Three Cowboys

by Julie Miller

  “What the hell?” Bull pulled up behind a pair of departmental SUVs parked in the circular drive near the bottom of the front-porch steps. He recognized the dark-haired man in the blue jeans and cowboy hat, wearing a gun at his waist and a sheriff’s badge on his shirt pocket. That was his brother Wyatt. He could even guess the dark-haired woman arguing with him was some kind of law enforcement, judging by the brown-and-tan uniform she wore.

  What he didn’t recognize was the evergreen garland, strewn with lights and red bows that draped around the porch railing and twisted up each post to another row of lights anchored to the gutter. And beyond the couple at the top of the steps, just to the right of the door, a tall pine tree, hung with ornaments and lights and an angel on top was framed in the front windows. What kind of game was this? There hadn’t been a Christmas celebrated at the J-Bar-J since their mother had died.

  Maybe some things did change. But the unexpected decorations only made him suspicious. What was Justice up to? Did he think a few imported greeneries and sparkly lights could convince Bull to make this emergency visit a permanent move home?

  He pulled his gun from the glove compartment and slipped it into the shoulder holster he wore beneath his left arm before opening the truck door. The heated debate that was mostly one-sided felt more like the home he’d left behind than the brightly colored holiday decor did. Bull shook his head and reached back across the cab for his gray, Western-tailored blazer and shrugged into it, making sure his badge was visible on his belt before approaching his brother and the dark-haired woman with the sharp tongue.

  “We don’t have time for family reunions and strategy meetings.” Her Latin heritage was evident in the lilting fire of her voice. “The Los Jaguares and Javier Calderón are dangerous men. We need to get on this case right now.”

  “There’s no point to chasing after rumors and shadows. More people could get hurt.” Wyatt dipped his face toward hers and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Let me handle this.” Then he turned to Bull and hoofed it down the steps to greet him. “Hey, big man.”

  “Pipsqueak.” Bull caught his brother’s outstretched hand and pulled him in for a hug that included slapping backs and nods acknowledging the years they’d been apart and the bond they’d forged long before that. Despite the four inches and fifty pounds he had on his younger brother, the storm-gray eyes that looked back at him were the same as when they separated. Trouble was brewing on the J-Bar-J. Or maybe just on the J-Bar-J’s front porch. Bull arched a curious eyebrow toward the woman pacing at the top of the steps. “You two need a room?” he teased. “To duke it out or, um, resolve your personal issues in some other way?”

  “We do not have personal...” The woman silenced her protest just as quickly as she’d turned to make it. “We were having a professional difference of opinion, that’s all.”

  Uh-huh.

  “Give it a rest, Bull,” Wyatt warned. “Things have been pretty tense around here the past few days.”

  “Is Morgan here?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Where the hell is he? Why doesn’t he have to deal with this latest McCabe family Christmas crisis?”

  “He’s on a mission out of the country somewhere. I’ve called in every favor I can to try and track him down. But he’s off the grid for now. Once I get a hold of him, though, he’ll be here. I’m sure of it. You’re the one I was worried wouldn’t show up.”

  “Yeah, well, just know I’m doing this as a favor to you. I’m not staying any longer than I have to.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.” Wyatt motioned for Bull to follow him up the steps. “This is Elena Vargas, a local ICE agent. We serve together on the Border Security Task Force. My big brother, Bull McCabe. He’s the Chicago PD detective I told you about. He’s worked a lot of drug cases over the years. And nobody knows this land the way he does. If there’s any track to follow, any place to hide, he’ll find it.”

  “A big-city cop?” The woman looked skeptical.

  Bull looked down—way down—to meet the agent’s dark eyes. He hadn’t earned his nickname just from the rodeos he’d competed in back in high school and college. He was the biggest and brawniest of the three McCabe brothers, and he was impressed that Elena Vargas didn’t seem intimidated by that fact.

  “Agent Vargas.” They shook hands. “Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Does that have something to do with the girl’s disappearance? Is she an illegal?”

  “She’s blond-haired and has eyes the same color as you and your brother.” She propped her hands on her hips and challenged him. “Think you can find a girl like that around here with your tracking skills, detective?”

  Bull ignored the sarcasm. “Things don’t change much around this part of the country, Agent Vargas. I remember it well.”

  Wyatt backed him up. “There’s probably not an inch of this ranch Bull hasn’t covered on horseback, ATV or on foot. And he knows how these kind of people operate. We need his expertise.”

  “You need it,” Elena insisted. “There’s no time for random searches through the countryside. Calderón and his Los Jaguares are dangerous men. I believe this kidnapping is related to a drug-smuggling operation I’ve been investigating. I’m willing to work with the sheriff’s department on this, Wyatt—to let you handle it personally to protect this foolish sister of yours. But I’m not willing to wait forever.”

  “I haven’t even had a chance to talk to my brother Morgan. At least let me give Bull a briefing so he’s up to speed on what’s happening here. He could probably use some food and a few hours sleep, too.”

  With an impatient huff, Elena marched past both men down to her ICE vehicle. She didn’t stop until she opened the door to her SUV and turned to give them an ultimatum. “I’ll give you one hour, Wyatt. I hope the reinforcements you’ve called in can help us. But Calderón and his criminales won’t wait. The task force needs to move on this. So one hour. Call me.”

  Wyatt was still staring as the dark-haired beauty drove away in a plume of dust.

  Bull glanced over at the steely clench of his brother’s jaw. He could see that Agent Vargas had wormed her way beneath Wyatt’s cool, calm and collected facade. And that, apparently, wasn’t a good thing. “Are you running this show, Sheriff, or is she?”

  Wyatt flashed him a snarky glance before hiding his face beneath the brim of his hat. “Come on inside. I’ll explain everything I know about the kidnapping and...Brittany.”

  Bull followed him to the door. “What’s to explain? The old man never could keep it in his pants. Broke Mom’s heart more than once. You’re probably too young to remember much of that.”

  “I remember enough. But you can’t hold a grudge forever, Bull,” Wyatt explained. “Brittany’s in the kind of trouble that supersedes family secrets and the bad history you share with Dad.” Wyatt opened the door and halted before stepping inside. “She needs us. She needs the kind of help that you, Morgan and I can give her.”

  “Not the kind of help that Agent Vargas can?”

  “Protecting Brittany and getting her safely home isn’t Elena’s priority.”

  “But it has to be ours, right?”

  Wyatt’s shoulders lifted and he looked Bull square in the eye. “Brittany’s a good kid. But she’s got nobody but us. This family is fractured enough as it is. I intend to protect whatever we have left. Are you in?”

  Bull nodded, impressed with how the pipsqueak had grown up, even if his ideology was a little too rose-colored-glasses for Bull’s taste. “I’m in.”

  Catching the door, Bull followed his brother into the front entryway. But his purposeful stride slowed as another wave of memories washed over him. The pungent scent of fresh pine tickled his nose. The tree he’d seen through the front window must be freshly cut. It matched another garland of greenery and lights that looped through a peg board running along the foyer wall that held hats and keys and jackets.

  Bull’s breath lodged in his chest. Other than the new decorations, this place w
as like a museum frozen in time. A black Stetson, wide-brimmed and shaped to fit his own head, hung from a wooden peg. Wyatt disappeared around the corner into the main room, calling for their father while Bull reached out to brush his fingertips over the soft crease in the Stetson’s crown. He’d left the hat hanging there that last day he’d stormed out and driven off to his dorm in College Station without any intention of ever returning.

  He knocked a layer of dust off the crown and then wiped his fingers on the leg of his jeans as his attention turned to the other keepsakes on display in the entryway. There was Morgan’s state fair ribbon on the wall beside some academic thing Wyatt had won. And on the front table, nestled among family portraits and more greenery, stood a glassed-in shadow box on a small easel. His silver high-school rodeo champion belt buckle was mounted inside. A slow smile spread across Bull’s mouth as he remembered the pride he’d felt the day he’d outlasted that giant Brahma and earned that championship. For a few days after that, he’d been on top of the world, invincible. For a few days, his dad had been proud of him.

  Bull glanced around to take it all in. These were the good memories he had of growing up here. Their mother had proudly framed and shown off each of her sons’ accomplishments. Automatically, Bull’s gaze went to the image of the petite dynamo who had raised them. He touched his fingertip to the glass over her smiling face. “Miss you, Mom.”

  The one anomaly in the collection of family artifacts drew his attention to a lump of yellow clay, crudely molded with several stubby extensions protruding in various directions. Bull picked up the tiny sculpture and frowned. Unlike the other keepsakes on the front table, it was free of dust, clearly a new addition. Where had it come from? And who besides their mother had ever cared to put a piece of a child’s art on display?

  He heard the footsteps on the stairs and tensed.

  “Welcome home, son.”

  Squeezing both sentimentality and curiosity from his veins, Bull turned to greet the man coming down the stairs. Other than the silvering hair and knees bent from too many years and too many injuries that shortened his height, Bull was every inch his father’s son.

  “Justice.”

  The older man bristled for a moment at the use of his given name by his middle son. But he curbed whatever he’d been tempted to say and smiled instead. “That’s a horse. Don’t worry, I had to ask what it was, too.”

  Was his father really joking around as though broken promises and ultimatums hadn’t kept them apart for ten years?

  “I’m glad Wyatt got ahold of you.” Justice McCabe stretched his arm out, and for a split second Bull thought he was making an attempt to shake his hand. Instead, the older man plucked the lumpy representation of a horse from his fingers and set it down beside the photograph Bull had just touched. “Brittany helped Cody make that.”

  Bull tensed. Was a new grandchild part of the family now, too? “Who’s Cody?”

  The screen door in the kitchen at the back of the house slammed. Justice glanced toward the sounds of laughter and running feet and a woman’s voice calling out. “Cody? Come back here. Wipe your feet.”

  “I think you’re about to find out.”

  “Juh-tis!” A little boy, wearing dusty cowboy boots about a size too big for his feet, bolted from the kitchen and ran up to the two men. “I counted tree horses!”

  To Bull’s surprise, his father scooped up the thigh-high youngster and bounced him on his hip. “Three?”

  “Yep.” A stubby little finger shot up with each number. “One. Two. Tree.”

  “That’s right.” Bull felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe. His father was playing with the boy, practically beaming. “And how old are you?”

  The same fingers went up again. “Tree!”

  Bull looked from the sandy-haired child up to the man he barely recognized. Surely this wasn’t another offspring from one of Justice’s more recent dalliances. “And Cody would be...?”

  The child answered first by tapping his chest. “I’m Cody. I can count to tree. One. Two. Tree.”

  “Good job, buddy.” It was impossible not to be charmed by the little boy’s enthusiasm—or to stop the smile relaxing his own face. Bull held up three big fingers and the boy tapped each one, repeating his numbers again. “I’m Bull.”

  Cody’s sweet round face squinched up in a frown. “I can’t go where the bull is. He’s very mean.”

  “It’s the four-legged kind that’s mean.” He tweaked the boy’s nose and winked. “I’m the two-legged Bull. I won’t hurt ya.”

  The boy’s confusion vanished in an instant and he counted off his fingers again. “One leg. Two—”

  “I’m sorry, Justice.” A tall, willowy blonde with a chic ponytail and an exasperated expression walked in from the kitchen. “He got away from me. I need to run these tax forms into town before the post office closes. I thought the cook might still be here to watch him.”

  She reached out to take the child from Justice’s arms. But with a smiling insistence Bull scarcely remembered from his own childhood, his father shifted the boy onto the other hip. “I sent Maria home early today. You run along. I can take care of him for a little while.”

  The blonde straightened the sealed manila envelope she’d tucked beneath her arm and purse. “I know you have other priorities right now. I don’t want to be an imposition.”

  “Nonsense. I said I’d do it and I’ll do it. Dakota, do you remember my son Bull?” The momentary sharpness of his tone eased to make the polite introduction. “This is Dakota Dayton and her son, Cody. She does all the accounting for me and the ranch now. Lives in old LeRoy’s cabin out back. It’s not the same homesteader’s cabin you remember. We’ve completely redone the inside and updated everything—even put a studio apartment on the top floor.”

  “Of course, Bull, I remember you.”

  The memory of a woman much younger and less frazzled finally registered. The last name was different, but several years back, she’d gone out on a few dates with his brother Morgan. “Dakota. It’s been a while. You’re looking well.”

  “You’re a good liar, but thanks.” Her handshake was as smoothly professional as her smile. But the cool tone wavered a bit when she turned her gaze up to Justice. “Are you sure about watching Cody? I can take him with me if I have to.”

  “I don’t mind. Hey, did you ever pick up that S-A-N-T-A gift I ordered for the boy?” The no had barely formed on her lips before Justice shooed her back to the kitchen. “Get out of here, then. You can pick that up after you run by the post office.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She planted a kiss on Cody’s cheek before tossing Bull a wave and hurrying out the back door. “Good to see you again.”

  “Let’s move this to my office.” Justice carried Cody through the main room and past the decorated tree before setting the boy down inside the room where Justice ran both the ranching and business ventures that had made him a wealthy man. “Down you go, son.”

  Bull noted the box of toys that had been added to the bookshelves and leather furniture that lined the room. After watching the three-year-old dump out a pile of building blocks to begin construction on a tiny ranch of his own, Bull followed his father to the hand-carved walnut desk where Wyatt was pulling a sheet out of the computer printer.

  “I got a copy of the transcription you asked for, Dad.”

  The little boy pulled a plastic horse from the toy box and knocked over the blocks with a toddler-size roar. Then, laughing with delight, he set the horse down and began reconstructing his buildings all over again. He looked so at home playing in the corner of Justice’s office, like he had no doubt he belonged here.

  “Is Cody yours, too?” Bull asked bluntly.

  Wyatt groaned. “And here we go.”

  Justice swung around and thumped a finger in the middle of Bull’s chest. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

  Ignoring the taunt, Bull dropped down to pick up a block that had tumbled beneath one of
the leather couches and handed it back to the boy. “But I’m supposed to pretend enjoying this kid’s company is normal behavior for you? And decorating the house? Who are you trying to impress?”

  “Understand this, Virgil McCabe. Mrs. Dayton works for me. It’s good business to hire someone with her qualifications. Accommodations in the cabin for her and her son are part of her salary, nothing more.”

  Bull straightened to his full height. “Virgil? You’re going to start calling me Virgil now? That honor was reserved for Mom.”

  “I don’t have to impress anyone. The decorations are for the boy. Every child should have the chance to celebrate Christmas.”

  “Would you two stop going at it like rival stallions and focus on the more pertinent problem?” Wyatt got between them and thrust the printout into Bull’s hands. “Brittany Means is seventeen years old and being held hostage by a Mexican drug lord who promises to kill her on Christmas Day if we don’t give him what he wants or we can’t find her first. That’s a transcript of the ransom message he left on Dad’s phone.” He stuck a second printout into his hands. “That’s her picture. Take a good look at her, Bull. She’s the reason you’re here.”

  Tearing his combative gaze from his father, Bull glanced down at the image in his hand. Brittany Means must have gotten her blond, wavy hair from her mother. But the dark gray eyes and strong jawline were uncomfortably similar to the angles he looked at in the mirror each day. The family resemblance was unmistakable.

  Wyatt was smarter than Bull had given him credit for. He’d put a face to the problem at hand. This wasn’t about Justice betraying their mother. This wasn’t about some mistake he’d hidden from his sons for seventeen years.

  Bull had a sister.

  He had a baby sister.

  And she needed him.

  Bull ran his hand over the top of his short brown hair. Damn the pipsqueak, anyway, for making him care. It was easier to be angry. But when had Bull McCabe ever done anything the easy way? “I’m sorry if I insinuated anything about Dakota or Cody. Old habits are hard to forget.”