Last Chance Cowboy

“It isn’t as easy for someone to pull up to the Circle H from the road as it is to pull up to my ranch and steal my means of making a living. You should have seen those guys. Slick as a whistle. Brazen.”

“You saw them. Can’t you add better descriptions?”

“Finn, it was pitch dark out there—no light to take photos. I was on the hill too far away to see much detail, even with binoculars.”

“Yeah, and you should have waited for me. Instead of getting trigger-happy.”

“I didn’t hit anybody,” Grey muttered. “They were already leaving when I took that one shot—trying to disable the truck. Missed their tire and off they went. I’m still kicking myself for waiting. Maybe I should have charged down that hill as soon as I saw them and taken them by surprise. Tried to get a look at their faces.” He shook his head. “And here I thought I was dealing with high school kids on a spree.”

“Keep a cool head, Grey. They might come back.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Finn ran a hand through his unruly mop of dark hair. “That doesn’t reassure me. I don’t need somebody getting hurt. You said all your cattle were branded. Ear tags?”

“Yep.”

“Get me a list of those numbers. I’ll check around. Sometimes these cows show up pretty quick at auction. It’s like fencing stolen jewelry. Fast money.”

“Since Logan’s missing a few head, too, maybe we can take turns posting a guard in the likely spots for those rustlers to cut fence again. I don’t welcome having to send my new guy out to string wire every day.”

“Who’s the guy?” Finn liked to keep tabs on everyone in his county.

“Kid by the name of Cody Jones. Ex-rodeo wannabe.”

Grey could all but see the sheriff adding him to a mental file. “Tell him to be careful. You, too.” Finn stood up, retucked the tail of his shirt then started for the door. The interview was over. Grey picked up his hat and followed. The sheriff was a man of few words, but in the outer room he turned. “I’ll be out to look at the damage sometime today. You didn’t fix that fence already, did you?”

“No. I moved the herd to another graze. Again.”

“Maybe we can lift an impression of those tires.”

Grey adjusted his hat. “The ground was soft enough last night, but I didn’t stumble around in the dark to see. If we’re lucky, the tracks might still be there.”

“I doubt we’ll get any fingerprints, though.” The corner of Finn’s mouth kicked up. “Guess they’d be on the cows—or the truck. Which at the moment are gone.”

“Don’t I know it.” Grey paused. Finn had moved to Barren about the same time Shadow came back to town. After a rip-roaring election campaign against the long-time sheriff who’d handled Jared Moran’s case years ago, Finn hadn’t held office more than six months. Maybe he could offer a fresh eye on the other subject that was bothering Grey to this day. “Since we’re talking about crimes, here, I know Jared Moran’s case was closed back in the day. But can it be reopened?”

“Not unless there’s new evidence.”

Grey explained his side of the event, then Finn said, “Let me review the file. It’s somewhere in the archives but I’ve never read it. Then we’ll see.”

“Appreciate it.”

A few minutes later, after he had said his neighborly goodbyes to Finn’s deputies, the dispatcher and the sergeant at the front desk, Grey walked out to his truck with Finn.

“So,” the sheriff said, a hand on the open door as Grey started to climb in. His hazel eyes looked as sharp as his mind was. “The other day I dropped in at the diner to get some takeout for lunch. Guess you didn’t see me. You were with Shadow Moran.”

Grey tensed, reminded of the classic TV show in which the disheveled but crafty detective wearing a trench coat always trapped the suspect at the last minute with some offhand yet leading statement that led to an arrest. “Yeah?”

Grey’s personal life had long ago become common knowledge in Barren, usually with some reference to Shadow’s brother. Except for his pride, he could accept that, but he didn’t care to hear any more gossip about him and Shadow—especially after the shocking announcement she’d made.

He was still thinking about that.

“Thought you stuck to things like missing cattle and store break-ins or cowboys trashing the bars on Saturday nights.”

Finn raised both hands, as if to say he was backing off. He glanced down the street toward the bank but didn’t mention Grey’s loan. Thanks to Barney Caldwell, Finn and probably everyone else in town knew about that.

With a wave, he drove off. If Finn came through, Grey’s cattle might be returned before they got slaughtered, thousands of dollars’ worth of assets back on his books. And maybe with some luck he hadn’t had lately, Finn would find something in that file to justify reopening Jared’s case. For ten years Grey had lived with the aftermath, but since Shadow’s return, the unsolved murder seemed to be front-page news again—in other people’s minds and in his. The small ranching community thrived on knowing what was going on with every resident, and Grey was still a high-profile topic. Unless he got to the bottom of Jared’s death, and until he knew for sure he hadn’t pulled that trigger, he’d be in the spotlight. And so much negative attention would do nothing to help bring Wilson Cattle back into the black.

And then there was Shadow’s child. His child, the one he’d never been told about. He’d never even had a chance to be involved in whatever decision Shadow had made with Doc. It was a wonder that story wasn’t all over Barren. Maybe it was, and he was the only one who hadn’t heard it. He still felt crushed by the revelation. He doubted they could ever reconcile; that he should even want to now.

Grey glanced at the Mother Comfort Home Health Care Agency as he passed it on his right, and for a second he eased off the gas.

He saw Shadow’s red Mustang parked in front and could glimpse her inside at her desk, sunlight slashing in disrupted lines across her through the half-open wooden blinds. He wasn’t ready to talk to her yet. Wouldn’t trust himself. His sense of shock, anger and even loss was too great.

Grey kept going.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u995d0323-f33c-51bf-a6be-3f279ccd2c50)

“YOU DIDN’T GET your water heater fixed, Mama?” Shadow stared at her mother, who was stacking dishes and pots on the drain board at the sink.

“I couldn’t,” she replied.

On her way to the local rehab facility to visit an elderly client this morning, Shadow had stopped at the farm. This wasn’t something she did often, but after she’d last seen her mother, Shadow had put a check in the mail. Shadow couldn’t stop her mother from staying at the ramshackle farm where she’d lived much of her life. And if Wanda was determined to stay, Shadow wouldn’t see her without hot water. She didn’t have an appointment with her client, and he wasn’t expecting her, so she could stop in on him after this visit.

As she drove up the rutted driveway she’d tried not to notice the sorry state the place had fallen into—or rather, fallen deeper into. The henhouse now listed to one side as if it might tumble down at any moment, and the hole that some other animal had dug between its floor and the ground underneath was still there, possibly weakening the structure even more.

Her parents’ house looked no better now than the last time she’d come here. It was clean but that was all she could say about it. Even the curtain at the kitchen window—at one time a crisp, white dotted Swiss—now hung limply from the rod. The whole place depressed her.

Shadow sank onto a chair. “Why couldn’t you get it fixed, Mama?”

Shadow expected her to say the heater needed to be replaced, as she’d feared, but her mother wiped her hands on a dishtowel and said, “I had bills to pay. I needed milk and bread. The electric was overdue.”

Shadow picked at a spot on the red-and-white-checked vinyl tablecloth.

“What else did you do with the money I sent?”

Her mother sat across from her. “Derek needed help.”

At the mention of her youngest, and now only, brother, Shadow’s spirits dropped like a stone into a pond, creating ripples all through her body. “He’s still living with you? I thought he was finally getting a place in town.”

“That didn’t work out. He’s not ready to be on his own.”

Shadow tried to control her voice. “Derek is twenty-five years old. He needs to support himself—” Hearing footsteps in the hall, she broke off.

Her brother strolled in and Shadow wondered if he’d been there awhile, listening, but she hadn’t seen his car outside. She’d assumed he wasn’t home.

Wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Derek propped a shoulder against the doorframe. He crossed his feet at the ankles and grinned. “Thanks for the sisterly advice. I’ll take that into account next time I look for a job.”