Page 24 of Steers and Stowaways
She didn’t care. She was too distraught. “He’s having a seizure!” Glancing wildly around them, she discovered four hardened cowboys sprinting in their direction. To her astonishment, they looked familiar. One of them was Heart Lake’s recently retired sheriff, Gil Remington. The dark-haired guy with a military high-and-tight haircut running beside him was former Army Ranger Gage Hefner—Tucker’s boss, if she wasn’t mistaken. Flanking them were Gage’s brother Rock, a sketch artist, and Lonestar Security’s newest business partner, Dave Phillips. She was betting Dave had flown the helicopter parked outside the barn.
She swung a thumb in their direction. “What are they doing here?”
“Their jobs,” Tucker barked, ducking his head to speak directly into her ear. “They’re our backup.”
Conrad Cavender was on the heels of the security guys, with a medical bag in hand. “I just sent a 911 message to my vet, Dr. Ridley. He and his son, the younger Dr. Ridley, are on their way.”
He helped them hold Skip down, careful to keep out of the young steer’s kicking range.
Mallory hated the familiar feeling of helplessness that swept over her. First, the disappearing cattle. Then, a steer taken during a highway holdup. Now, a sick steer. It felt like her whole life was cursed!
She glanced toward Chip and Cruz again and was disheartened to find Cruz snapping yet another photo, this time of her.Are you serious?She didn’t know what had gotten into him, but it was something she intended to address soon. He’d be lucky if he still had a job afterward.
Dr. Ridley arrived and ran a stethoscope over the underside of the downed steer. He was a white-headed fellow in camouflage hunting gear. He was assisted by his son—a carbon copy of him, but younger with wind-blown tawny hair. While they examined Skip together, the steer started vomiting and shaking uncontrollably.
She soon discovered why as the father-son team proceeded to extract an oblong bag from the steer’s nether cavity. The bag was split at the seams, and a white powdery substance drizzled out of it.
“Cocaine,” the older Dr. Ridley intoned bleakly. “I’ll bet my boots on it.”
The younger Dr. Ridley went to work pumping Skip’s stomach.
Mallory slid bonelessly to the floor. “Drugs?” She rasped out the word, trying to wrap her brain around the implications.
Tucker’s expression was stony. “Narco ranching is on the rise, I’m afraid. The closer you get to the border towns, the worse it gets.”
Narco ranching?She’d heard of the term before now, but that was it. She had no firsthand experience with it. Not in her wildest imagining had she considered that someone might be using her cattle as drug mules. It explained so much while opening a slew of new questions. It also pointed a rather ugly finger at Martina and Dex. And Chip along with them.
She glanced dizzily in the direction she’d last seen their son, but she couldn’t locate him above the tops of the cattle standing between them.
“Chin up, Brat!” Tucker’s harsh voice in her ear made the room stop spinning. “Looks like we intercepted the packages in time to save your cattle.”
You mean there’s more?She scanned the room, looking for any signs of other steers falling ill. Most were acting normally. Only one other steer was rolling his eyes and flicking his tail uncomfortably like Skip had been doing. Still bawling mournfully. Still not eating. Still not drinking.
She pressed a hand to her heart at the realization that neither Skip nor the other eye-rolling steer had been passing the usual cow patties, probably because they couldn’t.
You poor, poor, pitiful thing!
All she could do was help soothe the agitated steer as the two veterinarians extracted several more packages of drugs from its rectal cavity. They tossed the packages into an empty metal trough resting nearby.
Unlike Skip, the second steer was soon back on his feet. Wobbly at first, but he was going to be alright. It was a miracle. According to the conversations Mallory overheard flying between the ranch hands and veterinarians, most animals didn’t recover from their injuries and the infections they often caused. As a precaution, the father-son vet team started him on a round of antibiotics.
Mr. Cavender offered to board the steer while he continued his treatments, and Mallory agreed. It would put her shipment of cattle down by yet another head, but it was the right thing to do.
It was still unclear whether Skip would pull through. He was lying on the floor motionless, with his eyes closed.
It was all Mallory could do to hold in her tears as she made her round of the rest of the herd. They responded normally to her voice and touch, assuring her they were unharmed.
Tucker worked in tandem with her, sticking as close asa cocklebur by her side. She read concern and anger in his gaze, but his lack of surprise caught her off guard.
It took a moment for the reason to sink in. As a former police detective, Tucker Pratt must have seen this before. He’d probably worked on more than one case exactly like this one.
“I, er…” she choked.
“Just breathe,” he ordered.
Man, but he enjoyed bossing her around! She swallowed hard. “About the Silvas…” He’d been right about them. As much as she hadn’t wanted to believe his suspicions, he’d been horrifically on point. Not just about them. About everything. Just like he’d warned her when she’d hired him.
His words were still ringing in her head about how he always pursued justice without caring whose feelings he stepped on…and how she wouldn’t like the results of his investigation. At the time, she’d assumed he was just being a jerk, but not anymore. He’d correctly assessed the way the Silvas were taking advantage of her, and he hadn’t wanted to be the one to disenchant her. He was a good man—a far better man than she’d given him credit for.
