Big Chance Cowboy

by Teri Anne Stanley

  A shock of recognition rocked Adam back on his heels. Mitch Babcock. Adam shouldn’t have been surprised, especially after Lizzie’s run-in with him yesterday. Mitch had owned the place, after all. Seeing the privileged prick from high school in person, a ball of anger started to shape in his gut as he connected this dirtbag to the dogfighting that had occurred on this property and pregnant Loretta, abandoned and left for dead. His rage intensified at this sleazebag who had tried to solicit a blow job from Lizzie for a property Granddad actually owned. Fury simmered in his gut.

  The skinny guy said, “Start with basic improvements and go from there. But if you can’t get some decent dogs out here, it’s not gonna matter how fancy your pit is.”

  “See, that’s where I’m thinking you can help me,” Mitch said. “You’ve got the clout.”

  “I can mention you to some guys I know in Austin. But you’ve got to get something set up they can see before they’re gonna drive all the way out here.”

  Mitch ran a hand through his nasty hair again. “I can do that. I’ve got this new dog.” He gestured toward the truck. “I’ll get him in there soon, have him tear up a few bait animals. Have my cousin record it.”

  “How soon can you do that?” Skinny asked. He put his hands on his hips, and the motion revealed the butt of a semiautomatic pistol tucked into his waistband.

  Adam reconsidered his idea about confronting Mitch and his friend about the dog cooking in the back of the truck. He’d have to find another way.

  Mitch shrugged. “I’ll call my cousin now. He’s got a dog. He asked me to show him the ropes, but it’s a pansy-assed dog. I’ll get him to bring it out here.”

  Mitch was talking about Clint. Adam knew this with a cold certainty, and his heart broke a little to think the young man had decided to move forward with teaching his dog to fight.

  Skinny’s smile was nasty. “Hope he’s not too attached to it. Why don’t you call him now?”

  Mitch took his phone out and sent a text. “Calls don’t go through real good out here, but a text should.” He glanced down again. “Here we go. He says he’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

  Adam’s phone gave a low battery warning, so he turned off the recording. He sent it to his cloud backup with a wish and a prayer for a signal, then, after a moment, sent it to Lizzie, too. She might not get it, but if she did, she could call the sheriff well before Adam could.

  Meanwhile, he had to get that poor dog out of the heat. The truck was too exposed for him to sneak over and let the animal loose, which would be stupid anyway. He had no idea how aggressive the thing was.

  Time to do some improvising, he decided. He had to be as nonthreatening as possible to make sure that pistol stayed where it was.

  Straightening from his hiding place, he shoved his phone into his pocket, then grabbed a couple of handfuls of grass, which he rubbed on his shirt and into his hair. He took a few big, stumbling steps out into the open and groaned loudly. “Damn,” he said, rubbing his face with both hands. Between his fingers, he saw Mitch and Skinny jerk and turn in his direction.

  Dropping his hands, he staggered a step or two, then made a show of stopping, blinking, and realizing he wasn’t alone. “What’s goin’ on?” He furrowed his eyebrows and looked around. “Wha—?”

  “Hey, buddy,” Mitch said, taking one menacing step in Adam’s direction. “This is private property. You’re trespassing.”

  Adam rubbed his nose. “Man, I’m sorry. I don’t remember—were we partying here last night? Where’s Jake?”

  “Who’s Jake?” Mitch asked, then said, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to make yourself gone, right now.”

  Adam looked around. “I don’t know where I am, man. My friends must have left me here. How far is it to Austin? I’ll call ’em, have ’em come back for me, ’kay?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at it. “It’s dead. I don’t know Talbott’s number.”

  “Shit,” Mitch muttered, then, in a louder voice, said, “You’re trespassing. You’ve gotta leave before I call the sheriff.”

  “Well,” Adam said, arms out in a shrug. “I guess you’re gonna have to call ’im, ’cause I don’t know where I am or how to get anywhere else.”

  “Damn it,” Skinny cursed. “Give him a ride somewhere. We can’t have the law out here.”

  Mitch, who had come a few yards closer, peered at Adam. “Do I know you?” he asked.

  Oh hell. Adam wouldn’t have known Mitch if Lizzie hadn’t described him. How likely was it that Mitch would recognize Adam? “I don’t think so. I don’t know you,” Adam said, trying for a slack-jawed look.

  “Well, I know who this moron is,” growled a voice over Adam’s shoulder. Granddad. “You’re that little piece of Babcock shit.”

  “Where’d you come from?” Skinny asked.

  “That truck back there,” Granddad said, pointing over his shoulder to where Adam’s truck was hidden by the trees near the creek.

  Mitch, who’d been about to buy Adam’s stranger act, looked at Granddad, back at Adam, and curled his upper lip. “Adam Collins. You were a loser before you joined the army, and now you’re a drunk? Uncle Sam sure didn’t get his money’s worth, did he?”

  “What’s wrong with you, boy?” Granddad asked, shoving Adam’s shoulder. “You day drinkin’ already? Can’t you see these idjits are the ones who’ve been dogfighting out here?”

  As Adam looked from his grandfather to Mitch and then to Skinny, who had drawn his weapon, he wished he had a drink right about now.

  A short beep heralded the arrival of another white truck, and sure enough, there was Clint.

  * * *

  “Thanks for taking the time to set this up.” Rob did a slow three-sixty and nodded before opening his car door. “I think this might work for me.”

  “That’s great,” Lizzie said, almost meaning it. Rob had only blinked a little at the price she quoted, so he might be fairly easy to negotiate with. And if she kept reminding herself about the down-payment-on-Mill-Creek-farm commission, maybe she’d stop feeling so sad about Adam’s defection.

  “If we do this, how soon do you think I could take possession?” Rob asked.

  Lizzie shot a glance toward the front porch, where Marcus and Jake sat in rocking chairs, watching and listening. At least they’d stopped looking like they were determined to defend the Alamo. “I’ll double check with Adam on timing,” she said. “Normally, it takes a few weeks to get financing in place and to schedule a closing and so forth—”

  “I’ve got cash,” Rob said. “And the sooner the better, so I can get out here and do a little remodeling and so forth.”

  Oookay. Not much time for changes of heart on anyone else’s part. That was good, right? She had decided to face reality. She wouldn’t have time to get any big ideas. “If you’re ready to make an offer, I’ll get you in here as soon as possible.”

  He laughed. “I may be getting a little ahead of myself. Give me a couple of days.”

  She was tempted to press Rob a little, because she didn’t want to sit around on pins and needles, but that was part of the game, and she didn’t want to scare him away. He’d already picked up on a little drama, with the two troubled amigos on the porch there.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll check in with you in—” She was interrupted by the crunch of tires on the driveway as a small, dark-green sedan appeared.

  She didn’t recognize the car or its out-of-state plates. The wiry man who got out was a complete stranger as well, although with his long hair, long beard, and camouflage bandanna, he might have been an extra from that show about alligator hunting in the bayou.

  “Zimmerman!” Marcus was off the porch, hugging the slightly shorter man and thumping him on the back. “You came!”

  “Well, you said it’d be cool for me to bunk here for a while, and the
wife just evicted me, so here I am.”

  Lizzie’s as soon as possible got a little longer, and she didn’t miss Rob’s slight throat clearing before he said, “Well, it looks like there’re going to be some interesting conversations here, so I’d better head back to town.”

  “I didn’t know anything about this,” Lizzie said, which sounded desperate and defensive, but she was caught off guard.

  “It’s cool,” Rob said, heading for his car. “Let me know what you find out, and we’ll talk.”

  “Great!” She scrounged up her brightest smile and waved as Rob backed into a turn and headed toward town.

  Jake joined the other two men, shaking hands with this Zimmerman guy, who now looked at Lizzie with curiosity. “This is Lizzie,” Jake introduced her. “She’s Sar’nt’s lady friend.”

  Was. Was Adam’s lady friend. Sort of. “Hi,” she said, trying to act normal, whatever that was in this sort of situation.

  “Anyone want some lemonade?” Marcus asked, heading back into the house. “I’m buying.”

  “Why not,” Lizzie said as D-Day galumphed over, rose on his hind legs, put his front paws on her shoulders, and gave her a big, sloppy kiss before flopping to lie next to her.

  Marcus came out with an armload of canned lemonade and passed out drinks.

  “Adam’s going to be so surprised,” Jake said, leading Zimmerman to a chair on the porch.

  “I thought you said he knew I was coming,” Zimmerman said, forehead creasing in consternation.

  “Eh, don’t worry about him,” Marcus said, looking over Zimmerman’s shoulder and widening his eyes at Lizzie with a please don’t contradict me expression.

  “Where is Adam, anyway?”

  “He went to get Granddad,” Jake said. “He should be back by now. He left D-Day here.”

  D-Day sighed and rolled onto his back.

  “You’ve sure got a bunch of dogs,” Zimmerman observed. He was looking toward the paddock, where Loretta sat staring back at the group on the porch, as her pups either tried to nurse, chewed on her ears, or climbed over her.

  “Yeah, we’re like the Last Chance Ranch for dogs,” Jake said.

  “And soldiers,” Marcus agreed.

  Lizzie couldn’t sit here anymore, listening to Jake name the dumb ranch. What were these guys going to do if—when—Adam sold the ranch? And she was playing a big part in this…this…betrayal.

  “Hey, guys, I’m going to take Loretta into town. We need some girl time,” she said.

  “Yep, see ya,” Marcus said, but the guys barely noticed her departure, they were so caught up in shooting the breeze with their friend.

  Lizzie was halfway back to town when she picked up her phone, about to tell it to call her dad, when she saw she’d missed a text from Adam. She pulled over and realized it was actually a file.

  It took her a minute to figure out what she was seeing and hearing, but then she recognized Mitch. He was talking with someone about the hellhole where Loretta had been left to die, and she made the connection. She checked the time of the recording. Almost thirty minutes ago. Adam wasn’t at Emma’s with Granddad. And if he hadn’t come back to the ranch since he’d shot this video? He had a problem.

  “Hold on, Loretta,” Lizzie said, turning the car around to head toward Mill Creek Road.

  “Hey, phone. Call 911.”

  “I’m sorry, there is no service here,” her phone said helpfully. Too bad 911 couldn’t receive texts.

  With shaking fingers, she sent a message to Emma: Need help at Mill Creek farm. Can’t reach sheriff. Call 911 for me? Dogfighting trouble.

  She hit Send, then added, Call Marcus and Jake. Tell them Adam needs help.

  Chapter 32

  “Buddy, if you point that gun at me, you’d better be ready to use it,” Granddad told Skinny.

  “Oh, I’m more than prepared,” Skinny said as he gestured for Adam and Granddad to move away from the fence and toward the pit.

  “Jesus, Mitch,” Clint hissed as he got out of his truck and slowly approached the group. “What is this?”

  Adam could see Clint’s dog in the cab of the truck, jumping around with excitement and barking through the partially rolled-down window. The dog in the other truck answered but sounded hoarse, as though he’d been barking for days.

  “You need to get that dog out of that crate before he dies of heat stroke,” Adam said, ignoring the gun and moving toward the truck.

  The dust at Adam’s feet exploded, and he jumped back, bumping into Granddad as a shot rang out. As if in slow motion, he turned to see his grandfather fall almost straight backward, his rear end hitting the ground a split second before his head struck the hard dirt. Adam dropped to his knees to see to Granddad, and he heard Mitch say, “What the hell, man? You shot the old man!”

  “No, I didn’t. The old guy just fell when I shot at your friend.”

  “Dude, you can’t just shoot at people!” This was Clint, wide-eyed and pale, standing back from Mitch and Skinny and looking like he wanted to turn tail and run.

  Adam took Granddad’s wrist. His pulse was steady, unlike Adam’s, which galloped with fear for the man who’d raised him. Granddad was still and silent but breathing, thank God. There wasn’t any blood, but he’d whacked his head hard. “We need to get him to a hospital,” Adam said.

  “Yeah, sure, we’ll get right on that,” Skinny sneered. “Right after we make sure you’re not going to the police.”

  “Okay, yeah,” Adam said, hands out in a gesture of surrender. “I won’t say anything to anyone, I swear. I don’t even know what you’re doing out here. Just let me get my granddad to a hospital.”

  “How do you know this guy?” Skinny asked Mitch.

  “We went to high school together, but I haven’t seen him in years.”

  Adam thought maybe Mitch would be asked to vouch for him, but Skinny put that wish to bed when he looked at Adam. “You said you’ve been staying in Austin?”

  “I, ah—” What to answer? Try to keep the drunken loser charade going to lull Skinny into a false sense of security?

  Skinny took a few steps toward Adam, waving the gun around. “You work for the Ambrose brothers, don’t you?”

  “Who?” Adam shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You just happen to be from Austin, and you just happen to interrupt my plans to expand into Ambrose territory?”

  “I don’t think he’s from Austin.” Clint stepped forward. “I’ve seen you in town, haven’t I?”

  Adam grabbed the life preserver. “Yeah. I live here. I was partying in Austin with some friends.”

  “And there just happened to be an old man in a truck nearby? Bullshit,” Skinny said. “Too much of a coincidence.”

  “Seriously—” Clint tried to protest, but Skinny swung the gun around in his direction. Clint raised his hands and backed up a step.

  “Get that rope out of the truck,” Skinny told Clint and Mitch. “Tie up your friend and the old man. Make it good, too. This wouldn’t be a good time to give an old friend a break.”

  “He’s not an old friend of mine,” Mitch told Skinny as he took the rope and squatted next to Adam.

  Adam thought about fighting—if he’d been alone, he would have. But Skinny stood with his gun pointed at Granddad’s head.

  As Mitch bound Adam’s wrists behind his back, leaving no room for blood circulation, Clint worked on Granddad, who appeared peaceful.

  “Don’t move him!” Adam pleaded.

  “I won’t.” The kid shot an apologetic look at Adam but crossed Granddad’s arms over his chest and looped the rope around his hands. Adam didn’t blame him. Clint hadn’t asked to drive into the middle of a hostage situation.

  “Now that we have that taken care of, let’s get on with the business at hand,” Skinny said.r />
  “Wait,” Mitch said. “What are we doing with these two?”

  Skinny shrugged. “There aren’t too many fast-running rivers around here this time of year, but there are plenty of caves,” he said. “Coyotes will clean up the evidence before anyone finds them.”

  “You’re going to kill them?” Clint’s eyes showed white, and he’d lost color.

  “Naw. We’ll just tie them up really well and let nature take its course.”

  There was just enough crafty evil in Skinny’s eyes to tell Adam that he wasn’t blowing smoke. And Adam wasn’t delusional enough to believe he’d be able to get himself and Granddad free before dehydration killed one of them.

  “You. Cuz. I hear you got a dog you want to train to fight,” Skinny said to Clint.

  “Uh, I was thinking about it,” Clint hedged, shooting a quick look at Adam.

  “Well, go get him. Mitch, you get your dog, too,” Skinny instructed. “I’ll keep an eye on our spectators.”

  “Now?” Clint asked. “Why?”

  “We need to make a little demo video of Mitch’s setup here, and your dogs are going to be the stars.”

  Clint shrugged and moved toward his truck, clucking to the half-grown pup, telling it to sit and wait while he opened the door.

  Mitch had his dog on a leash and stood away from the others. The thing was huge, growling and straining, especially once it saw Clint’s dog hop out of the truck.

  “Okay,” Skinny said. “Get ’em in the pit.”

  “What?” Clint took a step back. “You’re really going to set them on each other? Bruce is still a puppy!”

  “What did you think we were going to do?” Skinny asked, laughing. “Do an agility course?” He shook his head. “Nope. I want to see some blood.”

  “I thought you just wanted to have some dogs to show how—I don’t know.” Clint shook his head. “I’m not doing this.”

  “Damn it, Clint,” Mitch said. “You said you wanted to see how it all works. Now’s your chance.”