Jake (A Wyoming Sky Novel)

by R. C. Ryan

  Still, while she was here, he would certainly make things a lot more interesting.

  She fell asleep smiling, with thoughts of an earthy, sexy cowboy playing through her mind.

  “We missed you last night. Not like you to miss supper, boyo.” Big Jim looked up from the breakfast table as Jake ambled into the big, sunny kitchen.

  “Had to visit a lame colt.” As was his custom, Jake brushed a kiss over old Ela’s cheek before reaching for a foaming glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sitting on a tray. He lounged a hip against the counter and downed the liquid in one long swallow.

  “You might want to take the time to actually taste that, bro.” Quinn stepped in from the mudroom behind his wife, Cheyenne, and unrolled his sleeves after washing up at the big sink.

  “Take time? What a concept.” Jake grinned at his oldest brother and sister-in-law. “I’m learning how to eat and drink on the run.”

  “I don’t know why you’re in a rush, son.” After morning chores in the barn, Cole Conway bypassed the juice and went straight for a cup of steaming coffee. “It’s not as though your patients can run out on you if you’re late.”

  “So many cows, so little time.” Josh, just entering the kitchen with his wife, Sierra, winked at her, and the two of them laughed at his little joke. “You know, Jake, before you became a veterinarian, we used to say that about you and every woman for miles around. But now, I guess, the only females you have time to charm are the cows.”

  Everyone in the room burst into gales of laughter.

  Jake joined them before saying, “Oh. I don’t know about that. Last night’s colt had an…interesting owner.”

  Seeing that he had their attention, he turned away and busied himself pouring a cup of coffee.

  “Okay, bro.” Quinn shot him a withering look. “Out with it. What heart are you about to break this week?”

  Jake managed to tear off a corner of Ela’s corn bread and pop it into his mouth before she rapped his knuckles with a wooden spoon. He shot her one of those famous Conway grins before turning to the others. “There’s a certain new redhead in town that’s looking mighty…” He licked the crumbs from his fingers. “…tasty.”

  That had them all moaning at his bad joke.

  “The only redhead within a hundred miles of us is Blanche Eastman, and she was a teenager when Big Jim drove his herd here back in 1950.”

  Josh’s remark had them all chuckling.

  “Go ahead. Enjoy your little joke.” Jake took his seat at the table as Phoebe and Ela began passing platters of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, fried potatoes, and cinnamon toast. “Maybe I’ll just keep the name of the lady secret, and you can hear it from old Flora the next time you visit the diner.”

  “If anybody would know, it’s Flora.” Cheyenne grinned as she helped herself to eggs and bacon. “But I’d rather hear it from you, Jake.”

  Cole glowered from his position at the end of the table. “Stop the teasing and spit it out, son.”

  Jake played out the waiting game until he had everyone’s attention. “I paid a call on the ranch of one of our old neighbors.”

  Big Jim’s lips thinned. “Of course. Porter Stanford. His sudden death is the talk of the town. I heard he left everything to his kids.”

  Around the table eyebrows were lifted.

  Jake paused with the fork halfway to his lips. “You sure about that?”

  “That’s what Thibault Baxter told me over at his hardware store yesterday. And he said he heard it from Flora, so it must be gospel.”

  Jake shook his head. “If she knows that, why in the world was she tearing into all those metal boxes?”

  “She?” Cole stared at his son.

  “Porter’s daughter. Her name’s Meg. She’s in from D.C. to dispose of the estate.”

  “And she called you?” Cheyenne shot a look at her sister-in-law, Sierra, who returned a knowing nod.

  “About a lame colt. Only she didn’t know she was calling me. She left a message with old Doc Hunger’s service, and it was forwarded to my phone. It turns out the sudden death of her father wasn’t her only surprise. She didn’t even know she had a seven-year-old half brother until she got here.”

  “Wow.” Sierra had forgotten her breakfast. “I guess since I’m the newest member of the family, I’m missing some history here. Who is Porter Stanford? And what kind of woman doesn’t hear that she has a sibling for seven whole years?”

  “The kind of woman who hadn’t spoken to her father in fifteen or twenty years. Porter is—was,” Jake corrected, “our nearest neighbor. They say he died of a heart attack. His daughter left Wyoming when she was ten, along with her mother, after a divorce—”

  “A nasty divorce,” Big Jim put in.

  “Yeah. That’s the impression I got.” Jake sipped his coffee. “Anyway, his daughter Meg is a lawyer in Washington, and when she got here she discovered Cory. That’s the seven-year-old.”

  “What about his mother?” Sierra asked.

  Cole picked up the story. “Arabella. Pretty little thing. Nobody knew much about her. She and a boyfriend drifted into Paintbrush, looking for work. That was about the same time that Porter’s second wife, Sherry, divorced him, and he hired Arabella to clean his house.”

  “He hired a pretty drifter to…clean his house?” Sierra exchanged a look with Cheyenne before the two women broke into laughter. “Is that the story he gave everyone?”

  “That’s the story.” Cole chuckled. “Next thing we knew, they were married very quietly by Judge Bolton and shortly after welcomed Cory. Folks who saw Porter said he was a changed man. Everybody figured his new young bride was a tonic. Then, a couple of months ago, she died suddenly. Doc Walton said it was an aneurysm. After that, Porter lived like a recluse, and the boy along with him. They hardly ever went to town. Nobody called or visited. The rumor was that Porter couldn’t even muster the energy to eat or fix a meal for his kid. He grew so depressed, he even hired old Yancy Jessup to oversee a crew for the ranch chores and herd, something he’d have never considered in earlier times.”

  “Speaking of Yancy. When I learned that nobody had notified him about Porter’s passing—” Jake took a bite of his breakfast “—I got his number from Cory and told Meg she needed to make the call.”

  “So, as I understand it, you went out to a ranch to treat a lame colt and just happened to find a pretty redhead?” Cheyenne shot a questioning look at her brother-in-law.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “That’s just the kind of dumb luck I always seem to have. I will say this for Meg Stanford. She looks damned fine in a pair of jeans. Almost as good as you and Sierra.”

  That had his two sisters-in-law laughing.

  Quinn shook his head. “Only you, little bro, can fall into a pile of manure and come up smelling like a rose.”

  “It’s a curse.” Jake grinned. “And the hell of it is, I have to drop by again this morning. Just to make sure the colt is healing, you understand. And I promise,” he said to his sisters-in-law, “if Meg Stanford is wearing tight jeans and an even tighter T-shirt, I won’t even look.” For emphasis, he covered his eyes with his hands in a see-no-evil pose.

  They were all roaring as they finished their breakfast.

  Jake was whistling as he drove his truck toward the Stanford ranch. He hoped Meg was wearing those denims that fit her like a second skin. The thought had him grinning.

  His smile faded at the sight of Police Chief Everett Fletcher’s car parked by the back door. As he drove closer he could see that all four tires of the pretty little rental car had been slashed, the windows shattered.

  As Jake sprinted from his truck, the chief, who’d been talking quietly to Meg, looked up. “Hey, Jake.”

  “Chief.” Jake looked from Everett to Meg. “What’s going on?”

  Her brows were creased, her voice tight with nerves. “When I came downstairs this morning, the back door was open. That’s when I spotted the damage to my rental car.”

  She drew
her arms around herself and shivered, despite the warmth of the morning sun. “Look at it. This isn’t just petty vandalism. This was vicious.”

  Jake nodded. “Was anything else vandalized?”

  The chief took up the narrative. “After Miss Stanford came inside, she realized the door to her father’s office was open, and his files tossed everywhere.”

  Jake studied Meg’s pale features and could see the lines of worry and fear. “I’m sorry you have all this to deal with on top of your father’s passing. Any way of knowing if anything was stolen?”

  She turned away to hide the overpowering worries that had her by the throat. This, on top of what she was already dealing with, had her tied up in knots. “I’ve already told Chief Fletcher that I’m willing to go through my father’s things to see if I can identify anything missing, but without knowing what he kept in there, I don’t see that I can be much help.”

  Everett eyed Jake. “What brings you here?”

  “There’s a lame colt out in the barn. I treated him yesterday, and I promised to look in on him again today to see if he was improving.” He glanced around. “Has Cory already gone out to the barn?”

  “He spent the night there.” Meg flushed. “I tried to get him to come in to bed, but he just clung to that colt’s neck and dug in his heels. Knowing how much he loves that animal, I didn’t want to make a fuss, especially since he seems so resistant to anything I say or do, so I gave up and let him stay in the barn.”

  The police chief lifted a brow. “Porter’s boy resents you so much he slept in the barn?”

  Meg shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s personal, or if he just dislikes people in general. Whatever is going on in that brain of his, I seem to be the focus of his distrust at the moment.”

  “If he was out there all night, the boy may have heard something.” The chief turned to Jake. “I believe I’ll just go along with you and have a talk with the boy.”

  “I’ll go, too.” Meg led the way to the barn, giving Jake another chance to admire her backside. It was the perfect distraction from all the crazy things going on here.

  Today, instead of the prim shirt buttoned clear to her throat, she wore a skinny tee. Not one of those souvenir shirts with cute sayings on them. This one was the color of a ripe peach and had an interesting ruffle around the modest neckline. To Jake’s way of thinking, that modest neckline just made what was inside the shirt all the more interesting.

  When Meg tried to roll open the big barn door, it didn’t budge. She glanced at the men before pounding a fist and shouting, “Cory? You in there?”

  They heard a shuffling sound and then a scraping sound before the door opened. As the sunlight filled the gloomy interior, they saw the boy, his hair sporting bits of straw, rubbing his eyes.

  “’Morning, Cory.” Jake noted the manure cart shoved to one side. It had obviously been used to secure the barn door from inside. “This is Police Chief Fletcher.”

  The boy nodded toward the tall, muscled man in the police uniform, who was an imposing sight with his gold star winking at his lapel, his police-issue gun in a holster at his side.

  “Cory.” Everett extended his hand. “I’m sorry about your daddy.”

  The boy hung his head.

  Jake stepped into the stall. “I hear you spent the night with Shadow. How’s our patient?”

  The boy shook his head before mumbling, “No better.”

  “If you’d like to bring him outside, I’ll take a look at his wound.”

  Cory looped an arm around the colt’s neck, and the boy and the horse walked out into the yard.

  This morning the limp seemed even more pronounced than it had been the previous day.

  Jake unwrapped the dressing and began examining the colt’s leg.

  As he did, the chief cleared his throat. “Did you leave the barn at all last night, Cory?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Not once? Not even to get a drink of water? Or maybe to use the bathroom?”

  Another shake of the shaggy head.

  “Did you hear anything unusual? A car approaching? Someone walking around outside?”

  Cory glanced toward Meg, avoiding the man whose size and uniform were intimidating. “Something wrong?”

  Meg tried for a reassuring smile, though her lips trembled slightly. “Someone vandalized my car and broke into the house while I was sleeping.”

  Cory merely gaped at her.

  The chief lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder to get his attention. “Can you think of anybody who might want to do damage or steal something that belonged to your daddy?”

  At his touch Cory cringed before staring hard at the ground. “No.”

  Everett studied him for a moment. “Well, if you think of anything I ought to know, you call me.” He turned to Meg. “I’d like to go through the house with you now, Miss Stanford, and see if we can spot anything that might look out of the ordinary.”

  “Do you think someone might—” she swallowed “—still be hiding somewhere inside?”

  “Not likely. Most intruders get in and out as fast as they can, so nobody has time to identify them.” The chief put a hand under her elbow. “But if it would make you feel better, I’d be happy to do a walk-through, just to be sure.”

  “Thank you.” She turned away and walked with the chief back to the house.

  Jake watched them leave before returning his attention to the colt. Beside him, he heard the boy let out a long, slow breath.

  “So.” Jake knelt and ran his hand along the colt’s leg. The colt flinched when his fingers came in contact with the wound, which appeared to be festering. “Did Shadow give you any trouble during the night?”

  “No.”

  Because Jake had noticed Cory’s reaction to Everett Fletcher, he deliberately kept his back to the boy to ease any discomfort. “Did you notice if Shadow was restless? Unable to get comfortable? Did he seem to want to pace?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did you let him out of the stall to walk a bit?”

  Cory paused, as though weighing his words. “I opened the stall door so he could move around. But just inside the barn.”

  Jake turned to look up at Cory. “You’re saying he took a turn or two around the barn?”

  “Inside.” The boy nodded. “But we never went outside.”

  “So the two of you didn’t actually sleep through the whole night? You were up at least a couple of times to walk?”

  “I guess so.”

  Jake was watching the boy carefully now. “How many times? Three? Four?”

  Thin shoulders shrugged uncomfortably.

  “Five times?”

  “I didn’t keep count.”

  “And all those times you were awake, you never heard anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I…guess I heard some things. But there are a lot of sounds in the night.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.” Jake gave Cory a boyish grin. “Owls in the trees. Cattle in the fields. An engine idling. Footsteps on the gravel. Back doors opening and closing.”

  Cory flushed and looked away, but not before Jake saw the distress in his young eyes.

  Whatever the boy had seen or heard, he was too afraid to talk about it.

  Jake stood and wiped his hands down his pants. “Lots of cracks in that old barn door. Wide enough to look through. I guess if I heard someone drive up and walk around, I’d watch from a safe hiding place. Did you recognize the night visitor?”

  Cory jammed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Jake kept his tone soft. “You need a friend, Cory. Someone you can trust to share your burden. Otherwise, the load you’re carrying is going to be too heavy.”

  When the boy refused to look at him, Jake turned. “I’ll get my bag. Shadow needs another shot of antibiotic if he’s going to beat this infection.”

  He sauntered toward his truck and took his time removing his bag. He wanted the boy to have plenty of time to ponde
r his words.

  When he returned, Cory had his arm around the colt’s neck, his face pressed to the warmth of its velvet muzzle.

  The boy and horse watched Jake’s approach with wary eyes.

  “You might want to hold his leg while I inject this, to keep him from kicking me. Sometimes, in order to help, I have to do something painful.”

  Cory took hold of the colt by the hoof, immobilizing the leg while Jake plunged the needle.

  “Ever been kicked by a horse?” the boy asked.

  “Too many times to count.” Jake began wrapping the colt’s leg.

  “Then why do you keep doing it?”

  “Because I know that what I’m doing is a good thing.” Jake looked over at the boy. “We all have this inner voice that tells us when we’re doing right or wrong. It’s called our conscience. Ever hear of it?”

  Cory nodded. “My mom talked about it.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That sometimes, when we’re doing something wrong, we start to feel bad about ourselves. That’s our conscience telling us we need to change, even if it means we’ll be in big trouble when we tell the truth about what we did.”

  “Your mom was right. But there’s one more thing. Even though we may get in trouble for telling on ourselves, that bad feeling will go away, because we’ll know in our hearts that we did the right thing. So if you’re tempted to keep secrets that might cause harm, find somebody you can trust and ask for their help. You’ll be glad you did.”

  Jake could see the way Cory was absorbing his words. He offered his hand. “Thanks for all your help, son. Do you have a horse trailer in the equipment barn?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I’d like to borrow it to haul Shadow to my ranch.”

  Seeing the alarm that darted into the boy’s eyes he spoke quickly, to soothe his fears. “I know you want to be with him, but it would be a whole lot easier for me to check on him if I had him close by. The fact that the wound didn’t respond to the first injection tells me that it’s in the bloodstream and needs some serious attention. By having Shadow at my ranch, I can spend more time with him, and see that he gets better. Think of it this way. My ranch is like a hospital for sick animals. Do you understand?”