“So, this Marconi,” Dani began in an attempt at conversation. “Just how powerful is he?”
“I’d rather talk about mustangs,” Joe said, glancing briefly at her.
“Was he involved in a drug ring?”
“He was into it all. Sex trafficking, drug running, insurance fraud, stock market fraud, you name it. He had his fingers in all the pies. Federal prison didn’t slow him down one bit, just gave him time to hone his techniques and build his clientele.”
“I’m from a little dairy farming community in Oregon. You’ll have to forgive me for being ignorant about organized crime in big cities.”
“I think it’s great you don’t know anything about it,” Joe said. “I wish I could’ve grown up on a farm.”
“That dairy farm had been in my family for generations. It was a big farm, too, nearly seven hundred acres. My great-great-grandfather built the house the 1800s. We all loved that farm, especially my father. The land gets in your blood. It’s a powerful bond that’s hard to describe. My dad died of a massive heart attack when he was forty-five. It was very sudden. I was away at school, in my first year of college. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Dani’s voice caught. She was amazed at how painful the memory still was. She turned her head away and felt her heart twist when Joe’s hand reached out and closed around hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, giving her hand a comforting squeeze.
Dani nodded and struggled to compose herself. “After years of us nagging him, Dad had finally bought all new equipment and upgraded the dairy barn, just a few months before he died. New automated milking parlor and the whole nine yards. He’d had to mortgage the property to upgrade the business. The stress of that mortgage is probably what brought on his heart attack. We all felt guilty, like we’d killed him. When he died, the federal and state death taxes were so high my mother couldn’t pay them and make the mortgage payments. She was forced to sell. She kept the house and twenty acres at least. But developers snapped up the rest of the land and turned it into big housing developments. A developer built a strip mall where the best hay fields once were. When I saw what losing my father and the farm he loved did to my mother, I wanted to keep the same thing from ever happening to anyone else’s family farm. That’s why I went into real estate law and estate planning.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“Two sisters, both married with kids, living so-called normal lives. I’m the oddball.”
Joe gave her hand one more squeeze before returning his to the steering wheel. “I think your father would be really proud of you,” he said. He let a respectful amount of time pass before asking, “So how do we find the guy who shot the wild horses?”
Dani twisted sideways in her seat to study his profile. In spite of herself, she was getting mighty attached to Joe Ferguson’s profile. “Until Marconi’s caught, I really think you should stay out at the Bow and Arrow. It’s safer than going back east.”
Completely ignoring her statement, Joe said, “Comstock mentioned commandeering a chopper and flying up into the pass to look for those four mares. Is that sort of aerial search for wild animals in a warden’s budget?”
Dani faced front with a frustrated sigh. “You know why I went to law school. What made you get into police work?”
“I went into law enforcement because I wanted to single-handedly abolish organized crime.”
“A noble cause,” Dani said with a note of skepticism in her voice.
“Okay, truth of the matter, an ex-soldier only has so many skills to market in the job place. And who knows, maybe it’s a genetic thing with the Irish.”
“You’re half-Scottish,” Dani reminded him.
“Yeah, I figure that’s why Molly moved out West. My mother’s side of the family were the explorers, the fur trappers, the mountain men. The fiery redheaded environmental lawyers.”
Dani smiled. “Molly’s one of a kind.”
“She’s an icon in our family. Smart, college educated, beautiful, successful and somewhat famous after the successful fight to save Madison Mountain. Makes me kind of ashamed of teasing her when she was little about her red hair and freckles.”
“Molly adores you. If you stayed out here, she’d be the happiest gal on the planet and you’d get to watch your niece or nephew grow up.”
“So, getting back to the wild horses. If Comstock finds them, what then?”
“Then we tell Jessie Weaver, and Caleb and Pony, and figure out some kind of game plan. Odds are most of those mares are ready to foal. They need to be down in the valley, in a protected place.”
“A place the shooter could access, to finish off the job?”
“Hopefully we’ll find out who did it before it comes to that.”
“So these four surviving mares, the last of Custer’s band, what happens to them?”
Dani shook her head. “That’s just it. Right now their future is up in the air. If the BLM decides to slaughter all the wild horses being held in long-term holding areas, which they’re being pressured to do, they’ll probably end up in dog food cans or being shipped to Europe for people food.”
“Do you think that’s really going to happen?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know. The cattlemen’s association is a powerful lobby. But people truly connect to the mustangs and the image of the Wild West. It’s an emotional subject and it’s hard for people to be objective. But these wild horses have a very successful breeding rate. Without some way of controlling that, how do you control the population? Managing the wild horse herds is complicated.”
“Isn’t there some way to fix them?”
“Vaccines have been developed that will inhibit pregnancy in mares for up to three years. The problem is administering them to mares in a wild herd. And then there’s the problem of how these vaccines might effect other animals who eat horse carcasses, and that includes the horses that get sold for human consumption. Castrating the colts and stallions is ineffective because just one animal that’s missed can impregnate a whole lot of mares. There are no easy answers. Wild horses can’t be managed the way you’d manage a deer or elk population, by hunting them, and as far as natural predators, there aren’t many that can take down a horse. Roundups are ineffective, too. There just aren’t enough people who want to adopt these horses, so they end up being held in pens and fed at the taxpayers’ expense.
“Jessie Weaver has probably the most genetically pure Spanish mustangs, and her program works because the Bow and Arrow is a huge ranch with plenty of land and water, and her mares are only half wild and she can easily manage her herd. She’s able to administer the three-year vaccine to specific mares. She chooses when to breed and which mares to keep open, so when the foals are born, they’re wanted. They’re waited for. That’s what the kids at the Bow and Arrow help with. They’re great at working with the young horses. Once the foals are weaned off their mothers and the colts are gelded, the kids take over, and by fall time the horses are ready for new homes. Any remaining yearlings are handled regularly and they’re trained to be ridden when they’re two-year-olds. Unfortunately, Jessie Weaver’s wild horse management is the exception to the rule.”
Joe drove in silence for a while, digesting Dani’s words. “So, what’s the answer?” he finally said.
“I don’t know,” Dani admitted. “But I do know shooting them isn’t the way to solve the problem.” She brooded for a few moments. “Sometimes I wish I’d never discovered that little band of mustangs up in the Arrow Roots, but I did, and I’ve gotten attached to them over the years. If I had a place with some land, I’d take those four mares myself. My house in Helena’s on the market. It’s a beautiful old house in the historic district and should sell fast. The real estate agent showed it on Saturday to a couple who loved it. She thinks they’ll make an offer. I’m shopping for something that might have
enough space for a few horses but haven’t found anything yet.”
Joe hit the brakes and Dani braced one hand against the dash as he swerved to avoid a Hereford cow and calf that burst out of the brush and trotted across the road in front of Dani’s vehicle. “Damn!” he said after the close call. “Don’t they fence in their cattle around here?”
“BLM lands are leased to cattle ranchers, and there are fences but not all of them are in good shape,” Dani explained. “Driving can be hazardous after dark.”
“Then I better slow down,” Joe said. “I prefer my steak on a plate, not on the hood of a car.”
* * *
“THEY SHOULD HAVE been here by now,” Molly said for the umpteenth time, pacing to the window.
Steven looked up from the newspaper. “Pony said they only left the Bow and Arrow two hours ago. They probably stopped somewhere along the way.”
“Where? There’s no place to stop. The Longhorn isn’t open at night. Something bad’s happened, I know it. Joseph should have stayed at the Bow and Arrow—it’s the safest place for him! Marconi’s hit men are probably here already, waiting to pick him off. You almost got killed the same way, or have you forgotten?”
“That was different.”
“No, it wasn’t. A crazy man with a gun almost killed you. Someone shot at Joe and almost killed him. There’s so much violence in the world. I hate guns! They should all be banned.”
Steven folded the paper and set it on the coffee table. “They’re here.”
“What?” Molly ran to the window. “How do you know? I didn’t hear anything!”
“That’s because you’re too busy pacing and talking.”
Molly crossed to the door and opened it just as Dani’s Subaru swung into the drive and headlights swept across the front of the house. “Oh, thank God!” she said, and rushed toward the station wagon. “Joseph!” She plastered herself against her brother as soon as he got out of the car, then did the same to Dani when she emerged. “I was so worried. Why didn’t you stay at the Bow and Arrow? You weren’t supposed to come back here—it’s too dangerous. Come inside, Dani. You can let the dogs out in the yard. It’s not safe out here—anybody could be hiding in those bushes.” She rushed them into the house and made sure the curtains were drawn tight. “What took you so long? I tried and tried to call you but you weren’t answering. Have you called your boss yet, Joseph? Have you talked to Rico?”
Steven folded his newspaper, pushed out of his chair, added another chunk of firewood to the fireplace and went into the kitchen. “I’ll fix the drinks,” he said. “What is everyone having?”
* * *
MOLLY LOOKED AT Steven as he stood behind the kitchen counter taking drink orders, and wondered how he could be so calm.
“How about a glass of milk for Molly?” Dani said, leading her to the couch and sitting her down. “I’m sorry we scared you. It’s been a long day for everyone.” Dani sank down beside Molly. “I’ll have whatever you fix, Steven, and thank you. I’m sorry we’re so late getting here. It’s a slower drive at night.”
“Joe?” Steven said.
Joe had moved over by the fire and was nudging the log with a brass poker. “Whiskey, straight up, if you have any.”
Steven brought a glass of milk for her, a shot of whiskey for Joe and a glass of cabernet for Dani. “Red okay?” he asked her.
“Red’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you, Steven.”
Steven sat on the other side of Molly and opened a bottle of cold beer for himself. “So, what’s next?”
Molly set her untasted glass of milk on the coffee table. “First thing in the morning, Joseph goes back to the Bow and Arrow. I’m sure Marconi knows I’m living in Montana and his goons have probably already tracked you here.”
“You’ve watched too many cop shows,” Joe said. “Anyway, you won’t have to worry about Mob goons after tomorrow because I’m catching a flight out of Bozeman in the morning and heading back east.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Molly said.
“Let’s drop this subject,” Joe said. “I’m sick of it.”
“Agreed,” Steven seconded.
A gust of wind rattled a loose shutter. Molly jumped up nervously and paced to the window, fiddling with the curtains, making sure they were tightly shut. Nausea made her stomach roil and her fingers trembled as she adjusted the curtains. “Rico told me about the death threat,” she said.
“Rico talks too much.”
“Joseph, this is serious. Until they’re all rotting in prison, you won’t be safe. Are you forgetting how our very own grandfather died?”
Joe met her gaze with an expression that made her feel like a naughty child, then drank his shot of whiskey in one swallow. He walked into the kitchen and set his glass in the sink. “I’m hitting the sack,” he said. “Thanks for the drink, Steven. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
He paused by Dani, reached in his pocket and handed her a business card. “Sheriff Conroy’s contact information. You’ll want to make sure he follows up on that bag of evidence we gave him.” Then he left the room, and the silence that filled it after he’d gone made Molly want to cry. She sat back down beside Dani and hugged a throw pillow to her stomach.
“He’s so stubborn,” she said.
“How did your grandfather die?” Steven asked.
“He was an honest Irish cop, and honest cops who made big waves with the Mob didn’t last long. He was found in Boston Harbor. Authorities said he likely slipped and fell off the pier one foggy night and drowned. They called it a tragic accident and said it was just a coincidence that it happened two days before he was to testify against a member of the Mob.”
Molly jumped to her feet and flung the throw pillow onto the couch. “So you see, I won’t let history repeat itself. Joseph’s not going anywhere except back to the Bow and Arrow. That’s the safest place in the world for him right now.”
“He won’t go willingly,” Dani said.
Molly paced to the fireplace and back, then stopped. Her frown vanished and her expression brightened. “Unless we make him think that staying was his own idea,” she said. “And I think I have the perfect plan.”
* * *
WHEN THE PHONE rang at ten p.m., Ben Comstock groaned aloud. He and his wife had just gone to bed and turned the lights out. The aspirin and ice pack had taken the edge off the pain and he was tired enough that he was almost asleep.
“I’ll get it,” he said. He reached for the phone before Emma could lean over him, but she beat him to it. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, no matter who’s poaching what,” she informed him before picking it up. She listened to the caller for a few moments, then covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Molly Ferguson, the attorney who has the law practice in Bozeman with Steven Young Bear. Not an emergency—she just wanted to ask you something.”
Comstock took the phone from his wife. “Hello, Molly. What’s up?”
Molly’s voice was taut. “It’s about my brother Joseph. You met him today. He was with Dani when she went up the mountain where the wild horses were shot,” she began, and Comstock settled back on his pillow to listen.
CHAPTER NINE
DANI ROSE BEFORE dawn to let the dogs out into the fenced yard. She was grateful for the neat stack of clothing Molly had provided the evening before, knowing that Dani had packed very little for her hiking trip. She was a few inches taller than Molly but about the same size, which was helpful. Their tastes in clothing, however, were vastly different. Molly, being a redhead, preferred understated and conservative styles. Getting dressed meant choosing between dull and boring, as far as Dani was concerned, but the clothing was clean and that’s all that counted.
The sun was an hour shy of rising over the mountain range to the east and the world was still quiet and peaceful. Steve
n and Molly’s house was way off the beaten path. No neighbors, no traffic noises. Just the wind blowing across the distance, the first clear notes of birdsong, the last of the stars fading from the sky. She smelled coffee in the kitchen. Joe must already be up. He was an early bird, and the time difference was probably still influencing his routine. She poured herself a mug and carried it out onto the porch. Sure enough, he was sitting in the same chair he’d been in the morning before. Had it been just a day that they last sat side by side, drinking coffee? So much had happened since then.
She sat down in the chair beside him with a quiet greeting, which he returned. “Did you sleep, Joe?”
“Like a log. You?”
“I don’t have anyone trying to kill me.”
“Don’t start,” he said. “Molly gets carried away sometimes, and yesterday was definitely one of those times.”
“Are you still dead set on going back east?”
“It’s the best way to nail Marconi, especially if he’s gunning for me. Lure him back into the city where the local cops and the feds know his every move.”
“Maybe I’m way out of line here, but I sense this thing with Marconi is some sort of personal vendetta with you.”
Joe balanced his mug of coffee on his knee and gazed out across the distance. “It is, I guess,” he said slowly. “My ex-wife, Alison, was a model featured in a lot of glossy magazines doing perfume and makeup campaigns. Her photo was also often found on the society pages and in tabloid rags. And several times over the five years we were married she was photographed with Marconi. She shrugged it off when I asked her about it when we started dating, said they just happened to be at the same party. But the way they were looking at each other in some of the photos...” Joe’s voice trailed off. He raised his coffee mug, took a swallow and set it back on his knee. “Doesn’t matter, I guess. She played around with a lot of men after we were married and made no secret of it. It’s just the thought of her and Marconi being together, especially when she knew I was working so hard to put him away for life... It really bothered me.”
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