by T. K. Lukas
Sidney snapped another picture of the raunchy scene as she backed toward the hotel. Tension from her gritted teeth and clamped jaw shot a pulsating wave through her head. She knew the signs. It was a migraine. It would wedge just above the base of her skull. She hated those—those were the bad ones that usually lingered for days.
“Hey,” he shouted, pulling up his jeans. “I expect royalties if that photo goes viral.”
“Fucking jerks,” Sidney muttered under her breath as she pocketed the phone. Hurrying toward the Inn’s office, she let the cowboys’ crude comments hang in the air, willfully ignoring their unwelcome verbal assault.
“Welcome to the Maverick, a roadhouse for wanderers. I’m Ruth. What can I do for you?” A friendly lady sprang from behind the front desk to greet the stranger.
Her pleasant smile and cheery voice were as earnest as the west Texas wind. She was dressed in a plush jogging suit and sequined running shoes, both the same silver-gray as her lively eyes and her shellacked, bouffant hair. Ruth was a monochromatic burst of warmth and energy.
“Hi Ruth. I’m Sidney. I need a room for the night. I’m pulling a horse trailer, and I’ve got portable panels to make a small turnout pen. Is there room out back to accommodate that?”
“Oh, honey, I wish I could help you. I’m booked solid right through the holidays.” Her eyebrows drew together in genuine concern.
“The holidays? Oh, right. I almost forgot.” She hadn’t really forgotten; she just didn’t want to be reminded of or to think about what used to be her favorite time of the year.
“Thanksgiving’s six days away, hon.” Ruth pointed to the calendar on the wall, as if for proof.
“And you’re booked? Way out here in the middle of nowhere?” Sidney tried to quell her rising panic. There was no need for alarm. There might still be time to get settled someplace before dark.
“All kinds of things bring people to Alpine in the fall and winter. Game hunting’s a big draw.” Ruth poked her pencil up at the taxidermy mounts of a variety of animal bodies, heads, and antlers on display.
Sidney glanced up at a full-figure mount of a glassy-eyed mountain lion staring down on her. She shivered. “Would you happen to know of a place called Yeager Stables? It was recommended to me, but I don’t have directions or a phone number.”
She had left Fort Worth in a hurry. There’d been no time for written directions, only time for an urgent agreement of more information to follow. All she had was a name and a destination. The promise of further instructions was yet to be fulfilled. Her anxious mind raced over the many possible reasons she had not been contacted.
“Sure—I know the place. It’s a short drive north of town past the airport, like you’re going to Fort Davis. The guy runs a hunting lodge, too.”
“Great. Is it close enough that I could make it before sundown?” Her shoulders rose and fell with her sigh of relief.
“If you hurry. Here’s the number, but you might not be able to get through. Cellphone coverage is sporadic, at best. You’re welcome to call from the landline in my office.”
“I’m kind of in a hurry. I’ll call once I’m on my way. If you could just write down the address, I’m sure—”
“I’ll draw you a map.” Ruth grabbed a piece of paper, scribbling with a fast hand.
“Thanks. If you just write down the address, I’ll put it in my GPS.” Sidney didn’t want to sound unappreciative, but she wanted to be back on the road—quickly.
Ruth snorted laughter through her nose. “Hon, ain’t no GPS going to find this place. It ain’t on the map. Better I write you some directions. I’ll email Mr. Yeager for you to let him know you’re coming. We wouldn’t want to surprise him.”
“Oh. Uh—sure. Okay.” Sidney busied herself by riffling through the free literature in the rack from the Visitor’s Bureau, tapping her foot, and glancing several times at Ruth as she scratched out a map and directions. “What kind of a place is Alpine, if one were considering staying longer than just a short visit?”
“I came here in fifty-six to attend college—loved it so much I never left. It ain’t changed much, except there are more artsy-fartsy folks than we used to have. But I enjoy that. I draw and paint, some.” Ruth pointed to the expansive oil on canvas taking up most of the wall behind her.
The scene was a dramatic sunrise washing over a field of dewy bluebonnets, with a broken-down windmill covered in thorny catbrier vines. However, it was the deer standing next to the windmill that drew Sidney’s attention. Alert, ready to flee, a whitetail doe stood with muscles tensed, her tawny hide gleaming from the reflection of the sun’s rays. The doe returned the viewer’s gaze with an intense, suspicious expression that seemed real. The wary animal appeared as if she might leap off the canvas and bound away at the first hint of danger.
I know exactly how you feel.
Empathizing with the apprehensive doe, Sidney took a step closer to inspect the masterpiece. “Ruth, this is gallery worthy. I’m impressed. Signed ‘RAY.’ Is that your artist’s signature?”
“Thanks, hon. Yes. Ruth Ann Youngblood. The little ray of sunshine behind my initials was my late husband’s idea.”
“I can see it suits you,” said Sidney, tracing her finger over the signature.
“My husband was born in Alpine. He loved it here.” Ruth paused for a moment and then bent to her task. “It’s usually quiet and laid back. Most folks are the hard working, salt of the earth types. With the college, though, we get our share of rowdies. And when there’s a rodeo in town, the atmosphere can get a bit spirited.”
“I’m guessing there’s a rodeo tonight. I think I met some of the contestants when I drove up.” Sidney craned her head to peek out the window, relieved that her rowdy welcoming party had chosen to carouse elsewhere.
“Rodeo’s tomorrow night,” said Ruth, putting the finishing touches on her map. “And I’m familiar with the truck that pulled up. Everyone in town knows that truck.”
Sidney took the paper Ruth held out, impressed with the detail. “The occupants were, as you put it, a bit spirited,” she said, arching her eyebrows.
“Most of them are on the rodeo team and are good boys, but the group has a few mischief makers. My grandson, Victor, is on the team,” said Ruth, walking Sidney to the door.
“Your grandson. Ah, I see. In what event does Victor compete?” She stood with her hand gripping the doorknob, her eyes scanning the road.
“My grandbaby’s the best bull riding champion Sul Ross has had in decades. On a full rodeo scholarship, too. He was blessed with natural ability. You ought to see him ride, sometime, if you decide to stick around Alpine.”
“Thank you, Ruth, maybe I will. And thanks for all your help.” Sidney bit her tongue, keeping her thoughts in check. She’d already seen far more of Ruth’s grandson than she cared to.
Before driving away from the Maverick Inn, Sidney secured Mocha’s window, all the while reassuring the mare that it wouldn’t be much longer before they were settled. In the cab of her truck, doors locked, she took a quick glance at the last photograph she’d taken. She shook her head, thinking that bull riding wasn’t the only thing Ruth’s grandson was naturally blessed with. Her thumb hovered over the “delete photo” option a moment. She hesitated. Would she need this for evidence? Evidence of what? She wasn’t sure. She kept the photo.
CHAPTER 2
Alpine
Passing Sul Ross University, Sidney turned north onto Highway 118. As she drove by the small municipal airport, she made a mental note to check the runway configuration, wondering if his Citation X might have room to land. His Falcon Fifty would be doubtful. Her stomach pitched and rolled at the thought of seeing that custom jet on the runway.
Chasing twilight, Sidney watched the sun sinking nearer to the horizon. She glanced at Ruth’s hand drawn map and eyed the odometer. Road signs that matched the drawing were easy to spot, thanks to Ruth’s artful hand. Past the Roadrunner Ranch on the left, then beyond a mile marker sign fo
r Fort Davis, Sidney approached the most obvious landmark. The drawing indicated to turn right at the red, white, and blue Texas flag mailbox just past the Meriwether Ranch Road cutoff. She braked slowly, turning onto what seemed more like a cattle trail than a road.
The truck and horse trailer took up most of the winding caliche lane that twisted into dangerous, blind curves. Sidney took her foot off the accelerator, hoping no one tried to pass on this narrow and rutted track.
“Jeez, this is a butt-puckering drive,” she said, carefully negotiating the hairpin curves. Despite the road’s narrowness and the difficulty of keeping the truck and trailer in a safe position, at least no one could sneak up on her in a hurry. That thought brought some comfort.
Three more miles of dusty gravel brought Sidney to her destination. On the right side of the road sat a wide entryway marked with two massive granite boulders. Parallel lines of twelve-feet-tall timber posts, each sharpened to a point, flanked the driveway. It looked more like a stockade than the entrance to a ranch. Overhead, a horizontal beam connected the heavy timber posts. From the beam, a carved wooden sign dangled high above the closed, locked gate. The sign matched Ruth’s drawing. Both depicted a winged red dragon, talon claws ready for action, a forked tongue snaking from its wide jaws, and an arrow tipped tail curving around powerful haunches.
Sidney slowed, braking to a halt. “Well this looks uninviting. A dragon? Really? How about a sign with a horse, or a Texas star?”
She dialed the cellphone number Ruth had written for her. It went straight to voice mail. She dialed again. Same. After getting out of her truck, she walked up the drive to the locked gate, looking for a security box with an intercom or a press-to-talk button. She pressed, talked, got no response. Looking up, she waved at the security camera hovering over the double padlocked, heavy wrought iron gate.
“Hello? Anyone there?” She pressed the button again for good measure, waiting for a response, then several times more in rapid succession.
Walking back to the horse trailer, she sat on the wheel well and sipped from a bottle of water while contemplating a plan. Mocha poked her head out of the lowered window, dropping hay from her mouth onto Sidney’s head.
“Thanks, girl. This hair looks bad enough without your help.” She stood and dusted the straws of hay from her head and shoulders.
Mocha stomped in the trailer and whinnied in the way horses do when nervous. Shrill. High-pitched. The trailer rocked back and forth as the agitated mare continued to stomp in the confined space of the interior stall.
“What is it, girl? What’s wrong?” From her peripheral vision, she caught a slight movement—dark and silent—creeping through the thick brush. As it drew nearer, she heard twigs snapping and leaves rustling. Closer and closer it came, its low growl vibrating deep within the tangled thicket.
Sidney held her breath. She inched her way toward the cab of her truck where her mace-spray keychain dangled from the ignition switch. The glove compartment held her Taser stun gun. She had not practiced the act of carrying the weapon concealed inside her boot or under her shirt sufficiently enough to feel natural. She swore under her breath, promising herself the next time she felt threatened, her Taser would be within inches of her grasp.
In a rush, a mammoth black creature sprang from the woods. It landed in front of Sidney, blocking her path. Prepared to leap, the animal leaned forward in an attack stance, the hair along its spine bristling on end. Its lips, drawn into a menacing snarl, revealed lethal fangs. Unblinking yellow-gold eyes held her in surveillance.
With slow, deliberate movements, Sidney backed toward the horse trailer to close Mocha’s window. With each step she took backward, the creature inched a step closer. Once up against the trailer, Sidney realized she had nowhere to go. She considered making a run for the back of the truck and leaping inside, but the animal was big enough to leap in, too. Thinking quickly, remembering what she’d read about soothing savage beasts, she began humming a lullaby.
After several long moments, well into the second verse, she noticed the animal’s posture soften; its tail, once rigid, began a slow, side-to-side wave. Its ears, no longer flattened against its skull, were now pricked in curious attention. Fangs disappeared behind lowered lips. Eyes, though less menacing, were still watchful.
Taking a chance, she held out her hand and crooned in a hushed, soothing voice. “There, now. You’re a good dog. Please, be a good dog.”
The animal eased closer. Leaning forward on its massive front paws, claws digging into the dirt, it sniffed.
“Holy shit,” said Sidney, taking a deep, shaky breath. “If the devil had a dog, you’d be it. But I know the devil. He hates dogs.”
The imposing canine wagged its tail as it stepped closer, sniffing Sidney’s jeans and boots. It circled around and sniffed her hand again, allowing her to scratch its head and ear. Then the huge dog sat close, leaning its weight into her, heaving a contented sigh.
“So, you know the devil personally, do you,” said a voice from behind.
Sidney jumped and spun around, letting fly a string of curse words. The dog jumped too at the sound of its owner’s voice. The animal bound around in circles, then dropped its frontend low to the ground, its backend high in the air in the ‘let’s play’ invitation.
“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to frighten you. That’s Rex’s job, frightening people. Usually, he eats little girls like you.”
Sidney’s eyes grew wide. She took a step back.
“I’m kidding. Unless you’re really Little Red Riding Hood, then all bets are off.” The man grinned, seeming to enjoy the situation. “Seriously, it appears he’s taken to you. I’ve never seen him behave this way before.”
“He’s intimidating.” Sidney looked back and forth between the dog and the man; her comment easily applied to either one. “He must weigh a hundred fifty pounds. What is he? Wolf?”
“A hybrid. And good guess. One twenty-five, give or take, depending on how many Red Riding Hoods he’s eaten.”
“Very funny.” She stroked the dog’s muzzle, allowing him to lick her hand.
Sidney wondered why she didn’t have red lights and warning bells going off about this man. In the back of her mind, she knew she must keep her guard up, despite the fact that this wild creature seemed to adore and respect its owner. Gathering her wits, she assessed the situation, as well as the man standing in front of her. She was quick and thorough, just as she’d practiced in her career. As a psychologist and a jury consultant, it was her job to determine a potential juror’s influence on a case, and if that juror might be hiding his true beliefs. Identifying the liars was a valuable skill, both on and off the job.
Despite the cool, late afternoon temperature, the man standing in front of her wore only running shorts and a tight USMC T-shirt. He was muscular and well built, though not the bulky, weightlifter type. He moved with a grace more like that of a dancer, but the dancers she’d known didn’t have ghastly scars on their legs from what appeared to be bullet wounds.
Good looking—sexy, really—but not the typical movie star handsome type. Pushing six feet with dark brown hair cut military short, and he projected confidence. She guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties. His manner was direct, yet not threatening, and she noted his use of humor to diffuse this tense situation. Easy smile, charming dimples. Intense, smoky gray eyes—but sad eyes. And, his dog-creature worshiped him.
“I rescued Rex, plus a dozen more, from a puppy mill that breeds these German Shepard-wolf hybrid trophy dogs. Owners who wouldn’t take the time to learn how to handle these animals would send them back. The puppy mill would then resell them, and so on.” Markus gave a hand signal and the dog dropped to the ground on his belly and froze, awaiting the next command.
“Oh, poor Rex,” she said, the thought of puppy mills making her cringe.
“I found good homes for the others. Rex needed some serious rehab, so I ended up keeping him. He was too unpredictable to rehome.”
>
“He’s magnificent. I’m Sidney McQueen, by the way. I’m looking for a Mr. Yeager. Yeager’s Stables? Ruth at the Maverick Inn pointed me in this direction. I tried calling—”
“Yeah. Cellphone coverage sucks out here. I’m Markus Yeager. You’ve found the right place. What can I do for you?” He held out his hand.
“I was expecting someone older.” She shook his hand, returning the firm grip, noticing the rock-hard callouses on his fingers and along the outer edges of his palms.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone at all.” His serious expression was transformed when he smiled, his dimples giving him a youthful appearance. However, the expression dissolved quickly, reverting to its somber state. “So, I guess we’re even.”
“You weren’t expecting me? I met a friend of yours in Fort Worth. Trevor Nolan? He told me about you and suggested I come to Alpine. He was supposed to email or call you.” Sidney hadn’t heard from Trevor either, which made her sick with worry. She chose to keep that information to herself, at least until she figured out whether or not she could trust this Markus character. Her gut said “yes,” but trusting her gut this past year had almost proved deadly.
“Trevor Nolan?” Markus shook his head, his expression curious, yet puzzled. “Hell, I haven’t heard from Trevor in months.”
“Yes, and Ruth at the Maverick Inn also said she’d send an email to let you know to expect me. I’m gathering that you’ve not been in front of a computer in a while. I’m pretty intuitive.”
“Intuition’s a nice asset, if one is perceptive enough not to disregard it.” Markus ran his fingers through his sweaty hair as he steadied his eyes on hers. “Repairing fences and checking feeders left no time for sitting at a computer today.”
“Any excuse will do for staying outside on a day like today?” asked Sidney, understanding the feeling full well.
Looking down at his running shorts, he caught her meaning. “Rex and I love being in the woods. If I don’t take him for his daily run, he goes a bit stir crazy.”
