The Cowboy's Secret Son

“So who was responsible for this kind of thing back then?” Jillian asked, the edge still in her voice.

“I didn’t mean that literally. It’s just that this business seems so…juvenile.”

That was the perfect word, Jillian thought. Juvenile.

“Any idea why somebody would do this?” Ronnie asked.

“That’s why I called you,” she said. “Because I don’t have any idea. I thought maybe you did. I was also hoping you could get fingerprints off the bag or something.”

“That’s not likely. I can guarantee you that whoever put this together was wearing gloves. And not just because everybody who’s going to commit a crime nowadays knows enough from television to do that, but for sanitary reasons. Trust me, nobody would handle the stuff that’s in there with their bare hands.”

He was probably right, Jillian acknowledged bitterly. She had known that finding usable fingerprints would be a long shot.

“Not much of a welcome home, I guess,” Ronnie said.

“You think that was the message this was supposed to convey? That I’m not welcome?”

“A lot of folks don’t remember your family any too kindly.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“When your daddy ran off, he left a lot of people holding the bag.” He glanced down at the sack at his feet.

Involuntarily Jillian’s gaze followed his. She wondered if he had meant to suggest there was some connection between that metaphoric “bag” and this.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“He left here owing a lot of people money.”

Reluctantly, Jillian dredged up the memories of that time. She had thought her life was ruined because she had been forced to leave Mark. And her father had forbidden her to even speak his name. Just as he had forbidden her to write or call him.

She had, of course. None of the things her father had threatened her with could have kept her from doing that, especially not after she had discovered she was pregnant.

“My dad left here owing people money?”

The sheriff studied her closely a moment before shifting his attention to the vista that spread in front of them.

“Your old man and Bo Peterson had taken out loans with just about everybody within a hundred miles. By the end, they didn’t own a cow or a teacup that wasn’t hocked or mortgaged.”

“Are you saying my dad took out a mortgage on his ranch?”

That didn’t sound like her father.

“A couple of them, or so I heard. Course, you could hear just about anything around here after your family run off in the middle of the night. Believe me, there were a lot of explanations offered for that.”

“He had lost the ranch,” she said softly.

It was only now that she realized that this loss, and not her relationship with Mark, was the reason her entire life had changed in the course of one night.

“They both did. Lost everything. Bo held on a little while longer, but even when your place was sold at auction, it didn’t bring in enough to pay off both mortgages and the rest of the loans. That’s when they foreclosed on the Peterson ranch.”

“The Petersons lost their land, as well?”

“Bo never got over it. It killed him in the end.”

“I thought Mark was still living there.”

“Not in years. He was in the service for a while. Just came back here a couple of months ago. He’s working for the people who own his daddy’s ranch now.”

That must have been a bitter pill to swallow for someone with as much pride as Mark had always had. Jillian wondered why he had come home at all. But of course, so had she.

“Bo and my dad signed loans together?” she repeated, trying to make sure she understood what Ronnie was saying. “For what?”

This wasn’t something she had heard before. And frankly, it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Why would her dad and Mark’s father have taken out joint loans?

Ronnie shook his head. “Nobody knew. Maybe they were going in together on some kind of hybrid. Bo was always talking about finding the perfect breed for raising beef cattle up here.”

“So they borrowed this money, and then my father leaves. He ran out on the loans he’d signed. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Peterson was pretty steamed. Musta come as a shock.”

It had come as a shock to her, too. There had been no warning. Her father had simply awakened her in the middle of the night and demanded she get dressed. Her mother was already in Jillian’s bedroom, folding her clothes and putting them into a suitcase.

She had always believed that her dad had discovered what was going on between her and Mark. Although he hadn’t said that the night they’d left, he had had plenty to say when he’d found out she was carrying Mark’s baby. Now the sheriff was implying there might have been another explanation for that midnight exodus.

“You think whoever put this here,” she asked, touching the bag with her shoe, “is angry because my father owed him money?”

“It’s a possibility. You think of any other reason somebody would want to harass you?”

“Is that what you call this? Harassing me?”

“I figured that’s what you’d call it,” Ronnie said with a grin. “What I’d call it is a sack full of dead varmints. You want me to get rid of ‘em for you?”

Jillian hesitated, not wanting to be in Ronnie Cameron’s debt. And that sounded like something her father might have said, she realized. He never wanted to be beholden to anyone. Which made the story the sheriff had just told her even more bizarre.

“I’d really appreciate that, Ronnie. If you don’t mind,” she said. The tone of her agreement sounded grudging and ungracious, despite its surface politeness. “What about my door? You think it’s possible someone has a key to the house?”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose. You just bought the place. You have the locks changed?”

“I never even thought about it. Not out here.”

She would have in the city, of course. She had foolishly thought that because her family had never had to worry about crime while she was growing up, she wouldn’t have to, either.

“You can do that,” Ronnie said. “Or you can just get yourself a dead bolt. A big one.”

The sheriff picked up the garbage bag, holding it gingerly. He walked down the steps and over to the patrol car he’d parked in the yard. When he reached it, he opened the trunk and dropped the sack inside, closing it quickly. Then, still standing behind the car, he looked back at her.

“Maybe this has nothing to do with that money. But it looks to me like somebody isn’t too happy you’ve come back. You know how folks are around here. Memories are long, and grudges are held even longer. But one thing’s for sure, whoever did this was trying to get your goat. If I were you, I wouldn’t make too much of it. At least not in public. Don’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve succeeded in making you nervous. Or they might try it again.”