overtime.”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  Jet came to a full stop, turned off the truck, and rolled down the window. They waited a few minutes, but Gibson didn’t get out.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Can’t be running our plates. This is a Circle C ranch truck,” replied Jet.

  The wail of a siren came toward them. More flashing lights.

  “What the hell?”

  The second vehicle came at them, stopping more than ten feet away.

  “Don’t make any sudden moves,” warned Jet. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t look good.”

  “No shit, Sherlock!”

  The cop behind the wheel was young, and looked like he had something to prove. Houston hadn’t had Jet’s in-depth experience with police, but he knew it was not a good combination.

  “You got any confessions to make? Something I should know about?”

  Jet turned to him. “Me? I haven’t done anything.”

  “I’ve been in the hospital for weeks. Worst thing I did was miss a bedpan when the shit-on-a-shingle fought back and my stomach won.”

  The door of the cruiser in front of them opened. The cop knelt behind it, using the door as a shield, and pointed a pistol at them. Houston’s gut clenched.

  “This is bullshit!”

  “Shut up and cooperate,” said Jet grimly. “Your family doesn’t own the law here.”

  “Hands on the wheel,” demanded Gibson from behind them. “Passenger, put your hands on the dashboard.”

  “Passenger? The sheriff’s forgotten us already?”

  “Houston!”

  He winced as he obeyed. Raising his left arm pulled on already strained muscles.

  Jet turned his head to the open window. “Morning, Sheriff. Is there a problem?”

  The deputy got a better grip, aiming right at them. Sheriff Gibson had his right hand on his gun as he leaned into the open window and took a good look around the truck. He reached in and opened Jet’s door from the inside.

  “Driver, step out and put your hands on the roof. Do it slowly.”

  Jet cooperated fully. Only when he was cuffed did Gibson turn his back on the deputy and give them a quick wink.

  “Your turn, Deputy Chambers,” said Gibson. He set Jet to stand at the back of the truck and walked around to Houston’s side. He opened the door.

  “Passenger!” ordered the deputy. “Slowly exit the vehicle. Do not make any sudden moves. Keep your hands high.”

  Houston sighed heavily. He twisted his neck to look up at Gibson. “Is there a reason for this, Sheriff? Or is your tiny town just so boring you need some excitement on a Monday morning?”

  “Shut it and cooperate,” ordered Jet. “You’re not in Texas anymore.”

  “Not even in Kansas,” he muttered as he struggled to get out of the truck without using his cane or dropping his hands.

  Ten minutes later they were both in the back of the Sheriff’s SUV, still cuffed. The deputy had been sent to his next emergency. Kitten stuck in a tree? Goat wandered into a neighbor’s yard and was eating petunias? Who knew what wicked crimes existed in a place called Climax.

  “This better be good,” he said. He kept shifting, trying to get comfortable while his shoulder burned. “I have not had a good morning. We were up half the night delivering a foal, and for the last two hours I’ve been tortured by the insane sadists that run the dungeon masquerading as a clinic.” He glared at Jet. “While that was going on my good buddy had fresh homemade pastries and got trounced playing Uno with Lila’s grandparents.”

  “What’s this all about?” asked Jet, ignoring Houston’s complaint. “Smoke and mirrors?”

  “Knew you were smart,” replied Gibson. “We’re going for a drive where we can have a quiet chat. Then you are going to be very publicly hauled into jail, fingerprinted, your arrest record checked—the whole nine yards. The ranch vehicle will be towed to the impound lot to be searched, and Lila will be called to pick you up.”

  “What’s Tank Jefferson up to?” asked Jet.

  “He said a few things yesterday which gave us an idea to solve the problem.”

  “Then why the hell are you arresting us, instead of him?” demanded Houston.

  “First, you are not being arrested. I’ve safely detained you for questioning purposes.” Gibson flashed teeth that did not add up to a smile. “I want Tank cocky so he’ll make mistakes and get caught. I figured you two care enough about Lila to go along with it.”

  Gibson turned down a narrow side road. They bumped along, Houston wincing, getting closer to the river. Straggly bushes coming out in silver green leaves rose around them. On another day, one where he hadn’t been stretched like an elastic, Houston might appreciate the view.

  “This is a first,” said Jet. “Every other time I took a ride off-road courtesy of the law I got beat up.”

  “We’re going someplace where I can talk and nobody hears or sees.”

  Gibson parked on a flat graveled area, let them out, and took off their cuffs.

  “This wrecked my shoulder worse than
what those physios did,” said Houston, stretching out the kinks.

  Gibson shrugged. “New deputy is eager to prove himself.”

  “What are we supposed to have done?” asked Jet.

  Gibson straightened up. Houston realized the man had been fairly relaxed on the drive. He wasn’t now. Whatever was up, it burned the Sheriff’s ass.

  “It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you’re going to do. Tank’s spreading the word Jet boasted about using Lila. Tank didn’t know about Houston, but after this morning at the clinic, he’ll add you to the lies.”

  “How, and why, are we using Lila?” asked Jet.

  “According to Tank, because Lila’s never had a boyfriend and her parents are away, you found her easy pickings. He says his buddy told you to move on, but you heard about Lila being alone for weeks, and saw an opportunity. You’re boasting about getting the rich daughter knocked up.”

  “What the fuck?” Houston looked from Jet to Gibson.

  “It’s an old story,” said Gibson. “In the past when the daughter got pregnant her parents would force them to marry. He’d inherit the ranch, and she’d be stuck with him.”

  “Why would anyone think this would work with Lila?” Houston leaned against the hood of the SUV. “Her mother’s a doctor, so she’s on the pill and uses condoms.” Jet kicked Houston’s boot. He glared back. “What, TMI?”

  “As Doctor Frost says every year to a new class, condoms are not foolproof,” replied Gibson. “They don’t work when they’re old, put on wrong, break, get punctured, or wear out from being kept in a wallet.”

  Gibson ran lazy eyes over the two of them, though Houston figured there was a fair bit of intelligence behind the half-closed lids.

  “The word Tank’s passing around is that Jet put holes in Lila’s condoms so she’d get pregnant. Jet will find a reason to hang around, hoping she stays that way, then he’ll demand a payoff in return for signing over complete rights to the baby. You’re both drifters, so even ten thousand dollars would be enough for you to sign off and walk. Says Tank.”

  “I would never walk away from Lila’s child,” said Jet, his voice cold and harsh.

  “According to Tank, you would.” Gibson’s mild voice did not match the intensity in his eyes. “He says you two are trailer trash.”

  “Then why would Lance MacDougal and Tom White let us anywhere near Lila?” demanded Houston.

  “You gave false identities. Tom’s been tracking down the particulars. We figure if Tank believes Lance could stop by to check on Lila at any time, and that his ravens are watching the Circle C, he won’t go near.”

  “Won’t he just check to see if Lance’s truck is at the Circle C?”

  Josh’s grin suggested the man could be evil when he wanted to. “The MacDougal ravens attack Tank every time they see him. Those beaks and claws are wicked. If he ever goes bald, he’ll have some interesting scars to show.”

  Houston thought of the cooing raven that rode his shoulder that first night. He would not want to be pecked, much less dive-bombed, by the beast.

  “So, as long as Lila stays on the ranch, she’s safe from him,” said Houston. “What happens when she leaves it, like now?”

  “It’s up to you to control her.”

  “Control Lila?” Houston snickered. “Don’t you have leather cuffs in that special bag of yours, bro?”

  Jet shot him an “I’m going to kill you later” look, but Josh didn’t look surprised at the comment. Houston had sat in the corners and listened at the party. It seemed the good citizens of Tanner’s Ford Valley were into BDSM, as in Bondage and Discipline, with a side order of Dominance and submission, and maybe some Sadism and Masochism now and then to spice things up. No wonder he and Jet got on so well with Lila’s relatives.

  Keith Adams and Eric Frost were the most obvious examples of Masters in the older generation. He’d seen the same dominant intensity in Sam Elliott, Brody MacDougal, Travis Adams, and Dare McInnes. Josh Gibson had it in spades, but that attitude went with being a good sheriff.

  “Cuffs won’t be necessary,” said Jet abruptly. “Lila will do as she’s told.”

  “Good luck with that,” said Gibson, amused. “Lila can’t know about this set-up.”

  Jet made a sound that Houston hadn’t heard since their last big rumble with a couple of drunk Navy lads. They’d cleaned the floors with those sea boys. If there was going to be a fight with Tank, Jet was up for it. Hell, Houston was eager to stomp the little shit as well.

  “I don’t like keeping her out of the loop,” said Jet, “but I get it.”

  “Whatever you need, Sheriff, I’ll be there,” said Houston. “I’m not up to a bar-clearing brawl today. If Lance MacDougal does more of that weird woo-woo stuff on me, I’ll heal fast. In spite of that clinic’s torture chamber.”

  “Don’t let on how well you’re healing.”

  Houston nodded. “I’ll lean on my cane a lot.” He grinned. “Coincidentally, it makes a really good weapon. I’m betting Tom has a blade inside his silver-topped cane.”

  “I’m not going to ask,” said Gibson. “He might be old, but he’s quick and deadly.”

  Houston took a minute to digest the comment. He’d figured the well-dressed older gentleman might have a violent side. The town of Climax kept getting more interesting.

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Jet.

  “Get Tank going, make him mad, and do it fast. He thinks he has an in with Lila, and with the town, because he’s a local boy. He needs to get rid of you so he can move in and steamroll Lila.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?” asked Jet.

  “I’ve talked to the sheriffs in Deer Lodge and Twin Bridges. He’s a person of interest in a number of assaults, but they haven’t been able to charge him with anything. When he finds a woman he wants, and she’s protected, he gets the guy alone. He goes after the woman while the guy’s laid up, threatening her with worse if she goes to the police.”

  “That won’t work here,” said Jet. “Lila would fight him, and win.”

  “He’s a coward. He’s liable to start something in a public place, and make you hit first.” Gibson looked at Houston. “You have a hot temper. Jet had to tell you to back off a couple of times just now. Jet’s learned to bite his tongue and keep his fists down. It’s your turn. You will control yourself for Lila’s sake. If you hit first, we’ll arrest you for assault. If Jet jumps in, you’ll both be in jail and Tank will have open season on Lila and the Circle C.”

  Houston kicked a rock with his good leg. It arched and fell in the water with a plonk.

  “I don’t think there’s anything an out-of-shape bully can say to me to get me riled enough to let Lila get hurt,” he said.

  “Who said he was out of shape?” asked Gibson. “He worked at a feedlot, moving hundred-pound bags. He liked the looking good part so much that he kept up the muscle. We think it’s with pills, since he’s a lazy sum-bitch.” He looked around. “We have to make this look good. I’m known for talking first when I can, but if I let you off your cuffs and you try to escape, well, you’ll be a little roughed up when I bring you back. Deputy Chambers might let it slip that I’ve taken you for a chat where nobody can see.” He bared his teeth. “I like Lila. I don’t have many female cousins, and she’s a lot of fun.”

  “If you don’t tell her about this, won’t she get mad at you?”

  “Yep. It won’t be the first time,” he replied with satisfaction.

  Houston’s view of the sheriff went up another few notches. If he stayed here he’d have a whole mess of Lila’s cousins to thump and laugh with while getting thoroughly drunk. It would be better than the army because they really would be like brothers.

  “I don’t want Lila hurt,” said Jet. “She’s a fine woman.”

  “You do your part, and we’ll do ours,” replied Gibson.

  “What’s next?”

  “I take you into town, implying I’ve done some aggressive questioning out here. You
denied everything, but I still lock you up while I check things out. Lila needs your services, and demands you go free. I let her pick you up, with the warning I’ll be watching you. You’re angry, and act up enough that the townsfolk think it’s possible you could go against her.”

  There was no way Houston wanted to be paraded into town. Lance MacDougal’s cream had stopped the worst of the itching, but his face still looked like one of those crazy quilts with the weird stitching. Maybe the Sheriff would take them in and out quickly. He swallowed bile. If he had to, he would tough it out to keep that feisty little wildcat safe.

  “In other words,” said Jet grimly, “you’re making sure by the time Lila’s parents return, nobody will want us here.”

  “You do things right and we’ll catch him in action,” clarified Gibson. “At that point you’ll be heroes.”

  “I don’t need to be a hero,” said Jet grimly. “I have my own reasons for doing this.”

  Gibson narrowed his eyes. “I’m warning you, if you hit him, unless you’re protecting Lila or defending yourself, I’ll arrest you.”

  “It’ll be self-defense,” promised Jet. “I know how to handle bullies. He’ll take the first swing.”

  “What if he has a knife or a gun?” asked Houston.

  Jet suddenly flashed a blade, one Houston hadn’t seen before. Jet widened his lips into a false smile. “First problem solved. Perhaps the good sheriff will point me in the direction of a pistol that can be concealed and not drawn unless necessary.”

  Sheriff Gibson stared at Jet until the knife disappeared. “You sure you’re not related to Lance MacDougal? He’s always got a number of knives stashed on him.”

  “Not as far as I know,” said Jet.

  “I’ll need your complete legal names,” said Gibson to Houston. He pulled out his notepad and pencil.

  Jet frowned. “Houston’s family—”

  “Is my problem.” He shared a speaking glance with Jet. “Name’s Roger Sheldon Simpson. Parents are Bettina and Sheldon Simpson of River Oaks, Houston. They’re called Bitsy and Jim. Don’t ask me why because I haven’t a clue,” he added.

  “River Oaks? Didn’t some of those Enron crooks live there?” asked Gibson.