Page 51 of Deadly Evidence
The bale sailed into space and landed with a thud on the trailer, in perfect alignment for Dante and Brady to grab it and move it into position. Another ninety-nine arrived as fast as Dante and Brady could stack them.
Dust and prickly hay chaff covered his shirt. Sweat trickled down his back as the stack on the trailer grew higher and harder to build.
Even with gloves, the twine strings around the bales bit deep across his palms.
But the hard work, crisp air, and brilliant sunshine were exhilarating—a step into his own past.
If the bank hadn’t foreclosed on his dad’s ranch, he’d probably be working there right now—with a rich and satisfying life spent on a good horse, the wide open spaces, and the rugged beauty of nature as his constant companions.
A life, he thought wryly as he shoved the last bale into place, where he wouldn’t be facing the regret and guilt that still kept him up at night.
Brady sauntered over to a freestanding hydrant along the fence, tossed his hat on the ground and lifted the handle. He held his cupped hands under the stream of water to splash his face and neck. “Want me to go find one of the boys so we can pay up?”
“No one came out when we honked. They must be gone.” She eyed the house. “Gil knows what I came after, though. I’ll just put a check on his kitchen counter.”
Dante plunged his hands under the stream of water as well. “Want me to run it up to the house?”
Anna gave a dry laugh. “Good idea, kid. Might be much faster that way. Especially if Gil’s home.”
Brady drove the truck and wagon back into the parking area while Dante headed for the house.
He hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards when Gil appeared on the shady patio outside the front door, with his hand on the collar of a white German shepherd.
“Come on in,” he called out. “Coffee’s ready.”
Brady took in Anna’s expression of stoic acceptance. “You can refuse. Tell him you’re in a hurry.”
“I’ll tell him we can’t linger, but we can’t just drive off.” She sighed. “He’ll think something is wrong and then he’ll drop by, and those visits last even longer. Come in with us.”
On the way to the house, Brady detoured toward the pickup with the dealer sticker in the window. “Nice truck,” he called out. “Is the mileage as good as the sticker claims?”
“Never is.” Gil chuckled. “But it makes me feel good thinking it’s even possible.”
He ushered them through a broad, Spanish-tiled entryway lit by a chandelier hung from a two-story vault above, past the dining room, and into a more casual family dining area just off the kitchen.
Here, towering plants in terra cotta pots bloomed in the corners of the room, and a large Mission-style oak table was set with brightly colored Mexican placemats.
“Rosita—coffee, please,” Gil called out, waving everyone to a place at the table.
He gave Anna a benign smile. “Sorry I didn’t have anyone out there helping load. A couple of the guys are moving cattle and one is helping the vet treat some calves. I’ve got a new man who’ll be up here in a minute, so you can meet him.”
Dante held back as everyone took a chair, then went to the far end of the table and slouched awkwardly into his seat, his eyes downcast. Knowing the boy’s history, Brady sympathized with him. He’d surely never experienced this sort of luxury in his life.
Rosita bustled in with a tray of fresh, hotsopapillasand poured coffee, then she nodded and hurried back to the kitchen.
“You’ve got a beautiful place here,” Brady said with a lift of his coffee cup toward Gil. “You must be quite a rancher.”
“One would think. Actually, my investments have paid off better than the ranch has.” Gil chuckled. “It’s hard to get rich on land with nine inches of rain per year, so I dabble in the stock market.”
“But you do run cattle, don’t you?”
“Around five hundred head of mother cows. A few dozen broodmares. There were those,” he said with a faint edge to his voice, “who said I’d never last out here. But I proved them wrong.”
Brady felt Anna tense in her chair next to his. Under the table, he reached over and found her clenched hand, then he enveloped it with his own until she relaxed. He interlaced his fingers with hers.
Sparks of warmth radiated through him at that contact—and from the faint pink in her cheeks, he suspected she felt the same thing.
“You certainly have, Gil,” she said evenly, without so much as a glance in Brady’s direction. “You have a showplace, now.”
