Home to Texas

by Kaki Warner

  “There might be some in Dad’s old stuff,” Raney said, coming through the gate toward the truck. “But they’d be pretty outdated.” She looked back at Joss as her sister rushed into the house, shouting orders to Grady. “What’s up with Joss?”

  “She’s afraid for Lyric,” KD answered before Richard could tee off again. The last thing they needed was a family brawl. She steered Raney toward the house, Richard falling in behind. “What are you doing up this late?”

  “Making lists. And talking to Mama. Len’s got her hands full keeping her calm. Richard, we may have some traps in the barn.”

  “What kind of traps?”

  “Hog snares, mostly.” Stopping when they reached the veranda, she turned to explain. “Rather than shoot them, our workers trap them alive and take them to the processors. Good eating and less disease that way.”

  “How do the snares work?”

  “I’ve never set one, but I think it’s like a noose with a special kind of closure, made of thick cable that can’t be broken or chewed through. It can also be anchored so it won’t pull loose if the hog thrashes around. Our guys put them on trails where hogs go under the fences or rub up against fence posts.”

  “Are they lethal?”

  “Not supposed to be.”

  “Would they work on a human?”

  She thought for a moment. “Possible, but not probable. If a person tried to crawl under a fence, it might catch him around the arm or foot. But the snares are rigged so they don’t close completely, so it probably wouldn’t do permanent injury. Without wire cutters or a way to pry open the closure, it would be hard to get loose. Definitely slow him down for a while.”

  An irritated voice called from upstairs. Raney made a face. “Better go see what Princess Joss wants.”

  “You think the snares will work?” KD asked Richard as Raney left.

  “Worth a try. Maybe we could put some at approach points around the house. I’ll go talk to Alejandro and find out how many you have and if they’ll work on people. Then I’ll go talk to the sheriff.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Richard joined Ford and Dalton and Harvey on the veranda. The lawman didn’t look happy. Apparently, the idea of deputizing a bunch of locals didn’t sit easy with the sheriff. But the idea of foreign terrorists wiping out the county’s most influential family—and the family of the woman he was courting—sat even worse. Even though Ford had already given Dalton and Harvey all his reasons for not deputizing them, Richard had him go through it again without interruption. He’d found that when working through a problem, often the fastest way to reach a solution was to put it in words, step by step, as many times as necessary.

  When Ford had finally finished explaining why forming a civilian posse was problematic and inherently dangerous, Richard nodded and said, “Normally, I’d agree with you. All manner of things could go wrong. But if we did it legally, under your supervision as the county’s highest-ranking law enforcement authority, there’s a much better chance it wouldn’t turn into a bloodbath.”

  Ford winced at the mention of bloodshed.

  Richard pushed harder. “We’re morally and legally obligated to protect ourselves and those in our care.” He motioned to Dalton and Harvey. “The three of us have combat training, and probably more experience than that deputy I saw gawking at underaged tits tonight at Harley’s Roadhouse. We can do this, Sheriff. But we’d prefer to do it with your help. What do you say?”

  Ford chewed on it for a minute, then gave up. “How many men do you have?”

  “Five, and they’re not all men. Whoever is left will be on recon.”

  The sheriff glanced at the rifle slung over Harvey’s shoulder. “I only see one firearm here.”

  “I’ve got two handguns, Glenn has a hunting rifle, Harvey’s got his sniper rifle, KD was an expert marksman in the army, and Alejandro . . .” Richard turned to Dalton. “What about Alejandro?”

  Dalton shrugged.

  “Right.” Richard turned back to Ford. “He’s in charge of recon. Plus, Raney has experience with a Glock and her dad’s shotguns and hunting rifles.”

  “Lord help us.” Ford let out a weary sigh. “Call them together. I’ll get the paperwork started. But I’m only deputizing the five,” he added with a sharp look at Dalton. “The other ranch hands better not be shooting.”

  “They don’t need guns,” Harvey said, then burst out laughing. The first words Richard had ever heard him speak. He hoped deputizing the old sniper wouldn’t prove a bad idea.

  Joss and her family left just before the sheriff did. Apparently, she and KD had made up because there was a lot of hugging and crying—at least, on Joss’s part—as they climbed into Grady’s BMW. Richard didn’t know where they were headed and didn’t care. He was still pissed that Joss had dumped that load of crap on KD. He wasn’t that tolerant of drama queens.

  After agreeing they probably had until the following night before Farid and his men could reach the ranch, Ford suggested they all get some rest, then left to do the same. Harvey and his Remington .50 headed to his bunk in the bachelor quarters. Dalton checked all the household doors and locks, then he and Raney went upstairs.

  On his way to bed, Richard stopped in the dining room to do a quick check of the guns and ammo KD had laid out on the table. Two rifles, three shotguns, two handguns, not counting his two and Raney’s Glock, three sets of binoculars, some outdated game cams, no night vision, and at least two dozen boxes of ammo.

  A start.

  With a yawn, he headed to bed.

  * * *

  * * *

  That night, KD had the dream again, except this time, the person shooting at her was a featureless man with a scar across his mannequin-smooth cheek. She tried to scream, but made no sound, and gasped into wakefulness. She lay still, her heart pounding against her ribs, trying not to awaken Richard. But he always seemed to know when she was in trouble.

  Before she could catch her breath, his arms came around her and pulled her back against his warm, solid chest.

  “You’re okay, babe,” he murmured in a sleep-roughened voice. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” After a while, his even breathing by her ear calmed her down and she was able to drift back to sleep.

  The next time she opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming into the room and Richard’s tall, muscular form was silhouetted against the window. He stood in his boxers, hands braced high on either side of the window opening, looking out over the ranch.

  Her bodyguard. Her man.

  She must have made a sound. He turned, the light so bright behind him, she couldn’t read his expression. But she knew him well enough now to sense his mood. He was worried. As was she. And probably wondering how it was possible that the nightmare they thought they’d left back in Afghanistan was now on its way to sleepy little Rough Creek to haunt them again.

  He walked over and sat on the bed beside her. Reaching out, he brushed a tangle of hair off her forehead and gave a lopsided smile. “Get any sleep, babe?”

  “I did. Thanks to you.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, then straightened. “We’ve got this. Four experienced soldiers against a lard-ass and two camel-humpers.”

  “I’m not sure that’s PC. And don’t forget Raney and her Glock.”

  “Plus we’re now fully deputized law enforcement personnel.”

  “With our very own sheriff,” KD added with a smile. “Although I feel sorry for him, the way you bullied him into deputizing us.”

  “No choice. He’s our official face in all this. It’ll read better coming from a sheriff, instead of gun-happy ranch folk.”

  “CYA. I’m familiar.” Yawning, she sat up. “I better go talk to Conan. We need to get the therapy group out of here before the fireworks start.”

  “I think you should shower first, babe.”


  “What is it about you and showers?”

  “I’m just a clean person, I guess. C’mon. I’ll help.”

  * * *

  * * *

  After talking to KD, Dr. Prescott was ready to load up the van, then and there, even though she emphasized they didn’t know for certain if the man spotted in Matamoros was Khalil Farid. “And if it is,” she argued, “unless he has expert intel, which I doubt, he doesn’t know where I live. He might go to Fort Hood first to find out, or register a complaint that justice hadn’t been done for his son. At which time, he’ll be nabbed for being in the country illegally. Either way, we’ll have advance warning. There’s no need to stress out the patients with a hasty departure.”

  “We were leaving today anyway. Both Thomas and Laura are in fragile states right now. A situation like this could set them back. Maybe permanently.”

  KD sighed. Her test run had gone so well up to now. She hated for it to end on such a bad note. “Of course, then, they should go back. We’re sending our married families away, too. Although I’m not sure Sarge or Shirley will go willingly.”

  Conan sighed. “I agree. They’re both more likely to run toward trouble than away from it. But I’m only their therapist, not their superior officer, and since they’re still on leave, I can’t force them to return to Hood. If they insist on staying to help, can you think of a way they could participate on a limited level? Unarmed, of course. Arming our patients is against regulations.”

  “I think so. But let’s see if that’s even necessary. They may all be delighted to head back as soon as possible.”

  Dr. Prescott certainly knew his patients. Laura said she’d leave now if Conan thought she should. “Although I’d like to say goodbye to the horses—and Alejandro—before I go,” she added.

  Tommy TBI just shrugged. Or twitched. Hard to say.

  Sarge and Shirley were less open to the idea of returning to Hood. In fact, as soon as KD explained the possibility of a crazed, heroin-addicted pedophile showing up to attack the ranch, they became almost giddy.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Sarge’s grin was positively evil. “No more sitting. Time for doing. OO-rah.”

  “OO-rah,” Shirley echoed, reaching up to give him a high five.

  These were American army combat soldiers, after all.

  “We can’t give you guns,” KD warned. “But if you stay, we need as many lookouts as we can get. Assuming Farid is headed to the ranch. Which he may not be.”

  “No matter. I’m staying,” Shirley announced. “I didn’t get this bionic leg just so I could run from trouble. And I’m a medic. You might need me.”

  KD hoped not, but asked Shirley to check out their first aid kit, just in case.

  “If you on doctor duty,” Sarge said, grinning at Shirley, “who be doing our cooking?”

  “I can do both.”

  “I know. But you be fightin’ now, Mighty Mouse, not cookin’.”

  “Damn right!”

  KD was so proud, she wanted to hug them. Once a soldier, always a soldier. She felt the same way. “There’ll be no fighting.” She tried to sound stern.

  They both laughed.

  * * *

  * * *

  The Wounded Warrior van left an hour later, taking Conan, Laura, and Tommy TBI back to Fort Hood. KD was sad to see them go, but glad they would be safe.

  The rest of the day was spent making sure the ranch was secure. Gates and outbuildings were locked. Animals were moved to distant pastures—except for the more valuable horses and bulls, which were stalled in the fireproof barn. After the married workers and their families had left to stay with friends and relatives, the ranch began to feel like a ghost town.

  Which left ten, plus Sheriff Ford, to protect the ranch.

  Eleven to three. Even Richard felt okay with those odds.

  Dalton assigned defensive positions should they get word that Khalil was on the move: Glenn Hicks and Chuy would stay in Glenn’s house by the road, where they could monitor cars passing by or stopping at the gate. Harvey would watch the driveway and house from the loft of the hay barn. After Alejandro set the snares and placed the game cams around the house and barn, he would begin patrolling the fence lines on horseback.

  Not wanting Sarge and Shirley to stay at Tent City without protection, KD insisted the sergeant stay with Alejandro and Harvey in the bachelor quarters over the AI labs, where he could keep watch over the more remote buildings, while Shirley was to move into Len’s old room in the main house, which had the best second-story view of the driveway. Since the cooks were gone, the scrappy amputee happily volunteered for kitchen duty, too. But rather than having her do double duty at both the house and the bachelor quarters—and since neither KD nor Raney could cook water—they decided eight of those remaining would take their meals together in the kitchen above the AI lab, while Glenn and Chuy ate at the foreman’s house.

  Everyone had a position. And everyone vulnerable had been evacuated.

  Except Raney.

  No matter how many times her husband and KD and Richard pleaded with her to go, or how strenuously Mama insisted during her daily phone calls that she join her and Len and Joss in Dallas, Raney wouldn’t budge.

  “I’m not leaving!” she argued. “I run this ranch!” Seeing her husband’s frown, she added, “We both do. And it’s our jobs to see this through.”

  “You’re pregnant,” her husband reminded her.

  “So?”

  Dalton just looked at her.

  “Damnit!” Raney yanked off her ball cap and slapped it onto the kitchen counter. “I’ve already given up working with the stallions and training the cutting horses. I don’t drink booze or coffee, or eat rare steaks or undercooked eggs or smoke—”

  “You never did,” Dalton cut in.

  “Didn’t even get to paint my baby’s nursery. And now you say I can’t protect my own home?”

  KD knew how devoted Raney was to Four Star. Saw it in the glimmer of tears in her bright blue eyes and heard it in the quaver of her voice. They’d never get her to leave. Especially if she had to stay with Joss and Mama at Len’s. Pregnancy hadn’t increased her sister’s tolerance for hovering or dramatics.

  “She’s right,” she told Dalton. “Raney should be here.”

  “At least someone’s on my side.”

  KD turned back to her sister. “But if, and when, we get word that Khalil is coming, Raney, you have to promise to do what Dalton says. No arguments.”

  “I second that,” Richard put in.

  Raney looked mutinously at the three faces staring back at her. “Okay. But none of you are taking my Glock.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Just before noon, six hundred miles south of their ultimate destination, the three Afghan men and one of the cartel soldiers crossed unnoticed into the United States. Having been warned that beards attracted attention in this godless, beardless country, the two younger men had shaved their faces, and now wore American ball caps and sunglasses. Khalil’s black beard was a symbol of his status. He would not give it up. Nor would he wear a silly ball cap. But before leaving Matamoros, he had his beard trimmed and his gray hair cut very short. After the three men changed into westernized clothing, they blended in well with the infidels on the street.

  The soldier led them to an older Nissan sedan parked on a back street close to a highway in Brownsville, handed them the keys, then left. As Caracortada had promised, the gas tank was full and the trunk of the vehicle had a false bottom. Under it, they found American currency, a map of the state of Texas, three unpackaged prepaid cell phones, two Kalashnikov pattern AK-47s with 30-round magazines, and three automatic handguns, with fifty rounds of additional ammunition. Satisfied, the men took everything but the guns and ammunition from the hidden compartment, closed the trunk, and climbed into the Nissan. This
time, Khalil rode in the passenger seat. The car was dirty and smelled of old food, but he did not complain. He was finally in the country of his son’s murderer.

  The three men drove one block to Highway 77, turned north, and settled in for the long drive to Rough Creek, Texas, where the woman who killed Asef lived with her family. It would take them many hours to get there and do what they’d come to do, and almost as many hours to return to Brownsville, where Caracortada’s men waited to take them back across the border. But Khalil was a patient man, and he knew Allah would keep them safe.

  * * *

  * * *

  As the Nissan turned onto the highway, in a shadowed doorway behind them, a man pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He punched in a number and said, “They’re driving an older blue Nissan four-door. US 77 North.” He gave the license plate number, then returned the phone to his pocket and walked away.

  CHAPTER 20

  That evening, they were finishing a delicious meal prepared by Shirley in the kitchen above the AI offices when Glenn called on Raney’s cell. “Sheriff Ford’s at the gate. Should I let him in?”

  “Of course. Tell him we’ll meet him at the house.” Leaving the bachelors to help Shirley with cleanup, Raney and Dalton headed back to the house with KD and Richard.

  The sheriff was nervously pacing by his car in the parking area when they walked up. He looked frazzled and tired, his normally crisp uniform wrinkled and damp with sweat. “Thought your foreman was going to shoot me when I stopped at the gate.”

  “Just doing his job,” Raney said, leading the way across the lawn toward the veranda. “Watch your step. There may be hog snares in the shrubs.”

  The sheriff slowed his pace. “Having trouble with pigs, are you?”

  “Always. Mama doesn’t want them rooting up her azaleas.” Pulling a jangling set of keys from her jeans pocket, Raney unlocked the door leading from the veranda to the kitchen.