Dropping The Hammer. Joanna Wayne

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      “Is Pierce running the ranch for Esther Kavanaugh now?” Luke asked.

      “He owns it. Mrs. Kavanaugh sold it to him a few months back.”

      “Interesting. She didn’t mention that she’d moved when I talked to her.”

      “She didn’t move. She lives right there in the big house like she always has, close to her beloved chickens and garden.”

      “Does Pierce live there, too?”

      “He did before he built himself, his pregnant wife, Grace, and his young daughter a house of their own no more than a good stone’s throw away from Esther. Right nice setup.”

      “Sounds like a good deal for all of them. I just didn’t realize Pierce was back in Winding Creek.”

      “Then you know Pierce,” Buck said. “I’m surprised he never mentioned knowing you.”

      “No reason he should. Last time I saw him we were in high school, and he moved away before we graduated.”

      “Yeah. Tough on him and his brothers losing their parents so early. Lucky for them that the Kavanaughs took them in until their uncle moved them to Kansas.”

      Tough on anyone that young to lose a parent. No one knew that any better than Luke.

      “If you’re taking care of the horses, who’s looking after the critters?” Luke asked.

      “Dudley Miles assigned a couple of his cowboys to help out with the herd until Alfred is functioning enough to hire on some new hands. That’s how it is in Winding Creek. Neighbors take care of neighbors.”

      “Certainly seems that way,” Luke agreed.

      “I’m real sorry about your father’s stroke,” Buck said. “I didn’t really know him very well, but all the same I sure feel bad for him and you.”

      “I appreciate that.”

      “I heard a dog barking when I came up. Is that Alfred’s dog?”

      “Nope. You probably heard Marley. He belongs to one of the cowboys who’s working the critters. He brings him with him some days.”

      “That’s a nice-looking horse you’re riding,” Luke said.

      “Yep. Wish Lucky was mine. She’s one hell of a cow pony.”

      “How many horses does Albert have?”

      “Eight quarter horses that he keeps in his new fancy horse barn. Those are his pride and joy. Gonna be tough on your dad if he can’t ride anymore.”

      “Hopefully that won’t be the case.”

      “He also has three other cow ponies and one good cutter. They have stalls at the back of the old barn when they’re not loose in the pasture.”

      “What’s the size of the cattle herd?”

      “I don’t have the exact numbers, but I s’pect your dad has a hundred or so Black Angus and damn near that many Santa Gertrudis. That’s just an estimate. Numbers change, of course, depending on when he takes the beef to market and how many calves are born in the spring.”

      “That sounds like a lot of work for a man who’s almost seventy to manage,” Luke said.

      “He always kept a few hired hands around until he got mad about something and ran them off. He had two hired hands when he had the stroke. They weren’t from around here. Just showed up from somewhere in Oklahoma around Thanksgiving looking for work. They disappeared when Albert had his stroke and wasn’t around to pay them.”

      Luke couldn’t really blame them for that. He couldn’t imagine Albert had done anything to deserve a lot of loyalty from them.

      He and Buck talked for a few minutes more, long enough to convince Luke that the ranch was not as neglected as the house.

      He waited until Buck rode away before stepping inside. Déjà vu hit with a wallop. Memories, both bad and good, came crashing down on him.

      It got worse when he reached the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and would have sworn he could smell frying chicken. His mother’s shiny black hair would dance about her shoulders as she cooked and she’d be humming the latest hit from the pop chart. Her lips would shimmer with a bright shade of lipstick.

      Before everything had gone bad. So many, many years ago.

      Luke shut down the recollections before the bittersweet turned to just plain bitter. It was after three in the afternoon, and darkness set in early in January.

      From all accounts, his father was being well cared for and might even be asleep for the night before Luke could make the drive to San Antonio, where he was recovering. A visit with him could wait until tomorrow.

      Luke would spend the last of the daylight hours checking out the ranch by horseback.

      Suddenly he found himself downright eager to get back in the saddle again. Or maybe he was just glad of an excuse to avoid seeing Alfred for one more day.

       Chapter Three

      Rachel shrugged out of her navy blue blazer and draped it over the arm of the comfortable wing chair before taking a seat in her psychologist’s office. Her first visits to Dr. Stephen Lindquist’s had been awkward and strained and had always ended with her in tears.

      That had been in late September, during the first weeks after she’d been rescued by her sister, Sydney, and Sydney’s now husband, Tucker Lawrence. Rachel had been a total wreck then, the panic attacks hitting with excessive regularity and crippling ferocity.

      Work was impossible. Sleep deprivation was taking its toll.

      Not atypical with her degree of post-traumatic stress, Dr. Lindquist had assured her. His skill and easy manner had quickly won her over, yet she wasn’t making the kind of progress she’d hoped for.

      She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her experience in captivity. Couldn’t deal with the fact that if her sister and Tucker had come moments later she would have been burned alive.

      Talking or thinking about it brought it all back to life.

      Dr. Lindquist settled in his rustic-brown leather chair. “Good to see you, Rachel.”

      “Thanks for fitting me in on a Friday afternoon with such short notice,” she said.

      “You sounded a bit panicky on the phone.”

      “I was. I am.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “I had a major meltdown at work this morning.” Her voice cracked. She wrapped her arms around her chest as if that could calm her shattered nerves.

      “Take a few deep breaths,” Dr. Lindquist suggested. “There’s no rush. You’re my last appointment for the СКАЧАТЬ