Page 13 of Texas-Sized Secrets

“Too well. I don’t see tire tracks or hoof prints anywhere around.” He stood. All he found were a few footprints probably left by the sheriff’s team who’d investigated the site last night.

“As if they raked it before leaving.” Fernando crouched next to the loose barbed wire. “Look at this.”

Reed joined him for a closer examination. On one of the barbs was a tuft of coal-black human hair and a bloody patch of what looked like scalp. “Someone has a scrape on his head that’s pretty deep.”

“Sí.”The old Mexican nodded farther along in the dust. “They missed a track.”

The telltale print of a dog’s paw stood out as clear as a signature. Whoever the rustlers were, they had a herd dog. Every rancher on the plains had herd dogs.

An engine’s roar alerted him to the approach of a vehicle from the direction of the ranch house.

The ancient red-and-white ranch truck, with the fading sign of Rancho Linda on its side, lumbered across the grasslands, lurching to a stop next to the fence. Chewy, Jesse’s border collie, hopped out of the back and ran around the area, sniffing at the tracks.

While Dusty and Jesse unloaded tools from the rear, Reed walked the fence line, bending to inspect the snapped posts.

Dusty dug the blades of a posthole digger in the dirt beside Reed and brushed his gloved hands together. “Won’t take long to fix this fence. Jesse and I can handle it, why don’t you and Fernando check for any loose steers.”

Reed had intended to do just that, but he’d changed his mind. “No. I’ll help here, if you don’t mind.” He stared past Dusty to the foreman.

Fernando nodded and walked across the dirt to his horse, silently climbing into the saddle. He crossed over where the fence should have been and turned to his right. Following the remaining line of wire and posts, he disappeared over a rise.

Reed lifted his hat, brushed the sweat from his brow and grabbed the posthole digger Dusty had left beside him. Ten minutes later, he lifted the last clump of dirt from the hole and set the implement to the side. His muscles burned with the honest effort of physical labor. He hadn’t known how much he’d missed it until today.

While he fitted a post into the hole and packed dirt around it, Jesse grabbed the tool and went to work on the next hole, twenty feet away.

Jesse, Dusty and Reed worked at mending the fence. Several wooden posts had been snapped as if run over by something big. Some of the thin metal T-posts had been bent double. Dusty was able to straighten one, but the others snapped off, rust and weather making the metal brittle.

Wielding the posthole digger, Jesse dug through the hard earth, making a hole deep enough for another wooden brace post they’d brought along in the back of the pickup.

The constant sound of metal clanking against metal rang in Reed’s ears. Dust kicked up by their heels smelled of Texas and cattle.

Dusty pounded a new T-post in the ground with the heavy post pounder that fit over the post like a giant metal sleeve. He pushed the pounder up and off the post, letting it fall to the ground at his feet. “Going to Leon’s tonight, Jess? They’re having a wet T-shirt contest, from what I hear.”

“No.” Jesse raised his arms high and slammed the sharp blades of the posthole digger into the hard-packed dirt.

“Catalina works there tonight. Maybe she’ll enter the contest.” The sly way Dusty spoke made Reed glance up.

Was Dusty goading Jesse? Did Jesse have a thing for the pretty young woman he’d seen waiting tables at Leon’s?

Jesse’s hands paused on the upswing with the posthole digger. “Catalina won’t enter.” He rammed the diggers into the hole with more force than he’d been using.

“I bet she will. She’d do almost anything for money. Won’t she? That Catalina is a wild one.” Dusty shot a glance at Jesse. “Wouldn’t mind doing the tango with that little chili pepper.”

The young Hispanic’s face turned a mottled red. “Shut up.”

“She’s one fine-looking woman.”

“Leave her alone.” Jesse left the digger in the hole and stalked across the dirt toward Dusty.

A good four inches taller and with twice the bulk as the lean and trim Jesse, Dusty hiked his sleeves up his arms, not a shred of fear in his cocky expression.

“She’s better than you.”

“She’s no better than any of you Mexicans. Except she’s a lot prettier. If I want her, I’ll take her and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Red flushed beneath the dark tan of Jesse’s skin right before he swung. His fist skimmed past Dusty’s jaw as the other man deftly ducked to the left and swung a right hook into Jesse’s midsection.

Chewy leaped into the fray, tearing at Dusty’s arm, growling like a rabid wolf.

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