by Carolina Mac
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wednesday, April 15th.
McKenna Ranch.
AFTER chores and breakfast with my brothers, I remembered about the two rodeo cowboys coming for a lesson and I was far from ready for them. I left a pile of bills and unopened mail on my desk in the new office I’d hardly spent a minute in and headed to the corral to saddle Bowie.
Once my horse was ready, I searched for my rope and wondered if I was supplying the ropes for the students or if they were bringing their own. In the middle of all this, Kate decided she needed to have a serious talk to me.
“Can we talk somewhere privately, Logan?”
“Umm… we can go into the office for a minute, I guess. Those guys are coming for lessons any time now.”
“This won’t take long.”
I held the door open for her and followed her through the kitchen and into the office. She closed the door and sat down in the guest chair while I sat behind the desk in my second-hand swivel chair that she’d helped me pick out.
“I wanted to say sorry for how the girls and I have been acting. It wasn’t proper. Y’all treated us so good and gave us jobs and we acted like… spoiled girls… and we’re sorry. We want things to go back the way they were before.”
“Uh huh. It would be good to have a better working relationship if y’all are planning to keep on working here,” I said, “but it’s better for all of us if you have your own private space and we have ours.”
Kate’s face told me that’s not what she wanted to hear but I’d given it a lot of thought and it was better for me to keep Jack and Clay focused on the ranch. There was too much work ahead of all of us to get the business up and running. We had no time for romantic involvements with the hired hands or daily scraps over remarks made and girls being offended by the slightest little thing.
Nope. Not doing it.
Kate stood up and left without another word and I tried not to let it bother me that she was hurt. I liked her and I liked the other girls too, but that was as far as it was going.
I’ve only loved one girl. Will I find another one I can love like that?
While I waited for Rip and Chuck to arrive for their lesson I turned on the computer and pulled up the latest rodeo schedule to see how much time these boys had to get into top form. As I glanced down the roster of events the barrel racing took my eye and pictures of Linda Loudon on her horse flooded my brain.
My heart picked up speed as I pictured how fantastic she looked leaning hard into every turn. I could almost hear the crowd cheering for her to set a new record.
Luckily my cell rang and shook me out of my Linda daydream. “McKenna Ranch.”
“Hi, Logan, this is Fiona Lonnigan. I heard about one of your bulls being stolen and wondered if there was anything I could do to help y’all?”
Fiona?
“Nice of you to offer, Doctor Lonnigan, but Sheriff Tucker is looking into it and the boys and I are asking around too. But if you hear any rumors floating through your office, I’d be pleased to hear from you. Presto is one of a kind and we need to find him and get him back with the herd.”
“I’ll see what I can find out on my rounds around the county,” she said. “People talk and I might hear something I can pass along.”
“Appreciate the help and I’m pleased you called,” I said. When I ended the call, I felt happy and light headed for some reason.
I thought she didn’t like me.
I checked my watch and figured I had time for one more call before the cowboys were on the porch. “Sheriff Tucker, this is Logan McKenna. Anything progress?”
“Nothing to report on Presto, but I’m having a time of it trying to find Buster Tate. He never did come home and now Mrs. Tate is in a state over Buster gone missing.”
“Did she tell you Bobby Paisley picked Buster up the last time she saw him?”
“She did, and I’ve been out to the Paisley ranch. Bobby Paisley denies ever picking Buster up. I don’t know who’s lying and who’s telling me the truth.”
“Huh. I see your problem, Sheriff.”
A lot of people are making up lies lately.
WITH nothing new on Presto coming from Sheriff Tucker, I strolled out onto the porch and was just in time to see Rip drive in with Chuck in the shotgun seat. They were towing a double horse trailer and were ready to rock.
The next two hours were spent in an open field showing the boys everything I could remember from my rodeo days—not that it was so long ago—and the more I practiced, the better I felt physically and emotionally. I missed the rodeo and the excitement of competition something terrible.
When we finished up the lesson, I told the rodeo boys to stay as long as they wanted to practice and to come again on Friday.
While I tied Bowie to the corral fence, my cell rang, and it was a number I didn’t recognize. “McKenna Ranch.”
“We want a million dollars for your bull, McKenna. Have the money ready by tomorrow night and wait for our next call.”
I ended the call thinking I recognized the voice on the other end of the line, but I couldn’t figure out who it was. A million dollars? We didn’t have a million dollars and no way to get it. I called Sheriff Tucker and relayed the news.
“A million dollars for a bull?”
“That’s what they asked for, Sheriff, and they want it by tomorrow night. But we don’t have a million dollars and even if we did I don’t think I’d hand it over. We need to find out who has Presto before they call to tell me where to drop the money. The second call will come sometime tomorrow.”
“Did they say what would happen to Presto if y’all didn’t fork over the money?”
“Nope. But I’m betting it’s not going to be good news for Presto.”
“Right. Hope we come up with something before the bastards call again.”
“Uh huh. Me too.”
WHEN Jacky and Clay came in from the field to make a sandwich for lunch I told them about the call, and we sat down to figure out our next move.
“What makes them think we have a million bucks?” asked Jacky.
“The lies going around, I guess.” I took a bite out of my ham and cheese sandwich. “Somebody wanting to cash in on Daddy’s will.”
“The only thing we can do is sneak over to Paisley’s place tonight and snoop around,” said Jacky boy. “See if we can find Presto ourselves.”
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll wait until it’s good and dark—about eleven—and head out. Then we’ll drop by the Spur for a brew.”
“Good plan,” said Jack. He smiled when I mentioned the roadhouse.
AFTER dinner, while Clay practiced his songs on the porch, I cleaned up the dishes then worked through the load of crap that had accumulated on my new second-hand desk.
Once the bills were all paid and I’d searched out the next cattle auction we might be interested in, I joined the boys outside.
Jacky had a plan in mind for later, and we went over it a couple of times before we left.
Paisley Ranch.
WITH Bobby Paisley having neighbors on both sides of his property, Jacky figured there was only one way we could get onto his land to search for Presto and that was from the county road running along the back of Paisley’s acreage.
Trouble was, there was a ranch house on that piece of property we’d have to avoid as we went running through a big herd of longhorns.
With three flashlights bobbing along though the fragrant spring air, we semi-blindly tried to find our way to the Paisley ranch without knowing exactly where the boundary lines were.
“What do you see?” I asked, hoping Clay and Jacky could see more than me.
“Lots of longhorns, but no Presto. Not yet.”
Another fence blocked our path and we moved forward a little out of breath. We climbed it and kept going past a water storage tank and a hay shelter.
Another half mile of bawling cattle and lots of cursing as we stepped in a few cow pies. We kept going and pretty soon we co
uld see the back side of the Paisley ranch house.
“Presto ain’t here on the Paisley property,” said Jack. “We’ve run through all of his fields.”
“Damn it,” said Clay. “I thought he would be.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Okay, we struck out here. Let’s hoof it back to the truck.”
We were all breathless by the time we made it back to the road, especially Jacky who was a heavy smoker. We piled into the pickup, all sweaty, disappointed and with cow shit on our boots.
I started the engine and lowered all the windows.
“I don’t like Bobby Paisley,” said Jacky. “He’s a rude, arrogant prick, but he don’t even know us, so why would he take Presto anyways? Don’t make sense.”
“Wish I could think of who that voice on the phone belonged to,” I said. “That would speed things up for us.”
“We should stop in at the spur and see if Hank or Miss Jane heard anything.”
“Sure,” I said, “I could use a cold one after all that running. Good idea, Jacky.”
Broken Spur Roadhouse.
THE Spur was crowded after midnight. We found seats at the bar and ordered a pitcher of Lone Star from Hank.
“What have you boys been up to? Smells like y’all been running through cow shit.” Hank wrinkled up his nose as he plopped coasters and glasses on the bar in front of us.
I chuckled and checked my boots before I filled my glass from the pitcher and figured I have to give them a good cleaning in the morning.
“That looks like Ronnie Palmer going into the men’s room,” said Clay. “He’s limping and he looks kind of beat up.”
“Wonder how that happened?” I asked. I couldn’t see him from where I was sitting.
“I’m going to find out.” Clay hopped off his stool and I wasn’t too far behind him.
Jacky held our seats at the bar while Clay and I checked out Ronnie in the can. He was facing the urinal when we walked in and when he turned around and headed for the sink, I could see what a mess he was.
A blue tinge covered most of his face. His left eye was black and swollen almost shut and a nasty gash on his right cheek was crusty with dried blood. Ronnie was off balance as he walked, favoring his right leg.
“How’d you get messed up so bad, Ronnie?” I asked.
“Trying to do y’all a favor—you know—like for the reward money you promised me.”
“I didn’t promise you reward money.”
“You hinted at it.”
“Yep. I’m not against forking out a bit of cash for the right information.”
“Yeah, like that,” said Ronnie, “and this is what I get for my trouble.”
“Who laid the beating on you?” asked Clay.
“Two guys came into the station. I didn’t know them, but after you said there might be money in it if I helped y’all, I started asking every single person who pulled in for gas what they knew about y’all’s missing bull.”
Aw, shit.
“What did these guys look like?” asked Clay.
“Can’t remember too much about them. They hauled my ass around the side of the garage and gave it to me good. Kicked me with some heavy duty boots that had chains on ‘em.”
Bikers?
Ronnie turned around and leaned up against the sink counter to finish his story. “I laid on the ground for half an hour after the fuckers were gone wondering if I was gonna die and that’s when Mr. Childers came out of the store looking for me. He helped me get up and got me some water to drink and some ice for my face.”
“Didn’t Mr. Childers want to call the sheriff?” I asked.
“Didn’t mention it. He was busy with customers and left me sitting in the office with the ice pack.”
“Sorry that happened to you, Ronnie,” I said. “What exactly did you say to set those fellas off like that?”
“Same as I said to everybody else. Sort of like…friends of mine had a prize bull go missing. If you hear anything about it would you let me know? Like that.”
“That’s all you said?”
Ronnie shrugged, then winced when pain shot through his body from one of his injuries. “Think that was what I said… mostly. Yep, that was about it. I might have said… if they knew anything about the bull they’d better tell me if they knew what was good for them.”
“Uh huh.”
“What kind of truck were they driving? Do you remember?” I asked.
“Blue Dodge Ram. Couple years old. I memorized the tag when they was dragging me away from the pumps.”
“You did?” Clay sounded surprised and I was too. Ronnie didn’t seem the type to remember anything for more than a couple of seconds.
“What was on the tag?” I asked.
“One of them specials you pay more for.”
“Uh huh. What did it say?” asked Clay.
“PBR8,” said Ronnie proudly. He tried to smile but his mouth was swollen all crooked.
“Great work, Ronnie. Did you talk to Sheriff Tucker since the beating?”
“Nope.”
“You should charge those boys with assault,” I said. “They messed you up good.”
“Think I should?”
“I do so,” I said. “And I think if we went over to Preston and told the sheriff, he might run the tag for us.”
“Naw,” said Ronnie. “I can’t talk to the Sheriff.”
“Why not?” asked Clay.
“Private reasons,” said Ronnie. “Seeing me might remind him of something best forgotten.”
“Oh, yeah? I understand your dilemma.” I peeled off forty bucks and handed him the money. “Appreciate the effort you put into our search so far, Ronnie. I’ll get Hank to set you up with a pitcher and some hot wings.”
Ronnie’s battered face lit up as he shoved the money in his pocket. “Thanks, Logan.”
We went back to the bar and told Jack what we found out.
“I’ll take care of the tag,” said Clay and he stepped outside with his cell phone. A few minutes later he was back with a big smile on his face.
“Did you find out the owner of the truck?”
“Nope, but we’ll know by the time we get home.”
“What did you promise Bonnie Sue?” asked Jacky.
“Can’t say,” said Clay. “It’s a little too personal.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thursday, April 16th.
McKenna Ranch.
AT breakfast we discussed the information Clay and Bonnie Sue Dempster had come up with. The dark blue Ram belonged to a guy named Micky Swain. Bonnie Sue had taken the time to run more than just the tag and found out Micky was a bad dude.
Micky Swain was an ex-bull rider, ex-con, and there was a warrant currently out there with his name on it for several counts of assault. One with a deadly weapon.
“But I don’t think it could have been him on the phone asking for the ransom money,” I said. “I recognized that voice… or thought I did.”
“Where does this Micky Swain live?” asked Jacky.
“Half way to Lubbock according to the address Bonnie Sue gave me,” said Clay. “We can be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Isn’t Bonnie Sue going to bring him in?” I asked.
“She said she was fixing to talk to Lubbock PD this morning. Swain is out of her county.”
“Yeah, but he beat Ronnie up in her county,” I said. “Doesn’t that count?”
“Don’t know how it works, Logy,” said Clay. “I ain’t a deputy.”
“We should look around Micky Swain’s place just to make sure Presto ain’t there,” said Jacky.
“Sure,” I said. “Won’t hurt to take a drive, and at least we’ll know where this bad dude lives.”
Route 114.
ROLLING along on route 114, Jacky and Clay had their eyes peeled for the address Bonnie Sue had given us.
“No sign of any trailer parks yet,” said Jack. “Must be farther.”
“Presto won’t be in a trailer park,” I sai
d.
“Not unless he had his own lot,” said Jacky. “He’s as big as a trailer.”
“I think we just passed the entrance to a mobile home park,” said Clay. “Turn around, Logy.”
I waited for a couple of vehicles to pass, then made a U-turn on the highway and wheeled around. I focused my eyes where Clay was pointing and saw the tail end of a dirt road.
“Yep, I see it. Narrow driveway and no sign. How does anybody find a person who lives here?”
“Maybe the residents don’t want people finding them. Ever think of that?”
“Yeah, I did.”
Once we were inside the trailer park, finding the right trailer was the next challenge. “What street is he supposed to be on?”
“Chestnut.”
“Okay, these streets are all tree names,” I said. “Find Chestnut.” I drove around the narrow streets three times before we found Chestnut, a short street near the back gate with only four trailers on it.
“Which one is it?” asked Jack.
Clay checked the number on the piece of paper in his hand and pointed, “That one. In the corner next to the bush.”
I drove by slowly and we took a good look at the dark blue Ram to see if the tag matched and it did. “Yep, that’s the truck.”
“Good one, Ronnie,” said Jacky.
I stared at the car parked beside the Ram and my heart picked up a couple of beats as I figured out where I’d seen that old Volkswagen Golf before. “That’s Miss Carson’s car.”
“No way,” hollered Clay. “Why would she be shacked up with an ex-con like Swain? What kind of scam is going on?”
“I don’t know the answers to any of those questions, Clay, but I’m going to find out. This underhanded shit is pissing me off big time.”
Sheriff’s Office. Preston.
WE drove back from the trailer park with more questions than answers and made a quick stop at Sheriff Tucker’s office to talk to Bonnie Sue.
