Riley's Retribution

Riley mumbled something appropriate, then changed the subject to the ranch acreage. They discussed the spread for a few minutes, then Jake said, “You want some dinner?”

“I’d appreciate it. Your chili sure does smell good.”

Kelly and Jake both joined him at the table. Billy Cramer came in during the meal, and Jake made the introductions.

Riley knew the other men were sizing him up, just like he was doing with them. Could one of them have been the man who had shot at Courtney from the bridge?

He didn’t know, but he was going to find out.

RILEY WOKE WHEN HE HEARD the hands moving around the bunkhouse. When he arrived in the kitchen twenty minutes later, the rest of them were already at the table, eating eggs, bacon and toast.

The ranch might be in financial trouble, but Courtney Rogers was feeding her men well.

A television in the corner was tuned to the weather channel. It seemed they were in for another cold, blustery day. Par for the course in Montana in winter. But at least snow wasn’t in the forecast. Of course, he’d checked the weather yesterday. And there had been no mention of snow then, either.

After eating some of the food and complimenting the chef, he turned to Kelly and said, “So, could you show me around the spread?”

The young man looked startled. “Me? Jake’s been here a lot longer.”

Jake shifted in his chair. “Go ahead. I’ll clean up here.”

Kelly nodded.

Riley dressed warmly, grabbed some carrots from the refrigerator, then followed Kelly to the barn, the most modern structure he’d seen so far on the ranch.

Unless one of the men had gotten up early and scurried over here to make sure the work area looked good for the new ranch manager, everything seemed to be up to snuff. The stalls were clean. The well-groomed horses had plenty of food and water. And the equipment in the tack room was in good condition and neatly stored.

He stopped to greet the horses in the stalls, calling them by the names on the small plates at each door and offering carrots, which were readily accepted.

They paused by a stall with a filly named Irma. A protective boot was wrapped around her left foreleg.

“What happened to her?” Riley asked.

“She overreached and bruised herself—the way they do sometimes.”

Kicked her front leg with her back, Riley mentally translated. “Yeah, that can be a problem. How are you treating the injury?”

“We started with cold hosing three times a day. Now we’re on to warm, dry bandages.”

He fed Irma a carrot, which she gobbled up, telling him her appetite was good. On a more prosperous ranch the owner might have called out the vet. But he knew it wasn’t unusual for owners to treat minor problems, which certainly saved money.

Another filly named Buttercup was obviously very pregnant.

“When is she due?” Riley asked.

“In a few weeks.”

They discussed some of the other horses, then Riley continued on his fact-finding mission. “Who’s been running things?”

“Jake.”

“He’s doing a good job.” He hesitated for a moment. “So, would he resent someone taking over?”

Kelly scuffed his foot against the hard-packed dirt. “I guess you’ll have to ask him.”

Yeah, sure.

“Has there been any vandalism at the ranch?”

Kelly looked uncomfortable.

“What?” Riley pressed.

“We got some renters. They’re using the back forty for a garbage dump.”

“What renters?”

“Ask the boss lady.”

“Okay,” Riley answered, then cleared his throat. “I noticed she took some flack in town. Do the men on the ranch—” he stopped and fumbled for what to say “—support her.”

“Everybody here now is on her side.”

“Now?” Riley probed.

“There was a guy here—Greg Nichols. He made some…nasty comments.”

“To her face?”

“Not likely. But they got back to her, and she asked him to leave.”

“Would Nichols make trouble for her?” Riley was thinking of the man who had shot at her from the bridge. If he knew her routine, he could have lain in wait for her. Or someone out here could have called him.

“Maybe.”

“What does he look like?”

“Blond hair. Blue eyes. A big scar on his right cheek.”

So he’d be easy to spot, Riley mused.

They finished the tour back at the barn. Riley could go to the house and start perusing the books. But he didn’t want to barge in on Ms. Rogers. Their first meeting had been pretty crazy. Maybe he should give her some space. And himself, too. Taking the coward’s route, he decided to have a look around some of the ranch acreage. He found himself wondering if he’d find any signs of the guy named Greg Nichols. What if he were hiding out on the ranch? Was he watching Courtney’s activities?

With a silent curse he reminded himself he wasn’t supposed to be looking for Nichols. He was supposed to locate Boone Fowler’s militia group so he could report back to Big Sky.

Of course, Nichols could be with Fowler. So maybe if he found the militia group, he’d kill two birds with one stone.

AFTER SADDLING UP a stallion named Monty, he rode east across a shallow river into rugged country with rolling hills covered by dry grass. Rugged snowcapped mountains rose in the background like sentinels.