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“It died about eight kilometers back,” Buck retorted, wincing as he stepped toward the pickup. “It blew a radiator hose. Why were you looking for me?”
“We’ve got trouble.”
Buck shouldn’t have been surprised. Every time he turned around, it seemed like something else was going wrong. “Don’t tell me,” he groaned. “The roof fell in.”
“Well, not exactly,” the older man replied, “but it could be just as costly. Someone cut the fence to the southern pasture and brought in a semi. From what I can determine, three hundred head of cattle are missing.”
Buck took the news like a blow to the gut. “Son of a bitch!”
“The tracks are fresh,” he added. “And since it rained last night and the tracks weren’t filled with water, the bastards must have hit sometime today.”
“In broad daylight,” Buck said tersely, cursing.
He nodded. “The county road that runs by there doesn’t get a lot of traffic. You can go by there just about anytime of day and not see a soul.”
Buck wanted to believe that if someone had seen the rustling, they would have reported it, but he wasn’t betting the ranch on it. People didn’t want to get involved, especially if it meant siding with a foreigner over one of the locals. They’d just look the other way. And then there were those who were waiting for him to fail. They might even help the rustlers load their trucks!
“We’ve still got to report it,” he told David grimly. “Let’s go back to the house so I can call the sheriff, then we have to see about getting a radiator hose for the Jeep.”
Not surprisingly, Sheriff Sherman Clark hadn’t received any calls on the missing cattle and didn’t expect to. “I’ll check the cattle barns, but it’s just going to be a waste of time. Anybody who rustles cattle these days isn’t stupid enough to sell them right down the road. Those cows are probably halfway to Chicago by now.”
“And you don’t have any idea who might be responsible for this?”
“Oh, sure,” he said easily. “I’ve got plenty of ideas, but ideas won’t put anybody in jail. I’ve got no witnesses, no evidence, no cows, for that matter. And the tire tracks were brushed away. So all we know is that whoever did this didn’t do it alone. They had help—a lot of help. Unfortunately, you can bet that whoever organized the theft made damn sure that his partners in crime were tight-lipped and knew how to keep their money in their pockets. Nobody’s going to be wagging their tongues over this. There’s too much at stake.”
Buck didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. The Broken Arrow was what was at stake. “So there’s nothing you can do,” he said flatly. “I just have to eat the loss.”
“I wish I could give you better news,” the older man said, “but unless you had the herd insured, you’re looking at a total loss. And the odds are, Hilda didn’t have insurance. She let a lot of things slide over the last couple of years.”
“So I’ve discovered,” he retorted. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff. I’ll check into the insurance.”
“Good enough,” he said, shaking his hand. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
He wouldn’t hear anything and they both knew it, but that wasn’t the sheriff’s fault. And it certainly wasn’t Hilda’s. She’d done everything she could to hold the place together, but she’d been old and alone and she’d left a will that, unfortunately, made him and his sisters the target of every jackass out there who thought he was the unnamed heir. And he had a feeling the situation was only going to get worse as the year deadline grew closer and closer. The question was…what the hell was he going to do about it?
The question nagged him the rest of the afternoon as he helped David repair the fence the rustlers had downed, then tow the Jeep back to the house and install a new radiator hose. And the situation only got worse when he discovered there was no insurance on the cattle. Then the new property-tax bill arrived in the mail. He took one look at it and started to swear.
Damnation, where did it end? Between the four of them, he and his sisters could come up with the money, but they didn’t have an unending supply of money. And the ranch seemed to be a bottomless pit. If things didn’t change—and damn soon—they wouldn’t have to worry about losing the ranch because they were gone for forty-eight hours. They’d lose it to bankruptcy!
Disgusted, he needed a drink. All he had to do was step into the library and pour a Scotch and water, but he’d never liked drinking alone. Maybe he’d go into town, see what was going on at the Rusty Bucket. A local watering hole, it was the place to go to hear the latest gossip. Was there any talk about the cattle rustling? How many people knew about it?
The more, the better, he thought grimly as he headed upstairs to his room for a quick shower. The more people who knew a secret, the greater the odds that someone wouldn’t be able to keep their mouth shut. All they had to do was confide in one person, and the news would be all over town. It was just a matter of time.
Forty-five minutes later, he stepped into the Rusty Bucket and wasn’t surprised to find the place packed. When he’d stopped by there his first week in town, nothing about the bar had impressed him. The tables were rough-hewn picnic tables, the lighting was dim to the point of nonexistent and everyone in the joint— he could think of no other way to describe it—seemed interested in drinking beer. There hadn’t been a decent wine in the house. He’d almost left, then the waitress had recommended he try one of the steaks. He’d taken one bite and fallen in love. He’d been a regular ever since.
“Hey, Mr. Wyatt, it’s been a while. Are you on the prowl for a little red meat?”
Greeting Rusty Jones, the owner of the bar, with a grin, Buck drawled, “There’s nothing little on the menu short of a side of beef and you know it. I don’t know how you stay so thin, Yank.”
Tall and lean as a broom handle, Rusty chuckled. “It’s in the genes, Your Lordship. We’re a skinny lot. There’s not a plump one in the family. Now…about that steak…”
“Actually, I just came in for a drink, but a steak’s exactly what I need. I’ll sit at the bar—”
The words were hardly out of his mouth and hanging in the air between them when he spied Rainey Brewster sitting alone at a table for two by the front window. She’d changed into a dark red sweater that did incredible things to her skin and eyes and she’d released her hair from the tight knot she’d had it twisted in earlier. Just that easily, she’d become soft and sexy and touchable. And she was looking right at him.
A smart man would have nodded a curt greeting and headed for the bar. But he’d been thinking about her on and off all day, and suddenly, there she was, right there in front of him. What else was a man who believed in fate supposed to do?
“Never mind,” he told Rusty, never taking his eyes from Rainey. “I’ll join the lady at the table by the window. СКАЧАТЬ