An irritated knock sounded on his office door and Kale knew it was showtime.
“Come in.”
“Kale,” Jeff said.
“Have a seat,” he replied, noticing Jeff carried his saddle, chaps, bridle, and rope. “You can leave your gear right there.”
Jeff dropped everything and approached the desk. “Listen, Kale—”
He held up a hand to stop Jeff’s words. “There’s no explanation you can give me to change my mind.”
“It wasn’t like she made it out to be.”
“Did you or did you not strike your wife?”
“Well, yeah, but we were arguing about me going out with the guys and—”
Kale held up his hand. “There is no excuse for hitting a woman under any circumstances.” The drawer slide open with a tug of his fingers, and he grabbed the check he had already made out for Jeff’s final wages. “Take it. I don’t want you on my land again.”
“Son of a bitch,” Jeff cussed under his breath. “Laurel will pay for this.”
Kale narrowed his gaze on the man and spat, “You touch her and I will personally put your ass in the hospital. Do I make myself clear?”
“What do you care? She’s nothing to you.”
“It doesn’t matter what she is or isn’t to me. If you so much as grab her arm, I’ll break yours.”
Jeff folded the check and stuffed it into his pocket. The look on the man’s face told Kale he contemplated whether the threat was an idle one.
The door shut behind him and Kale let out a long, slow breath and raked his fingers through his hair. How he got caught up in this whole messy affair, he wasn’t sure, but it appeared he got himself smack ass in the middle of it whether he wanted to be or not.
No time for reflection now. The cattle in the north pasture wouldn’t bring themselves up for branding and the men waited. He pushed to his feet, grabbed his Stetson and sighed. Snapping blue eyes and a saucy smile flashed in front of him and right then, he swore to himself he would get that sassy red-head beneath him sooner or later and he preferred soon.
Over twenty men sat saddled and ready to ride when he made his way around the backside of the barn. At times they took ATVs but it was much easier to roust some of the stubborn ones from the brush on a horseback.
“Hey, boss,” his foreman said with a tip of his hat.
“Everyone here?”
“Yeah, except for Jeff.”
“He won’t be joining us.”
“Oh?” the man asked with a questioning raise of his eyebrows.
“I fired him this morning.” He swung up into the saddle and said, “Enough said. Let’s ride, boys.”
Several hours later, the sun hung low in the western sky in a spray of orange, reds, yellows, and blues. Sweat trickled down Kale’s back and chest as the last of the calves had Bar KD burned into their flesh. A good day’s work he figured. A hard day’s work, but it felt good.
Two of the hands put the equipment away while several others cleaned up the shoot and got ready to call it quits.
Kale noticed several buzzards circling above the ridge to his left and narrowed his eyes. “Are we missing any cattle?”
“Not that I know of, why?”
“Buzzards,” he replied, tipping his chin toward where several of the birds swooped and dove. “I’m gonna ride up and take a look.”
Two of the ranch hands agreed to go with him in case they might need to help an injured animal.
His horse took off at a fast clip with only a nudge of his spurs, beguiling the weariness and fatigue surrounded both horse and rider.
Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It wasn’t unusual for them to lose a calf during this time. Those types of things came with ranch life. They weren’t terribly far from the main house and although buzzards were very bold birds, they scattered quickly when faced with intruders.
The thunder of pounding hooves scared the birds hovering near the solitary lump. The only thing even remotely close came in the form of the scattered scrub brush so common for this area. A small line shack on the other side of the hill would be the single sign of civilization except for the main ranch house.
Kale dismounted from his horse and tied the reins of the skittish animal to one of the bushes. “Easy boy. What’s got you all riled up?” he asked the horse, watching carefully as the animal danced around and snorted even under his usually calming hand.
Seth stepped down from his saddle and secured his horse next to Kale’s before moving off toward the pile of whatever they’d come to check out.
“Shit! Uh, Kale? Fuck man,” Seth cursed, stumbling back and holding his stomach.
“What is it?”
“It’s…it’s a woman.”
“What? You can’t be serious,” Kale said, walking to where he could see the form taking shape the closer he got. “Oh, hell. Jesus Christ!” He moved further away and fought the bile threatening to spew all over the ground near his feet.
“Are you fucking serious?” Rick said from his vantage point still atop his horse. “It’s like a body?”
“Yeah,” Seth replied, moving back near his horse.
Seconds later, Kale heard the distinctive sounds of retching and he fought the urge to follow suit. “Grab the extra blanket from behind my saddle, Rick, so I can cover her.”
“Hell, no. I ain’t gettin’ nowhere near a dead body.”
“Get me the fuckin’ blanket, man. She’s already been through enough from what I can tell. And grab my cell from my saddlebag. I need to get the sheriff out here,” Kale snarled, trying to breathe through his nose to keep from puking.
Rick grabbed the things he asked for and sidestepped closer, keeping plenty of distance between him and the woman. He nervously handed the blanket and phone to Kale and then shot like a bullet back to his horse.
“Pussy,” Kale grumbled, taking several breaths to calm his stomach before he approached the woman.
Long blonde hair fanned out around her head, but he couldn’t tell much else about her. Her face was black and blue with multiple bruises, obliterating her features to almost unrecognizable. The remnants of a pink halter top clung to her waist after it apparently had been ripped from her body and the same scattered bruises covered her upper torso. A miniscule denim skirt bunched around her hips revealed the lack of underwear and the odd angle of her legs told him she’d probably been raped before she was killed. Absently, Kale wondered if he knew her.
“I’m so sorry, darlin’. God, who could have done this to you?” he asked out loud as he covered her and stepped back. Wiping the moisture gathering at the edges of his eyes with his hand, he sniffed and flipped open his cell phone.
* * * *
Two hours later, the place swarmed with police and after he’d answered so many questions he couldn’t remember his own name, they released him. The two hands who rode into the mess with him were finally released, too, and the three of them trotted back toward the house together.
“What do you say we hit the bar, Kale?” Seth asked.
“Sure. I could use a beer or two, but I need to shower first. I stink.”
The three of them laughed. The same funk clung to their clothes and skin. Cattle mixed with burnt hair, sweat, dirt and sunshine.
“The Saddle Club in, say an hour?”
“Great,” Kale replied swinging down from his saddle. “I’ll see you guys there.”
The other two disappeared as Kale walked his horse toward the barn.
Lights flicked on from the front of the large structure while the sun set behind the hills. Dust flittered through the air when he opened the barn door and led his horse inside. Metal rungs for tethering hung from a post, letting him slip the horse's tack from its body. This gave him the freedom to brush down the horse after a hard day under the saddle. Any cowboy’s top priority meant taking care of his horse.
“I bet it’ll feel good to get out from under all this stuff, huh, boy.”
The gelding nickered softly and hung his head.
“We’ll get you fixed up here in a second and leave you some nice feed and soft hay for the night.”
After a quick brushing and rub down, he led the animal into the stall and then latched the door behind him. He swiped the Stetson from his head and then wiped the sweat clinging to his brow. Scorching sun had beat down on their heads and their backs all day and he felt every trail of grime and sweat on his body. A hot shower and a cold beer is what I need right now and maybe a willin’ woman. Weary steps took his equally tired body toward the house. Between the backbreaking work on the ranch and keeping up with his architecture business, it was a wonder he had time for anything else.
A hearty groan spilled from his lips as the pounding jets of the shower relaxed the tight muscles of his back. Within moments, the spraying water trickled over his naked chest and slid down between his legs.
What I wouldn’t give for a woman’s hands kneading the knots out of my shoulders.
Women came fairly easy to him most days, but lately there hadn’t been any worth pursuing past one night in his bed. He had no one to blame but himself. The forced abstinence of his existence made him frown. Work had become his entire life over the last couple of years and he didn’t like it. All of his bed partners lately left him feeling cold and alone.
Marriage? He snorted. After his ex-wife became a lesbian, his manhood shriveled up and hid. How is a man supposed to feel when his wife leaves him for another woman?
Natalie came to mind. The last real relationship he could recall being in was with her and it really wasn’t a relationship at all. One night of hot ménage sex two years ago between him, her, and his best friend Cade, had ended real quick when she blurted out her love for Cade. He didn’t begrudge his two best friends. They were perfect for each other and now they’d started their own branch of the family tree, but God, he wanted a woman like her—soft, warm, pretty, good-hearted, and caring. She hadn’t plucked at his heart strings really, but she had kept his attention for a short time. Come to think of it, none of the women around Red Rock held his attention for long.
Big blue eyes and fiery red hair flashed behind his mind’s eye. Okay. Laurel caught my eye the minute she stomped across the bar. Would all her passion and fire translate into a wild romp between the sheets? Man, what I wouldn’t give to find out.
Kale shook his head and grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the shelf. The almost see-through liquid filled his hand with a splurt before he scrubbed his scalp clean. Bubbles traveled in rivulets down his chest and abdomen until all the soap was gone. Next came the clean, spicy scent of the soap while he scrubbed all the sweat and grime from his body. With all the soap gone, he rinsed a final time and shut off the water.
A few moments later, he walked into his room with a towel wrapped around his hips. Jeans, T-shirt, and long-sleeved western shirt, and he would be ready to hit the bar. The shower did wonders for his achy, weary body, and now he was ready to party.
Maybe Laurel will show up again. “Get over it. She wasn’t interested with the proposition in the diner, and she probably wouldn’t be interested tonight either.”
He stomped his feet into his boots, adjusted his belt around his waist, and slipped on his Stetson. Truck keys in hand, he opened the front door and then close it behind him.
Moonlight slashed across the ground in silvery streaks, lighting his way to the truck sitting off to the left of the house. Within seconds, he was bouncing down the dirt driveway toward the highway.
George Straight’s voice crooned over the radio and he remembered the conversation he had with Natalie about their favorite country singers, right here in this truck. His heart ached for the closeness of a woman who would understand him—Kale Dunn, architect, and cowboy.
The lights of the Saddle Club flashed off and on as he got closer. Tons of trucks and cars of every make and model crowded the parking lot and he wondered at first, where he would be able to park until a spot opened up off to the left. He caught sight of a local Red Rock cop car sitting near the back and questioned whether it might be Laurel.
“Stupid. You have no idea what her schedule is or even what department she works in for crying out loud,” he grumbled, popping open his door and then slamming it behind him.
“Hey, Kale,” a cute blonde woman yelled from two cars over.
“Hi, Mitzi.”
“You come to party tonight, hunky man?”
He rolled his eyes and nodded. “For a little while anyway.”
“Save me a dance, would ya?”
“Sure, babe. Catch me inside.”
The ebb and flow of the music made his ears ring with each person passing through the double doors. He stepped inside and glanced around trying to find the guys only to see them standing near the pool table while a couple of them played.
“Boss,” James yelled, waving from his spot next the wall.
Kale stopped the waitress as she wandered by and told her to bring the group another round on him.
“Anything going on?” Kale asked, reaching the group.
“Nah. It’s still early though. I’m sure more people will show up soon,” James replied. “Someone in particular you’re lookin’ for?”
“Nope.” The waitress arrived with several beer bottles. “Let’s relax and have a good time, gentlemen. We worked hard today.”
“Hey. We heard about the woman’s body y’all found up on the hill," James said.
“Yeah. Not a pretty picture,” Kale replied. “The whole thing sucks because now I’m a damned suspect in a fucking murder investigation.” A round of affirmative nods and murmurs echoed around the group as each one took a long sip off the beer in their hands.
Kale felt a hand slide across his left butt cheek and then fingers hook into his belt loop. When he turned to find out who was being so bold, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
* * * *
“God, I hate patrol. I should be doing detective work, not this shit of rolling around town looking for drunks, fights, and speeders,” Laurel grumbled as she took a left at the stop sign. “I’m a homicide detective for crying out loud.”
Streetlamps beamed a warm golden glow across the blackness of the pavement. Sweat rolled down her back and between her breasts from the heat of the summer night. Teenage kids hovered near the corners of downtown and she debated on whether to stop and see what they were up to, but then she remember she wasn’t in Los Angeles anymore. Red Rock, Montana didn’t have the gangs and violence of the west coast. Kids here didn’t carry guns unless it was a hunting rifle in the back window of their truck.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
She went on high alert at what sounded like gunfire. The patrol car did a complete one-eighty when she cranked the steering wheel to the left. Her foot hit the gas and she pushed the cruiser to top speed until she reached the corner where the kids had been standing before. All she could think of was one of those teenagers lying bloody in the street.
The corner came into view and the kids stood around in a circle.
Flashing lights and screeching tires brought their attention to her when she careened to a stop near them and jumped out of her car.
“Everyone all right?”
“No,” one answered.
“Let me through,” she said and the kids parted like the Red Sea.
Sitting on the ground near a low wall covered in kudzu vine was a young man about fifteen holding his hand at the wrist.
“What happened?” she asked, dropping into a squat next to him. A quick once over of his body revealed a wound to his hand.
The boy’s face scrunched in pain and she could tell he fought the tears shimmering in his eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m Officer Hayes. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Just my hand.”
“What happened?”
“Firecrackers. I didn’t let go soon enough.”
Laurel grabbed the microphone at her shoulder. “Dispatch, this is car
twelve. I need an ambulance at the corner of Mission and Fourth. I’ve got a kid with burns to his left hand from a firecracker.”
Thank God it wasn’t gunfire like I originally thought. Firecrackers are one thing. Gunfire usually means someone is dead.
“What’s your name son?”
“Matt Weston.”
“Well, Matt. It looks like you’ve got some pretty good burns on your hand, but I’m sure it will heal in no time.” She glanced around at the group of teens and narrowed her gaze. “All of you know better than to play with firecrackers, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, but—” one of the others said.
“No, buts. Fireworks are dangerous and your friend here is paying the price for being careless. It could have been worse. He could have lost his hand altogether.” The wail of a siren coming closer caught her attention. “The ambulance will take care of you. Want me to call your parents and let them know what’s going on?”
“Yeah. You can use my cell phone. It’s in the front pocket of my jeans.”
“I’ll get it,” said another friend. The kid dug into Matt’s pocket and retrieved the phone. “Here.”
Laurel flipped open the phone and found home on the contacts list as the paramedic unit stopped near the curb. “It’ll be fine, Matt. Don’t worry.”
“My mom is going to be so pissed,” Matt replied.
The paramedics pulled out their equipment and approached the group. “What have we got officer?”
“This is Matt Weston. He and his friends had some firecrackers and one exploded a little too close to his hand. I’m going to call his parents.”
“Thanks,” the paramedic said, even while his gaze swept over her from head to toe and a look of interest appeared in his eyes. “You must be new around here.”
“Yeah,” was her only reply before she stepped to the side and hit talk on the kid’s cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Can I speak to the mother or father of Matt Weston please?”
Before The Night Is Over Page 3
