Deborah Camp (34 page)

Nothing much he could do about that now, other than to clear up this cattle rustling nightmare as soon as possible. Then he’d do right by Cassie.

Hell, she would probably marry him just to give her son his fair share of the ranch. She might even marry him because she felt sorry for him or thought she loved him. But Drew wouldn’t let her tie herself to him, denying herself the possibility of true happiness. She’d come here for a better life and she’d put up with a hell of a lot from his old man.

She’d put up with a lot from him, too. And she’d given him so much. He wanted her to have everything—a man who could be a good, loving husband to her and a fine father for her child. A man respected by people, who hadn’t spent time in prison and come out hardened and bitter. He wished he could be that man, but that was a selfish wish. He’d never been taught how to be a husband or father. All he knew was that the feelings he had for Cassie were new and surprising, so much so that they scared him sometimes. Tenderness. That’s what he felt
toward her. Like when he saw a newborn colt. No, deeper than that. Deeper and richer. Was it plain old love? If so, there sure wasn’t anything plain about it.

When he was with Cassie he felt himself opening up, no longer closed off from the world and stewed in bitterness and regret. But he didn’t know how to love, how to show it or prove it or even wear it: Most of the time when he was with Cassie, he felt tongue-tied and clumsy. He expected her to laugh at him and at his awkward attempts to court her.

Dynamite moved closer and blew hot air into his face. Drew reached out and rubbed the horse between the ears.

“You ready to get back to your stall, boy?”

The horse pressed a velvety nose into Drew’s palm, took another step toward him, and nudged his shoulder. Drew turned his head to look at the animal that had become his best friend. The stallion showed his teeth and lifted his head suddenly, ears pricked. Drew knew the signs.

In one motion Drew was on his feet and had his hand on the rifle strapped to Dynamite’s saddle. From a distance came the bawl of cattle.

“Damn,” he whispered, hoisting himself into the saddle. “Go to ‘em, boy,” he told the horse, and Dynamite set off toward the cries.

He might not like being called a cattleman, but that was what he was, Drew thought. He’d been raised around them, and those years of experience had taught him the bovine language. He could tell by the pitch of their lowing that they were unhappy. Cows didn’t like to be driven after nightfall. They got spooked easily and shadows made them crazy.

Bursting through a thicket of bramble bushes, pin oak,
and pecan trees, Drew scanned the scene ahead of him. In the milky starlight some twenty or thirty head of cattle stained the landscape, moving jerkily, driven by three riders. Drew pulled the rifle from its sleeve and cocked it. He aimed carefully, figuring he’d get only one clear shot to stampede the steers. He’d have to make it a good one.

As he squeezed the trigger, the rider’s horse reared, startled by a lunging bull, and Drew cursed viciously when in the next second the horse screamed and went down.

Sickened that he’d shot the horse instead of the rider, Drew spurred Dynamite into the fray as the cattle reacted to the sound of gunfire by breaking into a headlong race to nowhere. The drivers yelled and tried vainly to control the herd. They unholstered their guns and fired shots over their heads, trying to stop the stampede. Drew knew it was futile. The cows were making so much noise they wouldn’t even hear the puny pop of the guns.

He headed toward the downed horse, hoping to capture the rider, if he hadn’t been trampled to death. The cattle impeded him, keeping him on one side of the river of hides with the rustlers and the downed horse on the other side. Drew looked for a way to cross, but then he saw one of the rustlers pull the fallen rider onto the back of his saddle.

“Damn it to hell,” Drew muttered, tugging on the reins, frustrated to be separated from the others by the surging cattle. The rustlers stared at him. One of them shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, but Drew heard nothing above the bawl of the steers and the thunder of hooves.

In the darkness and with the dust rising thick as a
storm cloud, Drew could not see their faces. They wore black clothing and big-brimmed hats. He thought he saw the flap of cloth against their faces, so he figured they were masked again.

“Thieving bastards!” Drew shouted, although he knew they wouldn’t hear him either. He shook his fist, thought about firing his rifle again, then decided it would be a waste of ammunition, since he could barely see through the dust cloud and he was afraid of killing another horse or hitting a steer. The cows were valuable, unlike the worthless pieces of dung turning tail and running in the opposite direction, leaving the cattle for him to control. Sons of bitches!

He set Dynamite to work, racing the horse alongside the herd, gaining on it little by little, dodging trees and leaping over rocks and other obstructions. Finally they came up even with the lead cows, and Drew positioned Dynamite to overtake them. Yelling and waving his arms and trying to make as much ruckus as possible to get attention and grab control of the herd, Drew acted instinctively to retard their speed and finally command them.

When the winded, blaring-eyed cows were subdued and milling in a circle, which Dynamite kept tidy by trotting around and around it, Drew breathed easier and realized he was shaking with a combination of fear and exaltation. Any man that close to stampeding cows had to know fear or he was an idiot, and there were certainly head-swelling rewards when a man could tackle a crazed herd and bring it to heel.

His pa had taught him how to harness a stampede. Say what you liked about the old man, but he’d known
cows. Known them like his son knew horses. Down to the bone.

Drew pulled Dynamite to a stop and slumped in the saddle, breathing hard, while he pieced together the crime he’d stepped into. He saw something part the grasses a few yards from him and grinned when he spotted his herding dogs. “Hey, there, Lasso, Bubba, Dot!” he called to them. He whistled and set the dogs to working the herd while he and Dynamite returned to the place where he’d shot the rustler’s horse.

The animal lay trampled and bloody. Dynamite shied, smelling death. Drew slid off the stallion and went to the fallen animal. Bending closer, he examined the brand shining on the hip. Just as he’d suspected. The horse was from the Star H. This was precious evidence, and he figured the rustlers would return for it.

Looking around, he saw a good hiding place for the dead horse some distance away. He wondered if he could use Dynamite to drag the carcass.

His ears picked up a sound, and he held his breath. He glanced toward inky shadows and knew he wasn’t alone even before Dynamite pawed the ground and screamed a warning.

In the next instant he relaxed, recognizing the man who stepped into the open as friend, not foe.

T
he next morning Cassie felt as if life was playing tug-of-war with her. She’d been glad when Drew had come in for breakfast as usual, but she wanted to know what he was thinking now that he knew her deep, dark secret. In the next minute she hoped he’d keep his thoughts and opinions about her to himself. As long as they didn’t talk about it, she could pretend that nothing much had changed between them.

“Guess you’re wondering where Ice is,” Drew said, glancing up from his plate. He’d put away three eggs, two slices of ham, six biscuits and gravy, and two cups of coffee. He used the last bite of biscuit to sop up the remaining gravy in his plate.

“Ice? I figured he was around, working the horses or something.”

“I sent him to Abilene at first light.” Drew sat back, pushing his empty plate to one side, and cocked a brow at Cassie’s look of surprise. “Sent him for the sheriff.”

Cassie swallowed, choked, and coughed violently for a few seconds. The sheriff! Was he going to have the lawman escort her off this land, now that he knew her
for a whore? No wonder he was so quiet this morning, so calm! He had everything under control.

“Are you okay?” Drew asked.

“You need water?” Oleta inquired.

“Yes, water…” Cassie gasped for breath, then hammered Drew with a glare. “Am I okay? Of course I’m not okay! You tell me you’ve sent for the sheriff, and I’m supposed to sit here like a piece of stone? Why couldn’t you have had the decency to talk to me about this first? I have a baby to consider, you know.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and stared at her as if she were a Chinese puzzle. “I don’t know what you’re yammering about, Cassie, but I sent for the sheriff because last night I shot a horse I want him to see.”

Oleta slammed the glass down on the table and sloshed water over Cassie’s hand. “There was shooting last night? I heard nothing.”

“Neither did I. Why are you shooting horses?” Cassie asked, drying her hand on her skirt before gulping down some of the water. Her head pounded and she felt queasy. She pushed aside her plate, although she’d eaten only a few bites of egg and biscuit. It was hard to swallow with her heart wedged in her throat and her stomach cinched into a tight knot of anxiety.

“I was trying to shoot the rider, but I hit the horse instead. Damn shame.” He shook his head, obviously vexed.

“Whoa up there,” Cassie said, placing a hand to her head. “Who were you shooting at and why?”

“Rustlers. I came up on three men driving cattle across our land last night.”

“Oh, God,” Cassie moaned, closing her eyes. “Not again.”

“I couldn’t see their faces, but I believe you’re right about Monroe Hendrix. The horse I shot wore a Star H brand. So did the cattle.”

Cassie shook her head, saddened and confused by the news. She had held out hope that Monroe might not be involved, but that hope was dimming. “But why steal his own cows?”

“I figure they herded the cows over here to make sure nobody suspected the Star H. I mean, if his cows are missing, then he’s no longer a suspect.”

“Maybe we should join in the game and herd some of ours over to his place,” Cassie said with a touch of irony.

Oleta groaned, drawing their attention. She had paled and was making the sign of the cross. The girl whispered something in Spanish and groaned again.

“Hey, there, now, don’t you be afraid,” Drew said. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. The sheriff will be here, and he’ll handle this mess.”

Cassie didn’t think the girl was frightened. She recognized something else in Oleta—heartache. “Is your beau mixed up in this somehow, Oleta?”

“I don’t know,” Oleta wailed. “But he is acting funny, and he is friends now with those two men who made trouble here. And those two work for the one-eyed man.”

“What beau? What men who made trouble here?” Drew slammed the flat of his hand down on the table, making silverware tinkle and almost upending a jar full of prairie flowers. “Would somebody speak plain English? I feel like I’m a rooster at a hen party and I can’t understand a peck from a cluck.”

“Oleta has been seeing one of the Star H ranch
hands,” Cassie explained. “But who are you talking about? What two men?”

“The ones who shot
Señor
Drew that first night,” Oleta explained.

“Them?” Cassie rested a hand above her heart. “Those two sneaking coyotes? Reb Smalley and Dan Harper were their names.”

“Sí, sí,”
Oleta agreed. “Those. They work for the one-eyed man now.”

“Buck Wilhite?” Cassie asked, the name itself repulsive to her. “Well, that
doesn’t
surprise me. If there is trash around, Wilhite will collect it. I figured those two were long gone, though. You say your beau is running around with them?”

“Sí
. I tell him that they are bad, but he doesn’t listen to me. Ben has changed. He doesn’t come to see me much anymore, and when he does, he gets mad at me for nothing.” She stuck out her lower lip. “I think he drinks too much now. Last time he came to visit, I could smell it on him. That and a woman’s perfume.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Cassie said, patting the girl’s hand. “Sounds like you should break away from Ben before you really get hurt.”

“Monroe must be crazy to hire those men,” Drew said. “What’s he thinking?”

“He didn’t hire them. The one-eyed man did,” Oleta said.

“Roe must be paying them, though.”

Cassie nodded. “I don’t like thinking that Roe is trying to ruin us, but with each passing day he looks more and more guilty.” She sighed. “That horse you shot could have been stolen.”

“I’m sure that’s what Roe will say.”

“But you won’t believe him,” Cassie added.

“Like you said, he looks guilty.”

Oleta dabbed at her eyes. “I should have told you all of this before, but I am afraid for Ben. What if he is the one stealing the cows?”

“Sounds like he’s a follower,” Drew said. “I’m aiming for the leader.”

Andy, who had been playing with wood blocks, toddled over to Drew and yanked on his pants leg.

“Hey, there, little man.” Drew reached down and hoisted Andy onto his knee. He began playing a game of “ride the horsey” with Andy, making the child giggle. “I hid the horse I shot. I want the sheriff to see it. I figure Roe will say it was stolen, but it’ll make the sheriff suspicious of somebody else besides me, which will do me a world of good.” Drew smiled at Andy, bobbing the laughing baby on his knee. “What I can’t figure is why Monroe would be stealing cattle and making people think it’s me. Besides, if it’s true that he’s the rustler, then that means he was probably the one who got me sent to prison. That makes no sense at all.”

“He wants the cattle.”

Oleta’s simple statement was met with stone silence. Even Andy was quiet. Cassie and Drew stared at Oleta until the girl squirmed under their taciturn assault.

“You mean, the land,” Cassie said.

“No.” Oleta shook her head, then shrugged. “Well, the land, too. But land he has. Good cattle he needs. That’s what Ben told me. He says the Star H cattle are sick.”

“Sick?” Drew set Andy down, his attention captured by Oleta. “Besides the ones that drank bad water?”