by Kristi Rose
“Those could have been used before they got here?”
“Doubtful. Look at this.” He went into the kitchen, then pulled out the trashcan from under the sink. From inside, he lifted out something white and stubby. It was the last few inches of a candle. “There's no other trash in here. My guess is that whoever set this up”—he gestured to the picnic—“found the candles and tossed them. But why would candles be used when the place has electricity?” He flicked a switch, and the light over the sink came on. He turned it off. “Because that can be seen from further out, and if one doesn't know the billing cycle, an increase in the power bill for here would be another tip-off.”
“But it wouldn't be that much.” Cori wasn't sure the dots were connecting. “Not a waving red flag.”
“The breaker is turned off until someone comes out and flips it. Like if we're expecting a freeze, I've come out before to heat the place to make sure the pipes don't burst. My guess is Mrs. Z flipped the breaker when she set up our lunch.”
Cori could faintly see the connection now. A squatter wouldn't risk getting caught, and turning on the electricity could give him away. The candles indicated someone was hiding out. Regardless of that person's intention, she couldn’t help believe they weren't good. She looked at the cabin through new eyes, rubbing her hands over her arms. It grossed her out to think they'd just done what they had in the same bed a crook was probably sleeping in. She was going to need a long shower.
In the distance, a train whistle blew.
Fort looked at his watch and nodded. “That's the two-thirty.”
“Sounds closer than the other one we saw.”
“It is. About half a mile from here are the tracks. Run past some good pastureland and a pond. Good and bad qualities of the cabin.”
Cori shuttered. “Can we leave? It bugs me to think someone has been hiding out here. What if they came up and saw us, you know, through the window.” She looked over his shoulder out the window. “I'm freaked out.”
Fort chuckled and dropped an arm around her shoulder. “Officially we own this place now. You should be more concerned with the fact that someone's illegally using your property.”
“I am. How about we let the law handle it?” she teased as they walked out to his truck together.
Fort chuckled and opened the door for her.
Before getting in, she glanced back at the little house and pictured adding to it. A wrap porch and hanging flower baskets would be charming.
A heaviness settled over her heart. False pretenses. That's how all the good things were coming to her. None of it was real, and she would be wise to remember that. “I'll sign over my half to you.” She couldn't bear to look at him.
Once she was inside, Fort closed the door. He walked around the front of the truck, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. Not an impending wedding to a girl he didn't love, some missing cattle, and now a squatter.
What did they say in the adventure movies? She needed an extraction plan.
They took the same dirt road out they'd come in on, riding in silence, but his hand on her knee felt as if it belonged there. She could picture this long-term, ranching with Fort, occasional lunches with Cricket, being a part of something more. She thought about the little cabin, a place that could be her home. Being in Wolf Creek was more than she imagined, yet was everything she'd dreamt of when she pictured herself starting over. Having Fort by her side was a bonus she never dared let herself hope for.
All the more reason she should leave sooner than later. Everything was getting too confusing.
Fort radioed in, checking with the station to make sure everything was quiet. And it was. Cori gave him a grimace when she realized he'd been on the clock, technically, while they were fooling around. Mrs. Z might not care, but others certainly would. When they turned onto the main county road, Cori resisted the urge to look behind her at the fantasy she was leaving behind.
Fort sat forward, and the truck slowed. He gave the siren a short blast. Bleep. Bleep. Then he pulled onto the shoulder. Cori glanced at him then followed his path, wondering what had caught his attention. She spotted a truck on the side of the road, hood open, and she half expected steam to be pouring out.
Fort called it in, asked for a run on the license plate, while coming to an easy stop in front of it. “Stay here,” he commanded without so much as looking at her.
Cori pulled out her camera and grabbed a few shots. Behind the truck was a dilapidated barn, and the image spoke of a past lifestyle. When Fort slammed the truck door, two men popped up from the truck bed, looking half asleep or three sheets to the wind. One was Conway Witty. The other she couldn't make out clearly because of the angle. He looked to be the same dude she had managed to capture in film a few days ago, which made her sit up straighter.
Fort walked slowly up to the side of the truck, one hand on his firearm. “Engine troubles, fellas? Need some help?” His tone was friendly enough, but Cori heard the caution.
“We ain't sure,” Witty said while swiping at his eyes. “Well, lookee here. It’s the wanna-be sheriff.” He stood, walked down the bed, and eased off the tailgate. In doing so, the truck rocked slightly to the side and a flash of silver on the dashboard caught Cori's eyes. She lifted her camera and zoomed in. It was a matchbook from Brunos. She pressed the shutter button several times before dropping the camera to the floor, out of sight.
“You wanna try and start it for me? Maybe I can determine the problem.” Fort stepped away from the truck, giving Witty a wide path to the driver's seat.
While Witty was getting into the cab, Fort moved toward the truck bed, resting his hand on the edge. He glanced at Cori and slightly tilted his head toward the bed.
She'd place crisp cash that her squatter was one of these guys.
“You all been drinking?” Fort asked and walked to where Witty sat in the driver's seat, door open, one leg dangling out.
“So what if we were? We ain't driving,” Witty said. The engine gave a grinding sound.
Cori chuckled. Nitwits. They must have been wasted to not realize they'd run out of gas.
Fort went to the hood, removed the safety bar, then let it slam shut. The guy in the back popped up.
Yep, it was him, the guy she'd recognized as having worked with her father. Cori wished she could get a better shot, but the glare on the windshield would ruin the shot.
“I have gas in my truck,” Fort said. “Can't give it to you until you take a breathalyzer.”
Cori smirked and hid her smile. It was well past noon. For these two to be still feeling the effects of booze meant they'd really tied one on.
“Aw, come on. That's just you harassing me,” Witty said.
“Let me see your driver’s license.” Fort held out his hand. “Both of you.”
Witty dug in his back pocket and produced his. The other guy didn't move. “Musta left it somewhere,” he said.
Fort cut his eyes to Cori. He walked to the truck and called in Witty's Tennessee license and asked for a Wants and Warrants check. He said nothing while waiting for Bitsy, the dispatcher, to come back. Witty was watching them.
After Fort was given the all-clear from dispatch, he negotiated with Witty to walk a straight line and complete the touch-his-nose test, both done without issue. Fort then put enough gas in their tank to get them into town.
Fort let them drive away first. The other guy tucked in the passenger seat was asleep before Witty pulled out on the road.
Cori waited until they were traveling down the road before asking, “You think they're going to the cabin?”
Fort's forehead was wrinkled in thought. “I'm going to drop you off at home and go back and check.”
Cori lifted the camera and pulled the matchbook up on the viewfinder. “Look at this. It was on their dash.”
“You didn't get a better picture of the drunk in the back, did you?” Fort glanced between her and the road, his lips a fine line.
She wished she'd had. “No, th
e angle was bad. There was a glare.” That didn't stop her from feeling like she failed.
“Cori, it’s not your job to solve this,” he said as if reading her mind.
“It is if my dad's involved.” She prayed that was not the case.
“What are the odds?” Fort mumbled. “It’s not like he's the only cattle rustler.”
“True, it’s just weird seeing this guy. And my dad was never one to be idle. I can't see him in prison playing Jenga or Scrabble.”
Fort drove up the ranch drive faster than normal, likely anxious to get back to the cabin. They were near the house when his phone vibrated in his shirt pocket. After removing it, he gave it a quick glance followed by a groan of frustration.
“What's happened?" she asked.
He tossed the phone on the console between them. “It's from Paul. They found the GPS tags that were on the missing cows buried by a salt block where the herd was last.”
Cori's eyes went wide. “They snip off the tags and bury them. So simple.”
“At least now we have the answer to that question. I'm meeting Paul at the station to see if there might be any fingerprints."
She wanted to caution him to expect the tags to yield nothing. The cow thieves, whoever they were, weren't lazy enough to not wear gloves.
When he stopped outside the barn, she pushed open the door and picked up her bags.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing her by the arm before she could slide out. “Today was amazing. Thank you.”
Heat coursed through her. Embarrassment? Sexual attraction? Maybe both. Regardless, she appreciated him saying so.
“You know what this means, right?” She jumped out of the truck.
“We're going to have to do it more often?”
Cori laughed. “Okay, now I understand the single-track mind of a man, but we're gonna have to go to Brunos.”
Fort shook his head. “Pointless. I can't walk in there and find out anything new.”
“No, but I can. All I need are some heels and a good wig.” She thought of Cricket and wondered if she still had her pageant stuff.
Fort pointed a long finger at her, a determined set to his jaw. “Nope. No way.”
“Okay, good. It’s decided then. Why not try for tomorrow since you're off?” She slammed the door and gave him a finger wave before hotfooting it to his place. They could argue about it later.
22
Cori knew Fort wasn't happy. He'd made his dislike for the plan clear, but since he hadn't come up with another that didn't require him marching into the bar and roughing up some guy, they were going with her idea.
Both Cori and Fort were hesitant to involve Cricket. But in a game of who-was-more-stubborn, Cori won. She used Fort’s sense of justice and strong desire to protect Wolf Creek as her trump card, and he caved. Bringing Cricket in was a necessity. She had all the accouterments that Cori needed. Fort tried to get around it, but finally admitted that sending Cori in was the one plan that had the highest probability of succeeding.
They were holed up at Cricket's, the women in Cricket's spare room where her pageant goods were stored, making choices about Cori's disguise while Fort waited outside in Cricket's living room ready to wire Cori.
“Thanks for helping with this, Cricket.” Cori looked at the wigs before her, wondering which would be the best.
“Anytime. Pick the red. It'll be a contrast. It'll work and get you some attention.” She pulled a box off the shelf. “Are you scared?”
“I think I'm more pissed off than anything. Cattle rustlers, if that's what we're looking at, make me angry.” Cori snapped the eyebrow pencil she was holding in two.
Cricket's eyes grew wide. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“It cuts close. Cattle rustling.”
“It happens.” Cricket handed Cori the auburn-colored wig. “Sadly. My folks consider themselves lucky if they go a year without incident.”
“But they shouldn't feel like that.” Cori stomped her foot. “Makes me so mad.”
“I'm guessing you were the victim of cattle rustlers?” Cricket pushed her to the chair in front of the vanity and pointed to the contact lenses Cori had brought with her.
“Sorta.” Cori knew she would have to share something with Cricket, and she couldn't stand to tell any more lies. Omitting some facts would be the best plan. Not looking at Cricket made telling the story easier so she focused on inserting the contacts while she talked. “Do you know how Fort got his name?”
“Nope,” Cricket said as she spun Cori around to face her. Cricket picked up a makeup sponge and began applying the foundation.
“On the night Fort was born, his dad won twenty-five acres and twenty-five head of Angus cattle from my dad. Fort's dad, Karl, had put up a little swath of land as his final bet. My dad wanted that land. It was prime real estate, only Karl didn't know that. The land was in a direct line from where oil had been found on our land. My dad had kept it a secret as he tried to buy up all the surrounding parcels. Karl's was one of the last. So my dad put up those acres to woo Karl into the game. Charlie, that's my dad, never expected Karl to win. The guy wasn't very lucky. But he did. He won, and when Fort was born a few hours later he convinced Saira to name him Fortune because he had made his fortune that night. His luck had changed. Little did he know he was sitting on a bubbling crude of money, but Karl thought he'd struck it rich by becoming a rancher in one night, after one hand of poker. Over the years, my dad's anger grew, often screaming about how it was a chump’s bet. How he shouldn't have lost.”
Cricket listened, mouth agape. “Did Karl ever find out about the oil?”
Cori tilted her head up, eyes closed while Cricket worked on her eyeshadow. “Yeah, a day after he lost the land and cattle to my dad in another high-stakes game eighteen years later. But the ranch had been struggling for a while. Karl wanted instant riches and often embarked on these schemes that would result in him losing more money, which meant they'd have to sell cattle or land to cover the losses. Usually to my father.”
“Sounds awful. It’s amazing you two are friends, much less romantically involved.”
Cori was glad she couldn't see Cricket. “It's been a struggle.”
Life after her dad had been a never-ending hardship. Creating a relationship with Fort, however it was defined, had been the easiest of it all. “My dad was a real bastard. Greedy. He's swindled many of the ranchers from their hard-earned money through insurance policies and taxes. He would swoop in like a good guy and offer to buy off their land or cattle for less than market to help with trumped-up fake diseases or federal charges. Essentially, he used the town of Brewster like a piggy bank, constantly dipping his hand in. He bought a big house for my mom, put me through all those stupid pageants. I lived in luxury while he was stealing from his neighbor. All his neighbors.”
“Jeez.” Cricket took Cori's hand in hers. '“Is that why you're so adamant about doing this?”
Cori opened her eyes and nodded. “I can't let anything happen to Wolf Creek. Even more so if my dad is involved. And if Deke is involved—”
Cricket said with force, “He's not. I know he's not. He's not the sort.”
Cori was skeptical. “He's running with a bad crowd. How do you explain that? He's not that naive that they're taking advantage of him.” They would know more tonight, hopefully. Cori picked up the red curly-haired wig, running her fingers over the mesh lace inside the cap.
“I know. And there's a perfectly good explanation. We'll find it. Now, let's get you finished.” She waited while Cori wrapped the wig cap over her head. Cricket set the wig on Cori's head, then went about styling it.
“What do you think?” Cricket asked.
Cori stared back at the stranger in the mirror. She looked like a bombshell. Her hair was a seductive auburn and hung in heavy waves around her shoulders. Her blue eyes popped and sparkled. Tucked into the waist of her tight jean skirt was a clingy purple T-shirt. But what made the outfit remarkable was the push-up bra. It was amazing bec
ause, unless she grew breasts overnight, which she knew she hadn't, her perfectly sized chest had exploded and was straining against her shirt and bra, spilling over the top. She couldn't wait to see Fort's face. Cori slid on the three-inch heels and stood.
“Cripes, I hope I don't break my neck.” She walked around the room in an attempt to get her “stiletto legs.” “Okay, let's do this.” She opened Cricket's bedroom door then strode down the hallway. The plan was to try to eavesdrop but have enough oomph to use it to her advantage if she had to. Fort had grumbled about the plan, but couldn't offer an alternative. Knowing he'd be in a truck in the parking lot was a small comfort.
When Cori stepped from the hallway, his eyes went wide. Fort growled. “Nope. No way,” he said, standing. “We'll find a different way. I'm calling this off.”
“What? What's wrong? You don't think I can pull it off?”
“Have you seen yourself?” He stepped toward her and spun her to the mirror hanging over Cricket's entryway.
“Yeah, I think we did a good job. I look nothing like me.”
“That's correct. You look like you're wanting some trouble. I don't like it.”
“Or maybe you like it too much,” Cricket said.
Cori nodded. “That's got to be it. He's always had a thing for showy women.”
“Those heels make your legs look a mile long, and the short skirt shows way too much thigh. No,” he said again, then licked his lips while staring at her cleavage.
Cori rolled her eyes. “Don't be stupid. I have a stun gun in my purse and you waiting outside the bar. I'll be fine.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw in determination.
“Do you want to know what's going on? Put a stop to the cattle rustling? 'Cause, if not, then we need to tell the good folk of Wolf Creek that you haven't done everything in your power to stop this. Seeing as how you want to be their sheriff and all.” She stuck a hand on her hip, but his eyes never wavered from her breasts.
“This is a bad idea,” he said, then looked at her. “I could make it worth your while if we stayed home.”
