by Arlene James
“And Shoes?”
Rye hung his thumbs in his waistband. “Shoes Kanaka is the one man in this world that I’d trust with my life and, more important, my son’s life. But then, to tell you the truth, I trust them all.”
“That just leaves Bord Harris.”
“Bord’s not easy to know,” Rye said. “I’ve worked with him nearly half a year now, and he’s never been anything but friendly and helpful, but to me he’s the least known. Still, Plummer hired him, and Plummer was as fine a judge of men as I’ve ever known. If he ever had any misgivings about Bord Harris, he never said anything to me. That’s about all I can tell you.”
Kara frowned. “I don’t suppose you’ve checked everyone’s whereabouts yesterday afternoon?”
He slanted her a smug look. “Suppose again. I paired them up, remember? Everyone was with someone else. Except Bord. But his work was all done with his usual thoroughness, and Angelina saw him around the barn twice that afternoon. He could’ve taken the truck out and done the deed, but he’d have to have been darn lucky not to have been seen at it. Besides, he seemed as surprised as everybody else when we talked about it at dinner last night. No, I’d bet my last dollar that none of the crew was involved, but I don’t know it. That’s why I don’t want to take anyone else into my confidence just now.”
She nodded. “Okay. Better safe than sorry, as they say.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t want Mom getting wind of it, either. She’s upset enough just thinking it was an accident.”
“Then it stays between the three of us for now—me, you and Shoes.”
“The three of us,” she agreed.
“By the way, Shoes will be keeping an eye on you when I’m not around, understand? I don’t want you going anywhere without one of us. Okay?”
“Okay. Now you promise me.”
He looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “Promise you what?”
“That you won’t go off without me or Shoes.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please!”
“Listen, Wagner, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. From now on the two of us are sticking together.”
“Isn’t that what I said this afternoon when you nearly bit my head off?”
She didn’t let him rile her this time, admitting flatly, “Yes. And you were right.”
He pretended to stumble backward and clamped a hand over his heart. “I may faint.”
She laughed. “That’ll be the day. Okay, so we ride out in two big groups tomorrow and finish the round-up, then we—you and I—cull the herd. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“And you won’t go anywhere without me or Shoes along. Right?”
He folded his arms.
“Right?”
Finally, he nodded. “Oh, all right.”
“Fine. Go get your shower. If I wanted to smell horses all night, I’d bed down with the remuda.”
He rolled his eyes. “What? You aren’t going to insist on taking a shower with me?”
“I’ll just stand outside,” she said, hooking her thumbs in her empty belt loops and grinning.
He shook his head. “This thing could get real complicated real fast,” he said, stroking his mustache with his fingertips. “We’re going to have to set up some kind of protocol. I’ll think on it before I go to sleep. Meanwhile, we’ll just have to keep on our toes.”
They strolled up to the little house on the hill. She wondered if he was sad to leave it, but didn’t want to ask. They went inside, and he led her down the hall that divided the building to his bedroom. She waited outside the door while he gathered his things together, then went into the living room after he started his shower water in the little bathroom. Not long ago she and Rye Wagner couldn’t stand to be in the same room together, and now they’d just agreed to buddy-up for the duration. They’d be working side by side, eating side by side, sleeping side by side. Might something more come of it than keeping each other out of trouble?
To her knowledge no man had ever found her sexually attractive, at least not one she’d worked beside on the range. There was no reason to think Rye would be any different, and yet, she couldn’t help wondering, wishing, hoping that maybe... But no, she was just one more burden that Plummer had heaped on Rye’s broad shoulders, and she’d best not start to think otherwise. If she did, she would really be in danger—danger of getting her heart broken.
Chapter Six
Kara opened her eyes to a gray sky streaked with vivid pink, bright yellow and purest blue. Her back ached, and her throat felt thick and clogged. She cleared it, stretched and lifted a hand to rub away a tickle on her nose, but she froze in the process, suddenly aware of a warmth and a heaviness that wasn’t her own. Looking down, she found a hand, a big one, in the hollow of her shoulder. The long, blunt fingers were closed tightly in the fabric of her red-and-white-checked shirt. She followed the hand to a thick, corded wrist, the cuff of a chambray shirt and a sleeve that led to a thick, knotted shoulder, Rye Wagner’s shoulder, neck and face. Beneath his arm, his son snuggled under his blanket, only the blue-black hair at the crown of his head visible. With that one arm, he’d managed to hold them both safe through the night. Kara smiled.
A presence at her other side drew her attention in that direction. Shoes Kanaka crouched next to her. Baring his big white teeth in a smile, he lifted a finger to his lips in a signal for silence. Then, very carefully, he reached across her and gently pried loose Rye’s fingers. Rye sighed and drew back his hand, letting it fall atop his blanket. Kanaka’s hand closed around the top of her arm as he helped her to her feet. He stood with his fingertips poked into his back pockets as she first shook out, then stomped into her boots. With a jerk of his head, he led her away from the sleepers.
“I’ll walk you to the house.”
“Thanks.”
He said nothing more for a few steps, then, “He’s afraid for you.”
She stopped and looked him straight in the eye. “It wasn’t an accident. You’re absolutely certain?”
He tucked his hair behind his ear and nodded. Kara sighed, and shook her head.
“I’m not the target. I can’t be. The only two people in the whole world who have anything to gain by my death are the very two who love me the most.”
Kanaka hung his thumbs in the curves of his front pockets. “You are wondering who could want Ryeland dead.”
“Yes. Can you tell me?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Can’t or won’t?”
He didn’t answer, just returned her stare with his fathomless black eyes. She kicked at the sand and resumed their stroll toward the house. “Could Champ be in danger, do you think?”
He seemed genuinely shocked that she asked. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Because you think it’s tied up with the trail drive, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe that.”
He nodded. They had reached the front steps, and Kara was feeling some urgency for a few moments in private, but she had to know one more thing. “You’ll help me protect Rye, won’t you, and Champ, too?”
He stared at her for a long moment, and then he laughed. His face utterly transformed in that moment. Suddenly he was handsome in a noble, almost untouchable way. “Yes,” he said, “I will help you protect Rye. And Champ. And I will help Rye protect you—and Champ.” He folded his arms, hands tucked into his armpits. “We will all protect one another,” he said jovially. “We will be our own tribe. The Trail Drive Tribe.” He held the door open for her, chuckling and shaking his head.
It seemed an absurd reaction to Kara, but she didn’t know the man well enough to make judgments yet. Shrugging, she hurried up the steps and inside.
Rye swung up into the saddle and turned his mount toward Kara, who waited patiently, one arm draped across her saddle horn. What looked like a small posse rode at her back, everyone but Shoes and Harris. “Okay, boys,” he
said, “keep your eyes and ears open. We’re heading due west. We’ll only be bringing in keepers, so run ’em every one by me or Kara. Got it?”
He received a chorus of affirmative replies and turned his horse. “Let’s ride.” He hardly noticed when Kara fell in beside him, her sorrel effortlessly keeping pace with his big gray. They covered ground quickly, the dog roaming off to one side, always within sight. They were eighteen, nineteen minutes out when suddenly the dog drew up short, spun in a circle and bayed in those clear, bell-like tones.
“He’s found something. Don’t know if it’s cows, though.” Kara turned her horse, and Rye followed, the other three right behind him. They approached a small rise over which Oboe had disappeared a moment earlier. Kara went over first. She was sitting still atop her prancing horse when Rye drew rein beside her. He pushed back his hat, failing at first to comprehend what he was seeing.
“Somebody count,” he said finally, choking out the words as the others made sounds of shock. After a moment, Pogo and George rode over for a closer look.
“My God,” Kara whispered, “who would do such a thing?”
Rye watched Oboe pick his way through the dozen and more corpses. The sandy ground was dark with blood. Behind him he could hear Dean puking. Pogo got off his horse and carefully nosed around, while George took a count.
“I don’t know,” Rye said, “but he obviously meant to scare us.”
“It’s working,” Kara whispered.
Rye looked over at her. “You okay?” She nodded, her mouth pressed together in a whitish line. He wanted to get her away from the carnage but didn’t dare let her ride off alone and couldn’t yet leave the scene himself. “Why don’t you see about Dean?”
She shook her head. “He’ll be embarrassed. Besides, I want to know what they find over there.”
Rye nodded. She was tough, that woman, tough and smart. He let his leg brush hers and settled down to wait. Pogo mounted up, and he and George rode to meet them. Kara whistled for Oboe, and the dog, too, abandoned the investigation. “Well?” Rye said as the two men reined in.
George pushed his hat back on his head. “Twenty-two,” he said morosely.
Pogo took a deep breath. “All select heifers from what I can tell.”
“Son of a bitch!” Rye swallowed bile. “What else?”
“Ain’t been dead long,” Pogo went on, looking off into the distance. “No carrion around yet. You’ll want to get somebody out here, but it looked to me like there was three or four of ’em. They were shooting bolts, like they do at slaughterhouses.”
“A quiet way for killing,” Rye said darkly.
Pogo nodded. “That’s what I figured, too. Can’t tell you why they were cutting their throats after. Don’t make good sense unless they were going to butcher ’em.”
“Maybe we scared ’em off,” George said.
Rye shook his head. “No. We didn’t scare anybody off, but that’s what they’re trying to do to us. That’s why they cut their throats. They wanted as much blood and gore on the ground as they could manage.” He looked at Kara. “This has to do with the drive.”
She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “I just don’t understand how anyone could do such a thing.”
“Well, someone sure as hell did,” Rye said bitterly. “You got that cell phone on you?”
She nodded and twisted around to fish it out of her saddlebag. Flicking it open, she handed it to him. “Who’re you calling?”
“Same person I called last night,” he said, meaning the law.
She nodded sadly, staring down at her hands as he put through the call and relayed the details.
“We’ll send one of the men back to lead you out,” he said into the telephone. “I’ll see you if you’re still around when we get in at lunchtime. If not, I’ll give you a call later on.”
He folded up the phone and handed it back to Kara. “George,” he said, “think you can handle this?”
“You bet.”
“Okay. Good man. The rest of us are going after cattle.” He looked at Kara. “You up to it?”
She lifted her chin and nodded.
“All right. You tell ’em back at the flat, George, that we’ve gone out after cattle. Those sons-a-bitches might as well know they didn’t succeed in putting us off the round-up.” He paused to look at Kara again. He didn’t much like her stillness or silence or the whiteness around her mouth. “You with me on this?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m with you.”
He reached across the space between them and gripped her hand, then abruptly released it again. Embarrassed for what might be construed as a show of sentiment, he twisted in his saddle. “You with us, Dean?”
Dean shamefacedly wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve and nodded. “Yeah.”
Rye adjusted his reins. “You tell ‘em, George,” he said. “You tell ’em we’ll be in with a herd of select come noon. We’re driving this herd to New Mexico, and no damned fiend is going to keep us from it.”
George nodded and whipped his horse into a canter, heading back in the direction from which they’d come. Rye turned his horse and led the group at a trot away from the scene of the carnage. They rode for half an hour before Oboe picked up a whiff, and it was another ten minutes before they finally came across a milling group of cattle. The reason for the unrest soon became obvious as two bulls squared off against each other. One of them trotted off without much effort on Pogo’s part, but the other dug in and bellowed a warning. Oboe went for him, fang and claws, snapping and scratching at the bull’s muzzle. The bull tossed its head. Its horns had been blunted, but one of them had a jagged end that could have done serious damage. Rye threw a rope at it, and so did Kara. A slap or two in the face in addition to Oboe’s harrying, and the bull turned and trotted. They drove it a good distance away, then Kara sent Oboe back to contain the nervous cattle, while she went along with Rye to investigate sounds coming from a draw at the base of the hill.
They found four more heifers and big calves there and drove them up to join the first group. Then Oboe was off over the hill, and before they knew what was happening, they’d scared up almost forty head. Rye checked his wristwatch. Ten forty-five. “Should we go on in or keep at it?”
Kara looked around as if expecting to find someone else that he could be speaking to, then shrugged. “Let’s go in.”
Rye rose in the saddle and swung an arm at Pogo. “Let’s take ’em home!”
Pogo heeled his horse at the cows, scaring them into a trot, but they instantly veered off after an old mama cow that headed over the hill. Kara spurred her horse after it, dropped a loop and dragged the cow behind her in the direction they wanted the herd to go. The cow bawled and tried to dig in, but Rye whacked her across the rump with the end of his rope and she went docilely after that, a near-grown calf at her side. They slowed to a walk pretty soon, cows not being much for exercise. Habitually they followed their noses from one blade of grass to another and then went off in a lazy search for water. Only rarely did they bolt in a panic. This lot settled into a slow, easy gait, nose to tail behind Kara’s horse and followed her all the way to the flat. The local deputy was waiting when they got there.
“Pretty nasty scene back there,” he said to Rye. “One of my men backtracked them to a road east of here. Looks like they parked a truck and a trailer, unloaded mounts, cut the wire and came in that way. They probably picked the cattle up along the way. Puzzle is why they picked that spot for their butchering.”
“Oh, I think I can answer that,” Rye said. He brought his hands to his hips, one knee cocked, and pitched his voice so that it carried around the entire flat. “They knew we’d be coming that way this morning. It was common knowledge around the camp and compound. They wanted us to find their killing field. It’s an attempt at intimidation. They...he...someone is trying to stop this trail drive before it even gets started.”
The deputy nodded. “You might be right. So what are you gonna do?”
&nbs
p; Rye looked at Kara, who stood quietly to one side. Slowly she lifted her gaze to his. He was troubled by the puzzlement and pain that he saw there, but then she lifted her chin and said, “We’re going to drive this herd to New Mexico.” Something like pride filled him.
Rye turned his gaze back to the deputy. “You heard the lady.”
The deputy nodded and resettled his hat. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep in touch.”
“Count on it.”
He spoke with the lawman for a few more minutes, uncomfortably aware that Kara had wandered off. When the deputy climbed into his four-wheel drive to leave, Rye instinctively turned her way. She was climbing into the saddle of a neat little Appaloosa that he knew was one of the best cutting horses on the place. Bord was leading his favorite toward him. A big, fast dun that could turn on a dime. Rye had never seen a cow that could get by him on that dun. Nevertheless, he wondered if he ought not to call a halt, give Kara a few minutes to come to terms with what they’d found out there on the range. Then he shook his head. What was he thinking? Giving that woman orders was like spitting into the wind and about as effective. Besides, if she was a man, he’d let her take the lead, believing she knew best how to deal with her own emotions. Funny he should think of that.
He mounted up and joined her in the holding pen. She’d already put Dean on one gate and had George backing him up on horseback, his rope looped out and ready. Bord climbed onto the second gate, with Pogo behind him pulling on his gloves. Working wordlessly, Rye helped Kara split the herd. Then she picked her gate and nodded to her man. He took the other one, and they went to work, separating the culls from the select and driving them out the gates, where George or Pogo picked them up and hazed them out. Occasionally some stubborn critter didn’t want to leave the herd, and the outside riders would have to rope it and drag it until it decided freedom was a better deal, after all.
They’d made a good dent in the herd by the time Dayna drove up with lunch, but Kara seemed not to notice until Rye waved off the men and rode into her line of vision, putting a halt to the work. “Trying to show me up?” he asked with a grin.