All the Lost Little Horses (A Desperation Creek Novel Book 2)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “You told me yourself that you hadn’t. Remember? ‘No harm, no foul?’” He let his anger show. “An intruder gets into a house where a single woman lives, may even have strolled into her bedroom to watch her sleep before filling her refrigerator with shit, and you shrug and say, Hey, call us if he comes back to rape you? When you wake up to find him standing over you with a knife? Is that your idea of doing your job?”

  Jarman backed up a step. “It was a prank!”

  “It was a threat.”

  “You weren’t there. You don’t know what I said. So I joked about it! That’s called cop humor.” He glared at Jed. “Now, thanks to you, I’m on probation. All I can say is, don’t expect any favors from me.”

  Jed had half hoped the SOB would issue a threat. Too bad he was smart enough to refrain from quite crossing that line. So Jed said, “Never expected any,” and to express his contempt and disdain, deliberately turned his back on Jarman to continue the last few feet to the SUV.

  Didn’t mean he wasn’t listening for any movement, but the deputy still stood where he had been when Jed got in and fired up the engine. When he backed up, Jarman had to step aside quickly. Jed took care not to make any eye contact. For a guy like Jarman with an ego problem, being dismissed would sting more than any hard words.

  Jed had been driving ten minutes before fear sliced into his belly. What if Jarman’s pride drove him to retaliate? He was the kind to go for a soft target. Linette.

  Jed ground his teeth, angry he hadn’t considered the possibility. Too late.

  What he knew was that if she came to any harm at all, Jarman would be sorrier than he’d ever been in his entire, worthless life.

  *****

  Once Jed turned in Gene Baxter’s long dirt drive, he slowed to a crawl and forced himself to focus on his job. Rutted and rife with Jacuzzi-size holes, the driveway threatened the suspension on Jed’s truck. Thank God it wasn’t winter.

  A few steers grazed desultorily on a ragged pasture to the right. A rusting single-wide trailer apparently stood in for a house on the property. No wonder the guy lived elsewhere.

  He drove past the single-wide and parked in front of the barn. Interestingly, pale wood here and there showed that repairs were being made. Baxter hadn’t tackled the sagging roof yet, but a pile of shingles showed that he’d be starting soon. Had he come by a fresh infusion of enthusiasm? Or was it cash?

  Getting out, Jed saw a small herd of cows and young calves behind a barbed wire fence not twenty feet from the barn.

  “Who’s here?” a voice called. Moments later, Baxter appeared from the dim interior of the barn.

  Jed greeted him with a nod. “I hear you’ve had a theft.”

  “Detective.” Baxter walked out into the sunlight. Stocky and nearly a head shorter than Jed’s six foot two, he wore jeans, scuffed cowboy boots and a sweat-soaked T-shirt. He pulled off leather gloves as he approached. “Yeah, shit, I had a decent stock trailer. Had it parked in that shed—” He nodded to his left. “Gave it some protection. You know.”

  Jed walked closer to the shed, scanning crumbling cement floor. Bits of hay or straw littered it along with clumps of long-dried mud. He didn’t see anything that would prove or disprove the existence of the trailer.

  “It was a Featherlite, 1995,” Baxter told him. “Twenty-two foot, rubber mats on the floor and walls. Even had a roll-up door.”

  He claimed to have paid eight thousand dollars for it and since done some work on it to bring it up to par. “Bet I could get more like fifteen thousand now.”

  That seemed optimistic to Jed, but he jotted it down as an estimate.

  Unfortunately, stock trailers didn’t have to be licensed by the state in Oregon. So what made Baxter think his would stand out if a witness described it loaded with stolen cattle?

  “Any distinguishing features?”

  “It’s got a pretty bad dent in back,” he admitted grudgingly. “Jackass in a fancy SUV rear-ended me. His truck suffered more damage than the trailer did, though, and it was his fault. I collected some insurance money, but I needed it more for something else at the time. Thought I could hammer the dent out pretty good myself, but I haven’t gotten to it.”

  A receipt to prove his ownership of the trailer? Well, he’d have to hunt for that. Was it important?

  “It would be helpful,” Jed said in cop-neutral. “Is the trailer insured?”

  “No, that’s what makes this so bad.” Baxter scowled. “It was too long for the shed, so I couldn’t lock it up, but nobody could see it from the road. So how’d they know I had it?”

  Good question, if it really had been stolen. If it hadn’t been stolen, where was it currently stored?

  “Well, let me sign this, and you keep a copy. If you have a photo of it and can get it to us, that would be helpful.” He tore off the top sheet of the pad he’d been using and handed it to Baxter, then looked toward the visible herd. “I hope you’ve got those calves branded, seeing as how you’re not here nights.”

  “How’d you know that?” Baxter snapped.

  “You told me when I talked to you about the rustling problem.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah. I guess I did.”

  “You hold a job along with your ranching?”

  “Yeah, I’m working out at the Circle S right now. This is one of my days off.”

  Interesting.

  “They got hit pretty bad by the rustlers,” Jed commented. “Seems especially ugly to steal from a widow trying to hold onto the ranch for her son.”

  “Yeah, it was hard on her. I doubt she can stick it out.”

  Was that an excuse for preying on the Circle S? Karen Steagall wouldn’t be able to hold onto it for the long haul anyway? Did the manager and hands working for her curl their lips behind her back? Maybe because she was ignorant, never having been involved in the ranching, not just because she was a woman?

  “How much acreage do you have?” Jed asked, going for conversational.

  “Twenty. Not enough to run many cattle. It would help if I had an allotment.”

  Jed raised his eyebrows. “Would you pay what the BLM asks per head for grazing rights?” The charge for use of public land was dirt cheap, in Jed’s opinion. Of course, that wasn’t the real issue; it was only a way of protesting federal ownership of so much land.

  Baxter’s jaw worked for a minute. Couldn’t be good for those molars. “If I had to,” he said finally, bitterly. “Don’t have that choice, do I?”

  Jed tucked away the notepad. “Well, it’s a shame the trailer wasn’t insured, but when we arrest those rustlers, I won’t be surprised if we don’t find it, too.”

  Stone-faced, Baxter didn’t say a word.

  Jed brushed a finger on the brim of his Stetson. “Good day.”

  He got into his pickup, did a three-point turn and drove away, seeing in his rearview mirror that Gene Baxter still hadn’t moved.

  *****

  Spotting a white pickup parked by the barn at Brian Warring’s place, Jed drove on past. If he’d wanted to do any reconnaissance here, he should have remembered this was Sunday. Same reason Gene Baxter had been available midday.

  Still worthwhile to check on Mason Thayer.

  Fifteen minutes later, he made a slow approach on a rutted dirt driveway to the run-down ranch. Jed hadn’t made it past Thayer’s concrete front doorstep the last time he was here. He’d seen enough to know Mason wasn’t putting a lot of work into the place.

  The house was a basic clapboard box that might date back to the 1930s or 40s. It had once been painted white but was in the process of peeling down to weather-grayed wood. Seeking Thayer for a quote for an article she was writing, Cassie had come out here once and gotten a look in a window in back. She said if Thayer had been there that day and actually let her in, she’d have had to go straight home and scrub herself from head to toe to decontaminate.

  Jed parked in back, went around to ring the doorbell in front, then strolled back around to rap on the kitchen door and p
eer in. He wasn’t quite as squeamish as Cassie, but he wouldn’t want to eat a meal prepared in that kitchen.

  When he saw no movement inside, he headed for the barn.

  “Mason Thayer?” he called. “You here?”

  A soft nicker answered him.

  The barn was deserted, a horse lipping at hay the only thing moving except for a swallow flitting through. Interestingly, despite the small size of his operation, he did own a stock trailer, what looked like a fourteen-footer. Shabby and dented, in keeping with its surroundings. Probably not big enough to be useful during those nighttime operations.

  The maybe/maybe-not stolen trailer Gene Baxter claimed was another story, though.

  As tempted as he was to vault the fence and see what he could find in the pasture, Jed decided to move his truck to the next property over, currently uninhabited. He was told it had been for sale for four years now, which was why the barn appeared derelict and the house not much better. It went to show what Hayden Webb might face, although his father had owned enough land to make his living as a rancher. A grazing allotment would go along with the ranch when it sold, too, which was a big plus.

  Dust rose behind his truck after he turned past the For Sale sign and followed the dirt track to the buildings. No serious potholes, he noted. Of course, who knew how long it had been since anyone had driven in here?

  After parking behind the house for cover from the road, and where the sagging barn would hide his truck from Thayer should he suddenly show up, Jed jogged toward the back of this acreage. On his agenda was checking out vacant places where stolen cattle could be concealed. Might as well start here. He didn’t expect to find any, however. Long grass wasn’t flattened from tire tracks. The second gate he came to slumped from its hinges. The absolute silence sent its own message.

  Fencing that separated this tract from publicly owned land was in bad shape. No, the rustlers wouldn’t be stashing a herd here.

  Ducking through the barbed wire fence onto Thayer’s property, Jed got snagged and ripped the shoulder of his shirt. From the sting, he could tell he’d scratched himself, too.

  Some cows that probably hadn’t come up pregnant this spring grazed without much interest in him. Jed checked brands, finding all had the same one, a play on the capital letter T. What he most wanted to get a look at were the cows and calves closer to the house. If Thayer hadn’t wanted him on his property during that earlier visit, they might be the reason.

  Jed reached the fence that bisected the property. Only as he swung himself up on the metal bar gate did he registered the sight of dust rising near the house.

  Swearing, he dropped back to the ground and sprinted for a galvanized water tank too far away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Out of breath, Jed lay sprawled behind the galvanized water tank. Thank God it was there, because there wasn’t any other cover at all out here. He drew up his knees to be sure his lower legs and booted feet wouldn’t be visible.

  Damn, he hoped Thayer didn’t get it in his head to come out here to check on the cattle in this pasture. Getting caught trespassing would be embarrassing at the least, creating trouble for Grant and the department if Thayer was enraged enough. There was a good reason Jed hadn’t gone for a warrant; he had zero justification for one.

  Rising to a crouch but staying low, he peered around the curved side of the tank. Yeah, that was Mason Thayer, all right, striding toward the barn. A minute later, he hauled a hose across the barnyard and appeared to be filling the nearer water tank. It didn’t appear that it would happen fast.

  “Shit,” Jed muttered. He was pinned down here until Mason decided to leave. Except…the guy lived here. Even if he disappeared into the barn or house, could Jed count on him staying inside? Or not looking out a window?

  His phone vibrated. He didn’t offhand recognize the number, but it was local, so he answered.

  “Alex Burke here, from the Arrowhead Creek Ranch. I’m told you’re investigating the assault on Linette Broussard?”

  “That’s right.” Hey, this was one thing he could do squatting in the pasture: take phone calls, as long as he kept his voice low.

  “I just called to check up on her. She said she’s fine.”

  “So fine, they kept her overnight for observation.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of what I thought. I offered to spend the night again to keep watch.”

  Jed tensed.

  But Alex sounded aggrieved, not pleased to be making progress with a beautiful woman. “She has a treehouse that lets you see the driveway, pastures, barn, front of the house. It’s not like I’m asking to stay inside her house.”

  “I take it she declined your offer and assured you that she really didn’t need you?”

  Pause. “Sounds like she said the same to you.”

  Jed didn’t feel inclined to admit he was in the same boat. “I intend to be out there tonight, somewhere.” And every night until he became less convinced she was a target, not just one of many ranchers who’d been hit by the rustlers.

  There were too many discrepancies. And what were the odds that one person had committed the acts of vandalism, while another, only days later, tried to steal one of her horses?

  “That’s good to hear,” Alex said. “I was thinking I might do the same thing, except when a woman says no…”

  A woman says no? Had he couched his offer in terms that implied something more than mere neighborliness? But Jed had a feeling this was exactly what it sounded like: a fellow rancher, a decent man, worrying about a vulnerable woman.

  Jed took a look around the galvanized tank to see Thayer standing in the same place, gazing off into space. Water level must have gotten really low.

  “If you don’t mind keeping your phone close,” Jed said, “I can give you a call if I get pulled away during the night. It’s been a few days since the rustlers have struck.”

  “I’ll do that,” Alex agreed. “I hope you get those sons of bitches. It’s not just the cattle we lost. I knew Gary Webb. And I sure don’t like to think about Linette alone right now.”

  “I don’t either.”

  They ended the call, although Jed had a good idea what Linette would think if she’d overheard the two men worrying about her just because she was a woman. Well, she was wrong where he was concerned. There were other women ranchers in this county, some of whom lived alone. He wouldn’t be staking out their places simply because their cattle might be stolen. Jed’s intense worry was specific to one particular woman.

  Without the distraction of the phone call, he grew increasingly antsy. He had to get out of here.

  His chance came unexpectedly. Thayer suddenly had a phone to his ear. Talking, he left the hose where it was but walked over to the barn and bent to turn off the faucet, or so it appeared.

  From there, he strode to his car, got in and slammed the door with unnecessary force, turned around and drove down the dirt track. As soon as he swung onto the two-lane country road out front, Jed ran for the fence.

  Too much in a hurry, he was careless sliding between the two strands of tightly strung barbed wire. This time, the vicious little barbs ripped across his back. Tearing himself free, he rolled to the ground on the other side of the fence.

  Knowing he was hidden in the long grass, he lay still for a few minutes, eyes closed. His heart slammed against the wall of his chest. A man with a conscience would consider this fitting punishment for breaking the law. He decided that was fair enough. There was a time he’d believed multiple tours as a sniper had killed his conscience along with what few softer emotions he had somehow held onto. Now…he thought he’d just been numb.

  If this was the process of thawing…he wasn’t enjoying it.

  His phone let him know he had a text. He read it.

  The neighbor to the north of Gary Webb’s spread had called. His teenage son might have heard something that night.

  He hoped the parents weren’t the hovering type, in case the boy’s hesitation in speaking out had to
do with the trouble he feared he’d be in.

  *****

  As the day went on, Linette debated whether she should arm herself. Midday, while eating her sandwich, she went online to find out whether she could buy a rifle or shotgun without a waiting period in Oregon.

  The answer was yes. Any background check only took a few minutes.

  As a rancher, she should probably already own a rifle. She didn’t like the idea of killing anything, but if a wolf or coyote were attacking a young foal…yeah, she’d shoot.

  For self-protection, her stepfather had championed shotguns. He’d even taken Linette out a few times to shoot his.

  “You don’t have to be a good shot with this baby,” he said. “Just let whoever is threatening you get close enough. When you pull the trigger, he’s gonna be real sorry.”

  He’d also taught her moves to protect herself from pushy guys. What a surprise when she’d needed to use them on him.

  Linette shook off dark memories.

  A shotgun would be fine if she were up in her treehouse keeping watch. Sleeping in her bedroom…what was she supposed to do? Cuddle with it in bed? Wouldn’t it be awfully clumsy – and slow – to lift into firing position? Alternatively, she could lean it up against the bed, and probably kick it over several times a night. She’d always been a restless sleeper.

  A handgun was out. Her stepfather’s revolver had been way too big for her hands. Just once, after Theo hurt her, she’d been desperate enough to stop by a gun store and range where she was allowed to try out several small pistols. After about ten minutes, she had fled to her car shaking. She’d been more scared of the explosive force in the gun she didn’t know if she could control than she was of a violent man.

  Even the shotgun – could she really pull the trigger when the moment came? Shoot and potentially kill a human being?

  Undecided, she carried her baseball bat unobtrusively as she went about her chores, preferring that Troy not notice.

  Thank goodness this had been one of his scheduled days. His mother didn’t like him missing church services, but Linette had a feeling his eagerness to work on the Sabbath was a form of rebellion, and a pretty mild one at that. After seeing her bruised, swollen face, he did the hard work with alacrity and went so far as to suggest that he put in some extra hours this week.