With a muttered curse, Matt spurred his horse forward. “Ignore her,” he called back to Arnie. “She’ll get bored before too long and go away.”
Four hours later, Matt was still waiting for Calley to disappear. It surprised him that a woman with her delicate beauty had such tenacity. Just as it had surprised him when she’d announced her occupation. A model or a ballerina he could have believed. But a private investigator? Somehow it just didn’t fit.
Just like Violet Mitchum naming him in her will didn’t fit. He feared it was more out of spite than generosity. Especially when he considered his bequest. One of Violet’s rings. He knew exactly what ring it was, and how little she’d valued it.
His mind drifted back to a day twenty-two years ago, when he’d found Violet weeping after her neighbor had stopped by to show off her new mother’s ring. Violet and Charles had been unable to have children of their own, and that neighbor’s visit had been like vinegar poured on an open wound. So Matt, just ten years old, had hurried up to his bedroom and retrieved his latest prize from a gumball machine: a cheap, adjustable ring with shiny fake gems glued on top. He’d solemnly presented it to Violet, telling her she could pretend to be his mother. And she’d worn it every day.
Until the fire.
He closed his eyes, still able to smell the acrid odor of charred wood. The fire had been his fault. He’d hidden in a linen closet that day to sneak a smoke of one of Charles Mitchum’s big cigars. When one of the maids discovered him there, he’d made a run for it, leaving the smoldering cigar behind.
Later that night, a hysterical Violet had jerked the ring off her finger and thrown it at him, shrieking that she wasn’t his mother. Violet Mitchum had made her feelings for him perfectly clear that day, and he didn’t have any reason to believe those feelings had changed.
“Hey, Matt!”
He opened his eyes to see Cliff galloping toward him. The expression on his face didn’t bode well.
“What’s the problem?” Matt asked as Cliff reined his horse to a stop.
“It’s Bud.” Cliff tipped up his hat and wiped the sweat off his brow. “The chuck wagon lost a wheel about a mile back. Bud busted his wrist trying to repair it.”
“Damn.” Matt wheeled his horse around and rode toward the back of the herd. When he finally reached the lopsided chuck wagon, he saw the old cowboy seated on the ground, holding a wet cloth on his arm.
“What the hell happened?” Matt asked as he dismounted.
“Freak accident.” Bud winced as he lifted his forearm. “I guess my reflexes ain’t as good as they used to be. The axle on the wagon split as I was mounting a new wheel. Heard the bone crack and now it’s swelling up something awful.”
Matt nodded toward the half-empty whiskey bottle at Bud’s side. “I see you’ve been taking something for the pain.”
“There won’t be any supper for you boys tonight.” Bud lifted the bottle with his good hand and took a deep swig. “You’ll have to make do with the beef jerky and dried apples I’ve got stored in the trunk.”
“Don’t worry about us.” Matt walked to the back of the wagon, then knelt down to look at the broken axle. What he saw made his gut tighten. A neatly sawed fissure right above the splintered wooden beam. This hadn’t been any accident. Someone had deliberately sabotaged the chuck wagon.
“Have you met up with anyone unusual today?” Matt asked.
Bud shook his head, then leaned against the wagon. “Just that lady who’s been trailing us. But she’s kept her distance.”
Matt turned and looked at the Cadillac, now stopped about five hundred feet behind them. Calley Graham stepped out of the vehicle and began walking toward the chuck wagon. His gut told him she didn’t have anything to do with this mess. Not only would a woman of her stature have difficulty sawing her way through solid walnut, but she’d never had the opportunity. The chuck wagon had been closed up in one of the storage sheds on Tupper’s place until this morning. And Tupper was fanatical about keeping strangers out. He even had a twenty-four-hour guard at the front gate of his ranch.
So who did that leave? Marla had cursed him and the cattle drive only last night. Had she cajoled one of Tupper’s ranch hands into doing the dirty deed? Or had one of Hobbs’s men found a way to sabotage the chuck wagon without anyone noticing?
Matt still hadn’t figured out the answer by the time the Graham woman approached him.
“What happened?” she asked, looking first at the lopsided wagon, then at Bud.
“That’s just what I wanted to ask you, Miss Graham.”
“Please call me Calley,” she replied.
“Okay, Calley.” He removed his cowboy hat. “Since you’ve been stalking us for the last several hours, I was wondering if you happened to see anyone hovering around the back of the wagon.”
She shook her head. “It stopped three or four times, but the only person I saw was him.” She pointed to Bud, who was now sucking the last drops of whiskey out of the bottle.
“Are you sure about…” His voice trailed off as the sound of an automobile engine caught his attention. A pickup truck roared toward them, kicking dust and gravel behind its tires. Several grazing steers tensed, then turned as one and bolted.
Matt swore as he jumped on his horse, hollering to the cowboys ahead of him. Fortunately, they’d seen the commotion and had positioned themselves to prevent a stampede. When Matt was certain that a catastrophe had been avoided, he wheeled his horse around and rode up to the pickup truck.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The man who stepped out from behind the wheel didn’t reply. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “You Matt Radcliffe?”
“Who wants to know?”
“The name is Simms. Bill Simms.”
Matt saw Calley tense out of the corner of his eye. Simms wore a wrinkled blue suit and his thinning gray hair was parted just above his left ear. He had a spot of mustard on his striped tie and a weariness in his pale-gray eyes.
Matt looked from Simms to Calley. “You people seem to be under the mistaken impression that this trail ride is open to the public. I assure you that’s not the case. I have work to do and you’re both wasting my time.”
“I have a job to do, too,” Simms replied. “And that’s to bring you back with me to Texas.”
Matt shook his head. “Since you and Calley are so all fired anxious to see Texas, why don’t you go there together and leave me the hell alone.”
Simms glanced at her. “I take it you’re my competition?”
“That’s right,” she replied evenly, holding out her hand. “I’m Calley Graham.”
Simms shook it, his eyes widening. “Graham? You any relation to Walt Graham?”
She stepped back, her expression suddenly wary. “He’s my father.”
“I used to work with Walt. He was a hell of an investigator.” Simms smiled. “I take it you’re following in the old man’s footsteps?”
She nodded. “I’m trying, but it seems Mr. Radcliffe isn’t interested in his inheritance.”
A loud snore reverberated from Bud. It reminded Matt that he had more serious problems than two cattle drive crashers. Cowboys who needed to be fed, for one. And with Bud out of commission, this drive might end before it even began.
Unless