She used peroxide followed by Merthiolate. The motor had cut off. The two women looked at each other, sighed with relief as blithe whistling approached. Tracy’s worrying took a new track. Judd was the only one of the ranch men she’d heard whistle, and she didn’t feel like an encounter with him.
While he was still a distance from the house, he called, “It’s me, ladies. Put up the kettles of boiling oil and raise the portcullis.”
Mary put up the breadknife and started to collect her books. “You stay right there!” Tracy hissed. “Don’t leave me alone with him!”
Mary shrugged and sat down. Tracy opened the door. Judd filled it. Smiling, he ducked to enter. He greeted Mary briefly, then took Tracy’s hand. “There’s a gorgeous moon. Why don’t we drive down to Nogales for a drink?”
“Why don’t I give you a cup of coffee here?” Tracy countered.
He gave her an unperturbed grin. “Somehow, it’s not the same. But I’d settle for a walk in the moonlight.”
“I’ve already had my evening’s exercise.”
His smile faded. “Damn it, Tracy, I want to talk to you alone!”
“We have nothing to discuss that’s that private.”
“We sure as hell do!” He swallowed, pleaded in his most cajoling tone. “Let’s go sit by the spring a little while. Hear what I have to say, and I won’t pester you again.”
Tracy sighed. He had been helpful and kind. Besides, he clearly wasn’t accepting her past answers. So all right, she’d give him a new, final one.
“Happy study hall,” she said to Mary. “I’ll be back soon.”
Judd favored Mary with a smile. “I’ve convinced Vashti that you deserve every cent of that bequest,” he assured her. “Do you want it paid into your checking or savings account?”
“Gosh! I don’t have either one.”
“Better open them next time you’re in town,” he advised genially, helping Tracy into her jacket. “And of course you’ve got a job at the ranch helping Tivi maintain our vehicles and machinery.”
“Helping Tivi?” Mary’s slim eyebrows rose. “When I finish this training, I ought to know some things he doesn’t.”
“But—well—I don’t think he’ll like working for a girl.”
“I’m a woman,” Mary said firmly. “Why don’t Tivi and I just work with each other?”
“Someone has to be in charge.”
“Why, if we’re both responsible?”
Judd rubbed his jaw. Mary gave him a brilliant smile. After a moment he said magnanimously, “I’ll talk to Tivi, see what I can do.”
“Thanks,” said Mary and turned to her books.
Judd took Tracy’s arm as they stepped outside. To ease the tension building between them, she teased lightly, “Sometimes it’s hard to be Lord Bountiful.”
“That’s one independent wench,” he grunted.
“She’s my best friend.”
Judd’s grasp tightened. “If you’d let me take care of you, Tracy, you wouldn’t need a best friend.”
“I certainly would!” Tracy stopped in her tracks, faced him in the silvery light that showed his features plainly but without color, as if he’d been drained of blood. “Judd, please! Let’s not make a big, messy thing of this! Your interest in me is very flattering but it’s quite useless.”
“Your next line,” he prompted savagely, “Is ‘Can’t we be friends?’”
“Can’t we?”
He took her arm again, moving her through the trees and spangled light to the rocks around the whispering stream. Making her sit down, he held her wrists. “No, doll baby, we can’t be friends. I want you more than I ever wanted anything.”
“I’m sorry about that, but—”
“I always get what I want.”
“Not this time.” She was getting angry at the way he considered only how he felt. “Can’t you get it through your head? I’m in love with someone else.”
“Who?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He gave her a small shake. “It’s Shea, isn’t it?”
“What if it is?”
“You’re wasting your time.” Judd’s laugh was ugly. “All Shea wants or needs is a Nogales whore once a month.”
He might be right. That taunt flicked Tracy’s hopes and fears on the raw. “However that may be, I don’t want you!”
She started up, but he brought her against him, heavy arms clamping her. His mouth closed on hers, hard and assaulting. As she writhed her face away, he panted in her ear, “You don’t know what you’ve been missing, but I’m going to show you!”
Panicked, she tried to rake his face but he pinioned her hands. With one leg over her thighs, he groped at her clothing, tore her shirt open. “Tracy, Tracy! Let me—you’ll like it!”
She turned from his muffling arm and screamed. From this angle, she could see the immediate oblong of light as the cabin door opened. Le Moyne bursted out.
“I’m coming,” Mary shouted.
Judd cursed, but he decided not to tangle with the big dog, strode hastily away.
“Le Moyne!” Tracy gasped, straightening her clothes. The Ridgeback checked his course toward Judd, ran to her, and gave a soft whine of inquiry. Mary ran up with her chunk of wood.
“Tracy! You all right?”
“Thanks to you.” Tracy put her hand to her numbed face. “I’d rather battle the owls! But I think he finally got the message.”
“The question is, did you?”
Tracy glanced at her friend in astonishment as they went inside and barred the door. “He lost control. But his pride’s hurt. I don’t think he’ll ask to marry me again.”
“He can do other things.”
“He’ll get on some other woman’s track and convince himself he never wanted me.”
“Maybe,” said Mary, but she sounded unconvinced.
“That probably blows your job,” Tracy frowned.
“I don’t care,” said Mary gamely. “One of my instructors has already offered me a spot at his garage when I finish training.”
“Does Geronimo know that?”
Mary grinned, eyes devilish. “I can’t wait to tell him!”
XVIII
Apparently, the drop-out owlet was completely accepted by his parents, for when Tracy climbed into the blind next morning, there were two fluffy young. Relieved, she was starting back for the house when she heard a distressed clamor from another tree.
A curve-billed thrasher called and swooped around its nest in a walnut tree. Up the trunk crawled a big gopher snake. Tracy hesitated. The snake had to eat, too. But the cries of the parent bird were too pitiful. Picking up a long stick, Tracy thumped it against the tree.
The snake veered and tried to swerve to the other side, but when the stick blocked him he gave up and retreated.
“There you go upsetting the balance of nature,” came Shea’s voice behind her.
Tracy whirled. Her heart lilted at the sight of him, though she said defensively, “I’m part of nature, too. My instincts made me help the bird.”
His eyes danced before he turned formal. “Has Fricks been to see you?”
“Not again.”
“He will be. And since he’s still set on acquiring Last Spring and the property along the road that Dad left me, I thought you and I should know what the other intends to do.”
Her ankle was aching. Tracy sat down on a rock and said carefully, “It’s pretty clear that Patrick hoped we’d hang on to what he gave us. He knew Vashti or Judd would sell in a flash.”
Shea eased down on another stone. “So?”
“So I’m keeping Last Spring.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. What’ll you do with the homeplace?”
“Sanchezes will stay at the house for now. It needs a family. But I’ll start clearing mesquite and planting love grass.”
A good name for the drouth-resistant plant that could cover such sins against the land. Running those scarred but w
ell-shaped fingers through his hair, he stared into the distance. “If you marry, your husband will have a half-interest in all you own. He couldn’t sell without your consent, but he could certainly bring pressure.”
“I don’t expect to marry anytime soon.”
Gray eyes swung to her, probed. “I thought—Judd said—”
“I don’t know what Judd said, but I’m not going to marry him.”
Shea’s breath went out in a sigh. “Then maybe you’d better marry me.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. No word of love or even lust, just a resigned statement. And she’d believed that if he ever said those words, she’d be overjoyed. Now, humiliated, she had to wait a moment before she could trust her voice.
“Why had I ‘better’ marry you?”
He made a toss-away gesture. “You should if you’re serious about carrying out Patrick’s trust. As long as you’re single, Fricks or others like him will try to make you sell.” He added grimly. “There are more ways than offering money.”
She bit the inside of her lip and tasted salt. “You think I’ll give in unless you’re in a position to run off developers!”
“Tracy!”
He reached for her but she eluded him, getting to her feet. “I admire your self-sacrifice,” she flung at him. “But it’s not necessary! I have no more intention of caving in than you do!”
He watched her unhappily. “Tracy, I guess I went about this all wrong. It’s not just the land.” His eyes traced the curve of her throat, lingered on her mouth. “I—it’s not just that.”
“No, I’m probably as good in bed as one of your Nogales women, and a good deal safer,” she blazed. “Thanks. That’s still not good enough!”
Stiff-backed, she whirled and stalked toward the cabin. In spite of her anger and hurt, she hoped at some deeper, elemental level, that he’d catch up with her, say he loved her, carry her to the bed where they’d been happy.
He didn’t. As she stood in the kitchen, fighting for control, she heard the pickup start.
Fricks was out that afternoon. He offered condolences over Patrick before he gave her his most charming smile. “You showed integrity in not wanting to persuade your uncle to sell, but now he’s gone, you’re free, in all good conscience, to consider your own interests.”
“Yes,” said Tracy agreeably. “I’m doing that.”
“Good!” Fricks’ light brown eyes widened for a split second. He relaxed and chuckled. “I’m glad you’re not going to play coy and try driving the price up.”
Tracy beamed at him. “Now how could I do that, Hal, when I’m not selling?”
They were standing in the yard. His quick step toward her brought Le Moyne to his feet. Fricks retreated. He was a monotone man, tanned to the color of his eyes and hair, only his rather pink lips and the whites of his eyes making a contrast. He spread his hands. “But you said—”
“I think my best interests lie in keeping Last Spring.”
“One little shack up here when several hundred people could have luxury villas!” He sounded outraged at what must seem to him a criminal waste. His eyes slitted. “I’ll up your percentage and pay you an even million for the land on top of building you that condo. Tracy, I know you’re not hurting for money, but this is an offer you can’t turn down!”
She shrugged. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Hell, no, I don’t want coffee!” Le Moyne rumbled at Fricks’s tone. The developer moved back another step. “You’re as crazy as your cousin! And though Judd would be glad to sell this piece or that worn-out range along the road, he won’t part with the land he inherited.”
Tracy smiled. “Seems Patrick figured it all out pretty well.”
Fricks hesitated. “All right. Name your price.”
“There isn’t one,” said Tracy in exasperation. “Quit wasting your time, Hal. Go look someplace else.”
He stared at her. “Maybe I’ve rushed this. Take a week to think it over.” She shook her head. “My offer’s good for a month,” he said, and turning on his heel, he left her.
Shaky with unused adrenaline, Tracy hugged Le Moyne. “I’m surprised he didn’t propose to me, too!” she told him with a bitter laugh. “Nothing like being an heiress to increase the action.”
It was the only reason Shea had proposed to her. That knowledge embittered her sense of joyous honor in being left the spring, but made her all the more resolved to keep it.
A few days later, Tracy was riding Güera up the trail she and Shea had taken to the mountain meadow when she found a fox dead in a trap. It had gnawed its foot halfway off but had perished before that desperate effort could succeed. It couldn’t have been dead long for nothing had been at it but insects. Tracy’s first shock yielded to anger.
Her land was posted against hunting and trapping. Who was trespassing? She tumbled fox and trap into an old mine shaft, rode home and took the truck to the little crossroads settlement of Sonoita, where she could use the phone outside one of the restaurants.
The game warden was apologetic but not much help. He didn’t know of anyone in her area who was trapping, but he had to patrol a ridiculously large amount of territory. He’d get over and have a look around as soon as he could, but Miss Benoit had to understand there was no way one man could enforce the law over the whole region.
Chagrined, Tracy had to leave it at that, but when she got home, she found the remains of a field-dressed doe hanging by its back legs from her clothesline pole. Vultures rose sluggishly from the offal. Flies buzzed at the big glazed eyes. Convulsed with horror, Tracy wondered if this was the doe that had touched noses so lovingly with her fawn.
This had to be a deliberate effort to frighten her. It was also a double offense. Deer were out of season, of course, and does always were. After a quick check for any evidence, Tracy drove back to a phone and called the warden again.
He sighed as if he thought she must be a little crazy but promised to be over as soon as he could get there. When he came, he studied tracks and searched around but found nothing to identify the doe’s killer.
“Hunter who’ll kill a doe this time of year wouldn’t care about messing up your yard, ma’am,” the harassed young man said. His blue eyes were troubled. “You haven’t seen anybody?”
“The people I’ve seen wouldn’t do this themselves, but they might hire it done,” Tracy explained. The warden, who had introduced himself as Terry Marks, gave a slow whistle.
“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, you’re jumping to conclusions. No one could have guessed you’d find that fox, and you’d be surprised at what some of these slob hunters do.”
“Are you saying I’d just better forget about it?”
He ran his hand through short yellow hair. “Miss Benoit, there’s nothing here I can go on. But I’ll sure have a look around your property and see if I can pick up any clues.”
“Have some lunch first,” Tracy said. She felt discouraged. Terry Marks was a nice young man, but his job was undoable and he couldn’t be blamed for thinking she was slightly paranoid.
When he returned two hours later, he didn’t think that. He carried a dozen traps, all shiny new and unmarked. “A good trapper makes his rounds every day, not just to keep the animals from suffering but to keep scavengers from ruining pelts.” He shook his head. “Eight of these had something in them. Only one coon was alive and he was so far gone I clubbed him. These were all close to trails or places you’d likely go. I didn’t find any traps back in the sort of places a poaching trapper would normally choose.”
Tracy didn’t want to think about eight creatures dying slow agonizing deaths. “There’s nothing you can do?”
“I’ll take the traps in. We can check fingerprints but unless your poacher has a record, that won’t do much good. I’ll come around as much as I can but—”
“You have other problems. But if this is deliberate—”
“Why don’t you phone the sheriff? If he’s skeptical, tell him to check with me.”
After downing a beer cooled in the water trough, Marks departed. Tracy made a third trip to Sonoita and told her story to the sheriff. He was busy with a murder but promised to send a deputy over. “It’s natural you’d be a mite jumpy after that bum kidnapped you,” he said soothingly. “Why don’t you get one of your cousins to stay at your place awhile?”
“They’re busy,” Tracy said briefly, but after she’d hung up, she tracked the suggestion a moment.
How stupid she was being! She’d ask Chuey Sanchez to locate a couple of reliable men to patrol her land. She wouldn’t involve him or the ranch vaqueros, since that might bring Judd down on her, but she felt fairly certain of two things: Fricks had hired someone to harass her and that someone wouldn’t keep up his little tricks if it was made difficult.
She turned off the highway and took the ranch road. Chuey was at the corral watching Roque halter-break a young gelding. When she told him her problem, the graying foreman frowned.
“Doncellita, this is a thing you should take to Don Shea.”
“I can’t, Don Jesús.” She gave him the title of respect with his proper name.
He said stubbornly, “The men of your family should know this.”
She smiled coaxingly. “I’d much rather handle it myself. I don’t think there’s real danger. A couple of men around should discourage our trapper-hunter.”
“Tivi and Rogue will come tonight. If they can’t persuade this sangrón to leave you in peace, I will send for a couple of my wife’s cousins.”
Roque whistled. “Ay, papá! Those are real tough dudes!”
“That,” said Chuey, “is the idea.” He entered the corral and took the gelding’s halter, speaking softly to the skittish animal before he turned to his rail-thin son. “You go right now with Teresita. I’ll send your brother over after supper.”
Roque picked up his bedroll and told his wife and mother where he was going. He and Tracy reached Last Spring a few minutes ahead of Mary, who had used some of her inheritance to purchase a bright-red Datsun. The sheriff’s deputy was right behind them, a tubby gap-toothed middle-aged man who made laborious notes of what Tracy said, scuffed around the clothesline, and said he’d sure tell the sheriff all about it. “Call us if you have any more trouble,” he invited.
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