by B. J Daniels
A few in the crowd were agreeing with him as Jacklyn stepped up on the stage. She glanced around the room, recognizing most of the faces. Waters’s son, Nate, was slumped in the first row, looking bored.
As she stepped behind the podium, Dillon joined her, standing back but facing the angry crowd.
“Yeah, what the hell is the story?” called out one of the ranchers. “You get a rustler out to catch rustlers? What kind of sense is that?”
She raised a hand. When the room finally quieted, she waited for Shade Waters to sit down, glancing at him pointedly until he took his seat.
“Most of you know me. I’m Stock Detective Jacklyn Wilde,” she began. “And I know most of you. Because of that you know I’m doing everything I can to catch the rustlers.” She hurried on as the room threatened to erupt again.
“Dillon Savage is helping with the investigation of the rustling ring operating in this area.” As expected, a wave of protests rang out. Again she raised a hand and waited patiently for the room to go quiet.
“I will not debate my decision to have Mr. Savage released early to help in that investigation. You want the rustlers caught?” she demanded, above the shouts and angry accusations. “Then listen to me.”
“We’ve listened to you long enough,” Shade Waters said, getting to his feet again. “It’s time we took matters into our own hands.”
“That’s right!” A dozen ranchers were on their feet.
She saw her boss and several others come in through the back door. Chief Brand Inspector Allan Stratton walked up the aisle to the stage and stepped to the podium, practically shoving her aside.
Jacklyn edged back, hating the son of a bitch for upstaging her in front of the ranchers.
“Finally we’re going to get some answers,” Waters called. “You sent us a damn woman, when we need a man for this job.”
Others began to applaud Stratton, echoing Waters’s sentiments.
Jacklyn felt her face flame. It was all she could do not to walk off the stage. She felt Dillon move to her side, as if in a show of support for her. The move would only antagonize the ranchers, and worse, Sheriff McCray, whom she spotted standing on the sidelines, glaring at her.
Stratton raised his arms and waited for the room to quiet down before he spoke. “I don’t have to tell any of you how hard it is to stop rustlers. Livestock are a very lucrative source of income.”
There were nods across the room, some murmurs.
“A thief who breaks into a house and steals a television or CD player can try to sell the equipment either at a pawnshop or on the black market, but will likely only get about ten percent of the actual value of the property,” Stratton continued. “Someone who steals a cow, on the other hand, can sell the animal at a packing plant or an auction market and receive one hundred percent of the value.”
There were more murmurs of agreement, but some restless movement as the smarter ranchers began to realize Stratton wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know.
“Improvements in transportation, the interstate, bigger cattle trailers, all make it easier for criminals to load up cattle and haul them across state lines before you even realize the animals are missing,” he continued. “I don’t have to tell you that thieves can steal more and move farther and faster than in the old days. A rustler can steal cattle here today, and this afternoon or early tomorrow morning be in Tennessee or California.”
“Don’t you think we know all that?” one of the ranchers demanded.
“What I can tell you is that we need to work together to stop these rustlers,” Stratton said.
“You know a lot of us can’t afford to hire more hands or buy special equipment,” a man said from the front row.
“The state can’t afford to hire staff to watch your cattle, either,” Stratton said, as if it hurt him personally to say that. “That’s why we need each of you to help us. Experienced cattle thieves will watch a ranch for a while, get to know the schedule of the owner and hired hands, and the times of day when no one will be around. You can keep an eye out for strangers hanging around or hired help that’s too curious.”
Jacklyn couldn’t believe Stratton thought the rustling gang was that stupid. They weren’t like some bumbling amateurs who left a gas receipt or wallet at the scene of the crime. These guys always got away clean. Except possibly for a good-luck coin. And even that could have been dropped by anyone at any time.
But for sure, the rustlers wouldn’t be asking stupid questions of ranchers.
“You can also run checks on the men you hire,” Stratton was saying, over an uproar from the floor. “I know society is so mobile that you’re lucky to get a ranch hand to stay a season, let alone longer, and most ranches don’t keep good records when it comes to seasonal help.”
The crowd was getting restless.
Stratton had to raise his voice as he explained how every rancher should brand even dairy cows. “One white or black cow looks exactly like another. We have no way of telling them apart.”
“I thought some states were using DNA?” a rancher asked over the growing murmuring.
“It’s expensive, and we have to have some idea where the cow was stolen so we can try to match the DNA,” he replied. “The best place to stop rustlers is at livestock sales. We need those people to be attentive. There are also radio-frequency chips that we’re looking into. It’s an expense for all of you, I know, but—”
“It sounds like you’re expecting everyone else to do your job,” a rancher called.
“Yeah,” Waters agreed. “What’s the bottom line here? You’re telling us you aren’t going to do a damn thing?”
“The only way we can beat the rustlers is to work together.” Stratton was forced to yell to be heard over the uproar. “You have to trust—”
Jacklyn walked over to the podium and kicked it over. Stratton jumped back as if he’d been shot. The boom as the podium hit the floor sent a shock wave through the room, instantly quieting everyone. All attention was fixed on her.
She barely had to raise her voice. “You want to know how easy is it to steal your cattle? Simple as hell. If there is nobody watching them tonight, the rustlers are out there taking a dozen, two dozen, three dozen right now. You probably won’t even know for weeks, maybe months, that they’re gone. As for the rustlers, they made a quick getaway. Your cattle could be in another state. Or already butchered. Doesn’t matter, because they aren’t going to turn up. You just lost ten, twenty thousand dollars.”
She looked out at the stunned audience of ranchers. “That’s the reality. I plan to catch these rustlers. But even if I do, there will be others. Unless you help, we’ll never be able to protect your property. That, Mr. Waters, is the bottom line.”
With that she turned and walked off the stage as the room went from stunned silence to a clamor of voices. She saw a group of ranchers corner Stratton, blocking his exit, as she and Dillon slipped out the side into the cool darkness.
DILLON LET OUT a low whistle as he joined her outside. “You all right?”
She’d stopped at the street, as if she’d forgotten where she’d parked the truck. When he touched her shoulder, he could feel her shaking.
“I’m fine.” She took a step forward to break the contact, but made no move toward the pickup.
“That was great back there. You got the respect of every man in that room.”
A small sound like a chuckle came out of her. “That just cost me my job.”
“No way. The bastard tried to make you look bad, and only succeeded in ticking off everyone in the center. He won’t come at you like that again. And once you catch the rustlers…”
She spun on him, her face contorting in anger. “You know damn well I’m not going to catch the rustlers. It’s the only reason you agreed to pretend to help me.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Damn it, Dillon, I know you’re the one who’s leading them. It’s how they keep one step ahead of me. Just like you used to
.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong about that, too.”
The anger was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
“The hell you say. Come on, Jack. We can do this. I’ll help you. Really help you. After all, it’s the only way I can prove to you how wrong you are about me.”
She seemed to study him in the lamplight. Behind him, the community center was in an uproar. “How can I trust you?”
He smiled. “You can buy me a steak. Come on,” he said again, as some of the ranchers began to leave the meeting. “There’s a steak house just a short walk from here. I don’t know about you, but I could use some fresh air.” He took her arm before she could object, and they started down the street. It was a good walk, but he figured they both could use it.
Also, he didn’t want a run-in with the ranchers. Not for himself, but for Jacklyn. She’d been through enough tonight. He saw her look over at him as if trying to make up her mind about him.
Funny, but at that moment he wanted to be the man his father always told him he could be. The last thing Dillon wanted to do was disappoint Jacklyn Wilde.
Unfortunately, there was little chance of him doing anything but disappointing her.
JACKLYN COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d let Dillon talk her into this.
“After everything you’ve been through tonight, I say we celebrate,” he’d said as they walked into the steak house.
“Celebrate?” Had he lost his mind?
“You still have a job. I’m not on my way to prison. Yet,” he added with a grin. “Tell me that isn’t cause for celebration.”
She might have argued that keeping her job was nothing to celebrate. Maybe Dillon was right. Maybe she was a fool for thinking that her job mattered. Right now not even the ranchers thought so.
The steak house was crowded, especially at the bar. They were shown to a booth in the rear. She noticed that Dillon made a point of sitting with his back to the wall rather than the room. Something he’d picked up in prison?
To her surprise, the waitress put a bottle of her favorite wine on the table and a cold beer in front of Dillon, no glass.
She looked up at him in surprise.
He grinned. “I grabbed a waitress on the way in and told her it was urgent.”
“How did you—”
“Know your favorite wine?” His grin broadened. “It’s not my psychic ability. I asked. It’s what you ordered the last time you were in here. Apparently, you made an impression.”
She groaned inwardly. The last time was right before she’d gotten Dillon out of prison. She’d been feeling anything but confident about her decision, and had definitely imbibed more than she should have. No wonder the waitress remembered what wine she’d ordered.
Dillon poured her a glass of wine, then lifted his bottle of beer in a toast, his gaze locked with hers. “To a successful collaboration.”
She slowly picked up the glass, clinked it softly against his beer bottle and took a sip, not any more sure of the appropriateness of the toast than she was about drinking even one glass of wine with Dillon Savage.
He took a long swallow of his beer, then stared at the bottle, his thumb making patterns on the sweating glass. “I can’t remember the last beer I had.” He looked up, scanning the noisy steak house and bar. “It still all feels surreal.”
Just then a man who’d had too much to drink stumbled into their table, startling them both and jostling her glass and spilling some of the wine. But it was Dillon’s instant reaction that startled her the most.
In a flash, he’d grabbed the beer bottle by its neck, brandishing it like a weapon as he shot to his feet, ready to defend himself and her.
The drunken man raised both hands. “Sorry. My apologies,” he said, backing away. “Just clumsy. No harm done, right?”
Dillon sat back down, turning the bottle as he did and gently setting it on the table as beer spilled down the sides. He’d gone pale, his eyes wide. She thought she saw his hand shaking as he rubbed it over his face. “Old habits die hard,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”
She stared at him, shocked by how quickly he’d changed when he’d felt threatened. “Was it that dangerous in there?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
He looked up at her, his grimace slow and almost painful. “Prison? Dangerous? With people who are crazy, mean, strung out?” He shook his head. “What makes it dangerous is a lack of hope. A lot of those people will never see the outside again and they know it. Because of that, they have nothing to lose.”
He smiled as if to lighten his words. “If you’re smart, you do your time, stay out of trouble, make the right friends.” He grinned. “Like I said, I make friends easily, and you know what they say. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
She heard something in his tone that tore at her heart.
The waitress hurried over to mop up the mess, then returned with another beer for Dillon. “That gentleman over there sends his apologies,” she said.
Dillon looked in the drunken man’s direction and gave a nod.
Jacklyn took a drink of her wine to try to wash down the lump in her throat, and busied herself with her menu. What was wrong with her, having sympathy for a criminal? A criminal she’d put behind bars? Dillon had the same options as everyone else. He didn’t have to rustle cattle. He’d chosen the route that had led him straight to prison. He had only himself to blame.
So how could she feel sorry for him?
Because, she thought, lowering her menu to peer across the table at him, Dillon Savage wasn’t the criminal stereotype. Instead he was educated, smart, from a good family. And, she suspected, a man with his own code of ethics. So what had made him turn to crime?
She tried to concentrate on her menu, but when she looked up again, she saw that Dillon was no longer gazing at his. Instead, he was staring toward the bar, a strange expression on his face.
She turned to follow his gaze. A few cowboys were standing together, the back door closing as someone left. All she caught sight of was one denim-clad shoulder and a glimpse of a western hat.
She searched the group at the bar and recognized only Arlen Dubois, from earlier today on Tom Robinson’s ranch.
Was that who Dillon had noticed? Or had it been whoever had just left? In any case, Dillon looked upset.
“Who was that?” she asked, turning back to him.
His expression instantly changed, to an innocent look. “I beg your pardon?”
“You saw someone, someone you recognized?” He’d spotted someone he hadn’t wanted to see. She was sure of it. She tried to read his expression, but his eyes showed only the vast blue of an endless sky. She would have thought she was wrong about him seeing someone he knew if it hadn’t been for the twitch of a muscle along his jaw.
He was looking at her now, studying her the way she’d been studying him. He always seemed slightly amused—and wary.
THE WOMAN WAS PERCEPTIVE. Much more than Dillon had realized. He smiled at her, meeting her gaze, cranking up the charm as he tried to mask whatever had alerted her.
“What makes you think I wasn’t just staring off into space, thinking about the meeting tonight and Shade Waters?”
She cocked her head, her look one of disappointment. “How about the truth? Try it, you might like it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled faintly at her.
“The person who just left. You knew him.”
He frowned. “What would make you think that?”
“Don’t play games with me,” she snapped. “And stop answering my questions with one of your own.”
“Okay,” he said. “What say we flip for it?” He pulled a quarter from his pocket and spun it between his fingers. “A little wager of sorts. Truth for truth.”
“You like to gamble, don’t you?”
He grinned. “I like to take my chances sometimes, yes. And I never lie, remember?”
She drew a breath, her gaze on
the silver flicker of the quarter in the dim light of the restaurant. “Is it that hard for you to tell the truth that you have to flip for it?”
He did his best to look offended. “Don’t assume just because I have a proclivity for cattle rustling that I’m a liar—and a gambler.”
“Of course not.”
He turned serious for a moment. “Have I ever lied to you?”
She met his gaze. “How would I know?”
“You could look into my eyes.” His gaze locked with hers. “So what do you say? A flip of the coin. Heads, I tell you whatever you want to know. Tails, you tell me something I’d like to know.”
She watched the quarter for a moment, then held out her hand. “I’ll flip the coin if you don’t mind.”
He pretended to be hurt by her lack of trust.
“You’ll answer truthfully?”
He nodded. “And you?”
“I’m always honest.”
He smiled at that. “I guess we’ll see about that.”
Jacklyn didn’t like the gleam in his eyes, but anything was better than talking about his prison stay. She’d seen a side of him with the drunken man that had scared her, and at the same time made her want to comfort him.
Fear of Dillon Savage was good—and appropriate. Sympathy on any level was dangerous.
Probably as dangerous as this game he had her playing. But against her better judgment, she believed him when he said he’d tell her the truth if she won the coin toss. And since she was no doubt going to get fired before the night was over, and Dillon would be going back to prison, what did it hurt?
He was watching her, humor dancing in his eyes, as she inspected the coin. “You’re the least trusting woman I’ve ever known.”
“Then the women you’ve known didn’t know you very well.”
He laughed. It was a nice sound. He took a long drink of his beer and seemed to relax. She hadn’t noticed, but apparently he’d refilled her wineglass.
