Coming Home To Texas. Allie Pleiter

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СКАЧАТЬ Ellie questioned. “Is someone spray-painting graffiti on your bison?”

      Audie giggled.

      “Do you remember that internet video I sent you, Audie? The one with the Irish sheepherder who dyes his flock colors like Easter eggs every spring?” Ever since she’d met her new niece, Ellie had snuck in time to amuse the little girl with videos and playful messages as a break from her day job of amusing food critics and reporters as a public relations specialist for Atlanta’s largest chain of restaurants.

      Audie nodded and she turned to her stepdad. “Can we do that? Dye the bison? Maybe just the babies? We could make a video just like the shepherd man!”

      Gunner shot Ellie a “thanks for nothing” look before issuing a declarative “No, we can’t.” For a new dad, Gunner had the authoritative father tone down pat. It shouldn’t surprise her—their father had been a master of such tones, but never with the touch of amusement and affection that softened Gunner’s words.

      “But Ellie told me you can make yarn out of bison fur the same way you make it out of sheep fur, so why can’t we?”

      “That’s true,” Ellie said, smiling at Gunner. She and Audie had been emailing fun facts to each other for months now, and evidently her new niece had been paying attention. “I can see it now—the blue bison of Blue Thorn Ranch.”

      Gunner’s frown predicted a few words for his little sister after breakfast. “I run a ranch, not a circus,” he growled, digging into his pancakes.

      Ellie winked at her niece. Yes, this was a good place to run and hide after all.

Chapter Two

      “‘Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam...’”

      Nash turned to look at his boss, County Sheriff Don Mellows. “You gotta be kidding me.”

      Don stopped his singing and chuckled. “I am. No deer and antelope playing here. These here are American bison, anyways, so don’t you be calling them buffalo in front of Gunner Buckton.”

      Buckton? Wasn’t that the name from the traffic stop last night? “Bison not buffalo—got it.” The leap from LAPD to this local County Sheriff Department seemed to grow longer and wider with each new day.

      And stranger. Nash was still getting accustomed to his deputy position in this small town and its rural surroundings. Don was about as down-home cowboy as anyone Nash had ever seen, right down to the boots and y’alls. For a city cop used to dealing with gangs and criminals, this was new territory.

      “Why are we here again?”

      “Buckton thinks someone may be taking shots at his animals.” Don pulled up to the ranch’s large entrance gate. Nash tried to calculate the distance from this place to where he’d stopped Ellen Buckton last night—the geography just about fit. “He’s worried there may be some foul play involved,” Don continued. “I figured your background might be useful while we take a look-see.”

      “Has Buckton got enemies?” Nash surveyed the rolling pasture, spying a few of the large brown animals milling about. Tall green grass, wide blue sky, livestock roaming—the whole thing looked like something out of a travel brochure. If this was the home Ellen was running to, Nash had to agree it looked like a good, big place to hide. After all, the sprawling space of the region had drawn him for much the reason.

      “Enemies? He’s got ’em. Most men do. The family’s been around for ages—everybody knows the Bucktons—but they got in a row with a big real estate developer last year. Could be someone’s not too happy about the spiffy condo development that got stalled on account of it. Of course, could be just stupid kids. Not likely rustlers, though—they would’ve taken the animals, not tried to scare ’em.” Don punched the button on the gate’s intercom. “Howdy, y’all. It’s Don from the sheriff’s office.”

      A far cry from standing in a Kevlar vest yelling “LAPD! Open up!” Texas really was its own world. And now—at least for now—it was Nash’s, too. He looked down at his steel-toed shoes and wondered what his feet would look like in fancy cowboy boots like Don wore. Or whether Don’s wide hat would suit him. He couldn’t mesh the images in his mind. Did you have to be a cowboy if you lived in Texas? Austin was a world-class metropolitan city, admittedly a bit of a quirky one, but parts of LA were downright strange, so that was no clue.

      “Well, hello there, Don,” a female voice drawled over the crackly intercom speaker. “Gunner’s in the barn, so pull right on up. I’ll put some coffee on for afterward. And there’s blueberry pie.”

      Don smiled. “Blueberry pie. Miss Adele, you do know how to make a man’s day.” Don waggled an eyebrow at Nash. “That’d be Miss Adele, Gunner’s grandma. Was a time she and her husband ran this place.” Then he added, “Anybody ever feed you pie back in California?”

      Nash thought about the offer of cookies late last night. This had to be the place. If he saw Ellen Buckton, this morning would get a whole lot more interesting. “No.”

      “Well, then, you ought to be glad you’re in Texas, Larson. A sheriff eats good in Martins Gap.”

      The gate rolled open to let the cruiser head up the curving lane. The gravel road bent through the tall grasses to end at a cluster of buildings. Large low barns surrounded a sprawling stone ranch house with a wide front porch. A sizable fenced-in corral off one barn held a pair of bison, one large, one smaller. “Nice folks, the Bucktons,” Don went on. “Been on this land for ages. Miss Adele’s husband and son raised cattle. Gunner Jr.—that’s who you’ll meet today—turned the operation over to bison a few years back, right after his dad died. Good people.” Don turned to Nash. “But even good people can collect some bad enemies, ain’t that the truth.”

      “It is.” Nash could easily agree, having been a good cop who had made nasty enemies by putting away a gang lord or two in LA. After several months on high alert as the top target of two gang hit lists, his rehabilitation for a pair of close-call gunshot wounds had been enough to make him want to get out of that city. A friend had passed along the opening here in the sheriff’s department, and Nash had felt as if God had opened up the escape hatch for which he’d been praying.

      As they got out of the cruiser, an elderly woman with a cane made her way down the porch steps. The resemblance was enough to confirm Nash’s guess—this was where Ellen had been heading.

      Don smiled and waved. “One of these days we’ve got to meet up for good reasons, Miss Adele.”

      “I hear you, Don. Let’s have you and Linda out for dinner one of these days.” Miss Adele raised a gray eyebrow at Nash. “So this is your new deputy?”

      “Nash Larson,” Don introduced. “Brought him on all the way from California last month.”

      She walked over, extending a friendly hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Nash. Welcome to Martins Gap. How are you liking it so far?”

      The screen door opened behind Miss Adele and out walked Ellen Buckton, eyes startled wide and mouth open. “It’s you.”

      She was much prettier in the daylight—in fact, she looked almost nothing like the tearful mess of a woman who’d offered him biscotti last night. “Good afternoon, СКАЧАТЬ