Diamond Spur

Before she could speak, Red Barton came hotfooting in, leading Kip.

“Here you go, Miss Kate,” he said, handing her the reins. “Mind that you don’t go near the border over toward Tanner’s, there’s likely to be a turrrrrrible explosion in the near future.” He grinned, glancing at the boss.

Jason sighed heavily. “Barton, I don’t know why in hell I don’t fire you,” he said absently.

Red frowned. “Neither do I, boss. I’ve studied on it for months, and I still haven’t come up with a decent reason for you to keep me on. But I’ll keep trying, don’t you worry.” He grinned again and tipped his hat to Kate. “I’ll just move those heifers out of range of that lovesick bull, boss, while you explain to Mr. Tanner how many cuts of meat you expect to get out of him.”

Jason pursed his lips. “Now that,” he mused, “is a hell of a good idea. We haven’t thrown a barbecue after roundup in a long time, and Tanner’s bull looks like good beef to me.”

“Mr. Tanner’s purebred black Angus who placed at the national Angus show last November?” Kate asked incredulously. “The same one he paid a hundred thousand dollars for? That bull?”

“Where have you been for the past fifteen minutes?” Jason asked with colossal patience. “Didn’t you hear Gabe? Yes, that bull. He got in with my purebred Santa Gertrudis two-year-old heifers that I was about to breed to my purebred longhorn bulls, and God knows how many of them he’s managed to breed. We haven’t checked that section for several days, so God knows when he got in there or how many of them he’s bred already!”

“That’s sure going to be rough on them heifers,” Red mumbled. “That Angus bull had a birth weight of over a hundred and thirty pounds, as I recall.”

“Absolutely.” Jason’s lips made a thin line as he thought about it and got even madder. “And no bull with a birth weight of over a hundred pounds is considered safe to breed to a virgin cow. First-calf cows have it hard enough without the complication of an oversized sire. The least damaging thing is that my breeding program will be shot to hell, and that bull is going to pay for it. Or Tanner is. Or both. Where the hell is my rifle!”

“Oh, no.” Red grimaced as Jason whirled and stalked toward the house with his face set in hard lines that the cowboy and Kate both recognized.

“The Tanner place is five minutes away by truck,” Kate coaxed. “You could drive past there on your way to move those heifers, and mention that Jason has loaded his rifle.”

Red’s eyes popped. “I could get the hell beat out of me, too. You know the boss in a temper.”

“That’s why I think you should warn Mr. Tanner that he’s coming.”

Red sighed. “The things I do for the Diamond Spur.” He turned. “Okay. But I hope you’ll take me in to the doc afterwards.”

“I’ll sling you over Kip here and ride you the whole way all by myself,” she promised. “Hurry!”

He walked quickly toward the pickup truck. Kate, taking Kip’s reins, made a beeline for the house. Jason was already coming back out the front door with his Winchester under one arm and Sheila raging behind him.

“You’ll end up in prison, I tell you!” she bellowed, her hair standing practically on end. “You can’t go around solving problems with a loaded gun! Henry Tanner is an Easterner! He’s just learning about the beef business! He needs a helping hand, not blazing guns!”

He wasn’t even listening. He was walking with the hard, measured stride that meant trouble, his hat at a dangerous angle over his eyes. Kate, leading Kip, intercepted him.

“I won’t listen, so save your breath, Kate,” he said shortly.

“I didn’t say a word, Jason,” she replied innocently.

“Well, you needn’t,” he murmured. He stared at her. “You aren’t going to try and talk me out of it?”

“Not at all.” She smiled pleasantly. “I’ve never been to visit anyone in jail before. It sounds exciting.”

“I won’t go to jail.”

“If you shoot Mr. Tanner, you will.”

“I’m not going to shoot Mr. Tanner. I’m going to shoot his bull.”

“He’ll sue you.”

“He’s welcome, but his bull will still be dead.”

“Jason, you’ll be arrested.”

“His bull is trespassing,” he said. “Trespassing is against the law. I’m making a citizen’s arrest, which his bull will resist. Resisting arrest is also against the law. I will pass sentence and enforce it with a bullet. And you and the boys can have a nice steak.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “It will be the most expensive steak you’ve ever served.”

He grinned. “Nothing’s too good for my men.” He tipped his hat pleasantly and walked past her.

“You’ll rot in prison!” Sheila was yelling from the front porch, her apron waving in the breeze. “Kate, for God’s sake, stop him!”

“Sure. Have you got another gun and some bullets?” Kate asked.

Sheila threw up her hands and mumbled her way back into the house, slamming the door furiously.

Kate mounted Kip with a heavy sigh and rode back down the driveway, pushing the incident in the field to the back of her mind until she had enough time to deal with it.

She hoped Mr. Tanner had his bull insured. It was a pity he hadn’t listened when Jason asked him not to put that bull next to heifers in heat with only a double strand barbed wire fence between. It was Tanner’s fence, and Tanner was a retired department store manager who’d moved here from back East and decided to raise cattle in his retirement years. Jason had even offered to reinforce the fence and Mr. Tanner had refused to let him. Now he was going to pay the price.

Kate began to whistle as she turned Kip down the road toward home. It would be rather interesting to taste a purebred black Angus bull with a hundred thousand dollar price tag. She hoped Sheriff Gomez would let Jason have a plate of it in his jail cell.

CHAPTER THREE (#uf2d180c3-eb81-556a-a79e-be1d86be1363)

KATE HAD JUST taken a taco casserole out of the oven and was putting the unmatched plates and cups and utensils on the supper table when her mother came in the door.

“Something smells good,” Mary Whittman sighed, as she kicked off her comfortable thick-soled shoes at the door. “Heavens, I’m tired. I can’t remember doing so many bundles in one day.”

“If you made production, you shouldn’t complain,” Kate grinned.

“I made over a hundred percent, in fact,” her mother replied, “so I expect I’ll get a better check this week than last. By the way, Mr. Rogers stopped me on the way out and said for you to come in tomorrow.”

“Have they got some serging for me?” she asked.

“They probably will have. We got some new cuts in today for the pants line. But what Mr. Rogers wants to see you about is those designs you left with him,” Mary said, her green eyes twinkling. “He’s been calling people all week to stop by and look at them. I think he’s made a decision.”

Kate stopped breathing. “You think they might be interested in using one?”

“Definitely. There’s been a rumor about a new line of sportswear, and he loves your Indian designs, especially those bold turquoise colors you’ve used,” Mary added. “It seems that one of the buyers found a market forecast that predicted blue was going to be big next year. And your styles went over in a big way. I’m just guessing, honey, and I don’t want to get your hopes up too high. But, I have a good feeling about this.”

“I hope you’re right. Oh, I hope you are,” Kate laughed. “Mama, I’d be over the moon if they used anything of mine!”

“Well, don’t mention that I said anything to you. I overheard Mr. Rogers asking Gwen about some accessories.” She flopped down on the couch, her slender body slumping. Her thin, graying, dark hair was limp, and there were bits of cloth sticking to her brown stretch pants and her brown and green over blouse. The pants had come from a garage sale—Mary had brought them home, practically new, for two dollars. The blouse was one that the ladies at the plant had given her for her birthday last month. The shoes had come from a sale at a local department store; they were a little loose, but Mary’s feet stayed swollen after walking around on the plant’s concrete floors all day, so that was kind of a fringe benefit. She was no fashion plate, but she was decently covered and for a bargain price.

Mary had handed down that instinct for financial conservation to her daughter. Kate had learned to shop for the best fabrics at the lowest prices, and most of her apparel she made herself, even her jeans. She hand-embroidered each pair on the pockets and hems, and had more sewing than she could do for other people producing them after-hours. That was one reason she’d gone to Mr. Rogers with her designs in the first place. She was getting more orders than she could fill, and not only for jeans. And thank God for the sewing machine Jason had given her last Christmas because the old one she’d been using would never have stood the strain.

Kate’s original skirt and blouse designs produced even more income. But not enough to pay the bills, keep up a car, and buy food. Her salary and her mother’s combined barely did that, even with the spare money Kate made sewing.