Cowboy Justice

by Melissa Cutler

  Whereas most young ranch workers tended to blow off steam at Smithy’s Bar after quitting time, she couldn’t ever remember seeing this guy outside of Slipping Rock Ranch. When he noticed Rachel crossing the stable yard toward him, he removed his cream-colored cowboy hat. His eyes were wide and anxious, his light hair was buzzed short enough that she got an accurate reading of the shape of his head.

  “Morning, Rudy, Damon.” She touched the brim of her hat in greeting, then stuck out her hand to the newcomer. “Rachel Sorentino. You’re one of Kellan’s workers, right?”

  His handshake was firm, his hands as calloused as hers. “Yes, I was, ma’am. Ben Torrey.”

  “What can we do for you, Ben?”

  He pulled back, blinking, then chanced a look at Rudy and Damon, like the question had been in a foreign language and one of them might be able to translate. With his head turned, she could make out the circle of early pattern baldness that his shorn hair rendered barely perceptible, but didn’t completely mask. As young as he looked otherwise, she’d bet he’d started balding in high school. Poor guy.

  “Go on and tell her,” Rudy said, grinning like a salesman. Maybe the global weather was especially rousing that week.

  Ben curled the brim of his hat in his hands. “I work here now, ma’am.”

  He said it like it should clarify things, but his answer only got Rachel to believing he wasn’t the sharpest barb on the wire. “How do you figure that?”

  Behind him, Damon closed the tractor hood with a bang. Ben jumped out of his skin and his hat fell to the ground. He picked it up and dusted it off, then went back to curling the edges. “I’m the new foreman. Hired yesterday.” He paused and looked expectantly at her as though hoping he’d jogged her memory.

  Amy’s doing, no doubt. Good grief. “Who hired you exactly?”

  “The other Miss Sorentinos and Mr. Reed, ma’am. Before yesterday, I worked at Slipping Rock Ranch for three years, second in command to Mr. Reed’s foreman.”

  Did Kellan think she wasn’t handling the farm well enough? So much so that he needed to step in without discussing matters with her? It’d be a cold day in hell before she let anyone waltz in and take over her life’s work, even someone she admired as much as Kellan. “Go on,” she prompted through gritted teeth.

  “Mr. Reed told me you and your sisters were looking to hire a foreman who knew about growing alfalfa. He sent me here yesterday to interview for the job. Your sister, Miss Sorentino—”

  “Which sister, now?”

  “Miss Sorentino.”

  Rachel took a long, slow sip of coffee, and silently counted to ten. “What’s her first name?”

  “Oh. Amy, ma’am.”

  She’d called that right, though it didn’t mean she was going to strangle Amy any less for being predictable. Amy could spot a needy soul waiting to be collected into her menagerie of misfits from miles away.

  “Congratulations, sis.” Amy’s smug voice sailed down to the stable grounds from behind her. Rachel whirled around to face her, a whole batch of fighting words on the tip of her tongue. Before she could let them fly, Amy added, “As of yesterday, you’ve been promoted from worker to full-time manager of Heritage Farm.”

  Even in the dim light of predawn, Amy’s smile shone down on the stable grounds.

  “What do you mean?”

  Taking a cue from the annoyance in her voice, and knowing better than to get between Amy and Rachel when they were fixing to butt heads, Rudy and Damon slunk off toward the stable with a wheelbarrow of feed. Ben watched them go with an expression of longing.

  Amy sauntered toward Rachel, clearly feeling proud of herself. “It means that from now on, you only have to get your hands dirty when you want to. It means the entire burden of the farm work doesn’t fall on your shoulders anymore. It means you can delegate, and maybe even take a day off every now and then.”

  “But I . . .” Tulip, Amy’s damnable pet cow, nudged Rachel’s hand with her wet nose. Absentmindedly, she reached up and scratched it between its ears. “But I like getting my hands dirty. I don’t want to take a day off. Why didn’t you consult me on this?”

  Amy’s expression turned serious. “When you were in the hospital, Jenna and I realized how dependent the farm is on you. I mean, we knew it already, but you being injured really drove the point home. Kellan pitched in, but he’s got his cattle business to contend with. We need some permanent help. You, Jenna, and I had debated about hiring a foreman since the oil was discovered, and Jenna and I had already decided to surprise you for your birthday. But then you were shot, so we thought, what the heck. Early birthday present.”

  Tulip raised her head to position her nose right under Rachel’s palm, so she took to scratching the wiry hair of the cow’s face. “You can’t give me a person for my birthday. It doesn’t work like that.”

  Amy crossed her arms over her chest. “Who says it doesn’t?”

  “Miss Sorentino, with all due respect.” Ben had curled his hat into looking like a taco shell. “This is the job opportunity I’ve been waiting for. A chance to use what I’ve spent my whole life learning. Working on Slipping Rock was great, but my know-how is all about growing premium alfalfa.”

  “Did you grow up on an alfalfa farm?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Lucky Fields Farm over in San Ysidro.”

  “Why aren’t you working there?” Rachel had no use for a man who turned his back on his family’s farm to seek his fortunes elsewhere.

  He nodded gravely, though his eyes glittered with pride and he stood up straighter. “I would if I could. The dream I had was getting a degree through New Mexico State University in agricultural business. My folks made it happen with the understanding that I’d eventually take over their farm, but three years into the program, my dad got injured and the money ran out. I went home to work as soon as I learned of it, but the place was past the point that I could do much good.”

  A stab of sorrow sliced through Rachel’s gut. Ben’s was a story she’d lived herself. She nodded, trying to put his defensiveness at ease. “Once the alfalfa starts to go, it’s gone. Happened to this place much the same way.”

  He swallowed. “After we lost the farm to the bank, that’s when I took the job at Slipping Rock.”

  Rachel scrubbed her face with her hand, frustrated by what Ben had gone through, what they’d both gone through. “You tried to grab hold of something for yourself by going for your degree, and the whole world exploded when you were turned the other way.”

  His jaw grew tight. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rachel had never thought seriously about getting a degree while she was young. She couldn’t afford the time away from the farm, and anyhow, she didn’t think she’d have tolerated being indoors that many hours and years. Still, she never quite forgot about the disadvantage her lack of formal training put her at in the alfalfa industry, especially after her crops started dying off. A part of her would always wonder if things would’ve turned out differently if she’d had a better education. “You went through all that and didn’t get to finish college anyhow. That’s a shame.”

  “Actually”—he tipped his head and raised an eyebrow, his pride restored—“I earned my degree through night school. Took a lot longer that way. I was already working for Mr. Reed by the time I graduated. But I did it. He helped me with the tuition and books, even. That’s why I’m perfect for the job as your foreman, Miss Sorentino.”

  Hard not to admire that sort of determination. “How’s your dad’s injury?”

  He stuck his curled hat on his head. “Thank you for asking after him. He’s coping, but he never did get himself back to what he was before. He and my mom moved into an apartment in town.”

  No way she could deny him the job now. Not when she understood what he’d gone through, or his qualifications to help her get her alfalfa crop thriving again. So young, so much responsibility. She knew all about putting what you want on hold to take care of things. Crops and livestock were the hands that nev
er stopped reaching for help, never stopped needing. Relentlessly. The thought made her tired all over again, despite her thirteen hours of solid sleep.

  “Please tell me Amy offered you a decent wage at least.”

  He smiled a big old toothy smile full of rows of crooked teeth. “Yes, ma’am. She was very generous.”

  “Did Damon and Rudy go over the morning routine in the stable yet?”

  “No, ma’am. We were seeing about getting the tractor running.”

  “That tractor’s engine hasn’t turned over in two years. There’s no point paying a mechanic to fix it until we’re ready to plant our first crop. Go on ahead to the stable and I’ll meet you inside. I need a quick word with the other Miss Sorentino first.”

  “Thank you, Miss Sorentino, ma’am.”

  “Rachel will do. And you’re welcome.”

  With a nod at Amy, he made his way to the stable.

  Amy angled her gaze around Rachel to watch him walk away and gave a little whistle under her breath.

  Rachel elbowed her hard in the ribs. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t ogle our employees. Besides, you’re engaged.”

  “Technically, he’s your employee, not mine. Kellan knows good and well he’s all the cowboy I need, but just because I’ve got a ring on my finger doesn’t mean I’ve lost my appreciation for all the glories life has to offer.”

  Against her better judgment, Rachel tipped her chin over her shoulder and snuck a furtive glance at the particular glory Amy was admiring. Damn it all, she was right. Ben Torrey knew how to fill out a pair of jeans just fine. Still, Rachel didn’t much care for younger men. Didn’t matter how good they looked, they never seemed to know what to do with a woman’s body, at least in her experience.

  The peek she took must not have been all that furtive, because Amy started chuckling. “You’re checking him out, aren’t you? Go, Rach! There might be fire in you after all.”

  There was plenty of fire in Rachel, but none she cared to reveal to her sister. “I was only curious if he found the stable, is all.”

  “Sure you were.” Amy stuck her hands on her hips and gave Rachel a cockeyed look. “I’ve been getting the feeling lately that there’s more to your personal life than you’ve led me to believe.”

  “My personal life is none of your business.”

  “It is so my business, because I’m making it my business. I’m going to find you a man to bring to my wedding. Consider yourself warned.”

  Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and said another slow count to ten. “Back to Ben Torrey. Are you sure we can afford a foreman? That’s a huge expense.”

  “Jenna crunched the numbers. She says we can. She’s starting him off at a decent salary, with bonuses in his contract for crop harvests and sales. I’m sure she’d show you the figures if you want. Your dream is to get the fields producing again. You’ve worked your whole life to help me and Jenna and the farm, so this is the two of us saying thank you and returning the favor the best way we can.”

  “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  Amy threw her arms around her and hugged her hard. “Love you, sis.”

  Rachel never knew what to say when Amy or Jenna got demonstrative with their affection. I love you sounded corny coming out of her mouth. Her sisters knew how she felt, even if she didn’t ever find a way to say it right.

  She patted Amy’s back. “I’d best get into the stable before the horses get concerned about their unfamiliar visitor.”

  Amy grinned and stepped away. “See you around noon for supper. Tell Ben he’s invited too. And I’ll see if Kellan has any eligible bachelor friends for you that might join us.”

  Oh, boy. “How about you save yourself from a wasted effort by focusing your matchmaking skills on Jenna?”

  Amy paused in the doorway, a sassy smile on her face. “Jenna already has a man set in her sights. It’s you who needs some sisterly guidance.”

  * * *

  By midday on Wednesday, Jimmy de Luca was cleared by his doctors for transfer to the medical wing of the county jail. Vaughn served his arrest warrant, then oversaw the transfer paperwork, and provided backup until de Luca was secure in the back of Reyes’s cruiser in the basement of the hospital parking garage.

  Vaughn had executed a number of successful hospital-to-jail transports over the years, but he’d never seen a prisoner as nervous about it as de Luca. He askedfor a flak vest. He wanted to know the details of where and how he was getting from his room at the hospital into the safety—as he put it—of the jail.

  “Who are you afraid of, Jimmy?” Vaughn asked him in the elevator.

  “Everyone and no one,” Jimmy answered.

  Helpful. Real helpful.

  Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to take de Luca’s anxiety seriously, he pulled Kirby and Molina from patrol to escort Reyes’s car along the one and a half miles to the jail.

  “Should we be on the lookout for Henigin and Baltierra? Do you think they’d want to get you, like maybe they figure you’ve turned on them?”

  Jimmy swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. Yet his eyes were shifty the whole way down the hospital’s service elevator. He hunkered in the wheelchair like he was trying to melt into the vinyl seat, and when he climbed into the back of the patrol car, he slid so low in the seat he was practically sitting on the floor cross-legged.

  Whatever de Luca was nervous about, nothing ever came of it. The transfer went off without incident. The prison guards and staff settled Jimmy de Luca into his new home in the medical wing to await sentencing, while Vaughn remained at the hospital for his daily date with Wallace Meyer Jr. and his lawyer.

  Binderman stood watch inside Junior’s open door. He nodded at Vaughn from across the hallway, but maintained his guard posture. He was taller than his older brother Chris by an inch or two and had the same eager youthfulness that Vaughn had when he first started his career, though in Nathan it was tempered by the same natural even-keeled temperament all the Bindermans had been blessed with. Great qualities for a sheriff deputy to possess. With that attitude and his background in crime scene forensics, Nathan had already proven an invaluable addition to Vaughn’s department.

  Billy Tsai sat in a chair in the hall, angling an entire muffin into his mouth. It didn’t quite fit, so crumbs rained over his dress shirt and tie as he chewed through partially open lips. When he saw Vaughn, his mouth snapped closed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Ever the professional, he stood to shake Vaughn’s hand, and Vaughn tried to ignore the crumbs raining from his clothes onto the floor, Tsai’s loafers, and Vaughn’s boots.

  Thankfully, Wallace Meyer and his wife weren’t in sight. Meyer knew the score, that a detainee wasn’t allowed visitors—even police chief fathers. Still, it didn’t mean Meyer wouldn’t try to push the limits. All he needed was a local news crew to film Vaughn turning him away from visiting his own son and suddenly Vaughn would look like asshole number one to his voting constituency.

  After greeting Tsai, Vaughn nodded to Binderman. “Lunch break. See you in an hour or so. Heavy on the or so. The diner across the street makes an excellent pot pie, but they’re slow about it.”

  “Thank you, sir. That would hit the spot today.”

  “Come on in, Tsai,” Vaughn said, opening the hospital suite door. He propped it open with his backside and tapped the papers he held. “Let’s get this over with. I’m serving Junior his arrest warrant today.”

  Wallace Meyer Jr.’s lanky body stretched to the end of his hospital bed, though the lack of meat on his bones left plenty of room for Tsai to sit on the bed at his side. His eyelids were half closed and obscured behind the mass of shaggy brown hair that fell over his face. Tubes and wires were suspended between his body, the bed, and an IV pole on which three bags hung. His arms and legs were restrained to the bed rails with soft cuffs.

  His earlobes had huge floppy holes in them from the rings Junior had stretched them out with. All his jewelry was now sitting in a bag at Vaughn’s stati
on house, including the blunt metal dowel he wore through his nose like a bull and another through his left eyebrow. Reminded him of Gwen, who damn near gave their mom a heart attack during her pierced tongue and pink hair phase several years ago. He’d seen enough of that kind of costume on the job to realize that sort of body art was all about kids advertising their insecurities, wanting people to see the freak and ignore the vulnerability underneath.

  Didn’t explain what Junior had to be insecure about. His whole life, everything he wanted had been handed to him on a silver platter. Then again, Gwen had led a pretty vanilla life, but that didn’t stop her from having problems as deep as an oil well—and just as black.

  Vaughn walked around to the opposite side of the bed from Tsai, poking the bottom of Junior’s foot through the blanket with his pen as he moved. “How’s it going, Junior?”

  Junior turned his head away from Vaughn and closed his eyes.

  He whacked Junior’s stomach with the stack of papers. “Hello? Anybody home?”

  A second whack and Junior’s eyes cracked open. “What?”

  Vaughn leaned in. “That’s more like it. Having fun yet, Junior?”

  “Screw you.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. You think of anything else you want to share with me about the shooting on Monday? Like where you got the guns?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Tsai said.

  Vaughn didn’t miss a beat. “See, we looked up the firearms registered to you. Two hunting rifles. No AR-15s.”

  Junior’s eyes popped open. His lips curled into a sneer. “You can’t register an AR-15. They’re illegal, dumbass.”

  “I told you to keep your mouth shut,” Tsai hissed.

  “Who brought the guns to the party?” Vaughn tried again. “All I want is a name to give to the prosecutor. Maybe help your case out, show how cooperative you are. So who was it? Henigin? Baltierra? De Luca?”