Wild Cowboy Country

by Erin Marsh

  Despite the situation, Zach smirked. “And here I thought we were watching our vocabulary.”

  “I should’ve taken a better look at the photos.” Clay ignored Zach’s comment. “It was definitely my land, but maybe the pictures were photoshopped.”

  “Your tech-hating foreman doctored photos?” Zach asked. “Did he even own a computer?”

  Clay sighed. Zach had a point. Pete detested anything digital. He was constantly riding Clay for how much time he spent in the office. The man probably wouldn’t know the first thing about manipulating an image.

  “Could Pete have shot the wolf himself?” Zach asked.

  “Ah hell,” Clay said as things started to click in his head. “Speckles.”

  “If that’s a replacement cuss word, it sucks.”

  Clay shook his head as he started to see a pattern. “Speckles is the cow that was recently injured.”

  “The one that you thought was hurt by wolves?”

  “Yeah, but Lacey found a human footprint at the scene. She and I considered whether Pete might’ve done it, but I didn’t think he’d risk a cow’s safety for a cheap trick. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “Purposely chasing a cow into a steep ravine is kind of demented,” Zach said, his eyes wide.

  “Yeah,” Clay said. “It is. Pete’s hatred of me must run even deeper than I thought.”

  “Are you going to tell the police?” Zach asked.

  Clay shook his head. “They’d dismiss it as a crazy conspiracy, especially coming from me. I need proof.”

  “How are you going to get that?” Zach asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Clay said. “The first thing I need to do is to check the wolf’s body.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Clay glanced at his nephew. “Pete might be a little unhinged, Zach. Accompanying me might not be a wise idea.”

  “He’s back at the wedding reception,” his nephew pointed out, “and he was drunk. There were lots of cops at the wedding. I don’t think they’d let him climb into a vehicle.”

  “I still don’t know, Zach.”

  “I might see something you don’t.”

  All the sullenness had vanished from the teenager’s face. He looked eager. It wasn’t just the mystery either. The kid obviously wanted to help, and Clay needed it. After all, no one else would believe him. And in this shitstorm, it was good to have someone beside him who did.

  Zach was right. It was extremely unlikely Pete Thompson would be up to hiking. Drunk as he was, he’d likely trip and get stuck in a dried-up arroyo. He’d been pretty unsteady on his feet, and Clay didn’t think he could stay on a horse’s back either, even with all the time the man had spent in the saddle. In fact, Clay was beginning to wonder how the man had managed to take down a wolf in his condition. Maybe he’d felt so guilty, he’d started drinking afterward, or he’d knocked back a few to screw up the courage to crash a wedding.

  Either way, Pete wasn’t going to make it to the back pasture now, especially not before Clay and Zach did. And Clay found he didn’t want to be alone. If he rode out solo, he’d start thinking about Lacey. And then he’d have to deal with the pain of, once again, not being enough.

  Chapter 11

  Lacey woke up when the bell on the front door of the Prairie Dog Café jangled. She raised her head from the scarred wooden surface of the table to find her mother standing beside her with a worried look. Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Lacey expected to see an “I told you so” expression on her mother’s face, but she didn’t. Peggy Montgomery only said, “I’ll go make us something to drink. Do you want tea or coffee?”

  “The second,” Lacey said. She needed the extra caffeine. Her mother nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. Lacey sighed heavily and leaned her head on the upholstered bench.

  She remembered the day she’d met the deceased female lobo. Lacey had been visiting the local wolf rescue center and looking for candidates to release in Rocky Ridge National Park. Her supervisor had been with her, but she’d let Lacey take the lead on selection. Lacey had liked the female immediately. Even as a pup, she’d had spunk as she’d tussled with her brothers and sisters. Lacey distinctly remembered the wolf barreling into two of the boys and simultaneously wiping them out before she pounced on them, her tiny tail wagging enthusiastically. She’d become a matriarch in the pack and an excellent hunter.

  But had Clay hurt her?

  Away from the heat, the gyrating dancers, and the constant noise, Lacey’s brain could focus, and the image of Clay taking the lobo’s life didn’t fit. But was it because she didn’t want it to…or because it really did not?

  I didn’t harm any of the lobos, Lace.

  Clay’s voice flashed through her mind. Deep. Earnest. Unwavering. He’d spoken with a quiet conviction. He’d stared at her, his eyes solemn and urgent. He’d wanted her to believe him, to trust him. But in that chaotic moment, she hadn’t.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” her mother asked as she sidled into the booth across from Lacey. She pushed a white mug in Lacey’s direction before lifting the other one to her own lips. Both were emblazoned with the Prairie Dog Café logo that Katie Wilson had designed. Lacey just wrapped her fingers around the hot ceramic and stared into the dark liquid.

  “You sure you want to hear about Clay?” she asked.

  “I’m your mother, Lacey, and you’re hurting.”

  Lacey sighed and finally took a sip. The bitter liquid slid down her throat. Her mother had always made her coffee strong. Folks in Sagebrush Flats liked it that way, and as Peggy said, if they wanted the fancier stuff, they could head over to June’s tea shop.

  “I’m confused, Mom, and my brain just won’t let me think.”

  “So you need a sounding board. I make a good one.”

  Lacey stared across the table at her mother. Some people said they looked like twins. They both had the same chestnut-brown hair, although their eye color was different. They even possessed the same endless energy and drive. Although Lacey’s dad had understood her the best, that didn’t mean she and her mom weren’t close.

  “Mom, I already know what you’re going to say.”

  A ghost of a smile touched her mother’s lips. “Don’t trust a Stevens.”

  Lacey knew her answering grin was even weaker. “Something like that.”

  “And you don’t need a knee-jerk reaction right now?” Her mother took another sip of her drink.

  Lacey nodded glumly.

  Her mother was silent for a beat, and then she placed her cup deliberately down. “You’re so much like me in every way, Lacey, but you have your daddy’s heart. He could open it up to anybody and anything.”

  “That’s what led to his death.”

  “The whole town was taken in by Clay’s father. Cynical old cowboys and penny-pinching business owners fell for his scheme. He knew how to make a sales pitch that preyed on people’s dreams, and your father had a lot of them, sweetheart. But in that respect, you’re more like me. Practical. Steady. Clear-headed. You can smell bullshit from a mile away, and you didn’t smell it on Clay.”

  Lacey stared hard at her mother. It almost sounded like she was defending him. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think you would be with a man who you thought was capable of hunting a wolf like that.”

  “He’s capable of shooting a lobo to protect his herd,” Lacey said slowly, “but you’re right. He wouldn’t just leave the body. Even if he didn’t inform the authorities, he’d bury the animal respectfully.”

  “I agree that it doesn’t make sense for him to leave the wolf out in the open. His land is remote, especially the part with the narrow canyons like the one in the photo, but it’s also the closest to the park. A hiker could have easily stumbled upon it. Tourist season is picking up, especially with the college crowd.”
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  Lacey pressed her fingers against her temple. “I just wish it wasn’t so difficult to think. It’s hard right now to trust my own conclusions.”

  “What do you feel, Lacey? That’s what your dad would ask.”

  Lacey screwed up her face and told the truth. “I don’t believe Clay did this, but I’m not sure if it’s because I logically think he didn’t or because I don’t want it to be true. I also feel frustrated, like I’m missing something.”

  Her mother nodded slowly and drank more coffee before holding the cup in her hands. “Let’s walk through this together.”

  “Really?” Lacey asked.

  “Yup,” her mom said. “In fact, I suggest we call your grandfather. He knows the land out there, and he’s a rancher. He might understand how Clay would think.”

  A humorless laugh escaped Lacey. “Don’t let him hear you make that comparison. He won’t be happy about helping us.”

  “He’ll behave, and he’s addicted to detective shows. Stanley and he binge-watch them all the time.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten him that video-streaming subscription for Christmas.”

  “Are you kidding? He loved it once you got it set up. Let me give him a call. We’ll help you work this out.”

  Lacey nodded, because she had to talk to someone. All she wanted was to go to Clay and lie with him in the dark. He’d hold her tightly as she spoke in the blackness and unraveled her messy jumble of thoughts. But that wasn’t an option, no matter how much she wanted it to be.

  Luckily, it didn’t take long for her grandfather to arrive. He sat down next to her mother. “So you don’t think Stevens killed that lobo?”

  “If we’re going to do this, can we please call him by his first name?” Lacey asked. “I want to work this out, not get more confused by bringing our family histories into the mix.”

  Her grandfather sighed heavily, but he didn’t protest as he started again. “So you think Clay is innocent?”

  “I feel he is,” Lacey corrected, “but I’m not sure what to think. It’s like I have all the puzzle pieces, but I can’t get them to fit.”

  “Well,” her grandfather said as he leaned back as far as the booth would allow, “why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  “There’s been an increase of wolf sightings on his land,” Lacey said. “We’ve never spotted one, but his neighbor Tim Forrester has.”

  “I didn’t realized Tim rode his land that much,” her grandfather said. “He owns a few head of cattle, but not enough for a viable operation.”

  “He’s more of a hobby rancher,” her mother pointed out. “He made his money on Wall Street, and this is his retirement. He did say he liked to ride.”

  “I never thought of that,” Lacey said slowly. “Some of his calls were in the middle of the night. It seems like an odd time for a retired investment banker to be out.”

  Neither her mother nor her grandfather seemed particularly comfortable with Lacey’s knowledge of nocturnal activities on Clay’s ranch, but they didn’t comment. Instead, they stayed quiet as Lacey mulled over the information. A thought skittered around the edges of her mind, but she couldn’t quite bring it into focus.

  “When was the first incident?” Her grandfather finally broke the silence.

  “That was during the day,” Lacey said. “Clay was showing me his plans for restoring the ciénegas on his land—”

  Her grandfather straightened. “Stevens is thinking about turning his property into wetlands? Clay Stevens?”

  “Yes,” Lacey said. “Why?”

  “Seems like an awful lot of work for a city boy who just wants to live off his grandfather’s legacy.”

  Lacey scowled irritably. “That’s Pete Thompson talking. Sure, Clay wants to make a profit, but he cares about both the land and his cattle. He has good ideas for running the place.”

  “Pete sure as hell doesn’t like that boy,” his grandfather said. “I was surprised he didn’t up and leave the ranch long before Clay fired him.”

  “Do you think Pete could’ve done this?” her mother asked, her voice excited.

  “I don’t know.” Her grandfather placed his arm on top of the booth as he considered. “He has a temper, but I can’t see him hurting an animal just to frame Clay—even if he was as drunk as a skunk. I wonder how he even got out to that part of Clay’s ranch. He could barely walk straight.”

  “Shhh.” Lacey sliced through the air with her hand to signal them into silence. “I’m just on the edge of a theory. I need to think, and you two are distracting me.”

  “Was it about Pete?” her mother asked. “If Clay didn’t do it, my money is on him. He’s grown into a very bitter man.”

  “No,” Lacey said. “It’s got everything to do with the first time Tim Forrester alerted Clay to the presence of wolves on his ranch. I remember thinking something was off at the time, but I had trouble focusing because of my head injury.”

  Lacey closed her eyes and imagined that day. Suddenly, a blazing moment of clarity burned through her mental fog, and she saw what she was looking for. All the other tidbits of information finally fell together in a clear narrative. Opening her eyes, she focused on her grandfather. “I think we need to make a visit to Pete Thompson.”

  * * *

  Once at the ranch, Clay quickly grabbed his camera while his nephew saddled the horses. Riding hard across the land, he, Zach, and Ace reached the narrow canyon as the sun was beginning to set. Light still illuminated the land, but it had the golden glow of late day. The red hills provided a vibrant contrast to the pale sky as they rode into the area. The creek moved lazily along, the waning rays glinting off the surface. The whole landscape looked like the end scene of a Western where the good guy had defeated the bad guy and peace had been restored. Normally, Clay would take time to appreciate the sight. He’d stop his horse and just let himself steep in the beauty. Moments like this typically gave him a sense of pride and belonging.

  But today, the serenity only mocked him. It wasn’t just a cruel foil to the storm of pain and frustration raging inside him…it was a reminder that even if he felt a connection to Sagebrush Flats, its residents would never accept him. His roots on his mother’s side of the family didn’t count…only the poison on his father’s.

  “I don’t see anything.” Zach looked through the pair of binoculars they’d brought.

  “Really?” Clay said. They’d stopped the horses on a promontory overlooking the narrow slit of land below. This section of his ranch and Tim Forrester’s had a mazelike patchwork of small canyons carved by the river. The cliffs in this particular canyon were distinctive, and Clay had no doubt the wolf’s body had been located here.

  “I’m not spotting the lobo,” Zach said as he handed the binoculars over to Clay. He scanned the area by the old cottonwoods where the animal had lain in the photograph. He observed nothing but grass, weeds, and a couple of ravens.

  “That’s odd,” Clay said as he nudged his horse forward. Ace barked excitedly as if sensing his humans’ confusion. Together, the three of them headed down the switchback trail with the dog in the lead. When they reached the gnarled old trees, Clay and Zach stopped as they surveyed the landscape. Ace began yapping, his tail moving furiously as he sniffed the ground. He moved in a zigzag pattern, fluctuating between prolonged snuffles, happy snorts, and enthusiastic woofs. Finally, he stopped in one spot. He pawed at the dirt, his nose practically buried in the soil.

  “I guess we should look there,” Clay said. They both dismounted. After tying the horses to the tree, they crouched low. The grass was compressed, and Clay noticed a strand or two of fur.

  “Well, the wolf was here,” Clay said.

  “Do you think Mr. Thompson would’ve moved the animal?” Zach asked.

  “It doesn’t make much sense,” Clay said. “He would’ve wanted to leave the lobo as evidence.�
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  “Who would’ve done it?”

  Clay shrugged in confusion. “I don’t know. Even if Lacey called her supervisor, I don’t think either a ranger or the game commission would’ve removed it already. It would’ve been hard for anyone to beat us here.”

  “Maybe the wolf isn’t dead?”

  Before Clay could consider Zach’s theory, he heard the rev of engines in the distance. His nephew also jerked his head in the direction of the sound. Clay walked forward, scanning the ridges with his binoculars. In the distance, he spotted a group of four-wheelers on Forrester’s land. They appeared headed straight for the national park. Rocky Ridge specifically prohibited vehicles like those in the backcountry. With the arid climate and slow vegetation growth, the ATVs could do a lot of damage to the delicate ecosystem.

  “Looks like your friend Linus is planning on joy-riding on federal land,” Clay said.

  His nephew scowled as he took the binoculars again and lifted them to his eyes. “Linus and I stopped being friends…” Zach stopped suddenly as he shot Clay a look.

  “When he ditched you and let you take the fall for the wolf den cave-in?” Clay finished.

  “You knew?”

  Clay shrugged. “I had a good idea.”

  Zach scuffed the ground with his foot. “You never liked him.”

  Clay wisely didn’t speak. No one appreciated a “told you so.”

  Zach lifted his eyes again. “I think you were right.”

  “He reminded me of a rattler,” Clay said.

  Zach gave a half smile. “You sound like you’re from Sagebrush.”

  “I am from Sagebrush, whether folks around here want to admit it or not, and now so are you.”

  Zach grinned. “Abby just said something similar.”

  “She’s a smart girl.”

  Zach nodded, but the smile on his face faded. “The photo Mr. Thompson showed made me start thinking back to that day. I…I think Linus knew the wolf pups were in that den. The others didn’t. But there was something about the look on his face when he started the cave-in. Something mean. I’m starting to wonder if Linus killed the wolf in Mr. Thompson’s picture—or at least shot the lobo.”