Page 37 of Deadly Vendetta

“Twenty thousand acres. This is one of the more successful cow-calf operations in this part of the state.”

“He raises horses also?”

“He’s been breeding quarter horses for as long as I can remember, and still has a successful production sale each year. It’s not unusual for his proven brood mares to go for over thirty grand. Last year a yearling halter prospect sold for fifty, but they’ve gone far higher than that.”

Zach whistled under his breath. “A lot of money for something that could colic and die.”

“That’s why people keep up their insurance. My husband,” she added with a hint of resignation, “dreamed of building up a good herd using Bill’s bloodlines.”

“Is this where your mares came from?”

“Entirely too many.”

“You don’t care for horses?”

“I’ve been a horse lover all my life. But sheer common sense tells me that one shouldn’t risk everything they own to have them. Not with vet school loan payments and a big mortgage hanging over your head. But Ken loved them and I just haven’t been able to let them go.”

She drove another mile or so in silence, then turned into a long driveway marked by massive stone pillars at either side. Ahead, the lane forked. To the left was a massive home set on a hill, and to the right, a cluster of large barns.

“I might as well tell you, because you’ll hear it anyway, small towns being the way they are,” she said as she pulled to a stop next to the largest barn. “My husband Ken was a sweet man, but he didn’t have a lot of business sense. Just before he died, he invested most of our savings and took out a big loan against our ranch to buy six top mares at one of Meyers’ sales.”

“That would have been a lot of money.”

“It was. He was sure that the colt crops each year would bring in a huge return on the investment. But, well...” She shrugged. “Two years in a row, some of the mares aborted in the fall, which is too late to rebreed. And the foals that were born have been downright disappointing.”

“Could you sell the mares?”

“We’d be in the classic buy-high-sell-low situation. With their recent reproduction records, they’re worth less, not to mention that the entire market is down right now. Maybe this year’s foals will be the answer, but those sales might come too late.”

Zach thought about the pretty ranch house and buildings back at the Rocking H. Nestled in a grove of massive old oaks, the place radiated a sense of tradition and of the strong family ties still missing in his own life.

“The sales would be too late for what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“The bank wasn’t eager to write up that four-year loan, and I haven’t found any other bank willing to help me refinance it. If I don’t come up with the money by August thirty-first, our ranch will belong to the Fossil Hill Community Bank.”

* * * *

“LET’S GO,” ALEX MUTTERED. He’d promised to keep an eye on Molly and Katie, but watching them was really boring. “If you’ll come up to the house, I’ll make you guys some popcorn and let you play video games on my PlayStation.”

Molly shook her head. “Maybe later.”

With a sigh, Alex slumped against the front of the stall. If not for Katie and Molly, he could have been riding Blaze out in the hills to watch the sunset and hear the coyotes teaching their pups how to howl. As much as a true cattle rancher hated coyotes, it was still sorta fun listening to those off-key yips and warbles.

Molly, sitting in the puppy stall with her back against the wall and legs outstretched, burst into renewed laughter as one of the more insistent pups tried to wrestle her sock off. Two others scrambled onto her lap and vied for the chance to lick her face.

Zach’s little girl had been quiet all evening. Weird. What kid didn’t have fun with a box stall full of puppies? She’d sat in the corner of the stall petting the pups that ventured over to her lap, and had watched Molly with interest, but now and then she’d stare at the door and whimper as if hoping her dad would show up and take her home.

At least she wasn’t crying anymore. The first half hour had seemed like an eternity.

“Five more minutes,” he warned. “Then we’re going to the house.”

“And who made you the boss?” Molly glared at him from across the stall. “I was the one who wanted to play with Katie.”

“But I’m supposed to keep everyone in line,” he retorted. “Remember? Mom said.”

“Like I need you to do that!”

Ignoring her, Alex leaned down and scooped up the pup he’d named Terminator, a salt-and-pepper gray with a perfect black spot around its left hip. Exhausted from play, it snuggled up against his chest, so he held it there, stroking its velvet-soft fur and breathing in its milky scent.

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