Cowboy At Arms

The problem was that as good as Dr. Patience Forbes had been when she’d removed and studied the bones, as efficient as the Oklahoma City crime lab had been in conducting all kinds of tests, nobody had come up with any real clues that could help in solving the crime that had taken place over a decade ago.

Even Francine Rogers, the social worker who had been responsible for bringing street kids to Cass Holiday for a second chance at life, hadn’t been much help. Her old records were spotty, and at seventy-two years old her memory wasn’t as good as it might have once been.

The one concrete piece of evidence that had come to light was a masculine gold ring with an onyx stone that had been found at the bottom of the burial pit. Dillon didn’t know if it belonged to the killer or to one of the victims. He hadn’t told anyone about the find. He preferred keeping it close to his chest for now.

What he did know was that the skeletons had belonged to boys between approximately fourteen and eighteen years old. One of the skeletons had been missing finger bones and another had been absent the skull.

All of the victims had been killed by a single blow to the back of the head with a sharp instrument. They hadn’t been murdered all at the same time but rather over the course of several months.

Dillon got up from his desk and buckled on his gun belt. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t find the answers sitting in his office and stewing.

Although he had no real evidence to prove that the person responsible for the murders was still in the town he served, his gut told him otherwise.

Something bad had happened on the Holiday ranch years ago around the time when the cowboys who now worked and lived there had first arrived to begin their new lives.

Despite his attraction to new owner Cassie Peterson, his number-one job was to make sure that she wasn’t unknowingly harboring a man capable of such evil.

Chapter 4 (#ulink_b782503f-7b6e-501b-9d53-6defec4f736b)

Dusty had just gotten out of his truck when the motel room door flew open and a pint-size little boy in jeans and a red T-shirt and ball cap came barreling out with Trisha just behind him.

“Howdy, partner,” he said to Dusty in a surprisingly deep voice.

“Howdy. You must be Cooper. My name is Dusty.”

Cooper grinned, his blue eyes so like his mother’s and sparkling with obvious excitement. “I know, and you’re going to take us fishing.” His voice was no longer deep, letting Dusty know that his initial greeting was probably his idea of a John Wayne imitation.

“Hi, Dusty,” Trisha said. “I guess I don’t have to make official introductions between the two of you.”

Dusty grinned at the little boy and then looked back at Trisha. “I think we’re good, right, Cooper?”

“We’re good,” Cooper echoed. “Let’s go.”

It took several minutes to actually get going as Dusty transferred the child seat from her car to the backseat of his truck. Finally, they were all buckled in and on their way.

“I’m going to catch a great big fish,” Cooper said. “Maybe even a whale.”

Dusty exchanged a glance of amusement with Trisha. “I don’t think you’ll find any whales in the pond, but you might manage to catch a big old catfish.”

“A catfish? Do they meow? I can meow.” Cooper proceeded to make cat sounds. “I can bark, too. You want to hear me bark, Dusty? I bark real good.”

“Honey, you might want to keep the animals all quiet for now,” Trisha said.

Once again Dusty shot a quick glance in her direction. She looked as amazing as he’d ever seen her. She was definitely born to wear denim. Her eyes had taken on the hue of her blouse and her shorts displayed long shapely legs.

Her hair sparkled in the sunshine and was caught up in a ponytail that emphasized the delicate bone structure of her lovely face.

A wave of heat rushed over him as he thought about the kiss they had shared the night before. As much as Dusty wanted to taste her lips once again, there would be no kisses today, not with Cooper present. This afternoon wasn’t just about the two of them, but rather the three of them.

Cooper kept up a steady stream of chatter on the short drive from the motel to the ranch. He asked a hundred questions of both Dusty and his mom.

Dusty certainly didn’t know anything about three-year-olds, but he was surprised by how bright Cooper appeared, how eager he was to learn things. Why was definitely one of his favorite words as he asked why trees grew up and why did cows have four legs? These were among other questions of seemingly great importance to Cooper.

When they reached the ranch, Dusty parked his truck in the shed and then they all transferred to one of the motorized carts that were used occasionally to get around the place without horses.

Trisha sat in the passenger seat with Cooper in her lap and Dusty took off for the cowboy dining room to retrieve the picnic food Cookie had prepared for them.

“I’ve already got the fishing equipment down by the pond,” he said as he drove slowly, aware of his precious cargo. “We just need to stop and pick up the food.”

“Mommy and I had a picnic once at the motel,” Cooper said. “But we ate inside ’cause it was too hot.”

“There are several nice shade trees down by the pond, so we can eat outside,” Dusty replied and was rewarded by Cooper’s hoots of excitement.

They pulled up in front of the dining room door and before Dusty could step out of the cart, Cookie appeared with a medium-size cooler in his hands.

Dusty made the introductions and Cookie gave them his usual taciturn grunt.

“I think he must be a bad cowboy,” Cooper said once the cooler had been loaded and they were on their way toward the pastures and the pond in the distance.

“He’s okay, Cooper,” Dusty replied. “He feeds all of us who work on the ranch, so in my book that makes him a pretty good cowboy.”

“He has bank-robber eyes,” Cooper said, obviously not completely convinced. “Look, there’s lots of cows!”

They had crested a ridge and in the distance the huge herd of Black Angus cattle grazed on the grass and jostled each other for shade beneath several large trees. Dusty raised a hand and waved to a man on horseback riding among the herd.

“That’s Mac McBride. He’s our singing cowboy,” Dusty said. “On most evenings he pulls out his guitar and plays and sings for us.”

“Do you sing?” Trisha asked him.

Dusty shot her a quick grin. “Only in the shower, and only if I’m alone,” he replied.

“I can sing. Do you want to hear me sing ‘Bingo’?” Cooper asked.

“Maybe later after we fish,” Trisha replied smoothly. “Maybe then we can all sing some songs together.”

“That would be fun,” Cooper replied.

Was this what families did? They fished and ate a picnic dinners, they sang and laughed together? It was all so alien to Dusty. He’d spent every minute of his childhood that he could remember dodging fists and being afraid.

The pond was some distance from where the cattle grazed. It was a nice drink of water stocked with plenty of fish. A wooden dock stretched out about eight feet and made a perfect place to sit and dangle a pole.

“I’m gonna have such fun,” Cooper exclaimed as Dusty pulled the cart to a halt.

“We’re all going to have fun,” Dusty replied.

It took only a few minutes for him to carry the cooler and a navy blue blanket into the shade of a nearby old oak tree. Together he and Trisha spread out the blanket and placed the cooler to one side while Cooper danced around them with an excitement that was contagious.

“And now, the main event,” Dusty said and motioned for them to follow him to the edge of the dock where he had fishing poles and foam cups of night crawlers awaiting them.