The Rancher's Surprise Son (Gold Buckle Cowboys Book 4)

by Christine Wenger

  “We can’t let anyone take Johnny away from you. We just can’t.”

  She liked how he said “we,” but it was really all up to her. She had to handle her parents even more carefully now that Cody was out of prison.

  Yes, it was all a big mess, and Laura wondered how to make things neat and tidy.

  But that was impossible. They all were headed for a big explosion, and there’d be no turning back.

  Chapter Four

  Cody took her hand and started down the path that led to the Duke Ranch and her cute little cottage. He must have seen the surprise on Laura’s face because he shrugged and said, “What? Do you think I’d let you walk home alone? This entire area is loaded with parolees.”

  She chuckled. Cody never stayed mad for very long—at least when it concerned her.

  “I wish you could come inside and see my home, mine and Johnny’s.”

  “I’d love to, but I don’t dare.” He sighed. “I was kind of surprised that you weren’t staying in the ranch house.”

  “Johnny and I need our space.”

  “Good idea.”

  “But we’re up there a lot,” Laura explained. “Johnny has a room there for naps and all. Besides, Clarissa and my parents are built-in babysitters when I need them.”

  She could feel pain radiating from him like a living thing. It was the same pain she felt. They were both trapped in Duke Springs, at least for the next two years.

  “J.W. will blackball you from working anywhere around here, even after you are done with parole, unless you sell the Double M to him.”

  “That’s pretty much what I figured out, and that’s why, if we have any chance of happiness together, we’ll have to move far away from his tentacles. Maybe Washington State or Oregon. Montana. I was even thinking of Canada.”

  “That’s really far. I don’t know.”

  But she did know. No matter how much she loved Cody, she couldn’t take Johnny away from her family and friends.

  “A picnic,” she blurted, stopping in her tracks.

  “What?”

  “Let’s take Johnny on a picnic.” It was time for something fun.

  “How are we going to pull that off?”

  “Easy. This Sunday is the annual church picnic, and I am going to present a check from the Duke Foundation to go toward a new roof and steeple. They are having an old-fashioned box-lunch auction. If you win the auction on my box lunch, you get to have lunch with me.”

  He shook his head. “You and I having a picnic together? That’ll get back to your parents within seconds.”

  “My parents will be at a horse auction in Gila Bend. Besides, the box lunch is supposed to be anonymous, but mine will have a red, white and blue ribbon on it. Bid on it, and keep bidding, no matter the cost. I know you haven’t gotten paid yet. I’ll give you the money.”

  “I earned some money in prison. Making license plates doesn’t pay as well as it did before, but I have twenty-three whole bucks, so don’t worry about it.” He was joking, but it saddened Laura to think of him inside doing that instead of working with horses and being on the Double M.

  He dropped her hand and stuffed his into the pocket of his jeans. “Laura, it’s not going to work.”

  “Of course it will. If my parents find out, I’ll just explain that there was no way you knew that box was mine, and that I had to have lunch with you due to the rules of the auction.”

  “Sweetheart, I can’t go to the picnic. I’ll get the big snub from the good folks of the church. I don’t think you’re ready for that, and I don’t want to subject Johnny to any talk about his mother being with a killer.”

  Laura looked deep into Cody’s eyes. By the light of the full moon, she could see the pain in them. “I’ve thought about that, Cody. But these people are your friends. A lot of them stood by you in court.”

  “A lot of them wanted my head on a platter,” he snapped.

  She took his hand. “We’ll go off on our own to have lunch—me, you and Johnny. I don’t care about people talking about us, but if we’re far enough away from people when we have our picnic, Johnny won’t hear anything.”

  “I don’t know, Laura.”

  “Let’s try it, Cody. You have to go out in public sooner or later.”

  “I was hoping that it’d be later, but okay.”

  “See you Sunday, then?” she asked.

  “Sunday.”

  She leaned forward, resting her head on his chest. “Two days.” Stepping back, she ran her palms down his cheeks to see if he was real and to make sure that this wasn’t a dream. Taking his face in her hands, she pulled him toward her for a kiss—a long, sensuous kiss—full of longing, hope and a wish for a quick solution to all of their problems.

  * * *

  Finally, it was Sunday, the day of the church picnic. Cody did enough work at both ranches to merit a long soak in the creek.

  So he sat in his favorite spot with his back against a rock letting the cool water rush around him, thinking.

  It felt strange to just relax and have an unstructured day. He still hadn’t shaken off the institutional mentality of schedules and timetables, and caught himself checking for a clock on numerous occasions, thinking that it was time for his cell block to line up for lunch or shower time, or for an academic or training program.

  He couldn’t wait to see Laura again and meet her son. He wondered if he could see Laura’s face in the little boy, or if he looked like the college guy. He wondered about Johnny’s personality and what the little boy liked to eat and watch on TV. He didn’t know what cartoons, which were a big favorite of the inmates, or shows were out these days. Instead of TV, Cody kept busy reading and doing work for his bachelor’s degree, which was how he got the nickname Professor.

  His graduation at the prison was a small affair—about a dozen inmates and a handful of dignitaries from both the University of Arizona and the prison. Following that, there was a little reception in the prison library with punch and cake.

  So now he had a bachelor’s degree in American history because animal husbandry wasn’t offered. Not that he’d be able to do much with an American history degree—no one would ever hire him to teach in their school—but he’d always loved history and because school passed the time.

  He’d have to tell Laura someday. She’d like that he got a degree. J.W. wouldn’t give a damn—it wasn’t a degree in business or finance or ranch management. Cody decided to keep his mouth shut. J.W. took too much pleasure in employing ranch hands with degrees who couldn’t find jobs in their academic fields, and Cody didn’t want to give him any more reasons to be amused at his expense.

  Cody pushed away all thoughts of J.W. He planned on having a great day at the church picnic.

  He hauled himself out of the water, sloshed to the bank of the creek and wiped himself dry with his T-shirt. In the Arizona heat, his jeans would dry before he hiked back to the Double M.

  He’d take a decent shower then. He couldn’t get enough of long, hot showers.

  Draping his shirt around his neck, he slid into his cowboy boots and began walking. He could walk the way in his sleep, and so could Laura. He wondered why no one had discovered this part of the creek—although he doubted that J.W. and Penny would step a toe in it, since it was on Masters land. By the time it meandered to Duke property, it was nothing more than a muddy trickle.

  The creek would come with the Double M, if his mother ever decided to give up the fight.

  Although he’d like to think that it was his blood, sweat and tears that made the Double M what it was, his mother was the one who had kept it going for the three years that he was gone and just after his father died.

  After Mike Masters died of cancer, Cody fell apart. He’d started drinking heavily, hitting the sleazy bars in the next county that didn’t c
are about his age and missed more school than he attended. When he was physically in the classroom, his mind was elsewhere.

  It was Laura Duke who’d picked him up, dusted him off and then told him off. With a lot of hard work, he caught up so he could graduate with the rest of his class.

  He jogged the short distance to the ranch. His mother was pushing a wheelbarrow full of dirty straw, heading for the manure pile.

  Cindy was weeding the vegetable garden. He grinned when she waved her pink, flowered gardening gloves at him.

  Then she screamed, not moving from her kneeling position.

  Both Cody and his mother came running.

  “S-snake,” she said quietly, pointing a finger to the right of her. “Rattler.”

  Cody felt for the Colt at his side. He usually carried a gun for protection from snakes and other wild animals that might get a jump on him, the horses or cattle.

  But there was no gun at his side. Dammit! Now what?

  “Cindy, stay perfectly still. Don’t move,” Cody said evenly, softly.

  “I don’t want to get bit. I got bit before and it hurt. Hospital.”

  “Don’t move. Don’t cry. Don’t panic.” Cody looked around to find something—anything—to use. He was so out of practice, he doubted that he could hit the snake with a rock.

  His mother handed him the pitchfork that she had nearby. He’d never be able to toss that and hit the snake. Besides, he didn’t want to hurt Cindy.

  “Mom, I need a gun. Or a knife.”

  He wasn’t bad at throwing knives. He used to practice constantly with a target taped to a hay bale.

  “Wait,” his mother said, walking backward toward the barn. Then at a comfortable distance away from Cindy and the snake, she turned and ran into it.

  “You’ll be okay, Cindy,” Cody said. “I’ll take care of Mr. Snake.”

  “Hurry up! Please, Cody. Please.”

  “Don’t move, sweetie,” his mother said, returning from the barn. “Cody’s going to get it.”

  His mother handed him his father’s old .22. Cody hesitated, remembering one of the conditions of parole—he wasn’t supposed to possess or use a firearm.

  “It’s shaking its rattler at me!” Cindy said through gritted teeth. “Its mouth is open. I see his teeth.” She was crying now.

  Cody eyed the nearby pitchfork and looked for a rock he could throw. Neither would work at his distance.

  He had to help his sister. She was bitten before and had a terrible reaction. She was in the hospital for days.

  “Cody, please take the shot. You’re the only one who can make it,” his mother said.

  He took the gun from his mother and focused on the snake. He’d have to shoot right into the sun. He took a long, deep breath and was about to squeeze the trigger when he chickened out.

  “You can do it,” his mother said softly, evenly. “You have good aim, Cody. Your father taught you.”

  “It’s been a long time, Mom.”

  “It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?”

  Her statement was so ludicrous that it made the knot between his shoulders disappear. He took careful aim, let out his breath and fired.

  He missed!

  Just as the thing was about to strike, he emptied the gun and didn’t stop until the snake was in pieces.

  Cindy came running over and launched herself into his arms. “Thank you!”

  Turning, she hugged her mother. “I was so scared. I should be used to snakes by now.”

  Georgianna rubbed her daughter’s back. “Cindy, I hate snakes, too. Always have, always will. And I’ll never get used to them, so don’t worry.”

  Just then, a grayish-blue Prius came down their driveway in a whirlwind of dust. The three of them watched the vehicle approach, trying to guess who it might be.

  “Got any idea who that is, Mom?” Cody asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Cindy, how about you? Any idea?”

  “Nope.”

  A man in a suit got out of the car. His pants were too short and his crocodile boots were too new. He held a small, three-ring binder in his hand and glanced at it.

  “Hello. You must be Cody Masters.”

  “I must be.”

  “I’m Leland Charles, your parole officer.”

  Officer Charles suddenly skidded to a stop, then turned and ran toward his Prius. He was a portly guy and ran like a penguin. He opened the door and squatted behind it.

  Dammit! He was pointing a gun at them. His hands were shaking and his face was flaming red.

  “What the hell?” Cody lifted his hands up in surrender, finally realizing that he still held on to his father’s gun.

  “Wait. Mr...uh...” He drew a blank. What the hell was his parole officer’s name?

  “Leland Charles,” Cindy supplied.

  “Mr. Charles, please. It’s not what you think.”

  “Put your gun down, Masters! Immediately!” Officer Charles ordered. “Kneel down on the ground. Hands behind your head!”

  “There’s been a misunderstanding,” Cody said.

  “Yeah, and you made it, Masters.”

  Cindy burst into tears. “Sir, I didn’t want to get bit. There was a snake in the garden.”

  His mother stepped forward. “That’s absolutely true, Officer Charles. I gave him the gun. No one could have made that shot except Cody.”

  “Step back from the parolee, please.”

  “C’mon, Cindy, wipe your eyes and stand by Mom. We’ll get this straightened out,” Cody said.

  Cody carefully set the gun down on the dirt, barrel facing away from everyone. He held his hands up so Officer Charles could see he was unarmed. Then he knelt down, hands behind his head, feeling every bit the criminal.

  “Don’t you dare even breathe, Masters,” Officer Charles shouted, stepping away from behind his car door and slamming it shut. His gun never wavered from Cody.

  “Holding my breath, Parole Officer Charles. Holding breath!” Cody shouted, just as he was trained to do in prison.

  He heard the snap of a leather case, then the sound of metal handcuffs being fumbled, then felt them clamp around one wrist than the other.

  Officer Charles picked up the .22 from the ground and checked the chambers. “Empty,” Charles said.

  “I know,” Cody said, shifting his knees on the gravel. “I used every bullet on the snake. I’m a little rusty.”

  Charles tucked the .22 into the back of his pants and unceremoniously hauled Cody to his feet.

  “You’re in violation of your parole conditions, Masters.”

  “I know, but it couldn’t be helped. I needed to protect my sister.”

  “Officer Charles, can we talk for a moment? I’m sure we can clear this up,” Georgianna asked quietly.

  Cindy walked toward them and stood at Cody’s side. “Sir, I told you that my brother killed a rattlesnake that was going to bite me.”

  “And I handed him the gun. It was in the barn,” Georgianna said again, standing almost toe to toe with Officer Charles. “Only Cody could have made that shot. I can show you the snake, if you’ll follow me.”

  Cindy made a funny sound in her throat. “Cody wasn’t going to shoot you. He’d never do that.”

  Officer Charles grunted. “He certainly would do that, young lady. Why do you think he went to jail in the first place?”

  “Oh. But he—” Cindy looked at her mother, and Cody could see that things were going to get worse pretty soon if he didn’t do something, and fast.

  “Officer Charles, could we talk in private?” Cody motioned with his head to a shady spot on the front porch. “With a side trip to the garden first?”

  Charles put a hand on the link of his cuffs. “Walk.”


  Cody was thankful that the man didn’t lift his cuffed hands up as some law enforcement types just had to do to show power. It hurt his shoulders. But Charles didn’t seem to be that type.

  “Over there,” Cody said. “By the peppers.”

  “Jalapeños?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Officer Charles bent over and looked at the ground. “Looks like it was a rattler once.”

  “And now?”

  “Now it looks likes mincemeat.”

  “I’m a little out of practice,” Cody said.

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Look, Officer Charles, I’d never shoot you, for heaven’s sake. I’m not going to shoot anyone unless they are harming someone I love.”

  “Was Hank Lindy hurting someone you love?”

  “You have my file. You must have read it,” Cody said. “Now, can you get me out of these cuffs? I don’t want my mother and sister to see me like this much longer.”

  His parole officer thought for a while, then finally said, “I have to take you downtown. We’ll have a meeting with my supervisor. You can tell him your story.”

  “Will you remove the handcuffs?”

  “Not till we meet with my boss.”

  “Would you like to go on the porch and talk? It’s damn hot out here. Maybe my mother will get us something cold to drink.” He turned to her, and she nodded, hurrying into the house with Cindy.

  “Yeah. I think we still need to talk.”

  Cody led the way to the porch. Officer Charles sat down with a grunt and loosened his tie. “You gave me quite a scare, Masters.”

  Cody grinned and sat, leaning forward so the cuffs wouldn’t dig into his wrists. “Same here, Parole Officer Charles.”

  Cody finally got a chance to look at the man. He looked pretty solid, but had a beer belly, probably due to his desk job. He had brown hair, cut into a brush cut, and was probably ex-military. His face was average-looking, except for his nose. That had been broken at one time, maybe more. He had some laugh lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes, and Cody hoped that the man was fair, not a puppet of J. W. Duke’s.