by Anna Castle
I picked up Jake and went home to change into my outdoor gear and pack some sandwiches. Thinking twice, I grabbed a couple of towels. We would treat our shaggy selves to a swim in the springs after the work was done.
I parked under an old pecan tree near the gate on the western side of the pasture. My plan was to take macro shots of as many different plants as I could find, especially non-native species, and then do a series of mid-range photos to show the overall condition of the field.
I got lost in photography for a couple of hours, working my way from west to east across the pasture, playing with filters and lenses. I have a second tripod for a portable reflector that helps cut the glare when I’m working in full sun.
I reached the northeast corner of the pasture where I’d climbed over the fence on Sunday. I would not trespass again if a whole herd of kudus in pink tutus leapt out and danced the hokey-pokey right there in the road. But the juncture of the fences and the cliff and the road on the other side made good establishing frames for my context studies, so I switched to a wide-angle lens and focused in that direction.
I caught a flash of red under the oak woods inside the curve of the road. Not a kudu in a tutu; not unless there was something very peculiar in my water bottle. Not wildflowers either; not with that deep tropical hue. I zoomed in on it and got off a couple of shots when I heard Jake bark somewhere behind me to the north.
I straightened up, my back complaining about being bent over the tripod for too long. Off to the north, I caught sight of a man in a white straw hat jogging through the trees. One blink and he was gone.
Freaky. Who would be out here? Gooseflesh rose on the back of my neck and I shivered. Then I scolded myself for the mini-drama. A cloud had passed over the sun and lifted a little breeze. My sunbaked skin was so sweaty, even a shadow would feel cool.
“Jake!” I hollered. “Jako!” I turned in a circle, trying to spot a brown dog. Or a white straw hat.
I heard an indignant grunt at the end of the pasture that sounded nothing like a dog. I turned and saw Blackberry, Ben Jernigan Senior’s Angus bull, standing inside the gate, looking back over his shoulder.
Another illusion? If I blinked, maybe he’d go away. I’d had my eye pressed to a viewfinder for too long and now my long-distance vision was playing tricks on me. I had animals on the brain, what with the kudus and my feral hog encounter.
I closed my eyes and slowly opened them again.
Blackberry, large as life, stared right at me. The sun glinted off his short horns. He looked pretty damn substantial for a hallucination. He started moving in my direction; not fast, but definitely into my pasture, not out through the open gate.
I took two seconds to reconnoiter. The tripod with my camera attached stood a couple of feet from a broad prickly pear cactus. Blackberry stood between me and the gate. The nearest fence stood about a hundred yards away.
Florence Griffith Joyner ran a hundred meters in ten point five seconds. I figured more like seventeen for me over grass in my lightweight hiking boots. I didn’t want to leave my camera, but I had been warned more than once to avoid the livestock.
Sound advice. Would they avoid me?
Trying to guesstimate the distance between the bull and the camera, I accidentally met Blackberry’s eyes. Evidently, this was a major faux pas in bull society, because he snorted and glared at me with a disapproving expression.
The camera could wait. I needed to get my body out of that pasture. Should I walk casually, like a cowgirl going about her normal cowgirl business, or should I give FloJo a run for the record?
I took a few slow steps toward the nearest fence. Blackberry lowered his head and pawed the ground with one substantial hoof. It did not look like an invitation to play.
He took a couple of steps, his focus directed at me. His nostrils flared in an alarming manner—alarming in the sense that adrenaline spiked through my system like someone plunged a syringeful straight into my heart.
I ran.
In my panic, I lost sight of the fence for a moment. I needed three pairs of eyes: one to watch the ground for rocks, one to keep me aiming in the right direction, and one to watch Blackberry. I shot a glance over my shoulder and saw him picking up speed, head down, horns aimed and ready to gore.
My feet would have to look out for themselves. I set my sights on the fence and sprinted for all I was worth. The fence was four feet high; too high to hurdle. Could I vault a barbed wire fence or would the wire bend too much?
I veered sharply to the left, aiming for the T-juncture. I ran straight at it, got both hands on the top and bore down, flinging my legs to the side as high as I could, swinging them forward over the fence. I heard my pants rip and felt a burning pain along my thigh, but I cleared the wire. I landed a couple of feet beyond the fence, stumbled, and fell, rolling onto the caliche road.
I scrambled up and looked back. Blackberry skidded to a stop at the fence, puffing and snorting and shaking his big black head. If he’d struck that fence full on, he would have knocked it down, but I guess habit kept him off it.
Sing praise to the Goddess of Operant Conditioning!
I bent double, hands on my knees, breathing hard. I kept half an eye on Blackberry, careful not to look straight at him again. He watched me too. I coaxed my wobbly knees into a walk, glad to have a fence between me and certain destruction, but feeling a powerful need for more distance as well. Blackberry moved in more or less the same direction; idly, except for the occasional glance at me. Heaven knew he wouldn’t find any grass in that degraded field to distract him.
How the hell had he gotten out of his pasture? And why had he wandered into mine?
I had left the gate open, which meant he could get out again and come after me if he wanted to. I should probably go around and close it, but not with Old Blackberry standing there waiting for me.
I glanced to my left and saw the patch of red I’d been focusing on. Definitely not flowers. A shiny expanse of metal. Part of my mind thought, Huh, that must be Roger’s car, but most of it still played the Blackberry Stampede episode over and over. My puny brain didn’t have room for new ideas at that moment.
The ranch road terminated in a padlocked gate. I climbed over it and turned right onto the county road. Blackberry wandered back toward the center of the pasture. I let out a whoosh of air and settled into a walking pace.
Ben Senior must have neglected to close the bull’s gate properly. Once out, Blackberry had ambled aimlessly downhill. That had to be it. No human being would deliberately put that bull into the field where I was working.
I’d done track in high school and had run almost daily ever since. If I hadn’t been in such good shape or able to put on speed when I needed it, I could have been killed or maimed. Thinking about the impact of those horns and hooves on my tender flesh set my heart racing again, so I willed the images away and let anger rise in their place.
I’d had to leave several thousand dollars’ worth of photography equipment in that pasture, not to mention the flash card with hours of shooting on it. If that damn bull trampled my gear, I’d have him barbecued and sliced into sandwiches! I worked up a satisfying image of Blackberry roasting on a spit over a bed of coals, savoring the details, considering the options for sauce.
Somehow I would have to go back in there to get my equipment. I couldn’t leave it out all night. I had to find Jake too. That dang dog always managed to disappear when I had large animal issues.
I’d have to get my phone out of the truck and call somebody, but who? Deputy Penateka? If I called 911, the whole county would hear about my latest caper. More public humiliation. Unfortunately, I needed a bona fide cowboy to come corral that beast so I could rescue my precious gadgets.
I reached the entrance to the Lazy H and walked up toward the house, only to find Ben Jernigan Junior lowering the tailgate on his pickup. He wore a white straw cowboy hat like the one I’d caught a glimpse of through the trees.
The sight of that hat and the bla
nd smile on his face as he raised a hand to wave at me made my temper rise so fast the hair lifted off the top of my head. I covered the distance between us in four long strides and punched him right in the gut.
“You son of a bitch!”
Ben sat down hard on the edge of the tailgate. “Shit, woman! What’s come over you?”
“You sneaking, slimy son of a bastard, you let that bull loose in the pasture where I was working!”
“What? Blackberry? He’s loose?” Ben stared at me like I’d come unglued. He was not wrong.
“I saw you. You were up there, you asshole, in the woods behind the pasture, right before Blackberry came after me.”
It made sense; horrible, sickening sense. I must have scared Ben the other day when I asked him about Diana and he took the opportunity to get me off his trail when he caught me alone in that pasture.
God, poor Tillie! Leftover adrenaline fueled my righteous wrath. “I guessed right, didn’t I? About you and Diana. So you set that bull on me to shut me up.”
“Diana!” Ben’s face paled. “What the hell are you babbling about?” He slid to his feet and eased around the tailgate, putting it between him and me. “No way, Penny! I just got here!”
“Prove it!” I banged my hand on the tailgate, hard. It made a big noise, which pleased me. I banged it again for good measure.
Ben flinched and backed up another step. He looked like he was afraid I might spring forward and bite him. I bared my teeth at him and he flinched again, backing up around to the front of his truck.
His hand touched the hood and he stopped. “Hey. Okay. I got it. Look, my truck’s still hot. You can feel it.”
I stopped snarling and narrowed my eyes at him. I walked around and put my hands on the hood. He scooted around to the far side, all the way back to the tailgate, watching me.
It was hot all right. Then I looked up. “You parked in the sun, you nimrod! It’d be hot no matter what!” But I caught a whiff of lingering engine smell. He could’ve driven up to the pasture and made it back ahead of me, but I would have heard the truck grinding on the caliche road. Also, he looked cool, with no sweat sagging his T-shirt, like a man who’d just climbed out of an air-conditioned vehicle.
Ben hadn’t done it.
All the fire went out of me in a rush, leaving shame in its wake. “You’re right; it couldn’t have been you. I’m sorry.”
A shaky grin curved on his round face. He swiped his hand through his hair, knocking his hat off. He caught it and settled it back on his head. “That’s okay. That is Oh-kay.”
He still seemed a little afraid of me, which took the edge off my embarrassment. I kind of liked being the scarer rather than the scaree.
He watched me warily for a minute, then he shrugged and raised his tailgate, latching the sides. “I gotta get that bull squared away.”
“I’m coming with you. My camera and stuff are still out in that pasture.”
“The Canon? You left that out there?” I glared at him and he said, “Whatever. I’ll get it for you. Blackberry’s used to me. He’s not mean, you know. He just doesn’t like strangers in his territory.”
“He was in my territory. And I still think somebody put him there.”
Ben shrugged. “Whatever.” His expression said, Don’t argue with the crazy woman.
He opened his door and got in. I got in next to him, and closed my door, but I kept my hand on the handle.
He scowled and reached behind me. I squeezed up against the door and he said, “Jesus, Penny!” He pulled out a ragged towel and handed it to me. “You’re bleeding on my seat cover.”
I hadn’t even noticed. There was a five-inch tear in my pants leg showing a bloody scratch. “Crap!” I dabbed at it, then looked at the grime on the towel and decided the blood was cleaner. I tucked the towel under my leg to protect the seat. Now I’d have to get a tetanus shot on top of everything else.
We drove back up to the pasture. I sat in the truck while Ben went in, shutting the gate behind him, and gathered up my equipment. He walked out of sight for a few minutes and I caught no sign of Blackberry.
Ben came back out and closed the gate securely. He handed my camera through the window, which I cradled in my lap while I took the bag and the tripod from him. I put the camera back in its case and tucked it away safely in the bag.
“Isn’t he in there?” I had a moment of total weirdness. What if I’d imagined the whole thing? No bull, no guy in a straw hat, just crazy Penny having a big pink fit out here all by her lonesome.
“He’s there.” Ben swung back into his seat and started the engine. “Standing looking off toward the 3C, waiting for you to come back and play with him.” He started to chuckle, but cut it off when he looked at my face. “All right, I know, it’s not funny. It must have been hellacious. And I’ll tell you something. From where that camera was to the nearest fence—you must be hell on wheels.”
“All State Girls’ Champion, hurdles.” We chewed on that interesting statistic in silence for a moment. Then I relented. “Thanks for getting my stuff.”
He waved it off. “Let’s go see how he got out.”
“Wait.” Poor Jakey! I’d forgotten all about him. “I need to find Jake. He ran off right before I saw that—before I thought I saw that guy in the hat.”
“Ty’s dog?” Ben leaned out the window and put his fingers between his teeth, letting out a whistle so loud every dog in Long County must have heard it. Jake came streaking out of the woods. He circled the truck, huffing like a steam engine. I opened my door and he jumped in, squashing me comfortingly.
“Jako!” Tears stung my eyes and I buried my face in his fur.
We drove north and west to the pasture where Blackberry normally lived. The gate hung wide open. Ben pulled up in front of it and jumped out. I got out too this time.
Ben slid the latch on the gate back and the thing fell off into his hand. “What the hell?”
I studied the dirt around the post and sure enough, there were two screws lying in a clump of grass. I pointed them out to Ben.
He growled under his breath. “Looks like my dad’s getting sloppy. He should’ve fixed that right off, instead of letting it get this bad.”
He got some tools out of the box on his truck and repaired the latch. We closed the gate, now that the bull was gone, and drove back down to my truck. I moved my gear and my dog into the Hulk, hopped in, and buckled up. I’d had enough danger for one day.
Ben put a hand on the edge of the open window. “Look, Penny. I’m real sorry about what happened. But you can see it was an accident, right? The old man needs help out here. He oughta hire somebody to pitch in a few hours a week, but he’s kinda stubborn.”
“Why can’t you help him?”
“I got my job. Full time job. And I’m studying for a real estate license so I can go into business with Tillie’s Uncle Ed. If I still have in-laws, after what you did.”
“Hey! I didn’t put the words in your mouth. You got yourself into trouble there, pal.”
“Well, you stirred things up.”
“Things are already stirred up, Ben, in case you hadn’t noticed. A man has been killed and somehow Diana is involved, probably along with somebody who loves her. If you’re hiding something, you’d better come clean. Because all the secrets are going to come out before this thing is over.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips, like he was sucking on a sour candy—or a bitter secret. Did he have the courage to spit it out?
Nope. He said, “Someone who loves her, huh? You mean, like a brother?” He tipped his hat and went back to his own truck.
I stopped at the clinic on Highway 331 for a tetanus shot on the way home. It hurt and put a dent in my checking account to boot. They told me I should have gotten one the day I started working on the ranch, even to do photography, and that I should be able to deduct it as a business expense. Even so, I would have to keep that job to cover the costs of doing the job.
They recomm
ended a warm bath to soothe the wound, instructions I would follow with pleasure. I was up to my chin in lavender bubbles, letting my muscles relax and my thoughts unravel, when I suddenly remembered that flash of red in the brush beside the road.
“Great balls of fire! Roger’s car!”
Chapter 18
Evenings are long at the end of June. The sun finally drops below the hills around seven-thirty, drawing off the blanket of heat and brightness that presses on the landscape all afternoon. As the day wanes, everyone perks up, people and animals included. Breezes stir under the trees and the air takes on that indefinable golden haze that induces a sense of bliss when you’re sitting on your patio with a cold drink and an old friend.
I couldn’t appreciate the glow period tonight. The Mexican takeout I’d picked up on my way home from the clinic did a mambo in my gut as I drove back out to the county road along the Lazy H and 3C ranches. What would they find in his car? Would finding it so close to Mt. Keno help or hurt Ty?
I parked behind a county car and met Penateka standing near the gate to the 3C. We had to wait for the owner to come unlock it, to do everything legal and by the book.
Another county car rolled up and parked on the opposite side of the road. Dare got out and crossed the road, hitching up his pants as he walked. Penateka tilted his head, like he was about to say, No, sir, but he held his peace. Dare met his eyes and said, “I’m only here to observe, Rob. I gotta know.”
Penateka gave him a short nod. I frowned to show my disapproval, but they ignored me. Now Dare could put his fat fingers on everything they found and muddy up the evidence.
Another car pulled up and parked. This time the sheriff and Deputy Freshwater emerged and crossed the road to join us. Sheriff Hopper frowned at me. “I thought we were pretty clear about the trespassing, Penny.”
“I wasn’t trespassing, sir.” The sheriff cocked an eyebrow at me. “Okay, technically, it might be construed as trespassing, but there were circumstances.” I told them about Blackberry and my run for glory, leaving out the part about the disappearing guy in the straw hat.
