Page 67 of River Strong

He laughed as she turned and left. That laughter followed her all the way to her truck. Her first instinct was to call Pickett, but she didn’t want to do this over the phone. They had a date Saturday night.

A sob caught in her throat. She had to know the truth. Could it wait until then? She’d been so happy. What if she really didn’t know the man she’d fallen in love with?

AFTERADAYof mending fence and rounding up the cattle that had gotten out, Pickett was on his way back to the stables when he got the call. The latest storm had dumped a half foot of snow on the ground. The temperatures were dropping again.

Montana weather was more unpredictable than a woman, ranch manager Deacon Yates liked to say. Pickett didn’t care how long it snowed or froze. He’d never felt like this before. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that he was in love. He felt it soul deep. His mind had been full of Oakley all day. It was no wonder that he’d forgotten his call to the county office about recent land purchases in the Powder River Basin. If his theory was right, then CJ would figure out how to buy land for more privacy before starting up his business again.

“I have those sales you inquired about,” the clerk at the county office said when he answered his phone. “There aren’t many.” She began to read them off. He was listening for the name CJ Stafford. When she stopped, he realized ruefully that he hadn’t heard the one name he’d been expecting.

“None by CJ Stafford or the Stafford Ranch?”

“Sorry.”

“Wait, what was that second one?”

“Treyton McKenna. The purchase of a small area east of the river.”

Treyton? East of the river in the badlands? Was it possible? Treyton and CJ? Still, he asked, “Can you give me the location?” He put it into his phone, thanked her and hung up. For a moment he merely stared at his phone. If he was right, that area east of the river was not farmable, hardly ranch-able.

Pickett couldn’t be thinking what he was thinking, right? Treyton and CJ were rivals. They hated each other, didn’t they? But they were also a lot alike, he reminded himself.

Why would Treyton buy badlands unless the area was rich in coalbeds and he planned to drill methane wells. Or hide a meth and human trafficking business?

He’d been wondering if Holden knew about Treyton’s purchase and was anxious to see the property. But he’d promised Holly Jo that he’d teach her a few more riding tricks when she got out of school today. There were a couple that he hadn’t practiced for a while.

On his way to saddle up a horse, he heard his name being called and turned to find Holden motioning to him. He turned back toward the house, wondering if he should share what he’d discovered. Holden might already know and would take offense that his ranch hand was keeping tabs on his son.

“Big day planned?” the rancher asked.

“Didn’t get much done yesterday,” he admitted. “I’ve got a trick riding lesson later with Holly Jo. I was just going to saddle up.”

The rancher smiled. “Thank you for doing that. I know how much it means to her. If you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Pickett nodded and they headed for the den where Holden had his office. It was a large, well-appointed room with deep leather chairs, a large wood desk and a fireplace and bar. He was curious what his boss wanted, but became more concerned when Holden closed and locked the door behind them.

Holden must have seen his expression because he said, “I just don’t want us to be disturbed. In this household, that is always a problem.”

Pickett waited as the rancher took one of the leather chairs and motioned that he should join him. He dropped into a chair across from his boss, his heart drumming. He’d never asked for any time off to leave the ranch. Since his return, he hadn’t worked much. Was it possible he was being fired? Or was this about Dirty Business? Maybe his boss had found out about him being in the subversive grassroots organization to stop drilling. Or maybe—

“This isn’t easy for me,” Holden said. “I’m not one to butt into other people’s business.” He cleared his voice. “Can I get you a drink?”

Pickett shook his head. “You don’t need to beat around the bush with me. We’ve known each other for too long.”

The rancher smiled and seemed to relax a little. “After all these years, I think of you as family.”

“I’m glad to hear that because that’s how I feel about the McKenna Ranch.”

Nodding, the older man said, “When you asked for time off because your father was ill, I was worried about you. I was aware that you’d never left the ranch before that I knew of—or mentioned family. It was out of concern that I did some checking on you,” he said, rushing on before Pickett could speak. “I apologize for that.”

“You found out that I wasn’t born Pickett Hanson,” he said. Hadn’t he always figured that might happen? “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I didn’t mean to keep anything from you. I had my name legally changed.”

Holden sat back. “Why did you?” He sounded more curious than upset.

“Because I wanted a new life when I left home. When you hired me on, I thought it would be temporary, but I loved living here, the job suited me and I felt as if I’d come home.”

“That’s why you insisted on being paid with cash, under the table, so to speak,” Holden said.

“I couldn’t get my name changed legally until I was twenty-one. I legally became Pickett Hanson. By then, it felt too late to say anything.”

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