by Jackie Anton
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Potter, but her phone continues to say she is out of the area. Either that or it’s turned off, and that is the only way I have of contacting her. When I lost mine, my mom got the same kind of message. I also tried the landline at the hotel, but someone else is occupying our old suite, and the person at the information desk told me she checked out last week.”
“We have had similar results on our end. Lexie, if you hear anything please let me know. I just dropped Benson off at the airport. He’s on his way down there in the company jet to bring her home. He took Booker with him.”
“I’ll call him as soon as I talk to Deputy Sheriff Boyd. He may have more information. Try to get some rest.”
Lexie immediately called Patrick Boyd, who had also hit a snag. Lexie gave him a heads-up, and at his request gave him Benson Potter’s phone number. Boyd called her back a short time later to say he was meeting Mel’s dad at the airport, and that he would be escorting them out to the Decker place. He promised to keep her advised. Then she placed a call to Mr. Potter to confirm arrival. He also agreed to keep her updated on events. It seemed that no one had been able to reach Mel. As promised Lexie called Mrs. Potter back to apprise her of Deputy Boyd’s involvement.
“The deputy is meeting the jet with a search warrant in hand, and will be driving Mr. Potter and Booker out to the Lazy K. It seems that your husband filed a missing persons complaint with the sheriff’s department. Don’t worry they’re in good hands; Patrick Boyd is an extremely competent lawman.”
I have really opened a can of worms. Wait until Decker gets a load of Booker. She smiled at the thought.
Cutter walked in while she was reassuring Mel’s mom, so Lexie waved him in. She set her little phone on the huge antique desk that had once belonged to his great-grandfather, and fought the tears threatening.
“You look like you could use a break, Lex. I have to run to the feed mill. Why don’t you tag along? We can have some lunch out for a change.”
“Is there a bank near where you’re headed?”
“Sure, the one we use is nearby.”
“Do you have time to stop so I can open an account?
“I reckon we can manage that.”
Quickly, she saved her entries logged out of the computer, and hurried down the hall to the blue and green room that she now considered hers. Lexie gathered photo IDs and her first paycheck, and stuffed them in her new brown shoulder bag. It wasn’t leather like the old navy one that was beyond salvaging, but it served the purpose.
While Cutter and Lexie headed south for the afternoon, three determined men were heading in the opposite direction, toward the Lazy K.
8
The desolation was mind boggling, and Benson Potter could not imagine his daughter being isolated in this depressing countryside. Black-winged harbingers of death caught his attention not long after the deputy informed them they were now on the Decker spread. Deputy Patrick Boyd’s mind echoed the prayer of the other men at the sight, Please Lord, not Melinda. Patrick veered the Bronco off road in the direction of the circling buzzards. Relief circulated as much as the silent prayer had that the remains they found were not human. Four young calves in various stages of decomposition rested in a dry riverbed. It was obvious they had starved to death. Their emaciated mothers stood by too weak to go on. Without feed or water, the cows’ milk had dried up long ago. The small herd had probably traveled from one water hole to another in search of water until the young had succumbed. Holes dotted the riverbed where the thirsty cattle had pawed hoping to dig down to some moisture. Patrick took some photos to document the devastation.
The mood had turned even more somber the closer they got to the house at the Lazy K. Boyd exited the sheriff’s vehicle and approached the door. The place appeared deserted. No one responded to his knock or the doorbell at the front of the house, so he worked his way around back to check out the rear entrance to the old ranch house. He returned to the vehicle and drove the short distance to the equally dilapidated bunkhouse. It was obvious to the three men that maintenance had been lacking for many years. Only one grizzled old man occupied the place. Patrick questioned an old ranch hand by the name of Pete.
“Yep, I be the only one left. Rest of em’ skedaddled. We ain’t been paid fir more ’n a couple of months. I’d go too, but this is home. Was hired on by Miz Sophie’s husband Karl back when we was all young.”
The old man identified the photo of Melinda as Decker’s live-in lady friend, but he didn’t have a clue as to where the couple could be. About to call it a day, they were discussing the option of reporting her missing to a wider network of law enforcement and putting out an APB on Decker, when the sought-after pair barreled into view. They arrived in a choking cloud of dust.
David noticed the marked Bronco immediately. Boyd he knew, and the tall graying man was Melinda’s rich daddy, he had the same dark hair and brown eyes of his daughter, but the powerfully built third man was a mystery. He pasted on his most charming smile, playing the gentleman to the hilt as he opened her car door. “Look, Sugar, we have company.”
She knew all three men, but stared at them through the blank eyes of a deer caught in traffic; they were strangers to her. Benson moved forward speaking to her like he used to when she was a child and had a bad dream. Finally, she responded to the familiar voice from her past.
“Daddy? What are you doing here?”
His daughter was disoriented and confused, so he made an attempt to reach her on a basic level. “Where else would I be except by your side when you need me?”
Quite unexpectedly, she launched into her father’s arms, sobbing like a small child.
Patrick called for a backup team to search the house. Once the deputy gained control of the rising urge to rip Decker apart, he served the warrant. Melinda didn’t resemble the girl he had met just a couple of weeks ago as he searched for her friend Lexie. She had lost an alarming amount of weight in the short time. Her stylish pink sundress hung like a rag from her shoulders. He had to admit Decker was cool under pressure, continuing to act as if this were an unexpected social call. He played the accomplished host, inviting them all in for a cool drink. Patrick read him his rights, cuffed him, and stuck him in the back of the Bronco to marinate, while he waited in what shade the covered porch provided. Patrick made the suggestion to Potter’s paramilitary companion that he take a look at the vehicle the pair had just arrived in. As a civilian Booker wasn’t bound by the warrant issue.
Benson had introduced the other man as Booker when he picked them up at Preston Smith Airport. Alarms went off on first sighting; Patrick had seen more of the man’s like than he cared to remember during his tour in Iraq. Tall with a cleanly shaven head, the bodyguard’s eyes were obscured by aviator sunglasses, but the deputy sensed that Booker registered every element of their surroundings. He had a couple of inches on Patrick, in addition to fifty or so pounds, and a don’t-mess-with-me attitude that reminded him of Cutter Ross. Booker returned with the girl’s handbag, and a suggestion to extend the warrant to include all vehicles on the premises.
The sheriff showed up before the crime scene team that his senior deputy had requested. Benson and his little girl went with the sheriff to the closest clinic to assess her condition. Before they left Booker returned the handbag to the girl, and conferred briefly with his employer.
David was sweltering in the back of the Bronco. Not long after Melinda and her father had departed with the Sheriff, he saw three others arrive and check in with Boyd. They drove up in an unmarked. Once they entered his house, Boyd came and escorted him into the blessedly cool confines of the living room. Still cuffed, he remained just inside the front entrance in the custody of the big bald guy. The hulk had removed his sunglasses upon entering the house, his sherry colored, cat like eyes, nailed David in place; the guy looked at him as if he wanted to eliminate him like he was just an annoying bug. He had news for the Terminator; he would have to stand in line. David had been able to pay back a larg
e amount to his bookie today, thanks to Melinda’s insurance settlement. That should buy him some time. He’d held back enough to purchase an engagement ring, but her dad showing up could prove to be a problem. He stared at the goon squad now trashing his place, and instinctively knew that it was Lexie he had to thank for this turn of events.
Patrick was reluctant to turn Decker loose, but the only thing the search turned up was a revolver in the glove compartment, for which he had a permit. The remainder of firearms on the place consisted of usual arsenal found on farms and ranches. They confiscated what appeared to be over-the-counter aspirin, ibuprofen, and the like for analysis. After searching the outbuildings and the bunkhouse, there was little else to do but remove the cuffs. “Stick around, Decker. If Potter decides to file kidnapping charges, I’ll be back for your sorry ass.”
Booker had known Melinda for close to a decade, and knew she struggled with relationships. “What do you think she sees in that guy?”
Patrick was wondering the same thing as he and Booker left the unproductive search, and Decker behind. Benson, keeping in touch with his bodyguard and Patrick, notified them that Melinda had been admitted to a hospital there.
By morning his daughter underwent a Jekyll and Hyde switch that the attending physicians assured Benson was normal for an addict going through withdrawal. She needed to be restrained from ripping out the IV that was dripping fluids into her dehydrated, anorexic-looking body. It was suggested to Benson that a private psychiatric hospital nearby would be able to offer better care and rehab.
Her father had Melinda moved the following day. It was a nice facility—costly, with carefully restricted visitations, and state of the art security. It was the best choice to keep her out of Decker’s reach. It still galled him that the law hadn’t found anything that would lock Decker away. Deputy Boyd had reminded him they still didn’t have the toxicology reports back on the contents of the medicine cabinet, or the contents of the pills found in Melinda’s purse. If the law couldn’t find enough evidence to arrest or convict him, Benson would see that David Decker paid for the abuse of his daughter.
9
“My God. This is outrageous!”
Cutter was enjoying a few quiet moments over his delayed lunch when he heard Lexie holler. He prayed she wasn’t talking to a client. Bookings for the stallions were way down due to the economy and the damn drought. He’d even left some of his best mares open for the spring. She was in a good mood two days earlier, and pleasant company until the phone call from her friend’s dad informing her they had found Melinda. It was her friend’s condition, along with the lack of physical evidence implicating Decker that burst her good mood balloon. She’d been on a tear ever since, and he’d been avoiding her for just as long. He’d never lost his temper with a woman, but was approaching his breaking point with this one.
“Son of a b----!”
He stormed across the hall to reprimand her for the use of foul language. He realized immediately his error; she wasn’t on the phone, but going over recent invoices. She looked up from her work and let him have it.
“Cutter, are f---ing crazy? Do you have unlimited funds that you can throw money around this way? I thought you were fairly intelligent, but I am seriously reconsidering that assessment.”
He plunked down in his large, leather chair beside the desk where she had moved it when the ordered, gray-cloth, adjustable swivel chair on rollers had arrived. “Just what offence have I committed now?”
Okay, he is pissed and growling like a bear. “Look at these invoices!”
He took the wad of offensive billings she thrust at him. He glanced through the last half dozen hay deliveries. “I’ve already seen these. Who do you think signed the damn checks? You think these are bad, wait until the delivery tomorrow morning.”
He got up and stalked out of the room, but she didn’t intend to wait one more minute. She began making phone calls back home.
The delivery the following morning was late, and Cutter left in a foul temper, giving instructions to Maria and Sam to call him when it arrived. Lexie knew things worked on a schedule around the ranch. The delivery that had been guaranteed before eight that morning showed up just before noon. The driver backed the flat bed semi near the hay storage barn; it was obvious he’d delivered here before.
Lexie wandered out when Sam Becker the horse operation manager appeared to be having a confrontation with the driver. Sam was in his early fifties still very fit and attractive, in a rugged sort of way. Lexie had noticed that he possessed the physical form of a much younger man. His shoulders were broad, and his tight-fitting Wranglers set off his tight bum. The horseman walked with a confident swagger, but at the moment he was standing with his legs braced like he was ready for a fight. Two of the younger ranch hands stood near by waiting for instructions. The hay delivery driver was a big burley guy with a bad attitude. Lexie decided to intervene before violence ensued.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Is there a problem?”
“Damn right there is!” the driver was ranting. “This horse’s rear end is refusing to unload or pay for the load. I want to see Ross.”
“Well, you’re looking at her. What can I do for you?”
“Are you Cutter’s wife?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Then, you can cut me a check, or order this old goat to do it.”
Lexie addressed the amused ranch hands. “Gentlemen, would you pull down one bale and open it for me?”
The young men jumped to do her bidding, but Sam just scowled at her. He threw his battered western straw head gear in the dirt in disgust, his salt and pepper hair was damp with the rising heat of the day as well as his the heat of the confrontation, his dark eyes flashed a warning. It was obvious that he didn’t like her interference.
She walked over to the opened bale, pulled out a couple of flakes, sniffed them, and then shook them out. She turned to the driver. “Just what is this supposed to be?”
“It is hay, lady. Are you new around here?”
“As a matter of fact, I am new around here, but I do know hay. If this stuff was ever even decent hay, it was several years ago. I’ll pay you for the bale we opened, but you can take the rest of it with you.”
“I can’t do that, lady.”
“Well, I suggest you get on your cell or your radio and tell whoever can make a decision that the Rocking R can’t feed this crap to its horses, and it will probably put the cattle at risk, too. No way are we paying fifteen dollars a bale for this load. Four dollars per bale tops and the delivery charge stated on this invoice, or you can take it down the road. I have already arranged for a delivery of good horse hay at half the price.”
Sam was now grinning at her. Cutter and Jim arrived in a cloud of dust. Cutter demanded to know why the hay was just sitting there and not being unloaded. Sam directed him to Lexie.
“What’s going on, Lex?”
“Negotiations. Before you start growling at me take a look at that open bale, and tell me if you really want to pay fifteen dollars a bale for that.”
She watched Cutter sift through the downed bale, much as she had done earlier. Then he approached the driver, who was sitting in the cab of his truck busy writing a new invoice. “What the hell is going on? You are four hours late and my help is standing around killing time!”
“Talk to your horse handler, and your wife. She refused to pay for the load.”
Cutter looked over his shoulder at her and raised one dark brow in a silent question regarding the driver’s reference to her as his wife. She just grinned and shrugged her shoulders in reply. The driver approached Cutter. “You’re a business man, Mr. Ross, not an emotional little girl. This is the best I could negotiate for you.”
Cutter looked over the new invoice, then motioned Lexie over to look at it. He thought she’d negotiated a pretty good deal. The dealer reduced the price per bale by nine dollars. “Is this satisfactory with you, Lex?”
She was shaking her head and
mouthing no. He placed the invoice in her outstretched palm. She looked to him for permission to intervene, and he nodded. “This one’s all yours Lex.” He had the pleasure of hearing the driver groan.
She rounded on the hapless man. “Just what are you trying to pull?” Lex was now waving the invoice in his face. She pulled out her beat-up old wallet from the back pocket of her jeans counted out a five and a ten handing them to the driver. “This is payment for the bale we opened. Take the rest of the load with you; we’re finished here.”
“Wait a damn minute! I told you, lady, I can’t haul this load all the way back to Nebraska.”
“I heard what you told me, but you obviously didn’t hear, or believe me when I told you I could have good quality horse hay delivered for a fraction of the cost of this inferior load that isn’t even fit for cows. I gave you the price we are willing to pay for this load. You haven’t met our terms, and I repeat we are finished negotiating. Have a safe trip back.”
Cutter was enjoying seeing her tear a strip off someone else for a change, but he thought she might have pushed it a little too far. The driver—he thought his name was Hank— just got back in the cab. Cutter was waiting for the engine to start, so he could wave goodbye to three hundred bale of
not-so-good hay that could have fed a lot of hungry cattle. Instead of heading down the road, Hank handed Lexie a new invoice. “Okay, Mrs. Ross, can the men unload now so I can be on my way?”
“Certainly. Gentlemen, you may unload this inferior hay.” She handed the invoice to Cutter, and then turned back to the driver. “Please pass along to the dealer you work with that the Rocking R will only buy clean, mold-free, safe horse hay from now on. If you have hay that is only fit for cows, you will have to talk to my husband, but Mr. Sam Becker and I are only interested in this year’s horse hay, preferably a timothy and alfalfa mix.”
She turned and walked back to the house, leaving the trucker and the rest of the men to stare at her retreating form. Cutter barked orders to get back to work. On her way back to her computer, Lexie informed Maria the lunch crowd would be a little late. Maria had overheard some of the ruckus over the hay, and she felt the bossy little newcomer had over stepped her authority.