He supposed sooner or later someone would bring in his pathetic belongings and Maggie would show him where to sleep. Meanwhile he let his mind drift to Maggie's latest problem. Cutting someone's fence was unforgivable in ranch country. To open the fences penning in new foals was an even worse crime. Maggie was damned lucky the damage had been as little as it was. He hoped the injured foal would be all right. In addition to the injury to the animal, incidents like this tarnished a ranch's reputation, especially one that depended on references from clientele to bring their horses to breed and train.
He tried to remember the name of the man she'd told him she was having trouble with, but in the middle of a thought he dozed off.
Chapter Six
"He's all right, Miss Devereaux."
John Norton, the vet they used, ran his hands over the little foal's legs, pausing to check once more the bandage he'd wrapped around the fetlock.
Maggie let out a long breath. “Thank God for that. I think we'll keep him inside for a few days until we're sure he's healed."
Norton nodded his head. “Good idea. Don't want to take a chance on infection or a re-injury."
Maggie petted the young horse, then turned him over to one of the hands waiting at the side. He led the foal away with a gentle touch, speaking softly to him.
"That injury could have been worse,” Norton told Maggie, closing his bag. “Good thing your guys were doing some early morning fence riding."
"Don't I know it.” She could feel the rage simmering inside her.
"I see Owen Grainger's fingerprints all over this,” Charlie spat out after Norton drove away.
"You're right.” Maggie pounded a clenched fist against her thigh. “But without proof we can't accuse him. Damn it!” She kicked a rock with her foot.
"We're changing the shifts,” Charlie told her, coming up from the front of the barn. “Got plenty of volunteers to ride the night hours. We won't have an hour without protection. And everyone's riding armed."
"I hate that,” she told him. “I'm not looking for someone to get hurt—or worse, killed—protecting this place."
Charlie gave her an affectionate hug. “We'll be fine, Mags. We'll beat this thing. Don't worry."
She leaned into him. “I don't know what I'd do without you.” She pulled herself away from him and straightened her shoulders. “I want you to spend a little time with Hawk and outline the operation of the ranch."
"You sure you don't want to do that yourself?"
"No. The men have to see the two of you working together."
Charlie frowned. “Are you sure? He doesn't seem like..."
"Yes. I'm sure. And he'll do it."
Charlie shrugged. “You're the boss. I still say, I hope this isn't a big mistake."
She turned and headed back to the house, stomach churning, pulse racing. Charlie was right. This was probably a stupid ass idea, but it was the only one she could come up with.
Hawk was still in the recliner in the great room, crutches lying across his knees, eyes closed. Maggie studied his face. In repose, and with the shave and haircut, he looked less fierce and disreputable than when she'd first seen him.
The research she'd done on the Internet had given her a complete history of his life for the past ten years—the brawling, the arrests, his expertise with cutting horses—but there hadn't been one nugget of personal information. And he didn't seem inclined to discuss it. She'd give a lot to know how Hawk Riley came to be at this point in his life.
She touched his shoulder gently. “Hawk?"
He was awake instantly, eyes shifting around the room, then focusing on her. He brought the chair to an upright position. “How bad is the foal?"
Her mouth twisted in a grim smile. “He's all right. We'll keep him in the barn until the cut heals. But the vet checked him out and said he's okay."
"Cutting fences is punishable by death in ranching country."
"And I know just the person I'd like to kill.” Her hands were clenched at her sides.
"Owen Grainger? The guy who wants your ranch?"
Maggie nodded. “I wouldn't put anything past him."
Hawk swung his legs over the side of the chair and pulled himself up on his crutches. When Maggie reached to help him he shook his head. “I need to do this myself."
She bit her lower lip. “Hawk..."
"Don't,” he snapped, then exhaled the deep breath he'd been holding. “I could use a cold drink, if you have one. Why don't you lead the way to the kitchen and you can tell me all about Grainger and what's going on."
Hawk could see the tension pulling her body taut. Her clenched hands were shoved in her pockets to keep from reaching out a steadying hand. By the time they reached the kitchen he was back into the rhythm he'd acquired at the hospital.
Maggie pulled a pitcher of sweet tea, the proverbial drink of the South, from the refrigerator, and filled two glasses. At last she and Hawk were sitting across the table from each other, unanswered questions forming a pile between them a mile high.
Hawk swallowed half the glass of tea, then set it down carefully, watching Maggie through hooded eyes.
"What?” She fiddled with her own glass. “Do I have dirt on my face?"
"Don't you think it's time to give me the real lowdown on Grainger? When people start cutting fences they mean serious business."
She dropped her eyes. “I don't know for sure that it was him."
Hawk slammed his hand on the table, making her jump. “Don't play games with me, Maggie. If you want me to play a role for you, and be a help here at Mercy Creek, don't leave me dangling on the end of a rope. Let's have it."
She sipped at her tea, and Hawk could almost see her mind working.
"And no stories, either,” he warned. “Just the damn truth."
"All right, all right.” She met his gaze, resignation in her eyes. “Owen Grainger bought the spread next to us about the same time I ... married Alex Rowland."
"Is Grainger from around here?"
Maggie shook her head. “No. From Dallas, I believe. He said land was too costly in northeast Texas for the kind of place he wanted. Wayback just suited him."
Hawk finished his tea. “Was he in the cattle business up there?"
Maggie got up to refill his glass. “I believe so. But with a smaller place. Everything's owned by some corporation. I asked Blake Caldwell, my attorney, to check it out for me when Owen came sniffing around here. He said the man looked all right. He seemed well-fixed and hadn't been arrested."
Hawk laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. “Maggie, you could say that about half the men in Texas. In the entire West. That doesn't mean I'd want them for my next door neighbor."
"Well, anyway, while I was still ... while my ... while Alex was still around, Owen used to come by and talk to us about combining our spreads. Said we'd both make out a lot better that way."
"How did your husband feel about that?"
Maggie's upper lip curled. “Oh, Alex was for anything that would put more money in his jeans. But Mercy Creek is my legacy. As it will be for my children, assuming I ever have any. My father meant it to be that way. He'd spin in his grave if I accepted Owen's offer."
"And then you got divorced."
"Yes.” Maggie got up from the table and went to the sink staring out the window. “And then I got divorced."
"And Grainger stepped up his efforts."
She nodded. “Noticeably so."
Hawk studied her for a moment, trying to gauge where her head was. “Did it ever occur to you that he might have another reason for wanting this land?"
She turned to look at him, and there was no surprise on her face. “Yes. All the time. I have the feeling there's something very big brewing and it has nothing to do with cattle or cutting horses or ranches of any kind."
"I think you're right. And we'd better find out what it is before he does more than cut fences."
Her eyes flashed. “I can't ask you to..."
"Ah, but y
ou already did. When we entered into this arrangement, or whatever you want to call it, you made it my fight. And I'm not about to sit back and let you catch all the grief."
"I don't want..."
Hawk managed to get his temper under control. He levered himself up onto his crutches. “You know, if you'd rather, I can get myself out to my truck and be out of here before you finish your tea."
Her face paled. “No! I mean, no, please. I don't want you to leave."
"Then other than you setting boundaries in the bedroom, we'll be in this together. You wanted me as a buffer. You as much as said so. Let me do it, then. Grainger might think twice about things. Or not. We'll see."
She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Thank you. I didn't think how much I was dragging you into this whole mess."
He smiled. “I could have said no. But speaking of bedrooms, how about showing me where mine is?"
"Oh, of course. I'm sorry. You must be tired..."
"Maggie, I just had a nap. But I do need to stretch out this leg for a while. And if you can spare the time this afternoon, I'd like it if you gave me a complete rundown on Mercy Creek, its history and the current operation."
She held his gaze with eyes that were both surprised and anguished.
Someone's done a real number on her.
"You really intend to get involved in this, don't you? At first I was afraid..."
"What? That I was just looking for a free ride?” He felt his temper surging again.
She shook her head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean that at all. It's just that..."
"You don't trust men. Well, you trust Charlie. And now you can trust me. I take my obligations in life very seriously."
Now that's a load of crap, but she doesn't have to know that.
Her shoulders seemed to relax a tiny bit. “Then ... thank you. Very much."
"No problem."
"Charlie will be in at lunch time and we'll both tell you what you need to know."
"Good.” He shifted around on his crutches. “Now about that bedroom..."
As he followed her awkwardly down the hall, Hawk's eyes were glued to the swaying of her nicely rounded rear end. And again, he felt a tightening and thickening in his groin, and pressure against the fly of his jeans.
Better get off of this kick. The last thing Maggie Devereaux needs right now is a horny cowboy chasing her. And a crippled one at that.
Chapter Seven
Charlie came in for lunch and he and Maggie spent the better part of two hours answering all of Hawk's questions—about the ranch, its history, and Owen Grainger.
Hawk took a swallow of his coffee. “Seems pretty plain to me. Man wants the ranch. Can't get it one way, he'll try another.” He looked at Maggie. “You told me yesterday this has been going on since your divorce. More than a year now."
"That's right."
He swallowed the last of his coffee and looked up at Charlie. “I told Maggie earlier there's a reason Grainger wants this land so badly, and it isn't to run more cattle or horses."
Charlie dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Not bad, cowboy. I told her the same thing."
"Maggie, you need to tell your lawyer to start looking deeper. Something really doesn't smell right here."
At that point one of the hands rushed in to tell Charlie there was something wrong with the load of feed that had just been delivered. Maggie took off for the barn with Charlie. Sweating and swearing, Hawk managed to get himself outside and into the barn area without looking too awkward. He was finding the crutches easier and easier to use.
Maggie and Charlie looked at him as he swung himself up beside them. Neither of them said a word but Hawk saw grudging admiration in Charlie's eyes. Despite the crutches and the casts, Hawk knew he was still a formidable presence, especially when he had on his stubborn hat.
"What's the problem?” he asked.
"They delivered the wrong feed to us,” Maggie told him, frustration in every line of her body. “Again. We need a special mixture for the horses we're training and Phil Jackson knows it. What they sent us—"
"Wouldn't feed the pigs,” Charlie spat out.
"I'm telling you, Miss Devereaux.” This from a kid in jeans and a Jackson Brothers Feed and Seed shirt. “One of your hands called and changed the order."
"And I'm telling you,” she shot back. “No one deals with the feed except Charlie or me. And it sure wasn't either one of us. This is not the first time it's happened."
"Did you get the name of the person who called?” Hawk broke in. “Is it the same person every time?"
The kid looked as if he wished himself any place but here. “I don't take the calls. There's usually just a note on the order board, is all I know."
Hawk's face was grim. “Take this garbage back right now and tell your boss he'd better have the correct order here before the end of the afternoon."
The kid looked from Hawk to Maggie with a bewildered expression on his face.
"This is my fiancé,” Maggie said. “Hawk Riley. You'd better pay attention to what he says."
The hands standing near them gawked. One of them said, “Are you the same Hawk Riley who rode—"
"Yes,” Hawk cut him off. “I am."
"Sorry,” the young man said, his face mottled red.
Hawk drew in a steadying breath and let it out. “No, I'm the one who's sorry. I just don't ... talk about that any more."
"No problem.” The kid nodded, mollified.
"Right now let's get this feed problem taken care of.” He turned to the kid. “What's your name?"
"B-Bodie,” the kid stammered.
"Well, Bodie, I believe Mercy Creek has been a good customer of the Jackson Brothers for a long time. You don't make mistakes with good customers. So you just take this truck right on back and tell the brothers y'all have screwed up the order. We'll be looking for the right feed before five today. If he has a problem, just tell him to call here and ask for Hawk Riley. Got that?” Hawk's voice was low and pleasant, but there wasn't a man standing there that didn't hear the cold steel in it.
"Yes, sir."
"Tell him we might have to order our feed from somewhere else."
"Mr. Riley,” one of the hands broke in. “There's no place else but Jackson Brothers."
"There are always options,” Hawk contradicted him. “I guarantee you I know people who would love to have the Mercy Creek account, just for the prestige."
The kid swallowed hard. “I'll get going right now."
The truck spit gravel and dust as Bodie hauled ass up the driveway to the road. At Charlie's nod, one by one the men introduced themselves to Hawk and shook his hand. He was a long way from being accepted, but he did see a grudging acknowledgment of command. He'd have to earn their respect.
"Not bad,” Charlie said. “Let's see what you do with some real challenges."
"And that would be?” Hawk asked.
"That would be what's coming down the driveway right now in that Cadillac Escalade. And the rest of you get back to work. Go on, now. Mr. Riley will be out to get started with everyone in the morning."
Hawk watched the black SUV come down the driveway and park at the edge of the gravel.
"Man drives a pretty fancy car,” he commented.
"You don't know the half of it,” Charlie murmured.
Beside him, Hawk could feel Maggie tense up like a high wire. He wished the damn crutches didn't have him at such a disadvantage. He'd love to put a possessive arm around her shoulders. He settled for hitching himself closer to her.
"I can handle it,” he said in a low voice. “Okay?"
She nodded, but he could still feel the combination of fear and rage rolling off her in waves.
Hawk looked at the man who climbed out of the SUV and walked toward them with long, arrogant strides. Not quite six feet, broad-shouldered, thick neck, blond hair slightly graying and cut short. A smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. And wearing clothes and boots that probably cost more
than Maggie took in during an entire month.
He eyed Hawk curiously but his focus was on Maggie.
"Slumming, are we?” she asked in a tight voice.
"I heard you had a little trouble with your fences this morning,” he commented. “Came by to see if any of the foals were injured and you needed help."
"My ass,” she bit off.
Hawk shifted even closer to Maggie. “You must have a pretty good pipeline to get that information."
"And you would be?"
"Hawk Riley. I'm Maggie's fiancé."
Shock flashed in the man's eyes before he managed to conceal it.
"Well, Maggie, I didn't know congratulations were in order.” He looked at Hawk expectantly and held out his hand. “Owen Grainger."
Hawk ignored the outstretched hand. “I've heard of you. It's my understanding you're not welcome around here. You might want to just hop back in your vehicle and haul ass out of here."
Anger mottled his face. “I see you didn't waste any time trying to take over."
Maggie opened her mouth to retort but Charlie, who'd been leaning on the corral fence, stepped forward.
"Mr. Riley will be in charge of things from now on. So if I were you, I'd pay attention to what he says."
"Pretty cocky for a cripple, isn't he?” Grainer sneered.
"Don't let the crutches fool you.” Hawk's voice chilled the air. “The last thing you want to do is get me really angry at you. I think you've overstayed your welcome here. But you might want to pass the word that any more incidents won't be taken to very kindly."
Grainger looked murderous. “Maggie?"
She shrugged and put her hand on Hawk's arm. “You heard the man, Owen. Better get a move on."
Grainger looked at Hawk again. “You're new around here, Riley, so let me give you some advice. You don't want to make an enemy of me. I can beat you down any time."
Hawk had had enough. “Like I said, it's time for you to be leaving. Do you need some of the boys here to help you?"
Grainger looked at each of them in turn, then stomped off to his vehicle. His tires screeched as he turned out of the drive onto the highway.
Shadow of the Hawk [Wayback Texas Series] Page 4