Cowboy Tough

by Joanne Kennedy

  “There a name on these trucks?”

  “Sullivan Land and Cattle Company.”

  “I should have known,” he muttered. “They figure they can get away with it while we’re busy with the dudes.”

  “Hah!” Dora spun her horse again, obviously reveling in her part in the drama. “They didn’t figure it was the dudes that would catch ’em.”

  Mack set off for the barn, his long legs making short work of the rugged path, then stopped and turned to Cat. “It won’t be much of a delay. The horses are tacked up and ready. I should be back by the time breakfast’s done.”

  The students milled around, spooning scrambled eggs from tin plates and plowing through a plateful of bacon as Maddie churned out more and more food. Dora was trotting after Mack, determined to be a part of the upcoming drama.

  “I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder.

  Abby paced by the fire, obviously agitated. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered. “Really can’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cat said. “I can’t believe how many things have gone wrong.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sure the company will refund at least part of your fee.”

  “It’s not that.” Abby shoved her hands in her pockets and kicked at the dirt. “It’s that dirtbag stealing Mack’s cattle. We ought to do something.”

  “I’m sure Mack can handle it.”

  He’d handled everything else, including her. She wished there was some way she could help him, but the best bet seemed to be staying here, holding down the home fort.

  She did her best to make small talk, keeping one eye on the trail to watch for his return. But the cloud of dust that finally appeared in the distance cleared to reveal a single rider. Dora, again approaching at top speed.

  “Aunt Cat.” She pulled up the horse and let it dance in place. If possible, she was even more breathless and excited than she’d been earlier. “You have to come. Viv’s hurt, and Mack’s really, really pissed, and he went on up there, and they have, like, I don’t know how many men up there. I’m scared he’ll get in a fight. You have to come.”

  “Viv’s hurt?”

  “She fell, I think. I don’t know. She’s resting now, but she was on the ground when we found her. I think something’s broken. And Mack…”

  Cat couldn’t even imagine Mack’s fury. Viv had probably just had a riding accident, but if he thought the Sullivans had caused it, there was no telling what he’d do.

  “We need to go up there. I think he’ll listen to you.”

  Cat took off for the barn at a run.

  ***

  Dora led Cat along a meandering trail that headed into the hills on the north end of the ranch. It was an uphill climb, but Rembrandt made it look easy. As hoofbeats approached from behind, Cat tugged him to a stop, but he danced like a racehorse at the starting line.

  It was Ed, mounted on Bucky. He was hardly dressed in his usual Western wear. Cat did a quick double take.

  “Your bathrobe doesn’t go with your boots.”

  “I know, dammit.” He looked down at his feet, where his striped pajama bottoms were a mass of wrinkled cotton tucked into his boot-tops. “But slippers aren’t safe for riding.”

  Cat did another double take when another horse and rider crested the hill, and then several more. Evidently the whole class had decided to go along for the ride.

  “What are you guys doing up here? This could be dangerous.”

  “I know,” Ed said. “You think I’d miss it?”

  “There was no stopping him,” Emma said. She was right behind him. Their outfits matched.

  Abby was next in line. “I told him me and Charles should come, but do you think he’d wait for us? Nope.” She shook her head. “Stubborn old man.”

  “Hey, show some respect for your daddy.”

  Cat scanned the line. Despite her annoyance, she could barely suppress a giggle. Evidently no one had taken time to change. Only Maddie, trailing the line on a white mare that matched her pale face, was dressed for riding.

  “Maddie,” Cat said. “You don’t need to deal with this.”

  “It’s my problem. I’ll see it through.” She gestured toward the barn. “Hank’s coming too. He just had to saddle up.”

  At least they had one experienced rider coming. Cat started to tell the rest to turn around and head home, but their eager faces and bright eyes made her pause. They were having a good time. Maybe it wasn’t what they’d signed on for, but she could hardly refuse to take them where they wanted to go—pajamas and all.

  “Come on, Aunt Cat,” Dora called. She’d stopped her horse beside a rocky outcropping just below the crest of the hill. Viv sat on the rock, holding onto her horse’s reins with one hand and clutching her knee with the other. Cat urged Rembrandt into the surprisingly speedy trot that seemed to be his fastest gait. She slid out of the saddle when they reached Viv.

  “What happened, hon?”

  “They ran me off.” The pain was obviously at war with a generous helping of anger. “We heard them first. They were shouting, and I heard the truck doors slamming. I knew something was going on, so I said we should go home, but Dora wouldn’t listen. She rode up ahead. I couldn’t stop her.”

  As if to illustrate her impulsiveness, Dora clicked to her horse and kicked it into a gallop, cresting the hill before Cat could get out so much as a squeak.

  Viv rocked slightly, still clutching her knee. It was obvious she was in pain. “One of the guys rode up and I told him to get off our land.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “He took his reins and whapped Booger in the face. Booger reared and I fell. I got back on and made it this far, but I can’t ride, so I told Dora to go ahead.” She clutched her knee tighter. “It hurts so much.”

  “Let me see.”

  Viv pulled away. “It’ll be all right. Just go get my dad. I’m afraid he’ll do something dumb. You know how he is.”

  Cat nodded, remembering Trevor’s bloodied face.

  “I told him I just fell, but he knows I ride better than that. He’s so mad. If he confronts those guys…”

  Cat remembered the Sullivans from the dance—big men, quiet, with hard eyes.

  “It’s just over that ridge,” Viv said. “The cattle are spread out in the valley, but they were unloading horses, and they had the trucks parked at the loading chute.”

  Cat looked down at the injured girl as the rest of the class approached. “Somebody has to stay with her.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Viv said. “You need all the riders you can get. Just go. All of you.”

  Chapter 44

  Cat pulled up at the top of the hill to survey the situation, motioning for the rest of the riders to stop. A rolling pasture spread out before them, cloaked in golden grass and dotted with rocky outcroppings.

  The cattle were milling around outside a rickety wooden corral, lowing their distress. A livestock truck was backed up to a loading chute, and several mounted men hovered at the edge of the herd. She couldn’t tell who was who at this distance, but she was sure Mack was down there.

  If she had any sense, she’d round up her students and take them back to the ranch. She was sure foiling cattle rustlers was hardly an Art Treks–approved activity. This was probably the end of her new teaching career, but surprisingly, she didn’t care. What mattered was the ranch. And Mack. Mack mattered most of all.

  She’d wished for a chance to help him the way he’d helped her, and it looked like this was it. She was no cowgirl, but there had to be a way to keep those animals from getting on that truck. She’d gather the students together and work out a plan.

  Ed pulled up beside her and she turned to speak to him, but he took one look at the situation and kicked Bucky into a gallop. She gripped her saddle horn and watched him careen down the slope, wondering not if, but when he’d tumble off the horse and b
reak his neck. Then Emma passed her, and Abby and Charles. Only Maddie stopped.

  “Where’s Hank?” Cat asked.

  Maddie glanced behind her. “He must be having trouble,” she said. “I don’t know what’s keeping him.”

  “Go back and see. We need him, Maddie. If Viv can ride, maybe you can take her with you.”

  Reluctantly, Maddie turned her horse and headed back. Cat set off after the rest of the class, wondering how she’d stop this sure disaster. If she could catch up and pass them, she could regain some control. But Rembrandt laid his ears back and flat-out refused to step up into a trot.

  “Come on, buddy.” She nudged him again and rocked forward in the saddle. He turned and gave her a look that clearly said she wasn’t the boss of him, then bent to crop the grass.

  She pulled the reins and he jerked his head up.

  “Don’t make me kick you,” she said.

  He took one step, then another. When she finally got to the gate, everyone was hushed, listening to Mack’s conversation with a short, portly man with a bristling mustache she recognized from the hoedown. Sullivan.

  “Ollie wasn’t authorized to sell them,” Mack was saying. “I’m sorry. It’s a misunderstanding.”

  “That’s something you’ll have to work out with your father,” Sullivan said.

  “He’s not my father, and the sale’s off.”

  “Can’t stop what’s already happened.” The heavy man rested one arm on the saddle horn, then crossed the other on top. “They’re my cattle. Bought and paid for.”

  “We were never paid.”

  “Your father was.”

  Cat flinched, expecting the worst, but Mack simply stayed rigid in the saddle.

  “Stepfather,” he said. Judging from his tone, the word was synonymous with maggot. “And again—not his cattle to sell. You got robbed, Sullivan.” His horse took a step toward Sullivan. “Now get off my land.”

  Mack’s eyes were fixed on Sullivan, so he hadn’t seen the cowboys ease toward the herd. It wasn’t until the cattle began to surge toward the truck and the first heifer clanged her hooves against the metal ramp that he looked up. Another followed it, and another. Mack had been right; they were Zen cattle. They strode up the ramp and into the hot, dark truck as placidly as they did everything else.

  Cat urged Rembrandt through the gate. Despite what had happened with Trevor, she didn’t think Mack solved every problem with his fists. But in this case, she wouldn’t blame him.

  There was a flurry of movement behind her, a quick rustle as the students drew closer. Ed, of course, wasn’t satisfied with staying behind. He pulled up alongside her.

  “They’re taking the cattle,” Cat said.

  “No they’re not.” Ed narrowed his eyes, scanning the herd. Rising up to stand in his stirrups, he reached up and pressed his hat to his head. The pajamas were still bunched around his boot-tops as he pitched back into the saddle and kicked the horse—hard. His robe flapped behind him as he rocketed into the pasture with a whoop worthy of Geronimo.

  “Git along,” he hollered. “Git along, you doggies, you.”

  ***

  The slow ride home gave Maddie plenty of time to worry. Her granddaughter had barely been able to climb into the saddle, and it was obvious her knee was hurting her. Back in the pasture, Mack was arguing, perhaps fighting, with the Sullivans. The students were mixed up in the whole thing too, so the dude ranch project was now officially a bust. She’d won everybody over with her cooking, and they’d been a good-natured group. But now they were actually in danger. That couldn’t be good.

  Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself. She’d always believed in following her instincts, doing her best, and letting the future sort itself out. Of course, that hadn’t worked out too well for her. That attitude had let her ignore the niggling doubts that tickled the back of her mind when she’d pledged herself to Ollie. Maybe she needed to look ahead more often.

  Looking ahead right now wasn’t doing her any good. There was no sign of Hank on the long stretch of trail leading to the ranch, and the place looked deserted except for a few vehicles parked in the pullout. Mack’s pickup, the International, the old Continental John had bought Maddie for trips to town, and one other car—or no, not a car. An SUV.

  She squinted as they plodded closer. A silver SUV. Her stomach twisted. Trevor was back.

  Viv saw it at the same instant. “That guy’s back. The pervert.” She clicked to her horse and he broke into a swaying trot. Maddie could see the girl was clenching her teeth against the pain in her leg, but nothing would slow Viv down once she got a burr under her saddle. Maddie nudged her own horse up to speed and followed.

  As they pulled up to the hitching rail, the late-afternoon sun slanted through the big double doors of the barn. Anyone else would have seen a tidy, well-kept stable, but Maddie noticed an open cooler, the sack of grain slashed open and spilling onto the floor, and a bottle of beer, smashed into pieces, lying in a pool of amber liquid. There was still no sign of Hank.

  She ran for the house.

  Crossing the porch in two steps, she ran inside. She swung the door closed softly and rested her back against it, catching her breath. The house was ominously silent.

  She could wait for Mack. She could call the police. But then there was a sound from the kitchen, a clink of china like a teacup on a saucer. It was hardly a gunshot, but she was so tense it cut through the silence like a bullet.

  Hank. If something happened to him, that future she was planning would be bleak indeed. Her mind racing, she stood up on tiptoe and lifted her grandfather’s Remington from its place of honor over the door. Tucking it under her arm, she edged over to the kitchen door and peered inside.

  Hank had his back to her. She’d always liked the back view of a cowboy, the muscles they got from riding and roping, and she was beginning to appreciate Hank’s muscles more than most. Right now his backside was wrapped up like a present, with her apron strings tied in a big old bow just above it.

  He turned and she saw that he held a plate full of artfully arranged shortbread in one hand and a teapot in the other. The frilly apron around his waist was at odds with his rugged face and battered boots. He didn’t notice her standing there with the gun; his eyes were fixed on the dining nook where Trevor sat sipping from a china cup.

  “So,” he said in his gravelly, seldom-used voice. “Tell me about those supermodels.”

  The crunch of gravel from out front made Maddie lower the gun and glance out the window. A dark State of Wyoming cruiser pulled into the drive, and Officer Brownfield stepped out. Maddie quietly returned to the door to let him in.

  The state trooper’s boots thudded on the floor, distracting Trevor from an elaborate story about Victoria’s Secret Angels. His eyes widened when he saw the cop.

  “Mr. Maines, you’re under arrest.” Brownfield strode to the table and jerked the man out of his chair. “You have the right to remain silent…”

  Trevor jerked in his grasp. “I told you, I didn’t do anything. That girl ran away. You have no right to harass me this way. I’m calling my lawyer. I’m calling the governor.”

  “You can call anybody you want.” Brownfield gave Trevor a jerk of his own. “We know you didn’t take the girl. But Hank here called us when he found you here, messing around in the barn. There’s a bag of rat poison in the barn and another one in your car. Poisoning livestock’s serious business in this state, pilgrim.” He cleared his throat. “You have the right to remain silent…”

  Maddie looked at Hank in wonder as the trooper droned on. “You kept him here. You served him tea.”

  Hank nodded. “People will do just about anything for a taste of your shortbread, Maddie.” He looked down at the apron, a rueful grimace on his face. “And I’d do just about anything for you.”

  ***

  Mack’s mind was r
acing as he stared down Sullivan, who was mounted on a tall bay gelding decked out in a showy silver-mounted bridle. He wished this was the old West. He wished he had a peacemaker. Hell, if he’d been the gun-toting type this might never have happened. He’d have killed his stepfather before the man could touch his mother—shot him down like the varmint he was.

  The cloud of dust he’d raised when he approached Sullivan was clearing, drifting away in the hot summer air. He could feel his future floating away with it, scattering like dust, settling over the hallowed ground of his fathers to mix with the soil and be forgotten.

  Sullivan’s jaw was set, and his men were jostling the herd forward. One stubborn heifer had paused at the bottom of the ramp, spooked by some shadow or maybe just distracted by a glint of sun. In any case, the bottleneck at the front of the chute was jammed, and the other cattle were beginning to mill and low. A few turned back and Sullivan’s riders slapped their hats on their thighs to urge them back on track. One man let out a shrill yip.

  Mack scanned the herd. If Viv were still here, the two of them could probably drive the cattle away from the truck, at least for a while. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Sullivan. Holding eye contact seemed essential, somehow, as if nothing could happen as long as he held the other man’s gaze. The moment drew out, the sun heated, and Mack felt sweat dampening the back of his neck.

  A sudden flurry of hooves sounded behind him. He snapped his head up to see five horses burst into the valley, galloping at top speed, charting a crazy, zigzag course for the very center of the herd. In the lead was Ed, clad in baggy pants and a loose striped shirt. Some kind of white cape was billowing out behind him, and his horse seemed to be trying to outrun this mystery pursuer. The other students were strung out behind him, controlling their mounts with varying degrees of success.

  “Git along, you doggies!”

  Ed plowed past Sullivan’s men and exploded into the center of the herd, his horse rearing up on his hind legs and screaming out a protest at the unexpected excitement. Mack clutched his chest as Ed grappled with the saddle horn, then stood in his stirrups and waved his hat. Hell, he was wearing pajamas. And that was the old man’s bathrobe billowing behind him, a waving white flag that meant anything but surrender.