I glanced down. My feet and heels placed exactly as he had shown me this morning. “The ends justify the means, I guess.”
“You will thank me later.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I let it slide. After a couple hours of near-silence, it was nice to have a little conversation to take my mind off the never-ending line of fencing. “So you grew up around here?”
Hank lifted his hat off his forehead and wiped sweat from his brow. He typified the iconic, rugged cowboy with his hat wrenched low, a look I found more attractive on him than I cared to admit. However, even with his hair matted to his head from sweat, I liked him even better with it off. I could see his eyes and the way they danced when he teased me or dimmed when his thoughts turned inward. It was important to me to be able to read people.
“My folks had a place not too far, but they sold out when I was in high school. Worked for Dale all of my junior and senior years.”
I’d wondered how the two were connected. After overhearing them at the cafe, they clearly had a history. “Is that when you started the rodeo thing? After high school?”
“I was on the local circuit. Small-time rodeos mostly for about a year after graduation.”
“Stayed close for the family?” As soon as I said it, I knew I was wrong. His eyes lost their spark and he slumped in the saddle before pulling himself together. “Not family.” I guessed again. “A girl.”
He didn’t deny it so I figured I was correct.
“So you dated Farmer John’s daughter for a year. Then you found greener pastures with the rodeo groupies?”
I was shooting my mouth off. Trying to rib him a bit. He deserved it after making me eat sand this morning. Instead, I’d hit a nerve. His mood shifted and his gaze turned stark. I shivered. He reined his horse to a stop, his stare holding mine.
“I’m not that kind of man,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I don’t commit lightly or easily, but when I do, I’m all in.”
Somehow, his words came out sounding like a warning. I wasn’t sure why he told me that, but his story intrigued me. “But there was a girl,” I stated, convinced of at least that much.
He turned his horse away and pushed the gelding into a slow trot.
I nudged Sierra to keep up with him. “So, if it wasn’t you tapping all the rodeo queens, then it must have been her messing around.” Geez. Did I really say that?
“Tapping?” He flashed an expression that was part shock, part embarrassment, and part amusement. “Since when do you talk like a high schooler?”
“Try eight years in the military.” Again, he avoided my question, so I assumed I was right. “So then you left?”
“It got complicated.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but then he pushed his horse over the next ridge. I’d have run smack into the back of him if Sierra hadn’t been paying attention when he skidded to a stop. “What the—”
I followed his stare to the bottom of the hill where all four strands of barbed wire lay in a matted, tangled mess. The ground was churned up where the fence had been cut, and even from this distance, I could see the shallow tire ruts leading from the fence line to the dirt road about a quarter mile away.
“Christ,” Hank muttered in disbelief as he wiped his brow again. He pulled out his radio to notify Dale, but even with the advantage of height on the ridge, we were too far away for good radio reception.
He started toward the fence, his palomino picking his way down a rocky, stair-stepped incline. Sierra followed closely behind. The descent was so steep in places I had to push my legs forward and my body back to keep from rolling over the top of the mare’s head.
We got to the bottom a few minutes later. The ground on our side of the fence was so churned up it looked like someone had tilled it with a tractor. On the other side of the fence, there were only the tire tracks. Even a non-rancher like me could read these signs. Hank stared at the riot of wire and cattle tracks. His face turned red and his nostrils flared.
My heart sunk in my chest. “How many cows do you think they rustled?”
* * * *
“Hard to say exactly how many head we lost,” Hank told the other hands over the soft crackle of the evening’s campfire. “Looks like two trailers. Depending on how long they were, we could have lost twenty head or more. Since Dale has switched to ear tags for identification instead of branding, if the tags are removed, chances of being able to prove they belong to the ranch will be difficult.”
Everyone had gathered around. The heat from the fire kept the chill at bay. Even Dink was back, snuggled on Hank’s coat beside Jenna. The stars were out, blanketing the sky as if a mass of fireworks had exploded and hung up in the atmosphere. The camaraderie was something I’d missed over the last year and it was a surprisingly nice change of pace from living every moment in my head.
Hank and I had never met up with the rest of the crew. After fixing the fence, we had returned to the ranch to notify Dale about the theft. Dale had then called the sheriff, who had taken our statement, told Dale he would investigate, but from his tone of voice, I didn’t think the man expected to find the missing cattle.
In his camp chair, Dale swallowed a hefty swig of his beer. “Sheriff Tate said nobody else is missing stock in the area. Too early to tell if we’re the first in what is going to be a string of thefts or if we’re being targeted specifically.”
I had plopped my aching body down on the ground with one of the logs against my back. Dale and his wife, Lottie, were on my right. Santos and Alby perched on the end of my log to my left. Across the fire from me, Jenna lay curled around Dink, with Quinn and his guitar on the log on one side of her, Hank on the log on the other.
“Why would someone target your ranch?” I asked Dale.
Link answered. He’d been slowly pacing the edge of the group, clearly too agitated to sit down. “Who says they are?” Link’s tone was accusatory and carried enough heat that it had Hank sitting up straighter.
“Hey, now,” Hank growled at Link.
Stopping mid-stride, Link locked on to Hank’s stare. “Who does she think she is?” Then he turned the heat back on me. “Cattle rustling is nothing new, missy. Happens all the time. It doesn’t mean we have a target painted on our back.”
Hank jumped to his feet.
“Enough.” Dale stood. “Sit down, Hank.”
Dale kissed his wife on the cheek and handed her his half-empty beer. “Link, let me help you with night check.”
Link crossed his arms over his chest, chewing on bitter, unsaid words as he waited for Dale to accompany him to the barn. I hadn’t known Dale long, but I already knew he wasn’t the type of man to dress down his foreman publicly, but there was no doubt by Dale’s tone that Link would get one.
Awkward silence remained after they’d left. Quinn lightly fingered the strings on his guitar; the coals hissed as Alby flicked the remaining drops of his beer onto the fire.
“Whatcha do to piss ‘em off?” Quinn asked. A toothpick dangled at the corner of his mouth.
Jenna slapped him playfully on the leg and laughed. “That’s not very nice.”
“Wish I knew,” I said, to no one in particular. “He hasn’t liked me from day one.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Lottie chimed him. I loved her voice. It was smooth and sweet like butter blended with honey. A small woman, what she lacked in stature I could already tell she made up for with a quick mind and a mulish stubbornness. Probably served her well. “Link’s been going through a rough patch these last few months.