Rancher's Deadly Risk

by Rachel Lee

  A smile flickered over her features as he turned toward her to put the cookies on the table, but his face looked almost sad. “How do you feel about that?” she asked.

  “I’m okay with it. I keep my hand in, I sell wool, I sell lambs, and keep it to a level I can manage.”

  “Do you ever see it changing?”

  He poured the cocoa from the pan into two mugs. “Not anytime soon.”

  She grew thoughtful and quiet, and he let her be as he joined her to sip his beverage and eat a store-bought cookie.

  “It’s funny,” she said after a while. “Some things are growing rapidly, and other things are shrinking.”

  “Times change, needs change. Cultures move on.”

  “I know, but I’m not sure that’s always good.”

  “Right now it’s good for the land out there. I didn’t just happen into biology by accident. I get a kick out of watching nature move back in.”

  “Your own little eco-sanctuary?”

  He had to smile. “I guess so.”

  The thermostat had kicked on a little while ago, raising the house from its daytime setting of sixty to a more comfortable sixty-eight for the evening. As the room warmed, he began to detect Cassie’s scents—aromas of laundry soap, shampoo and woman. Most especially woman. It was faint, but as it hit him, he knew he’d better get her home soon.

  Then she tugged her jacket off and he got a whiff that filled him with an instant longing so strong his jeans felt tight. Not good. Had he been crazy? Had he really thought that bringing her out here to see the reality of his life would cause her to put up a wall between them?

  Because she wasn’t acting as if it had. She had honestly seemed to enjoy it all. Maybe that was its newness, but it certainly hadn’t worked for turning her away yet.

  Instead he would now have the powerful memory of her sitting in his kitchen and smelling like temptation personified.

  Yep, he’d been an idiot.

  But there was no denying he liked having her here. Liked seeing another face across the table, liked the scents of woman that wafted around him. Liked not being alone.

  Even though alone was where he was going to wind up. She’d never stay. Never. She might as well be trying life out on Mars.

  Something indefinable flickered across her face, yet it communicated some kind of unhappiness. For all he’d avoided looking at her since she started teaching, he couldn’t seem to stop looking now. Oh, he had it bad.

  “I can’t stop thinking of that rat,” she said quietly.

  That was nearly as good as an icy shower. He found it possible to breathe again and relax a little. “It was pretty bad,” he admitted.

  “Serial killers do things like that.”

  “So do stupid kids who routinely kill vermin and hunt.”

  Her green eyes looked almost haunted. “Seriously? Or are you just trying to reassure me?”

  “You can’t grow up on a ranch or farm around here without having killed things. It’s just life. You shoot coyotes, you kill rats, you even have to butcher deer or elk or some steer that you raised from babyhood. It’s a part of life, not a thrill.”

  “I guess I’m having trouble connecting with that.”

  “I can understand that. But you said it yourself earlier. You’re from a different way of life. I’m just saying that these students are familiar with this kind of thing. It’s part of protecting their ranches and feeding their families. No thrill in it, but they’d sure be able to guess it might give you the willies.”

  “Because I’m an outsider.”

  “Because you weren’t ranch-raised. Kids in town find it repulsive, too, which makes them the butt of jokes sometimes. But killing a rat? That’s nothing. They kill them all the time to keep them out of feed and out of the barns. I would almost bet the sheriff finds this one was caught in a trap before they killed it. And once it was in a trap, killing it would have been a mercy. Chances are it had a broken neck or back.”

  She shuddered. Well, he told himself, that was the reaction he had wanted. Too bad that he hated to see it.

  “Okay,” she said, appearing to stiffen herself. “I get it. I’ve trapped mice in my home upon occasion.”

  “Same thing. You’re lucky if the trap kills them cleanly, but it doesn’t always. And most folks around here don’t want to put out poison for them.”

  “That’s odd, because I’ve heard of poison bait being used to get rid of coyotes.”

  “It’s allowed, but it’s dangerous. Your dogs might get it. Your cats. And when it comes to rat poison, the problem gets bigger. So most of us try to avoid those methods. Cats and traps in the barn are preferred.”

  “I guess I’ve got a lot to learn.”

  He tried to smile reassuringly. “Everyone does. Look, I’m not defending what that culprit did, putting that rat on your desk. But while it was intended to upset you, and maybe frighten you, I doubt anyone meant it as a serious threat. Chances are some numskull thought it would be funny.”

  “God!” Worse was that she had taken this very sensible attitude only this morning, and now she was resisting the very reasoning she had offered herself. Why were her thoughts shifting like quicksand? Maybe she had felt braver at school, but the prospect of being home alone at night now didn’t seem quite so safe. Harder to be above it all.

  “There’s no explaining the humor of a teen.”

  She knew he was right: the grosser, the better. They’d certainly achieved a total gross-out for her. “Then maybe we shouldn’t have called the sheriff.”

  “Why? It may have been just an ugly prank but it remains it was vandalism and possibly another attempt to bully you. Having the sheriff investigate may have put an appropriate fear in certain people. There comes a point, Cassie, when you’ve got to realize that stuff you got away with as a child is no longer acceptable or even legal.”

  He paused, realizing he must seem to be going around in circles. Well, he probably was, between her damned scent and his own uncertainty about what was happening.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” he said slowly. “I’m not really sure what’s going on here. I’m wondering what’s been bubbling beneath the surface at the school that I’m not aware of. That makes me uneasy. Obviously, something has been getting out of control. On the one hand, I’m trying to paint it in the best light because I know these kids. Or thought I did. I don’t want to think the worst of any of them. On the other hand, I guess I shouldn’t minimize it. There have been three transgressions we know about with you. Four if we add James. I’m not going to dismiss it, but I’m not going to be Chicken Little yet, either. The mind of a teenage male is impenetrable.”

  She surprised him by losing her haunted look and actually laughing. “You’re right, it is. And girls aren’t much better at that age.”

  Girls weren’t much better at any age, he thought a little while later as he drove her home. He’d certainly never figured them out.

  “Thanks for a wonderful time,” she said as he walked her to her door. “I really enjoyed it.”

  “So did I,” he answered more truthfully than he would have liked. He had to bite his tongue to keep from suggesting they do it again.

  “And thanks for the reassurance,” she added as she unlocked her door and opened it. “You’re right. I know perfectly well that youngsters that age aren’t always thinking clearly. They get a wild idea and follow through.”

  “Still, we have to put the brakes on it. And we will.”

  She was still smiling as she said good-night and closed the door.

  He walked back to his truck, keys jingling in his hand, and thought about it all, from the bullying to the rat to the evening just past. The thoughts were still rumbling around when he got home.

  Something wasn’t right. Something. He’d grown up here, gone to school here, been away only during his college years, and now had been teaching for a decade.

  His nose was telling him something was wrong. Very wrong. The question was what. And wh
o. He didn’t want Cassie to be needlessly scared, but he couldn’t lay his own concerns to rest.

  Somehow, in some way, a scale had tipped, leading to some ugliness against a teacher that was so unusual around here it couldn’t be ignored.

  What happened to James Carney concerned him, of course, but that fit better into the parameters of the kind of ordinary ugliness people were capable of. It had a frame of reference, one they needed to put a stop to, but well within the range of “normal,” however wrong.

  Threatening phone calls and dead rats. If it had just been the rat, he would have been almost positive it was someone’s bad idea of a prank. But added to that phone call, he couldn’t begin to dismiss it.

  Nor could he stop wondering if the real problem wasn’t students at all now.

  Chapter 4

  Cassie’s apprehension eased over the next few days. Nothing untoward happened, James was back in class looking all right, if a bit edgy, but when she tried to talk to him as he was leaving, he gave her an angry look and hurried away. Things were still not right in his world, and that troubled her. She wondered if he was still being hassled, but she had no way to know.

  On the bright side, her students had come up with some interesting ideas for projects. As she taught them math with some physics mixed in, she enjoyed their pleasure and growing interest.

  Success was sweet. She hoped it lasted.

  So maybe the worst of the dustup was over, at least for her. Maybe whoever had been mad at her had finished venting. The detentions were scheduled for Thursday afternoon and Les had insisted on supervising them. After Monday, he said, he didn’t want her involved with the disciplinary action.

  She was, however, involved with Linc in a meeting with the students whom he had approached to become the vanguard in the antibullying campaign.

  As she would have expected of the students who were most respected among their peers, they were all good-looking. At that age, appearance meant a lot. But as she listened to them talk with Linc, keeping mostly quiet herself, she was impressed with how good-hearted they were and their quick grasp of the problems.

  She knew they’d been handpicked by Linc, and there were probably other student leaders he hadn’t chosen, but this group was great.

  “There’s always bullying,” said one of them, a petite blonde named Marcy. “Always. But not like what they did to James Carney. What’s wrong with James, anyway? He’s just a nerd.” And from that statement, Cassie realized the story of what had been done to James had made it all over school. The students were talking about it, so they needed to turn that talk to a positive end.

  Linc responded. “There’s nothing wrong with James. The question is what is wrong with people who would treat him that way, and whether the student body is going to allow bullying of any kind to continue. The teachers can crack down, but you know where that gets us.”

  “Yeah,” said Bob, a young linebacker from the football team. “It just goes under the radar or happens out of school. That’s no good.”

  “So,” said Linc, posing the question, “how do we make bullying uncool?”

  “Speak up and speak out,” was the first answer from another of the girls. “And we’ve got to get our friends to do it, too.”

  “Police it,” agreed a boy. “Maybe form a group of students who are willing to step in if they see it.”

  “Like hall monitors,” someone else suggested.

  “Diss it,” said yet another young man.

  At that point, Cassie was moved to speak. “We’ve got to be very careful not to let our attempts to stop bullying become bullying themselves.”

  The boy eyed her ruefully. “That makes it harder.”

  She had to laugh. “You bet.”

  The important thing was that the conversation had begun, and these students were going to start getting the word out. Specific actions seemed to be beyond reach, other than expressions of disapproval, but that disapproval could spread like ripples.

  After the students left, Linc remarked he needed to get ready for practice. “Are you walking home?”

  “No, I brought my car today. I need some groceries.”

  “Okay, then. Have a good evening.”

  She picked up her book bag and headed out to the faculty parking area, feeling almost amused. No point in feeling hurt by it, but after letting her into his life—even in a small way—on Monday evening, Linc had pulled back like a turtle into its shell.

  Oh, he was pleasant, but the distance was back.

  How did you figure a man like that? she wondered as she pulled out of the lot. Monday night had been a lot of fun. She’d enjoyed the animals, liked helping with them, and enjoyed his company. Had she done something wrong?

  She supposed she would never know. Whatever it was with Linc, she was beginning to think it was his problem, not hers. Which in itself ought to cheer her up. It was a far cry from her usual reaction, that she must be to blame for the way men lost interest.

  Heck, she thought with a near giggle, he’d never really been interested in the first place. Maybe she ought to take his aversion as some kind of compliment—aversion was a long way removed from indifference—because clearly she was having an impact on him.

  Just not the kind of impact she would have liked.

  Unfortunately, Monday night had not just been fun. He’d managed to stir her interest in him beyond being attracted to his good looks, to being attracted by the kind of guy he seemed to be—a man of many talents and interests who appeared to have a good heart. The kind who were usually married with children by the time they crossed her path.

  Much as she tried to get her thoughts to behave, to focus on work, teaching, the bullying program and settling into her new place in the world, Linc kept drifting through them. When he did, all other concerns vanished. She’d wander off into some girlish daydream in which he somehow wanted her, wanted to be with her.

  Ah, she was getting too old for this. That kind of thinking was better suited to the kids they had just met with, not to a grown woman who’d already experienced her share of dings and knocks from dating. She even had a few permanent dents, so why wish for the unobtainable?

  It struck her that wishing for the unobtainable might be a way of keeping herself safe. Oh, boy, she hoped she wasn’t that far gone.

  She had just climbed out of her car and started walking toward the store when an angry woman approached her. Cassie judged her to be about forty, showing signs of too much sun and wind, with hair almost as dry as straw. A ranch wife? she wondered.

  “You!” The woman said the word sharply, taking her hand off the handle of her cart to wag a finger at Cassie.

  Startled, Cassie stopped. “Yes?” she said uncertainly.

  “It’s your fault my boy is on detention today. I know my boy. He never shoved you. You’d better watch your step, lady, because if you want to lie about my kid, you won’t be in this county for long.”

  Cassie’s jaw dropped. She didn’t know what to say. Les hadn’t wanted her to bring James into it, but she hadn’t expected him to tell the parents that those boys had shoved her. They hadn’t been that forceful, even though the way they had brushed her had felt like a warning of what they could do. She thought Les was just going to say that they had defied her authority.

  “Ma’am...” But what exactly could she say? Before she could marshal her words, the woman was storming away, cussing in a low voice.

  Well, wasn’t that lovely, she thought, her mood souring as she headed into the store. She wasn’t going to chase that woman across the parking lot and have a public fight with her, and even if she thought of anything to say that didn’t involve what had happened to James, it wouldn’t matter. Clearly the woman had made up her mind. She wondered if one of the other teachers would be able to identify her by description.

  But did she really want to know?

  Damn. Sighing, she pulled a cart from the line, yanking with more force than necessary, and tried to school her face to a pleasant
expression as she walked into the store.

  She felt a change inside, though. Almost like the way you could feel your ears begin to respond to changes in altitude in an airplane. As she entered it was impossible not to notice that the store was quieter than usual. That people looked at her. That the usually friendly expressions weren’t there.

  So the parking-lot lady must have been talking.

  Her mood sank even more. It would have been nice to just walk out. This would pass, after all, unless those bullies got themselves into trouble again. It was just a detention, no big deal. So she paused to look at a display near the door, one that held no interest for her, and tried to ignore the way her neck prickled with uncomfortable awareness. She could almost feel eyes boring into the back of her head.

  Then, as if someone threw a switch, the store returned to normal. Carts started squeaking up and down aisles, a baby cried, women’s voices resumed speaking. Employees made noise as they stocked shelves.

  Had she imagined that half minute of disapproving silence? Had it even lasted that long? Gripping her cart she set out to get the items she wanted for dinner that night. She had most of what she needed, but when possible she liked fresh vegetables for this dish, and she needed milk regardless.

  She received smiles and nods from some of the women as she went, but they seemed tight and forced. She must be imagining it. Surely this many people couldn’t be upset about a detention?

  Then she remembered the woman’s claim that she had lied about being shoved. Well, that would do it, she thought bitterly. If these women believed that, she couldn’t blame them.

  She was picking through bell peppers, trying to find a few just crisp enough, when a frail voice got her attention.

  “Honey.”

  She turned and found a tiny lady, who could have been any age from sixty to ninety, standing there looking at her from faded blue eyes. “Don’t pay it no mind, honey,” the old woman said. “Most of us know that Hastings boy and when folks stop being mad they’ll think about it. And they’ll know he probably did push you.”