by Janet Dailey
“Where are you taking them?” Dulcie wondered.
“Out to the herd.” After some struggling, Tobe got the gate open.
“Why?”
“So we can turn ’em loose with the cows.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he shot her a look of near panic, the tips of his ears reddening. “And don’t ask why. Okay?”
“Okay. Can I come with you?” she asked when he climbed back over the chute and dropped to the ground.
“Not this time.” He gave her ponytail a playful tug to soften his refusal. “You’d only be in the way. It’ll be better if you stay here with Fargo and play with your doll or somethin’.”
Head down, Dulcie glumly dug the toe of her shoe into the dirt. She hadn’t played with her doll since its arm had fallen off. But Tobe had forgotten about that, just as he’d forgotten to fix it.
A door banged shut, the metallic sound of it echoing across the yard. Dulcie jerked her head around, her glance flying to the camper. Her heart gave a little leap of gladness when she saw Angie, dressed in a long broom skirt and a matching green and blue flowered top. That gladness quickly gave way to dismay when Angie walked straight to the tall yard-light pole and unplugged the camper’s electrical cord, then set about stowing it in a side panel of the camper.
Dulcie turned to her brother. “I thought you said Angie was going to stay here.” There was a faint tremor of accusation in her voice.
“That’s what Luke said last night,” he said, sending his own curious glance at the camper.
“But . . . it looks like she’s leaving.”
“And she could be plannin’ on comin’ back, too.”
A “could be” wasn’t definite enough. Dulcie had to find out for sure whether she was coming back or not. Breaking into a run, she raced across the ranch yard to the pickup camper, arriving a little worry eyed and out of breath. Seeing her, Angie paused next to the pickup’s driver side, ignition key in hand.
“Good morning, Dulcie.”
“Morning.” Hurriedly gathering her courage, Dulcie blurted the vital question, “Are you leaving?”
“For a little while. I’ll be back later.” Her smile was bright with assurance.
Emboldened by that, Dulcie questioned her further. “Where are you going?”
“To see the sheriff.”
Understanding flashed, erasing her previous anxiety. She nodded importantly. “I guess you need to talk to him about that guy who hit you on the head.”
“That and . . . other things.”
“Is your head still sore?” Dulcie frowned in belated concern.
“Only a little.”
“I’ll bet it hurt when you brushed your hair this morning.”
Angie released a throaty laugh that warmed Dulcie all the way to her toes. “It certainly did,” she agreed, then reached for the door handle. “I’d better be going. I’ll see you this afternoon sometime,” she told Dulcie, then glanced toward the barn area and waved to Luke as he led an iron-gray gelding into the yard.
He briefly raised a hand in acknowledgment, then looped the reins over the gelding’s neck and moved to the horse’s side to recheck the cinch. While he tugged it another notch tighter, his gaze followed the camper’s progress as it exited the ranch yard and headed down the lane.
A thin cloud of dust swept back from the camper and swirled around Dulcie. A hand came up to shield her eyes from the stinging particles. At last she turned away and started toward the trailer with a toe-scuffing walk.
Something in the droop of her shoulders and the downcast angle of her head triggered a half-forgotten memory in Luke’s mind, a memory that went all the way back to a long-ago afternoon a week before the fire. A memory of Jason looking as lonely and dejected as Dulcie. Mary had been at his side, thoughtfully studying their son.
He remembered the determined ring of her voice, and the frosty vapor her breath made when she spoke. “Jason needs a playmate, Luke. Someone to romp in the snow with him, play ball, go fishing and all the other things kids do.”
“I suppose we could get him a puppy,” he had replied in all seriousness and absently draped an arm around her shoulders. “The Garveys’ blue heeler had a litter about a month ago. I don’t think he has sold them all yet.”
“Actually . . .” Pausing, Mary had tipped her face toward him. He could still see the warm and intimate light that had danced in her eyes. “I was thinking along the lines of a little brother or sister.”
In the afternoon sunlight, the snow’s crystalline surface had sparkled like a blanket of diamonds, blinding in its dazzling brightness. But he hadn’t been able to see anything but the look in Mary’s eyes.
Luke smiled at the memory, feeling again that same, swift rush of emotion he had experienced that day, an emotion as strong and pure as anything he’d ever known.
But it didn’t last as his glance strayed to the blackened timbers visible above the weeds. He saw again the flames that had turned his home into an inferno, an image that destroyed all the fine feelings of a moment ago.
Conscious of that old pain and anger returning, he fired another glance at Dulcie, irritated at her for reminding him of the other, and at Angie for making him aware of the difference between dwelling on how his wife lived and how she died.
Completing the final wrap to secure the cinch, he unhooked the stirrup from the horn and swung onto the saddle. With a twist of the reins, Luke turned the gray toward the stock pen.
“Open the gate and let’s get those bulls loaded,” he said to Tobe.
The chain rattled briefly, and the gate swung open. Luke walked the cat-footed gray horse into the pen. The bulls snorted and hooked imaginary horns at the horse and rider, but the routine was not a new one for either pair. After a few halfhearted attempts to avoid the chute, they clattered up its planked floor one after the other. Tobe waited to prod them into the trailer.
With the gelding’s work done for the morning, Luke stripped off the saddle and turned the horse into the corral, then climbed in the pickup’s passenger side, joining Tobe. As they pulled away from the loading chute, Luke’s glance again traveled to Dulcie, watching them from the barn’s maw with that same lost and forlorn look.
“You need to get Dulcie a puppy,” he informed Tobe.
“A puppy? What for?” Tobe turned a stunned look on him.
“A ranch can be a lonely place for a young girl. A dog would be company for her.”
“I suppose.” He spotted his sister at the barn’s entrance and the small black-and-white kitten, its back arched as it hissed. “It might keep her from gettin’ scratched to death by those cats.”
Angie pushed out the door of the brick courthouse, trailed by the sheriff. Pausing at the top of the concrete steps, he hooked his thumbs over his belt from long habit and surveyed the smattering of traffic on the street. At first glance, he looked the image of a western sheriff, tall and on the lean side with a neatly trimmed gray mustache, his white hat raked to one side of his head, and his badge shining in the midday sun. But the protruding paunch of his belly shattered the illusion.
“Thank you for your time, Sheriff.” Angie extended a hand in farewell.
“My pleasure.” He gripped it briefly. “I only wish I could’ve been more helpful. But it isn’t likely we’re ever gonna know why or how your grandfather died. The coroner sure couldn’t tell us. And there’s no more than a dozen folks still alive who were around when your grandfather came. Their memories of the time are pretty faulty.”
“I understand.” She’d had few expectations that he would be able to provide answers to any of her questions.
“Naturally we’ll keep our ears open,” he assured her. “And, like I said, we should be getting the results back from the DNA comparisons any day now. Once we’ve got that in our hands, we can release his remains to you. You know how the government is these days. You gotta have all the paperwork in order, all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed or it’s not legal. As soon as all the red tape’
s done, making it official, I’ll get word to you.”
“I appreciate that. You know where to reach me.”
He nodded. “At the Ten Bar.” He leveled a glance at her, his chin dipping as if he were peering over a pair of glasses. “And if you remember anything at all about your attacker, you let us know right away.”
“I will,” Angie promised.
“It’s unfortunate we weren’t able to lift any clear prints, other than yours, from the purse. And that branch—well, it was just too rough to retain anything useable. I’m afraid we really don’t have anything to go on.”
“I’m just glad my purse was found.” Angie touched the shoulder bag. “And that nothing was taken. All in all, the scare was worse than the knock on the head.”
It was easier for Angie to believe that the mugging was an isolated incident, not likely to be repeated, than to view it as a kind of pattern that had begun with the break-in of her camper.
“I wouldn’t take it too lightly,” the sheriff warned. “Things like that don’t usually happen around here. But I’ve seen too much in my time not to know that the wisest course is always to be cautious, even in places that are supposed to be safe.”
“How true.” It was good advice, but it was the kind difficult to translate into action. Seeking to bring an end to the meeting a second time, Angie smiled. “Thanks again for everything, Sheriff.”
“No problem. I’ll be in touch.” He sketched her a one-fingered salute. As she moved down the steps, he called after her, “Give my regards to Luke when you see him.”
“I will,” she promised, with a brief wave.
The afternoon stretched before her, waiting to be filled. Time was something Angie couldn’t afford to waste in idleness, not if she intended to accomplish her goal. She climbed behind the wheel of the pickup camper, determined to take those initial steps to put it all in motion.
With Luke’s help, if possible. Alone, if necessary.
The first would undoubtedly put her on the right trail faster. But either way produced a mixture of eagerness and excitement for the hunt.
Boredom drove Griff out the front door of the Rimrock Bar & Grill. Boredom tinged with a deep malcontent. It was the noon hour, and the parking lot was as empty as the tables inside, typical of a Monday.
Broom in hand, he attacked the accumulation of dust on the front steps and narrow porch floor. A lazy wind played with the dust he raised, scattering some of it over the thick planks and blowing the rest of it onto the graveled lot.
From the highway came the distinctive, droning vibrations of an engine traveling at a reduced speed. Griff automatically glanced up from his sweeping. All his senses went on high alert the instant he recognized the pickup camper and the redhead behind the wheel.
But Angie didn’t turn into the lot or even slow down. She simply honked and waved and continued south out of town. Frustration rose in his throat, thick and tight. For a long second, he stared after her, willing her to turn around and come back.
Forced to face the futility of such a hope, Griff whirled from the sight of her rapidly receding vehicle and stalked into the tavern, the layer of dust on the steps completely forgotten.
“That didn’t take long,” Ima Jane observed when he walked in, then resumed her dusting of the chair rungs, one of many cleaning tasks she reserved for Mondays.
“The Sommers girl just went by.”
“Is that who honked?” she guessed. “I wondered.”
“Headed back to the Ten Bar it looked like. Probably already been to see Beauchamp.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder what she found out.”
“Nothing,” Ima Jane replied with a certainty that immediately seized his attention.
“How do you know?” he challenged, knowing that she couldn’t have gotten the information from the handful of customers they’d had that morning.
“Because I talked with Betty at the sheriff’s office around ten.” Finished with one chair, she moved on to the next.
His frown deepened. “I never heard the phone ring.”
“That’s because I called her,” Ima Jane explained indifferently. “I thought they might have learned something from the fingerprints they took off her purse. But the partial prints they lifted weren’t enough to be identifiable.”
“Too bad.”
“I know.” Ima Jane paused, a troubled look on her face. “I hate to think that anyone we know would have done that.”
“I still say Saddlebags was the culprit.”
“We don’t know that, Griff,” she protested, but without conviction.
“Why? Because you didn’t see him do it?” he scoffed. “You know as well as I do that it had to be him. That old geezer probably couldn’t lift anything heavier than that dead branch. And he disappeared quick enough right afterward, didn’t he?”
That wasn’t exactly true and Ima Jane knew it. But how could she admit to Griff at this late date that she had discovered Saddlebags hiding in their kitchen—especially when she hadn’t said a word about it to the police?
“I still don’t want to believe he did it,” she murmured, which was the reason behind her continued silence.
“Whether you want to believe it or not, it had to be Saddlebags,” Griff stated, then threw a look toward the door. “And what does Luke do? Convinces the Sommers girl she’ll be safer at the Ten Bar. Talk about convenient. That ranch is the old guy’s stomping grounds.”
“He wouldn’t hurt her.” Ima Jane clung to the memory of Saddlebags asking about the severity of Angie’s injury.
“We’ll see.” Griff started for the kitchen, then stopped. “If she was smart, she’d ship her grandfather’s remains back to Iowa and hightail it there herself.”
“She can’t.”
“Why?”
“All the paperwork isn’t done yet,” she explained. “It’ll be another couple days before they can release the remains to her.”
Another couple days. Griff absorbed this new piece of information. That wasn’t much time. Not much time at all.
All was quiet when Angie arrived at the Ten Bar. She noticed the empty stock trailer standing next to the barn, a block of wood propping up its tongue. But there was no sign of Luke, or his ranch pickup. She parked the camper next to the light pole and plugged back into the outlet, then changed into a pair of jeans and a cotton top and searched out the topography map of the area.
With it in hand, she set out for the house trailer. She was halfway across the ranch yard when Dulcie scampered out of the trailer to meet her.
“I didn’t know you were back. Have you been home long?” She looked stricken by the possibility.
“Not long at all,” Angie assured her and glanced toward the trailer. “Is Luke here?”
“No. He left right after lunch. Tobe, too. Have you eaten? I’ll bet Fargo’ll fix you something if you haven’t.”
“Thanks, but I grabbed a sandwich in town. Is Fargo inside?”
“Yeah. You wanta see him?”
“I would, yes.” Angie smiled at Dulcie’s eager expression.
“He’s in the kitchen. Come on. I’ll take you.”
With Dulcie leading the way at a skipping walk, they went into the trailer and straight to the kitchen. Angie hesitated when she saw that Fargo was on the phone.
Noting her presence, he said into the mouthpiece, “Just a minute. I got company.” He lowered the receiver and held it against his chest. “If you’re looking for Luke, he’s out fixin’ fence this afternoon. Probably won’t be back ’til chore time.”
Angie had suspected something of the sort. “Do you think he’d mind if I borrowed one of his horses and went riding this afternoon?”
“That would most likely depend on whether you’d sue if you got bucked off.” There was nothing in his expression to indicate whether he was joking or not.
She smiled anyway. “I won’t.”
“Won’t what? Get bucked off or sue?”
“I won’t do either one.”
“Thanks.” She started to turn away.
“Where you goin’ anyway?” he challenged, his eyes narrowing in a sharp study. “If you don’t turn up come sundown, it’d be good to know where to start lookin’.”
“I thought I’d ride out to the canyon where the outlaws were captured.”
Fargo eyed her with suspicion. “I thought Luke took you there yesterday.”
“He did, but I’d like to go back and look around some more,” she answered truthfully.
“What’s that you got there?” He nodded at the folded map in her hand.
“A map of the terrain showing all the major features. I’m pretty sure I can find my way to the canyon, but I thought I’d take the map along with me, as well as a compass, just in case I get turned around.”
“Good thinking,” he grunted in approval.
After listening quietly through the whole exchange, Dulcie spoke up. “Can I come?”
When Angie hesitated, Fargo volunteered, “You can ride along as far as I’m concerned. I might finally get something done around here with you out of my hair. Course”—he paused, shooting Angie a glance—“it’s up to her whether she wants to take you along or not.”
“Can I?” Dulcie’s soulfully pleading look made it impossible to refuse.
“Of course you can,” Angie agreed. “I’ll be glad for the company.”
