Shotgun Surrender. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ you I’m fine,” she snapped, fighting tears. What was wrong with her? She normally would rather swallow tacks than cry in front of him or one of her brothers.

      “You’re sure you’re up to driving back to the ranch by yourself?” he asked, only making her feel worse.

      She fought a swell of emotion as she climbed into the pickup seat and started to close the door.

      Ty stopped her by covering her hand on the door handle with his. “Okay, Slim, that was one hell of a ride. You stayed on longer than any of those cowboys. And you rode The Undertaker. Feel better?”

      She looked at him, tears welling in her eyes. He thought she was mad at him because he’d chewed her out for riding today?

      She half smiled at him, filled with a sudden stab of affection. Funny, but since Boone, she even felt differently about Ty.

      Unlike Boone though, Ty had blue eyes like her own. There was no mystery about Ty. She’d known him her whole life. Boone on the other hand, had dark eyes, mysterious eyes, and everything about him felt…dangerous.

      “You wouldn’t understand even if I could explain it,” she said.

      Ty smiled ruefully and reached out to pluck a piece of straw from a stray strand of her blond hair. “Probably not, Slim, but maybe it’s time you grew up before you break your fool neck.” He let go of her hand and she slammed the pickup door. So much for the stab of affection she’d felt for him.

      Grow up? Without looking at him, she started the truck and fought the urge to roll down her window and tell him what she thought. But when she glanced over, Ty had already walked away.

      She sat for a moment in a stew of her own emotions. The worst part was, Ty was right. It was definitely time for her to grow up. Too bad she didn’t have the first clue how to do that.

      She shifted the pickup into gear. Boone Rasmussen was still talking to Lamar by the chutes. He didn’t look up as she pulled away.

      TY MENTALLY KICKED HIMSELF all the way to his truck. He’d only come by the rodeo grounds this morning to see if Clayton T. Brooks was around. The old bull rider hadn’t shown up for work.

      Everyone said Ty was a fool for hiring him. Even part-time. But Clayton was a good worker and Ty knew Clayton needed the money. Sometimes he showed up late, but he always showed for work. Until today.

      “Any of you seen Clayton today?” he called to the handful of men on the corral fence. Several of the cowboys were trying to get Lou to let them ride again. Couldn’t let some little gal like Dusty McCall show them up.

      “Saw him at the bar last night,” one of them called back. “He was three sheets to the wind and going on about some bull.” The cowboy shook his head. “You know Clayton. Haven’t seen him since, though.” The rest shook their heads in agreement.

      “Thanks.” Ty did know Clayton. For most of his life, Clayton had ridden bulls. Now that he couldn’t ride anymore, he “talked” bulls. Or talked “bull,” as some said.

      Still, Ty was worried about him. He decided to swing by Clayton’s trailer on the opposite side of town before returning to the ranch.

      Dusty McCall drove past as Ty climbed into his truck. He let out a sigh as he watched her leave. All he’d done was make her mad. But the fool girl could have gotten herself killed. What had been going on with her lately?

      Not your business, Coltrane.

      Didn’t he know it.

      In spite of himself, he smiled at the memory of her riding that saddle bronc. She was something, he thought with a shake of his head. Unfortunately, she saw him at best as the cowboy next door. At worst, as another older brother, as if she needed another one.

      He shook off that train of thought like a dog shaking off water and considered what might have happened to Clayton as he started his pickup and drove into town.

      Antelope Flats was a small western town with little more than a café, motel, gas station and general store. The main business was coal or coal-bed methane gas. Those who worked either in the open-pit coal mine or for the gas companies lived twenty-plus miles away in Sheridan, Wyoming, where there was a movie theater, pizza parlors, clothing stores and real grocery stores.

      Between Antelope Flats and Sheridan there was nothing but sagebrush-studded hills and river bottom, and with deer, antelope, geese, ducks and a few wild turkeys along the way.

      Antelope Flats had grown some with the discovery of coal-bed methane gas in the land around town. There was now a drive-in burger joint on the far edge of town, a minimall coming in and talk of a real grocery store.

      Ty hoped to hell the town didn’t change too muchin the coming years. This was home. He’d been born and raised just outside of here, and he didn’t want the lifestyle to change because of progress. He knew he sounded like his father, rest his soul. But family ranches were a dying breed and Ty wanted to raise his children on the Coltrane Appaloosa Ranch just as he’d been raised.

      Clayton T. Brooks had bought a piece of ground out past town and put a small travel trailer on it. The trailer had seen better days. So had the dated old pickup the bull rider drove. The truck wasn’t out front, but Ty parked in front of the trailer and got out anyway.

      The sun was high in a cloudless blue sky. He could smell the cottonwoods and the river and felt the early spring heat on his back as he knocked on the trailer.

      No answer.

      He tried the door.

      It opened. “Clayton?” he called as he stepped into the cool darkness. The inside was neater than Ty had expected it would be. Clayton’s bed at the back looked as if he’d made it before he left this morning. Or hadn’t slept in it last night. No dishes in the sink. No sign that Clayton had been here.

      As Ty left, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had settled over him. Yesterday, Clayton had been all worked up over some bull ride he’d seen the weekend before at the Billings rodeo.

      Ty hated to admit he hadn’t been listening that closely. Clayton was often worked up about something and almost always it had to do with bulls or riders or rodeo.

      Was it possible Clayton had taken off to Billings because of some damn bull?

      TEXAS-BORN BOONE RASMUSSEN had been cursed from birth. It was the only thing that explained why he’d been broke and down on his luck all twenty-seven years.

      He left the rodeo grounds and drove the twenty miles north of town turning onto the road to the Edgewood Roughstock Company ranch. The road wound back in a good five more miles, a narrow dirt track that dropped down a series of hills and over a creek before coming to a dead end at the ranch house.

      Boone could forgive those first twenty-seven years if he had some promise that the next fifty were going to be better. He was certainly due for some luck. But he’d been disappointed a few too many times to put much stock in hope. Not that his latest scheme wasn’t a damned good one.

      He didn’t see Monte’s truck as he parked in the shade of the barn and glanced toward the rambling old two-story ranch house. A curtain moved on the lower floor. She’d seen him come back, was no doubt waiting for him.

      He СКАЧАТЬ