Cowboy Come Home

by Janette Kenny

  No, he would’ve known that Barton would set out to punish him for daring to touch his princess. But someone else surely had. Someone who knew they’d met here. Had that same someone followed Daisy to the loft? Had that someone pushed her?

  “Barton ever find out who hurt Daisy?” Trey asked.

  “No. He told me later that he feared she’d tried to kill herself. That nobody had pushed her.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  Again, Fernando’s shoulders lifted in a weary shrug. “I would not know.”

  Trey let that news sink in. What had made Barton so angry at Ned that he’d had an apoplectic fit? And more troubling, had Daisy tried to kill herself?

  Chapter 3

  Trey had never seen such poor looking cattle in his life. He doubted all of them would make the drive to the Circle 46, but those same cattle could die here as well.

  Several of the water troughs were bone dry, and the rest were close to empty. The stretch of hard pack dirt along the fence hinted that hay had been pitched there at one time.

  “How often has Ned been feeding these beeves?” Trey asked.

  “Every week at first,” Manuel said. “But this month he told us to stretch out feeding them or we’d run out of hay.”

  Trey suspected Ned’s cattle looked far better, but he’d yet to lay eyes on them. Same with most of the hands who’d worked here. When Ned had pulled out, Trey guessed the bulk of them had too.

  Just as well. Last thing Trey needed was men working for him who’d just as soon stab him in the back. But he was left with an odd mix of cowboys who had little or no experience driving cattle.

  He glanced at the trio of boys who’d ridden out to the far pasture with him and Manuel. Damn if they weren’t like a flashback to when he’d first come West with Reid and Dade, his foster brothers.

  Three boys who hadn’t known a damn thing about ranching. But they’d learned. Of course Kirby had taken the time to teach them—time Trey had no intentions of investing in this crew.

  All they needed to know were the basics of driving cattle. Once they reached the Circle 46, these young hands would be relegated to minding a fenced herd. But he feared that he’d find the place deserted of men and stock, that his horses were long gone.

  If that were the case, he had nothing to hold him here except his word.

  Yep, once they moved the herd to the old homestead, he would settle back and wait out his two months. He only hoped the fence was intact and the quarters livable. That there was a good supply of fresh water. That was most important.

  If he could just shake the fear that Daisy might still be in real danger. It wasn’t just that she’d been pushed from the hayloft. It was not knowing why anyone would want to kill her.

  Not his problem. Not his responsibility.

  Trey didn’t have the patience to wet-nurse her.

  He’d leave a man or two at the JDB to watch over her and Ramona. It was up to her to figure out where to go from there. The couple of months he’d be minding the herd should be plenty of time for her to realize she’d be better off selling out and moving to town.

  But until she did, he had to keep the herd alive.

  He took in the young cowhands who’d trailed him and Manuel out here. They were all good in the saddle, but he needed to know if they had the patience for droving. No time like the present to find out.

  “I want these beeves herded up toward the house,” Trey told Manuel. “The pasture to the east of the barn is big enough to hold them for now. Closer to water too.”

  “The only water there is the house well.”

  Trey nodded, well aware of that. “I don’t aim to play it out; just make sure the herd is well watered before we head them north.”

  “Si, Señor March,” Manuel said, and Trey hoped to God the boy could handle this chore.

  “Get the men into position then and open the gates. And go easy,” Trey said when he caught the boys’ exuberance. “I don’t want to run them.”

  He held back while Manuel gave the other cowhands instructions in clear, easy to understand commands. He liked the fact that the boy wasn’t puffed up on himself. He was taking his job seriously, and that took a huge load off Trey right then and there.

  Driving the cattle across the JDB wasn’t exciting or difficult. He’d half expected Ned to show his face at some point to cause trouble, but he never did. That was likely for the best too, because the more Trey saw of the herd’s poor condition, the angrier he became with Ned.

  Daisy too? Yep, he wanted to nurse his anger at her. He really did, but her brush with death kept coming back to haunt him.

  Ansel, the youngest of the hands riding drag with Trey, ventured closer as the herd spread out on the pasture that had been eaten to a nub. “If you want, I can ride to the house and get them troughs filled.”

  Trey grimaced at the boy’s suggestion. “Worse thing you could do. If they catch a whiff of water, they’ll stampede. Likely kill or cripple a good many beeves.”

  “I-I didn’t know,” Ansel said.

  “Now you do,” he said, careful there was no heat in his tone.

  There’d been a time when he’d been that green too. How the hell had Kirby Morris put up with him and his foster brothers?

  Patience. It was something he was in short supply of. Wouldn’t be easy to cultivate it, but he’d damned sure try.

  By the time they got the herd closed inside the pasture behind the barn, the day was pretty well spent. Cattle milled around the empty troughs and bellowed their displeasure, paying little attention to the hands who were dumping a small amount of hay on the ground.

  They were too desperate for water, bawling more now than when they’d been herded into the pasture. Maybe he should’ve sent a few of the boys ahead of them to get some water in the troughs.

  The thought barely crossed his mind when Manuel came running toward the fence. “Señor March. You must come quickly and see this.”

  Before Trey could ask what was wrong, the young man disappeared again. Trey was obliged to follow with dread dogging his every step.

  He guessed he wasn’t going to like this surprise long before he reached the clutch of men gathered around the well pump. As he got closer, he noticed the typically gray ground was black.

  A lot of water had been pumped out onto the earth. From the dark stain that stretched to the barn, it was clear somebody had stood here a good long time and done nothing but man that pump.

  The waste sickened him more than the fact that this was a malicious act. Water was life, and somebody had intentionally taken it here today.

  “It is dry,” Manuel said, and gave the pump handle several strong pulls to prove it.

  Barely a trickle fell onto the saturated ground. They were out of water.

  “Don’t suppose anybody saw who did this,” Trey said as he sidestepped the mire.

  “We were all with you,” Manuel said.

  Trey glanced toward the blacksmith’s shack. “Fernando was here.”

  “Dios!” Manuel ran to the shack with Trey fast on his heels.

  Sweat popped from his pores the second he stepped into the shed. The smithy clearly hadn’t worked for the fire pit was cold.

  “Fernando!”

  No answer beyond a scuffling sound deep in the shed.

  Trey thumbed his hat off his brow and drew his Colt, pulling Manuel behind him and easing into the shadows. The skin on his nape tingled with warning, and his gut clutched with fear that he’d find the man dead.

  He stepped to the back of the shed, the steady thump against wood raising his hopes. Right there alongside the workbench, he saw the shape of a man trussed up like a Christmas goose.

  He holstered his gun and knelt beside the older man. Fernando was gagged with his own bandana and tied to the workbench with sturdy hemp.

  Somebody had made damned sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Who did this to you?” Trey asked once he worked the gag free.

  Fern
ando sucked in a ragged breath. “I don’t know, señor. I was laying a fire in the pit when I was hit from behind.”

  Trey severed the rope with his knife and helped the older man to his feet. “You’re damned lucky you didn’t get a bullet in your head.”

  “Si.” Fernando pressed a hand to the back of his head and winced.

  Yep, a gunshot would have drawn attention. Whoever had done this was careful to avoid that for he’d needed time. Lots of time to stand there manning that pump for hours.

  The bellowing of cattle grew louder as the beeves protested the lack of water. Damn, they were in a worse fix than before.

  He strode from the shadowy shed and stared at the cattle milling restlessly in the pasture. After that long drive they needed water, but that wouldn’t be forthcoming here.

  Manuel stood by his side with the other men behind him, all looking to him for orders. They weren’t an experienced crew, but they damned sure had thrown their loyalty his way.

  “Haul water in for tonight,” Trey told them. “We’ll drive the herd out in the morning.”

  “Si, señor,” Manuel said, before leaving with the others to carry out his orders.

  Fernando came up beside him, the top of his head barely reaching Trey’s shoulders. “I heard and felt the ground moving as the cattle drew near. The stock will appreciate feed and water.”

  “Afraid that won’t be happening like we’d planned.” Trey pointed toward the blackened ground that was fast turning gray. “Somebody took time to pump the well dry today.”

  Fernando bit off several Spanish curses. “When I woke, I heard the pump working, but I thought the men had returned and were filling the trough.”

  “Whoever waylaid you did this,” he said. “Ned?”

  “It could have been anyone with a grudge or a dark heart. Though I didn’t see who hit me, I am sure I spotted Durant out on the mesa earlier.”

  Had to be Ned’s handiwork. Trey ached to hit something, to vent the anger boiling in him. But Kirby’s words came back to him. Cooler tempers always prevail.

  It was still a hard-learned lesson for Trey, especially after being waylaid by Ned. Anger at himself, Daisy, and the cruel foreman was what had given him the strength to fight past the pain as his body had slowly healed. As he’d forced his battered legs to carry his weight again. As he stood day after day and lassoed logs despite the agony ripping across his back and sizzling along his torn muscles.

  He’d lived for revenge against Ned and Daisy.

  Daisy!

  Remembering that she’d been pushed from the loft before sent new fear crashing through him. He took off at a dead run toward the house, his legs throbbing from the punishment to remind him he wasn’t entirely healed. That he’d never be a hundred percent whole again.

  But that had been the idea behind dragging him for miles over rough ground until he couldn’t hold on to consciousness any longer. And still Ned hadn’t been done with him.

  Trey shoved in the back door. “Daisy!”

  No answer.

  “Ramona!”

  Silence pulsed around him.

  He pushed through the rooms with his heart in his throat, throwing open doors. Terrified of what he’d find.

  Nothing.

  The house was empty.

  He stood in Barton’s office and scrubbed a hand over his mouth, a hand that trembled. He couldn’t recall ever being this afraid in his life, and feeling that way for her rankled.

  “She always does her shopping in town on Friday,” Manuel said.

  He swung on the older man. “What about Ramona?”

  “My wife goes with the señorita,” Fernando said.

  Some of the tension knotting his shoulders eased, being replaced with the bite of anger that always came too swiftly. It was mighty clear to him that whoever drained the well knew Daisy’s routine. Had to be Ned.

  They’d made it easy for the bastard by leaving the ranch. Only reason Fernando was alive was because he hadn’t seen his attacker. What if the women had returned early? Would he have found them murdered?

  The steady clip of hooves penetrated his anger. From the window in Barton’s office, he watched a trim buggy pull up near the back door.

  Trey exhaled heavily. The women had returned, none the wiser to what had happened here.

  Daisy handled the reins while Ramona sat beside her. She was used to going and coming as she pleased, but how safe was she now that her daddy was gone? Hell, she hadn’t been safe then, for she might have been pushed from the loft. Now this business with the well.

  She wouldn’t be able to stay out here alone. She could move into town. Stay with friends. She’d be around people and out of his hair. If he could just remove her from his memory as easily ...

  The heels on her dainty boots tapped out a rapid beat that matched his pulse. She strode into her daddy’s office and came up hard, like she’d been short-reined.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked in a tone sharpened with obvious suspicion.

  It was tinder tossed on his smoldering anger. “The well has been pumped dry.”

  Ramona stopped in the hall, as if shocked in place by that news. He tried to think of a way to soften the rest about Fernando, but he wasn’t one to sugarcoat the truth no matter how painful.

  The cattle chose that time to commence bellowing louder. Daisy looked to the window that afforded an expansive view of the outbuildings and pasture, then back to him.

  “Did it play out before the cattle got their fill?” Daisy asked.

  He shifted his stance and snorted. “Long before. My guess is someone manned that pumped continually the whole time we were gone, taking delight in letting the water run onto the ground.”

  “Why would anyone do such a malicious thing?” she asked.

  “That ought to be obvious.”

  Her troubled gaze fixed on his. “Ned?” Then before he could voice his opinion, she asked, “Did Fernando see him?”

  “No.” He looked at Ramona standing still and tense in the hall. “He was coldcocked from behind and trussed up. But he’s all right,” he added when Ramona let out a gasp of distress.

  The older woman ran to her husband’s side, muttering a torrent of Spanish prayers. Fernando’s gaze begged a moment alone, and Trey gave it, his heart aching as the old couple left the house arm in arm.

  Trey hadn’t expected her to take his word for it. He was one who had to see for himself as well.

  “I shouldn’t have left the house,” Daisy said, rubbing her hands over and over her drab skirt until friction sparks crackled in the air.

  “You couldn’t have stopped him,” he said, and if she’d tried she’d have been stopped. Likely permanently. “Whoever did this made sure there wasn’t a witness. If Fernando had seen him, I bet he’d be dead now.”

  Her big eyes filled with distress and an emotion he’d never seen before. “Now what?”

  He huffed a breath of annoyance that she hadn’t grasped the obvious. Or maybe she did know what must happen next and was just testing him to see how he’d respond.

  Without water, Daisy couldn’t stay here.

  He hoped to hell she had friends in town who’d take her in. Hoped she wouldn’t insist on moving to the Circle 46 too, for the longer he was near her, the more those old memories and longings would torment him.

  Right now he had enough aggravation to deal with.

  “We continue hauling water for the cattle tonight,” he said, and that earned him a shaky nod. “I’ll head the herd out before dawn.”

  That dire news seemed to steal the strength from her. She moved to a stiff chair and eased onto it, looking frail and vulnerable again.

  He took a step toward her and reined the urge to take another. Dammit, he wasn’t going to let her get to him again. He’d been down that road once.

  Never again.

  Yet like it or not he’d cut a deal to work for her for two months. It was an uneasy alliance that he’d only agreed to because they
’d be living apart. Because he wouldn’t be tormented by having her at arm’s reach from him. Because he wouldn’t be tempted to pull her to him and ease the ache that had gnawed at him since he’d been dragged from here.

  “Is there any chance the well will replenish itself soon?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “A slim one, though I’ve heard of one that was usable a week after it’d been tapped out during the drought. But it’ll take rain to bring the water level up to normal again.”

  There was no sign of a break in the punishing weather.

  Until there was, the creek beds would remain cracked, and the wells would stay dry. Living in West Texas would be pure hell. Survival of the fittest.

  A glance Daisy’s way confirmed she didn’t belong in that group. She needed to be taken care of. That damn sure wasn’t going to fall on his shoulders.

  “You had best head out tomorrow as well,” he said.

  She bobbed her head. “I’ll be ready.”

  “Let me know where you’ll be staying so I can send you reports every two weeks, and find you when my agreed-upon two months are due.”

  That statement seemed to be the string that jerked Daisy up stiff. The back of his neck crawled as he read the determination in her eyes.

  “I’m going with you to the Circle 46,” she said.

  “Not a good idea,” he said, and cussed himself as he saw his reasoning for what it was. Weak.

  That firm little chin of hers snapped up, and he knew that arguing with her was going to be a losing battle. But he couldn’t give up either, not when having her close was going to drive him crazy with a smoldering combination of anger and desire.

  “We have no way of knowing what condition the old homestead is in,” he said, doggedly pursuing his line of reasoning. “The house wasn’t much to look at the last time I was there. Primitive compared to this. The bunkhouse wasn’t much better, but the men are prepared and able to bunk under the stars if they have to.”

  “I’ve slept under the stars before,” she said.

  Yeah, in his arms. Just what he didn’t want to remember with aching clarity.

  “Daisy, use your head. The house was built as shelter for a frontier family. There’re three bedrooms upstairs and two rooms and a pantry down. Cooking is done on an old cookstove, and there’s an outhouse to see to your needs.”