Page 5 of Deadly Evidence
She bit her lower lip. He’d been gone over four hours. “He’ll be fine. We can set a plate of leftovers for him in the fridge.”
Dante snorted. “Maybe he’s taking a nice nap in the shade.”
“Or maybe ole Buck dumped him off on some cholla.” Vicente gave her a broad wink. “That would be fun, no?”
She winced at the memory of her own childhood experience with a cholla. In pain every step of the way, she’d had to lead her pony a good two miles home to the ranch.
The humiliation of being bucked off had surpassed having to bare her backside while her mother deftly tweezed out a few hundred cactus spines.
“Maybe he’s out there frying like some burrito.” Dantemoved to the kitchen sink and rinsed his dishes, his swagger reminiscent of his former life as a tough young kid on the streets. “Thatwould be a big loss.”
Through the windows to the west, the evening sun balanced on the tips of the Quitman Mountains, gilding the endless expanse of sand and sagebrush.
She’d watched Brady catch and saddle the gelding, and his movements had been swift and sure.
He’d swung up into the saddle with the grace of someone who’d spent a lifetime on horseback, then headed for the rugged pastures where sparse grass fed her cattle.
If he’d run into trouble, the canyons and rocky ravines studded with prickly ash and soapberry trees could offer respite from the sun. Surely he was okay.
Even so, she gathered her own dishes and crossed the spacious kitchen to peer out the windows again.
A beachball-size tumbleweed bounced across the yard. Mojo, her ten-month-old golden retriever and border collie mix, slept in the shade of the ranch pickup.
“What’s your problem?” She gave Dante a quelling stare. “Brady’s big and strong, and he’s going to make our lives easier. We need help, now that my grandfather’s ill—at least for a few months.”
“You told him about this new guy yet?” He shot back.
“I run this ranch now. It’s my decision.”
At the table, Vicente took a long swallow of his coffee and rose stiffly. “I’m going to mass as soon as I get this kitchen cleaned up. Anyone want to come along?”
“Count me in.” Dante spun around and reached for his Resistol and a set of keys on the row of hooks in the entryway. “I’ll get the truck started.”
Vicente chortled as the boy slipped out the door and thundered down the wooden porch steps. “He’s stir crazy as a bull in spring.”
The old Mexican faithfully attended Saturday mass. Dante never joined him in church, but never missed a chance to head for town, either.
“Just try to bring him home with you, okay? Last time...”
“Yeah...he don’t look for trouble, but it sure looks for him.”
And last time, it had cost her fifty dollars and a lot of fast talking with the new sheriff, Ramon Quintero, down at the local jail.
From the first day Dante had shown up at her ranch, he’d reminded her of her late brother, who had run wild and rebelled as a teenager. He had died in a car wreck just as he was turning his life around.
This eighteen-year-old had faced a lot of tough breaks, but he had potential. She was doing her best to see he reached it.
“Well, do what you can to keep him out of trouble, okay?”
Nodding, Vicente gathered up the salsa bottle and other condiments from the table. “Heard from Lacey?”
“She called. She didn’t sound all that happy about her bunkmates and says she’s really looking forward to coming home to her horse.”
“It will be good to have her back.”
Anna smiled at the thought of her thirteen-year-old daughter, who’d been so excited about the prospect of going off to scout camp over spring break—until the day she had to pack.
“I don’t think she has a lot in common with some of the city girls, but it’s a good experience for her.”
