Page 2 of Steers and Stowaways
“Is Luke on his way?” Tucker Pratt possessed many maddening qualities, but assuming she’d forgotten to do something that important wasn’t one of them.
“Of course. Are you?” she demanded.
“Yep.” He disconnected the line before she could say anything else.
Seriously?She held the phone away from her ear so she could glare at it. No professional closing remarks. No goodbye. Just abrupt, infuriating silence. It was as insulting as the slap of a fly swatter eliminating a pesky insect.
Which I am not!
She stood there fuming and asking herself for the umpteenth time why she hadn’t already fired the guy. As far as she could tell, he’d made zero progress during the few weeks he’d supposedly been working on her case. Both checks she’d written to the lady at Lonestar Security’s front desk had felt like a waste of money. At the rate her luck was going, the money she’d invested in a private investigator was yet another reason she’d soon be out of business.
Right after laying off her ranch hands…
The rumble of a motor made her gaze snap toward the gravel driveway leading from the highway to her home. Sheriff Luke Hawling’s police cruiser rolled into view. Though his siren was off, he had his emergency lights flashing.
As he drove up to her and braked, she had the sinking feeling that the lights were only for show. So far, his department had made zero headway in identifying and arresting the cattle rustlers plaguing Heart Lake. Maybe he hoped his flashing lights would make her feel like he was doing something other than throwing his hands into the air.
He stepped out of the car, leaving his door ajar and his motor idling. Maybe it was standard procedure, but all she got out of it was that he didn’t plan on sticking around for long. He never did.
He pushed back his Stetson, shaking his dark head at her as he strode her way. “I’m really sorry about this, Mallory.” He held out a gloved hand to her, keeping the scarred side of his face averted from her. A few years ago, he’d beenhorribly disfigured during a house fire. It was arson. With a job like his, he’d naturally collected a few enemies along the way. Sadly, whoever had tried to burn him alive in his living room had yet to be brought to justice.
“Nobody’s sorrier than I am.” She shook his hand, wishing he’d quit trying to hide his scars from her. She didn’t care about stuff like that. What she did care about was catching the cattle rustlers that were picking her herd clean, one cow, steer, and bull at a time. “If we don’t stop these rustlers soon, I’m gonna be in a heap of trouble, Luke.” Her voice grew raspy from the effort to hold in her tears. “So are a bunch of other ranchers around here.”
“I know.” His voice was gruff with sympathy as he glanced toward the broken fence. “Let’s go have a look at those tire tracks.” He was wearing the standard Heart Lake Police Department uniform—jeans, boots, and a dark jacket with the HLPD logo emblazoned across the left breast pocket.
He didn’t say anything else as they strolled together across the achingly empty pasture.
She heard his abrupt inhale and exhale as he noted the familiar dual tire tracks. However, he still didn’t say anything. He simply started taking photos, measurements, and soil samples.
The rumble of a second approaching vehicle alerted her that the bane of her existence had arrived. There was something about the sight of Tucker’s ice-blue Chevy Colorado that never failed to make her pulse race. This morning was no exception. Not wanting to appear too eager, she turned her back on him as he parked and made his way over to where she and the sheriff were standing.
She hated the lava-hot waves of awareness that radiated off her the moment his broad shoulders came intoview. She both loved and hated the fact that he was a head taller than her. When he was giving her a piece of his mile-high attitude, which was most of the time, it made her feel small and inconsequential. Oddly enough, it also made her feel safer.
Instead of saying anything, he and Luke exchanged rigid nods. Unlike Luke, Tucker wasn’t wearing jeans. His muscular frame was encased in cold-weather security gear—an all-black insulated jacket, pants, hat, neck gaiter, and waterproof boots. He looked prepared to brave anything from a sharknado to a zombie apocalypse. If only some of his hypercritical preparedness would translate into the return of her missing cattle!
A girl can dream.
A girl could also wallow in the depths of despair like she was so skilled at doing lately. It didn’t seem to matter how many hunky lawmen showed up after the fact on her property; the criminals infesting the canyons and foothills always seemed to be one step ahead of them. More like a country mile.
It was a battle every cattle rancher in Heart Lake was in the process of losing. Mallory blinked rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to break free. She felt like a doomed prisoner facing an execution squad. Her only comfort was that neither of her parents were alive to watch her single-handedly lose Evans Ranch.
I’m sorry, Mom and Dad.The rambling one-story farmhouse she lived in had been in their family for five generations. The central four rooms dated back to the Civil War. Beneath the layers of much newer sheetrock were log cabin walls that she’d planned on uncovering and restoring someday. The doorway leading to her mudroom had pencil marks depicting her height every year from age two to agefifteen, when she’d finally stopped getting taller.Bummer!Her disappointingly petite frame had been cemented in Evans’ family history beneath a layer of clear shellac.
It was her home. Every room, closet, and strip of flooring held lasting memories of her dearly departed loved ones. Memories she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving behind. She’d rather die.
“Mallory?” The sheriff’s worried voice broke through her tortured thoughts, bringing her back to the frosty field they were standing in.
“What?” The unforgiving wind buffeted the collar of her fleece-lined denim jacket, slicing past the missing button at her throat. She shivered and cupped a gloved hand against her neck since she didn’t have a fancy gaiter to do the honors.
“Do you have any questions for me before I take off?” The long-suffering note in his voice told her that he was repeating something he’d already asked while her mind had been wandering.
A sense of defeat sank deep into her bones. “Not any that you can answer.” She desperately wanted to know if Old Glory and Tank were still alive and where the rustlers had taken them. She wanted to know what had happened to the rest of her missing cattle. She wanted names, she wanted arrests, and she wanted to still be in business when it was all over.
He gave her a wry nod. “I’ll be in touch with any new information we uncover.”
Though he was being sincere, she wasn’t expecting a call from him anytime soon. Whatever dark poison was spreading across their small town felt bigger than him. Bigger than his country police department. Bigger than all of them put together.
What little sputter of hope remained in her died during his short walk back to his police cruiser.
