Page 26 of Steers and Stowaways
Another loud clang of metal alerted her that a second gate had been flung open. More steers surged out to join the stampede.
Mallory clutched her head tighter and hunkered down in the tub as one of the narco rustlers aimed his pistol at a charging steer. It was impossible to hear whether he got off a shot before he was trampled beneath the creature’s hooves.
Men shouted, and a few shrieked in pain, as they sprinted for the open barn doors. It was complete chaos—loud, frenzied, and deadly. When it was over, Tucker’s rough voice warned, “Don’t look!”
His hands gripped her shoulders and lifted her from the trough. She watched dazedly as his hard, chiseled features took shape. She tried to ask him about Skip’s condition, but her teeth were chattering too hard to get the words out.
He must’ve understood the gist of what she was saying, because he covered her eyes with a hand. “I meant what I said. Don’t look.”
“Skip!” She gasped out the poor steer’s name, struggling to disengage herself from the clasp of Tucker’s steely arms.
“He didn’t make it.” He wrapped a heavy saddle blanket around her, trapping her flailing limbs and stilling hermovements. Then he carried her toward the door he’d instructed her to run toward earlier.
“Quit trying to escape,” he grumbled against her temple. However, there was no malice in his voice. Only concern.
She clung to him, shivering too hard to respond. They entered a rustic office on the other side of the door and were met with a blast of warmth. A roaring fire in the hearth filled the room with toasty heat.
Tucker set her down on a rug in front of the fireplace and rustled up some more saddle blankets to wrap around her. “Get those wet things off. I’ll be back with your duffel bag in two snaps.”
Her eyes widened at the request, but she was still too numb and cold to do anything but nod.
When he returned with her duffel bag, it felt like heaven to peel out of her sodden jeans and shirt and don the change of clothing she’d brought on the trip. She’d packed the first things she’d pulled out of her dresser—black running pants and an oversized green sweatshirt. She was fortunate she’d had the wherewithal to include a pair of sneakers, because her boots were going to take a while to dry out.
Tucker rejoined her while she was still toweling off her hair. “You never listen to me.” He shook his head at her.
“What law did I break now?” She moved across the room and plopped into an upholstered chair in front of Mr. Cavender’s rustic desk, beyond grateful to be warm again. Tucking her feet beneath her, she sent Tucker a belligerent look.
“It’s what you didn’t do!” He parked himself in front of her, hitching a leg on the edge of Mr. Cavender’s desk. “Youagreed to run when I said run. Why didn’t you?” His voice was gritty with anger.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” She replayed the sequence of events inside her head. “It all happened so fast.”
“You could’ve died out there!”
“I know.”Believe me, I know.Apparently, the good Lord still had a plan for her life.
“You could’ve died in that trailer, too, if I hadn’t discovered you stowing away.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m like a cat with nine lives.”
His shoulders slumped. “You wouldn’t have been in any less danger if you’d stayed behind at the ranch.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” She blinked back tears at what he’d left unsaid. While worming their way into her heart and pretending to be like family, Martina and Dex had been running a narco rustling operation right under her nose. They’d been doing it alongside her normal cattle sales, using the poor creatures as drug mules.
Skip had been accidentally poisoned by a leaking package of the drugs, then trampled during the ensuing showdown between the drug lords and the Lonestar Security guys. Goodness only knew where Chip and Cruz had disappeared to. Did their absence mean they were part of this mess?
“I should’ve sold the ranch after my parents died.” She let the damp towel fall to her lap, feeling defeated. “What was I thinking? It’s too much for one person to run.” Maybe she’d finally call the attorney of the nut job who’d bought the other hundred acres from her. If they still wanted the rest of the place, it was theirs.
“Baloney!” Tucker’s harsh voice cut through her self-recrimination.
She gawked at him. “For once, I thought you might actually agree with me.”
“I do.” His dark gaze narrowed on her. “I agree it’s too much for one person.”
“There you are,” she sighed, pressing a hand to her aching heart. “I knew I could count on you to kick me while I’m down.”
He gritted his teeth. “Would you let me finish?”
She gestured for him to continue. “Kick away, Private Investigator Pratt.”
