Duke: Deputy Cowboy

Chapter Two

Duke slowed his steps and smiled as he watched Luke playing tag with Zorro. “My dog loves all the attention,” he said, waiting while Angie checked the enclosure and the feed trough of a potbellied pig.

“This is Layman. I’m trying to find him a home. There was a time potbellied pigs were considered ideal pets. Once the novelty wore off, and people discovered they really were pigs with just a bit better disposition, a new animal fad replaced them, and they get discarded like old tennis shoes.”

“That sucks,” Duke grumbled, bending to scratch the fat white pig behind his ears. “Pets are part of the family.”

Angie had cut a shock of fresh lettuce from her garden as they walked past. She scattered the leaves in Layman’s trough. “Sadly, not everyone believes that,” she said, growing serious all of a sudden. “My grandparents ran this animal rescue ranch, but it’s grown since I took over. And costs keep rising.”

“Ace mentioned he treats your animals.”

“I hate calling him, because half the time he doesn’t charge me. And bless your aunt for spending time showering love on some of my neediest pets.” They walked on to a pen full of goats. “The family who raised these goats had to move when the husband found work in the city. The babies are so cute I can’t bear to part with them. I’ll probably wish I had when they grow bigger and start being pesky.”

“You have an odd assortment,” Duke remarked, when a very pregnant donkey lumbered up to the fence. “I would have sworn this was primarily cattle and horse country. Where do these all come from?”

“Oh, people drive out from surrounding towns and dump some off in the middle of the night,” Angie said. “Some bring abandoned animals that wander onto their land. I have three sheep from a family whose daughter raised them in 4-H. She went off to college. Her dad is a long-haul trucker, and his wife wanted to go on the road with him. They planned to sell the sheep, but the daughter couldn’t bear the thought of sending them off to be lamb chops.”

Duke laughed. “You’re as soft a touch as Ace, I can tell,” he said as Luke ran up followed by Zorro. The boy stuttered his way through telling his mom he wished their two dogs were this much fun.

“Honey, you know the dogs we currently have were mistreated. They’re afraid of people. We need to be patient.”

“I—I know,” the boy said, as he went to his knees and flung both arms around Duke’s big dog.

“There’s a tennis ball in the backseat of my truck,” Duke said. “If it’s okay with your mom, Zorro loves to play fetch.”

“C-c-can I?” His hazel eyes lit. Duke figured the boy’s father must have had brown eyes, because Angie’s eyes were almost a silvery-blue.

“You may,” she stressed, taking time to point out the difference between can and may.

The adults stood in silence as boy and dog tore back down the path. Duke broke the silence first. “If the only reason you haven’t signed him up for the Wild Pony Race is a lack of teammates, I can ask around and see if anyone in his age group is in need of a third person.”

Angie clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. “I guess you noticed my reluctance to commit about the race. I’m not being mean. His first year of school was difficult. Two weeks into the school year, practically out of the blue, he started to stutter. Our pediatrician says there’s no physical abnormality. He believes Luke will probably outgrow it. I had him tested by the school. When school starts in the fall Luke will meet twice a week with a speech therapist. Call me overly protective, but his condition worsened when other boys picked on him. He’s small for his age and, well, I can’t risk this pony race being another bad experience for him.”

Recalling the difficulties he had with the same problem of stuttering and being teased unmercifully as a kid, Duke nevertheless couldn’t bring himself to share such personal information with Luke’s mom, a woman he’d like to impress.

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” he said, “but I see all the entries and usually hear about kids wanting to sign up. I could pass on names of any seven- or eight-year-olds who need a partner, so you can check them out. There are a lot of good kids in Roundup.”

“Lucas has been badgering me since the Sunday he came out of class with that flyer. Okay,” she said slowly. “Call if you hear of anyone needing a partner.”

Duke sensed she still had reservations.

They meandered on and she stepped off the path to fill a scoop from a bin and then she scattered corn for the chickens. They saw a pair of barn cats slink away from where they hid in weeds to watch the chickens. “Those cats,” Angie lamented. “I need to find them homes before my feisty hens give them a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

Her companion didn’t comment, and Angie worried that she was talking too much and was boring him. “We’re nearly at the field where I have the horses turned out. I have an old Shetland pony and two gentle mares I rescued from a urine production line selling to a slaughter house. They’ll make someone good saddle horses. Ah, there’s the old fellow I told you about, plus a younger gelding I rescued from a rodeo-stock contractor who beat him to make him buck.”

As soon as they reached the fence, the horses wandered over. Angie had treats in her pockets, and the horses crowded in for their share.

Duke saw the old horse still had prominent ribs, but none of the animals in her care had defeat in their eyes. He liked that.

“The mares look so much better than when the Humane Society turned in the farmer who ran the operation. The Shetland came from an elderly lady’s farm. She couldn’t feed herself, let alone a pony, a dog and multiple cats.”

“I’m sorry to have troubled you,” Duke said, withdrawing his hand from the old horse’s muzzle. “Color is the only thing this old guy has in common with my aunt’s stallion. I’ll let you get back to your baking. I really wish Midnight had jumped your fence. Dinah is frustrated because the thefts are getting more frequent, and no one sees anything.”

Luke, out of breath from his game of fetch with Zorro, caught up with his mom and Duke as they turned back toward the house. “That was fun,” he announced, this time with no stutter. He handed Duke the tennis ball. As Duke tried to close his swollen left hand around the ball, he caught his breath at the sudden pain, and the ball fell and rolled down the path.

Angie saw and automatically reached for his puffy, discolored hand. She examined his injury in the light spilling from an outside barn light that had switched on. “That looks bad, Dylan. What happened? Have you had it x-rayed?” she asked, lightly stretching out his fingers.

Her whole demeanor spelled caring, which Duke found interesting, and sweet. He’d been around half his family for the better part of the day, and no one noticed the swelling. Or if they did they were so inured to rodeo injuries, they had taken his latest injury in stride.

“It happened Saturday at the Sheridan rodeo on my last ride. Haymaker was the bull’s name. I knew he was a rip snorter prone to burying his head and twisting midair to dislodge his rider. This was my fault. I wrapped the bull rope too tight around my hand. At the buzzer, I leaped off, but Haymaker spun away. He jerked me around pretty good until I was able to release the rope. Really, it’s minor,” he finished saying, because Duke certainly didn’t want Angie to think he was a wimp.

“Y-you ride b-bulls in the rodeo?” Luke got out, his eyes shining and wide. Plainly awed, the boy danced around Duke, asking more about the rodeo.

Duke noticed Angie purse her lips and settle her hand heavily on her son’s shoulder. “Back to the house, young man. Dylan’s leaving.”

“But, do y-you know my d-dad?” the boy blurted. “He’s in r-rodeo. He rides bucking horses.”

Angie stopped dead. “How... Where did you hear that?” she demanded, doing a bit of stammering herself.

Duke took the ball from the boy with his right hand, and motioned Zorro on down the path. It couldn’t be more plain that Angie was shocked by her son’s knowledge.

He heard her mutter, “Never mind,” when Luke said that his gramps had told him. Irritation sparked in Angie’s eyes as she herded her chatty son to the house. Suddenly she stopped, turned and called, “Goodbye, Dylan. I hope you find Sarah’s horse. I’m sure it’s a huge worry.”

He tipped his hat. Unsure whether or not she’d even consider entering Luke in the Wild Pony Race now, Duke nevertheless needed to establish if it was a possibility. “So, I’ll give you a call if I locate any partners like we talked about,” he said, raising his voice so she’d hear. Although she hesitated, Duke saw her nod briefly, and so he said, “You keep an eye out for strangers who may not know you think you have nothing to steal. Log the number for the sheriff’s office on your speed dial,” he shouted as she was closing the screen door. “Your ranch is isolated. The police number in the phone book will reach Dinah or me.”

“I’m good,” he heard her say. But, happy she hadn’t totally dismissed him over his bull riding, Duke let Zorro into the backseat, slid behind the wheel and drove off. The sun was barely a glimmer, but as he glanced in the rearview mirror he noticed Angie still stood in her doorway, watching him.

“That’s a good sign, don’t you think, boy?” Duke told his dog. Zorro whined and batted his paw on the back of Duke’s headrest.

Feeling the adrenaline drain after his lengthy encounter with a woman he found appealing, Duke admitted he was beat and running on empty. But he couldn’t stop thinking, and liking, how he and Angie lingered along the path to her horse field. He felt less constrained around her. Unlike women who gushed over him at rodeos, Angie didn’t act coy and she didn’t flirt. Neither did she talk down to Luke, or scold him when it was patently obvious she didn’t want him asking about his father. And she let the boy get through a sentence without rushing to finish it for him the way Duke recalled happening to him. That was all the more frustrating and only served to make a stutterer stutter more.

He set his phone on the console and switched on the Bluetooth feature. He hit speed dial and listened to it ring twice before Dinah picked up, saying, “Sheriff’s Office, Sheriff Hart speaking.”

“Dinah, it’s Duke. I’m just leaving the Barrington ranch. The black horse Rob saw there is an old gelding. Anything else come in while I’ve been gone?”

“Not a single lead. It’s exasperating. Are you heading home to bed?”

“I thought I’d swing past the Number 1 Diner for their Monday-night special before I go home and crash. Care to join me for supper?”

“Rain check? I’m tired, too, and I still have to type up a report to send to the mayor.”

“Okay. I’ll come into the office early tomorrow. I want to make up a flyer with Midnight’s photo to tack up around town. I’ll make that the first page on the ranch website. And we should get notices out to auction barns, livestock and brand inspectors. Do you think anyone took any video of Midnight when Colt had him at the rodeo? If so, we can post it on YouTube.”

“You’ll have to ask Colt. I’m happy to let you handle all the techie stuff, Duke. Go eat, we can coordinate our next steps tomorrow. Hey, one last question. Did you think Mom looked okay, or should I worry about the strain this theft may have put on her heart? I don’t know much about angina, but someone said it could lead to other heart problems.”

“She took the theft of Midnight almost as hard as losing Uncle John’s special saddle. It is a blow just when it seemed the ranch might recover from its financial woes. She and Ace have to pay the loan they took out to buy Midnight, even if the horse isn’t there to earn his keep. But Ace or Flynn, or Leah would be better able to speak to your mom’s health. Last time I saw her before today was two weekends ago when I went with her to church. She referred to the bout of angina as a minor incident. Maybe we should take her at her word.”

“I suppose,” Dinah said, sounding a bit off stride herself. “When we do find the jerks who stole Midnight, you’ll have to keep me from wringing their necks.”