by B. J Daniels
His smile never reached his eyes. “Jinx, I have a feeling this isn’t a social call. Why don’t you just spit it out?”
“I’ve been doing some thinking.”
He chuckled and leaned against the breakfast bar. “You sure that’s a good idea, High Jinks?”
“High Jinks?”
“That’s what my old man used to call you. Somewhere along the way it got shortened to Jinx.”
She hadn’t known where she’d gotten the nickname, just that everyone had called her Jinx as far back as she could remember. But, she reminded herself, Rafe had known where she’d gotten the name.
“What’s on your mind?” Lyndel asked impatiently.
She studied him, remembering the mean, selfish boy he’d been and how he used to rub it in her face that she was just the ranch manager’s kid while his daddy owned the ranch. He used to brag that someday it would be his and he could kick her and her daddy off it if he wanted to.
Well, now it was his and he was selling the ranch that had meant so much to his father—and to her own.
“I know how angry you were when you found out the ranch came with strings,” she said.
“Is there a point to this?” Lyndel asked, putting down his coffee cup. He hadn’t offered her a cup, but then that was no surprise.
“I met a friend of yours recently,” she said. “Rafe Tillman.”
He frowned and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Think harder. He knows you. That is, he knew you. He’s dead.”
Lyndel lifted a brow. “If I’d known him, maybe that would mean something to me. But—”
“That’s funny, since he knew about my nickname.”
“Maybe he knew my father.” His voice had taken on an irritated clipped tone.
She slipped out of her jean jacket and casually hung it over the back of one of the breakfast bar’s chairs. “He had something interesting to say before he died.”
She had Lyndel’s attention now. “You were with him?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention? I hooked up with the rustlers.”
“Why would you do—” The rest of his words seemed to catch in his throat. So he hadn’t known that Rafe had let her join the gang. That shouldn’t have surprised her. Rafe wasn’t completely stupid. Lyndel wouldn’t want him adding another rustler without his permission—let alone a woman. Any fool would know how much trouble that could cause among the gang of men.
But if Lyndel hadn’t known, then that meant none of the other rustlers had told him. Because they hadn’t known who was behind the rustling ring.
“They killed my father,” she reminded him.
“So why would you have anything to do with them?”
“To get to the ringleader. I knew eventually Rafe would tell me who was behind it.”
Lyndel had gone stone still.
“You killed my father.”
“What are you talking about?” He picked up his coffee cup again and took a sip, avoiding her gaze. “Too bad this Rafe character is dead, because without him to verify your story...”
She shook her head. “I was so upset about what happened I wasn’t thinking straight at first, but as someone pointed out to me, everything about the rustling on the Double TT didn’t fit the rustlers’ normal pattern.”
“You’re talking foolishness. If you had a shred of proof you wouldn’t be standing here, you’d be talking to the sheriff.” He was back to his usual cocky self as he came around the end of the breakfast bar. “Now, get the hell out of my house.”
“Why? Why did you have to kill him?”
He shook his head. “If you don’t leave right now—”
“What are you going to do? Call the sheriff? Maybe you should. Maybe he would like to look at the ranch books. My father must have realized that you were up to something. Is that why you had to get rid of him?”
Lyndel smiled again, the old meanness coming back into his eyes as he advanced on her. “If the sheriff was to take a look at the ranch books he would find that your father had been stealing from the ranch for years.”
“That’s a bald-faced lie!”
He laughed. “Hard to prove otherwise, now, isn’t it?”
“That’s why you had him killed. He knew what you’d been doing. I remember him saying that your father wasn’t fool enough to leave you the ranch without some kind of protection against you either running it into the ground or selling your legacy. The only way you could have the ranch to do as you pleased was to kill my father.”
Lyndel swore under his breath. “If you want to blame someone, blame my old man. He gave me no choice.”
“You would have gotten the ranch free and clear once you were forty.”
“Forty?” He snorted. “It was my legacy, not your father’s. I had every right to do whatever I wanted with this place. I was sick to death of hearing how I couldn’t spend my own money. I should have killed him the moment I inherited the place, then I wouldn’t have had to listen to his lectures.”
Jinx let out a gasp. She’d known, and yet hearing Lyndel say it was like a stab through the heart.
“And you should have left things alone,” he snapped.
As he took another step toward her, she pulled the gun.
He froze. His gaze went from the gun to her face. His smile returned. “You can’t pull the trigger.”
She ran her finger lightly over the trigger. “Try me.”
He’d killed her father in cold blood and for what? Money, power, freedom from anyone telling him what to do? She had told herself that when she found the man behind the rustling ring, she would kill him. One shot through the heart—just like her father’s death had felt to her.
But she could still hear the boom of the gunshot that had killed Rafe. She could still remember the feel of his warm blood on her hands and the way he had looked at her before he died.
She swung the gun to the right and touched off a shot. A large pottery vase exploded, sending shards spraying across the living room as the sound of the shot echoed through the house. She quickly swung the gun back to point at Lyndel’s heart.
“Are you crazy?” he demanded. “I should have told them to wait to kill your father when you were home visiting him so you would be gone, too. My mistake.”
Her finger skimmed over the trigger of the gun. Just a little pressure and—
Strong arms looped around her. The gun was wrenched painfully from her hand. She struggled, but it was useless in this bear of a man’s arms.
“What kept you, Slim?” Lyndel demanded. “I buzzed the barn ten minutes ago.”
Chapter 12
Dawson drove south down into the Missouri Breaks, across the dark green river, headed for Wyoming. The drive was long, especially with him worrying about Jinx the whole time. He’d tried calling the Double TT but the line had been disconnected and Lyndel Thompson had an unlisted number.
Why would the ranch line be disconnected? He tried not to panic, but in his gut he knew something was terribly wrong.
He’d had a lot of time to think about what had happened up in the mountains, a lot of time to think about Jinx.
Brittany Bo Clarke. He smiled, thinking how the tomboy he’d bet she’d been would have wanted to be rid of a name like that. No frilly dresses and pretty pink bows, not for that little girl.
He recalled that she’d told him her mother had died when she was young and the aunt who had helped raise her had instilled the need for Jinx to be her own woman. The lessons she’d learned on the ranch with her father and her aunt had certainly done that.
Ahead he could see the outline of a huge house on the horizon. He slowed. There was a new Cadillac parked out front and an older model pickup. Both had Wyoming plates.
He wondered if the pickup belonged to Jinx. He hadn’t asked her how she’d gotten to Montana
and he wondered now how she’d made it back to Wyoming unless she’d had a vehicle.
As he parked and climbed out of the ranch truck he’d gotten Marshall to bring him at the hospital, he knew it wasn’t like Jinx to leave her horse back in Montana. Whatever had sent her hightailing it down here must have been damned important. No way had she run to avoid the law. No, she had something else on her mind and he knew what it was.
The door was gigantic. He rang the bell and waited, feeling his anxiety growing with each passing moment. The ranch was for sale, so why had the main phone line been disconnected? Or was that the reason? Maybe it had already sold.
Dawson thought about Jinx’s father. He’d been ranch manager. Had he known that Lyndel was selling the ranch? Or did Lyndel make that decision after his ranch manager was killed by the rustlers?
A large burly man opened the door. From the looks of him, he was one of the hired hands. Or Lyndel’s muscle.
“I’m looking for Jinx.”
“You have the wrong house,” the man said in a gravelly voice. He started to close the door.
Dawson stuck his boot in it. “Then I’d like to see Lyndel Thompson.”
The ranch hand scowled, a warning look in his gaze. Muscle, Dawson thought, but he was ready to go through this man if that was what it was going to take—even injured.
“Mr. Thompson isn’t—”
“I know he’s home, unless that’s your Caddy out front, which I’m betting not,” Dawson interrupted. “Tell him Dawson Chisholm is here to see him and I’m not leaving until I do.”
The ranch hand started to make a threatening move when Lyndel Thompson stepped into view and said, “That’s all right, Slim, I’ll take care of this.”
Dawson had met Hank Thompson on several occasions over the years when he’d attended cattleman meetings for the regional northwest. Lyndel was tall like his father, but that was about the only trait he seemed to have gotten from him. There was a softness to the younger Thompson, a weakness about the mouth and chin and definitely a lack of kindness in the eyes.
While Hank Thompson had been a working rancher, his son was a drugstore cowboy who Dawson would bet had never had manure on his boots. He was decked out in a fancy Western shirt, expensive jeans and boots and a brand-new Stetson as if he’d just come into some money.
“Mr. Chisholm,” Lyndel said, sounding amused to find him standing at his door. Dawson was a little surprised that Lyndel knew who he was and it made him all the more convinced that Jinx was here and Lyndel had been expecting him. “What brings you all the way down from Montana? I heard there was trouble at your ranch. Seems you were in the middle of it,” Lyndel said, motioning to the bandage on Dawson’s forehead.
“I want to see Jinx.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think she’s here?” Slim was standing just a few feet away, his big arms crossed over his expansive chest, waiting as if expecting trouble.
Dawson thought about the Chisholm ranch. His father, while wealthy by most people’s standards, had never had the need for a bodyguard. Why did Lyndel?
“I know Jinx came to see you,” Dawson said as he pushed past the man into the opulent living room.
“Do you want me to throw him out?” Slim asked, hustling after him.
The main house at the Chisholm ranch was elegant but nothing like this. Lyndel had gone all out. Dawson said as much.
“Thank you,” Lyndel said, not realizing it hadn’t necessarily been a compliment. He motioned to Slim to back off. Slim pulled up his jeans and puffed out his chest to look as menacing as possible but stayed where he was. Until that moment, Dawson hadn’t noticed the pistol the man had strapped to his leg.
“Don’t you mean Brittany Bo Clarke?” Lyndel smiled. “I’m sorry, you just missed her.”
Dawson returned his smile. “Mind telling me what she wanted with you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. It’s personal. You may not be aware of this, but Brittany Bo and I go way back from the time we were kids here on the ranch.”
“Then you probably know how she got the nickname.”
Lyndel chuckled. “My father gave it to her. It was actually High Jinks because of all the trouble she got into around the ranch. She really was quite the rascal, that girl.” He smiled as if remembering her fondly.
“You also must know then how badly she wants the person behind the rustling ring who is responsible for her father’s death.”
“Yes, a horrible accident,” Lyndel said.
“She seems to think it wasn’t an accident. That someone wanted him dead and gave the rustlers the order to kill him.”
Lyndel shook his head. “That sounds like our Jinx. She was always imaginative. Why would anyone want to kill my ranch manager?”
“I was hoping you might have some idea,” Dawson said as he took a look around the living room. It opened into the kitchen. “I’m sure that’s why Jinx came to see you.” A wide, long hallway apparently led to the bedrooms, since the house was all on one sprawling level.
“She came to see me partly because of the good news, if you must know,” Lyndel said. “The local sheriff called me earlier to tell me that the leader of the rustling ring was found dead up in Montana on your ranch. He was found shot to death after a botched attempt to rustle your cattle. I doubt I’m telling you anything you don’t already know. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch his name.”
Had Jinx told him about riding with the rustlers and running into one of the Chisholms up in the high country? Or did Lyndel have other sources?
“You’re mistaken. Rafe Tillman wasn’t the leader. He had nothing to gain by killing Jinx’s father,” Dawson said as he stepped toward Lyndel. Slim moved in their direction, but Lyndel waved him off.
“Too bad we can’t ask Rafe, isn’t it?” Lyndel said as he stepped away, moving to the bar to pour himself a drink. “I’d offer you a drink, but I have an important appointment I need to get to. You can probably catch Jinx if you hurry. I would imagine she’s headed into town to one of the motels. Either that or headed out of town. I understand the local sheriff is anxious to talk to her.”
“As close as you say the two of you are, I’m surprised you didn’t ask her to stay here,” Dawson said. “The place looks like it might be large enough for a guest or two.”
Lyndel downed his drink and put down his glass a little too hard on the bar. “Now, it wouldn’t be smart of me to harbor a fugitive, even one I consider a friend.”
“You’re so law-abiding,” Dawson said sarcastically.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Lyndel said, no longer pretending to be cordial.
Dawson saw that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Lyndel, and Slim was just itching to prove how tough he was. He moved toward the open front door, Slim shadowing him. “I see that your ranch is for sale.”
“Not that it is any of your business, but it has already sold. I need a change of pace. I’ve picked up a little place in the Caribbean. Who needs the winters up here?”
Lyndel had managed to get rid of his ranch manager and his cattle to rustlers for both a profit and probably a good insurance settlement. Now he’d sold his ranch and was skipping the country. Things seem to be working out perfectly, he thought, and said as much.
“Good luck finding Jinx,” Lyndel snapped from behind him.
Slim slammed the door behind him and, for a moment, Dawson stood on the front step trying to still his pounding heart.
He had spotted Jinx’s battered straw hat hanging on a hook in the hallway off the living room. He’d recognized the distinctive horsehair hatband. Next to the hat had been a jean jacket that he would swear was Jinx’s.
He’d also seen scuff marks on the polished floor where there had been a recent scuffle. Of course Jinx would have put up a fight.
But where was she now?
Somewhere in the house, Dawson was betting as he walked to his pickup, climbed in and drove just far enough away that Lyndel wouldn’t send Slim after him.
He found a place in a creek bottom to hide the truck, then, taking his shotgun, he headed to the house on foot. He just hoped Jinx didn’t do anything crazier than she already had before he could get to her.
* * *
Jinx squirmed. She hated cramped, confined places. That was one reason she liked the wide open spaces of Wyoming. She thought of Chisholm’s Montana. The rolling prairie, the Little Rockies. She thought of the man she’d fallen in love with.
He would think she’d abandoned him, taken off to save her own neck. He would think she’d been impulsive, going off half-cocked without a plan.
She squirmed again, trying to get her hands untied. Slim had done a bang-up job binding them behind her. Her wrists ached and she couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers. He’d slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth and shoved her into some broom closet at the back of the house.
Did he really think she was going to start screaming? She knew how far the house was from anything. Who would hear her?
Unless someone had come to the house that he worried might hear her?
That was a comforting thought, but this far at the back of the house she really doubted anyone could hear her.
Only a little light bled through around the door. She’d tried throwing herself against it, but the lock had held. All she’d managed to do was hurt her shoulder. As she felt around to see if there was anything she could use to get out, she thought again of Dawson and wished she hadn’t. It made her heart ache and took her mind off the problem at hand—getting out of here before Lyndel and his thug returned.
Jinx knew that Lyndel would feel he had to get rid of her. As far as he knew, she didn’t have any proof he was behind the rustling ring. True, he’d admitted that he’d killed her father. But even though he could argue that it would be her word against his, she doubted he wanted to take the chance. He appeared set on selling out and getting out of Dodge.
Dawson had been right. There was a reason the rustlers had changed their pattern on the Double TT.
