Kitabı oku: «Texas-Sized Secrets», sayfa 3

Then why did Reed’s full lips come to mind when Catalina had mentioned kissing?

REED RODE BESIDE Fernando, slowing his horse the closer they came to the broken fence. The other two ranch hands would be here shortly with the pickup and tools to mend the fence.

Last night’s search for clues and evidence had yielded nothing. He wanted to go over the area again in the light of day. Assuming the sheriff and his crew of deputies hadn’t disturbed the ground too much.

When he was within a hundred yards he reined in his horse. “Let’s walk the rest of the way.”

Fernando nodded and climbed down from his horse, dropping his reins to the ground. The gelding munched on the prairie grass, his tail twitching like a metronome, swatting at horseflies.

“Miss Mona didn’t need this to happen.” Fernando stared ahead at the mutilated fence line and off into the distance as though he might spot the missing cattle.

“Does anyone need to be robbed?”

“No, but her being with child makes it twice as hard.”

Reed agreed silently. “Any idea who the father is?” He asked the question before he could catch himself. Internally, he rationalized that if the father of the child had a bone to pick with Mona, he could be a suspect in the current situation. What better motive than to ruin Mona Grainger to make her own up to the paternity of her child?

“No. As far as I know, she hasn’t told anyone. None of us knew she was even dating.” He turned his attention to Reed. “Why did you leave the sheriff’s department?”

“I had my reasons.” Reed squatted in the dust and stared at the disturbed ground.

“You worked as a police officer in Chicago before that, didn’t you?”

That bit of information wasn’t hush-hush. Folks in small towns could rarely keep a secret. With a new man in town, word was bound to get around. Especially with a big mouth like Sheriff Parker Lee. “Yeah.”

“The Texas panhandle is a long way from Chicago.”

In more ways than one. If not for his mother, Reed wouldn’t have come back. “I grew up in these parts. Came back because of family.”

Fernando nodded. “Family is important.”

Some of them.

“Miss Mona swore on her papa’s grave she’d keep the land in her family. It meant a lot to him and her mother. She wants to have something to pass down to her child.”

“What if her child doesn’t want it?” Too often ranches were sold to big corporations when the children showed no interest in eking out a cyclical living on the land. As an only child, Reed had vowed to leave the panhandle rather than work alongside a father who couldn’t stand the sight of him. As soon as he’d graduated high school, he’d left, swearing never to return.

Funny how life came full circle and more often than not, he found himself eating his own words. Never say never. As much as he resented his father, Reed couldn’t deny his mother anything. When she’d had a stroke, he’d flown home to take turns with his father, sitting by her side in the hospital. When he’d had to leave to go back to Chicago, she’d begged him to stay.

In the end, he’d returned to be closer to her.

Reed shook off the past and focused on the smashed prairie grass all around. “Look here.” He pointed at holes in the dirt, spaced evenly in a wide circle. “Looks like they had portable corral panels.”

“Sí.” Fernando straightened. “They cleaned up well, didn’t they?”

“Too well. I don’t see tire tracks or hoof prints anywhere around.” He stood. All he found were a few footprints probably left by the sheriff’s team who’d investigated the site last night.

“As if they raked it before leaving.” Fernando crouched next to the loose barbed wire. “Look at this.”

Reed joined him for a closer examination. On one of the barbs was a tuft of coal-black human hair and a bloody patch of what looked like scalp. “Someone has a scrape on his head that’s pretty deep.”

“Sí.” The old Mexican nodded farther along in the dust. “They missed a track.”

The telltale print of a dog’s paw stood out as clear as a signature. Whoever the rustlers were, they had a herd dog. Every rancher on the plains had herd dogs.

An engine’s roar alerted him to the approach of a vehicle from the direction of the ranch house.

The ancient red-and-white ranch truck, with the fading sign of Rancho Linda on its side, lumbered across the grasslands, lurching to a stop next to the fence. Chewy, Jesse’s border collie, hopped out of the back and ran around the area, sniffing at the tracks.

While Dusty and Jesse unloaded tools from the rear, Reed walked the fence line, bending to inspect the snapped posts.

Dusty dug the blades of a posthole digger in the dirt beside Reed and brushed his gloved hands together. “Won’t take long to fix this fence. Jesse and I can handle it, why don’t you and Fernando check for any loose steers.”

Reed had intended to do just that, but he’d changed his mind. “No. I’ll help here, if you don’t mind.” He stared past Dusty to the foreman.

Fernando nodded and walked across the dirt to his horse, silently climbing into the saddle. He crossed over where the fence should have been and turned to his right. Following the remaining line of wire and posts, he disappeared over a rise.

Reed lifted his hat, brushed the sweat from his brow and grabbed the posthole digger Dusty had left beside him. Ten minutes later, he lifted the last clump of dirt from the hole and set the implement to the side. His muscles burned with the honest effort of physical labor. He hadn’t known how much he’d missed it until today.

While he fitted a post into the hole and packed dirt around it, Jesse grabbed the tool and went to work on the next hole, twenty feet away.

Jesse, Dusty and Reed worked at mending the fence. Several wooden posts had been snapped as if run over by something big. Some of the thin metal T-posts had been bent double. Dusty was able to straighten one, but the others snapped off, rust and weather making the metal brittle.

Wielding the posthole digger, Jesse dug through the hard earth, making a hole deep enough for another wooden brace post they’d brought along in the back of the pickup.

The constant sound of metal clanking against metal rang in Reed’s ears. Dust kicked up by their heels smelled of Texas and cattle.

Dusty pounded a new T-post in the ground with the heavy post pounder that fit over the post like a giant metal sleeve. He pushed the pounder up and off the post, letting it fall to the ground at his feet. “Going to Leon’s tonight, Jess? They’re having a wet T-shirt contest, from what I hear.”

“No.” Jesse raised his arms high and slammed the sharp blades of the posthole digger into the hard-packed dirt.

“Catalina works there tonight. Maybe she’ll enter the contest.” The sly way Dusty spoke made Reed glance up.

Was Dusty goading Jesse? Did Jesse have a thing for the pretty young woman he’d seen waiting tables at Leon’s?

Jesse’s hands paused on the upswing with the posthole digger. “Catalina won’t enter.” He rammed the diggers into the hole with more force than he’d been using.

“I bet she will. She’d do almost anything for money. Won’t she? That Catalina is a wild one.” Dusty shot a glance at Jesse. “Wouldn’t mind doing the tango with that little chili pepper.”

The young Hispanic’s face turned a mottled red. “Shut up.”

“She’s one fine-looking woman.”

“Leave her alone.” Jesse left the digger in the hole and stalked across the dirt toward Dusty.

A good four inches taller and with twice the bulk as the lean and trim Jesse, Dusty hiked his sleeves up his arms, not a shred of fear in his cocky expression.

“She’s better than you.”

“She’s no better than any of you Mexicans. Except she’s a lot prettier. If I want her, I’ll take her and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Red flushed beneath the dark tan of Jesse’s skin right before he swung. His fist skimmed past Dusty’s jaw as the other man deftly ducked to the left and swung a right hook into Jesse’s midsection.

Chewy leaped into the fray, tearing at Dusty’s arm, growling like a rabid wolf.

“Damn dog. I’ll kill the son of a—” Dusty swung his arm, pushing the dog out and away from him, the animal slamming against a fence post.

Reed dropped the post he’d been working and grabbed Jesse by the back of the shirt, jerking him out of the path of the bigger man’s next uppercut. “Cool it, Dusty.”

Chewy staggered to all four feet and shook out his coat before stalking toward Reed now, growling deep in his throat, his gaze sweeping from Dusty to Reed.

Reed nodded toward the animal. “Call off the dog, Jesse.”

For a moment Jesse hesitated, then he said in a stern tone, “Down, Chewy.”

“Need a bodyguard, Jesse?” Dusty taunted.

“Get out of the way, Bryson.” Jesse’s voice was low and threatening. “This is between me and the jerk.”

“It’s over. We have work to do.” Reed stood between the two.

Finally, Dusty shrugged and lifted another T-post from the ground at his feet. “Don’t know why you get all upset over her. Cat’s not all that great. She’s got too much attitude for her own good.”

“She’s got more class in her little finger than you have in your entire body.”

“Never said I had class, maybe that’s why I like hanging out with her.”

“Knock it off.” Reed waited a full minute until Jesse went back to work digging his hole and Chewy followed him. The dog planted himself next to the man, his black-eyed gaze following Dusty’s every move.

Once Dusty and Jesse seemed in control, Reed went back to the post he’d been working. He kicked dirt into the hole to pack the post in, wishing he could kick a little sense and manners into Dusty. The man was trouble. Why Mona kept him on, he didn’t know. Something smooth and black buried in the dust caught the sunlight and glared into Reed’s eyes. When he leaned over and brushed aside the dust, he found a square matchbook with white letters spelling out Leon’s Bar.

Dusty tossed the pole pounder beside Reed’s feet.

Anger bubbled up inside Reed at Dusty’s carelessness. The pole pounder wasn’t something you tossed close to others. If Reed had moved an inch or two, Dusty could have hit him in the head. The blow from the heavy steel could have killed him or rendered him unconscious with a caved-in skull.

“Find something?” Dusty asked.

Reed’s instinct where Dusty was concerned was one of gut-level distrust. He closed his fist around the matchbook and straightened, shooting a glare from the pole pounder to Dusty. “No, I didn’t find a thing. Did you?” He moved away from the man, pocketing the matchbook and tucking away a mental note to check out the story on Dusty Gaither.

Chapter Five

Exhausted and dispirited, Mona pulled up in front of the ranch house and shifted into park. All she wanted to do was stand in the shower for twenty minutes and fall into bed. Two hours of sleep the previous night wasn’t enough for a pregnant woman.

At five and a half months, she was just beginning to understand her limitations. She hated that she didn’t bounce back the way she had before she got pregnant.

Not until she climbed down from the truck did she notice a distinct lack of vehicles around the house and bunkhouse. The only truck was Fernando’s lovingly cared for, baby-blue 1967 Chevy pickup.

Before her foot touched the bottom step leading to the porch, Fernando rounded the back of the house. “Miss Mona, you’re back.”

“I am.”

“Any luck with the banks in Amarillo?”

“Not yet. Two agreed to take the application to their underwriters. They’ll get back to me sometime next week.” She tugged the ponytail loose at the back of her head and shook out her hair. “Where is everyone? Out pulling guard duty?”

“No. We brought the cows in to one of the closer pastures for the night. It was Dusty’s night off. Which wasn’t a problem until Jesse disappeared after supper. I’d guess they’re both headed for Prairie Rock.”

“What about the new guy?” Mona avoided Fernando’s gaze and saying Reed’s name out loud, as though saying it made it more of an intimate question. She sighed. Her sleep-deprived brain was making her loopy. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start thinking irrationally and more like a schoolgirl with a crush instead of a savvy landowner. A savvy landowner whose back and feet were killing her.

“Señor Bryson went to town as well.”

Mona’s head jerked up. “He did?”

“Sí.” Fernando crossed his arms over his chest. “I insisted. Since he needed to stop by and visit his familia I asked him to go on to Leon’s to keep an eye on Dusty and Jesse.”

Add a pain in the neck to her list of aching body parts. “So Dusty’s been pushing Jesse again?”

“I only caught the end of their argument earlier. I believe it had something to do with my hija.”

“Dios!” Mona plunked her straw hat back on her head and, ignoring every aching bone in her body and the gnawing hunger in her belly, she marched down the steps and climbed into her truck.

“Miss Mona, Señor Bryson can handle them. My esposa has dinner waiting for you. You must think about the bebé.”

“I’ll grab something at Leon’s.” Mona slammed the door and revved the engine, cutting off Fernando’s protests.

Of all the pigheaded male posturing. Dusty couldn’t let it go. He knew Jesse was in love with Catalina and she wanted nothing to do with him. Why did he insist on rubbing it in? Too often, his taunting ended in fistfights. Most often when they were at Leon’s with Dusty all liquored up.

Darkness cloaked the plains. The scent of dry prairie grass blasted into the open windows of the pickup. The wind helped to keep Mona awake on the thirty-minute drive into Prairie Rock. That and a full-blown, in-your-face desire to slap someone upside the head helped to keep her adrenaline flowing and her eyes open to watch for critters crossing the empty highway.

If she could have fired Dusty, she would have. She couldn’t afford to pay her hands much and Dusty hadn’t seemed to mind the pittance she could offer him. Reed as well. Until Reed showed up, she thought she’d have to spend the last trimester of her pregnancy on night-watch duty.

Still, she considered letting Dusty go. His redneck attitude had caused more problems than he was worth. Hell, if the bank foreclosed, she’d have to let them all go.

A brick wall of depression played havoc with her emotions and she sniffed several times before she grit her teeth and pressed harder on the gas pedal. She’d be damned if she gave in to her very own pity party.

SITTING IN THE WINDOW overlooking her tiny rose garden, Grace Bryson smiled at her son. The left side of her face didn’t respond, but the light in her eyes said it all. “I’m so happy you came to see me. Today, I walked in my garden for fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes. This from a woman who’d walked miles of ranchland tending the animals and working alongside her husband to make the spread work for them. Her words were halting and slurred, but she forced them out, like a climber determined to reach the top of a mountain.

As he took his mother’s hand, a lump the size of a wadded sock lodged in Reed’s throat. “That’s great, Mom.”

Her fingers curled loosely around his and she gave him a gentle squeeze. “Have you tried talking to your father?”

Reed bent close to hear her words, the slur in her speech making her difficult to understand. She’d come a long way in her recovery from the stroke over the past six months, but the doctor said she might never fully recover her speech.

Reed would take whatever he could get. This woman raised him and loved him unconditionally when his father had shown him little patience or understanding. Why should he talk to his father? They hadn’t had anything to say to each other since he’d turned eighteen and left home. “No, I haven’t spoken to him.”

“He wants to talk to you.”

If he’d been so anxious to talk to him, why had he left as soon as Reed arrived? “I’ll catch him later. It’s getting dark, do you want the light on?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He reached above her and tugged the chain for the floor lamp beside her chair.

His mother leaned back against the headrest. “You don’t have to wait here with me. William will be back soon. I could stand a little time alone.” She chuckled. “I like to take little naps now and then so that I can stay awake through my television shows.”

Reed smiled. “Okay. If you’re sure you’ll be all right.”

“I will. Don’t forget to talk to your father. He’s been meaning to speak with you since you came back. He just doesn’t know how.”

No kidding. Reed’s lips tightened. The only way he’d ever talked to Reed was to tell him everything he was doing wrong. Never a word of encouragement or love.

“Give him a chance. It’s not all his fault the way he acted when you were young. If it’s anyone’s fault, blame me.”

He leaned across and kissed her wrinkled forehead. “I couldn’t fault you for anything. You were always there for me.”

Her grip tightened on his hand and she held him close. “I made mistakes, Reed. Unfortunately, you paid for them.”

“I don’t understand.”

She closed her eyes. “Talk to William. He promised to explain for me.” Her grip loosened until her hand dropped from his onto the arm of the lounge chair.

For a long moment, Reed listened for the sound of her breathing. Until he heard her long shallow breaths he didn’t breathe himself. Grace Bryson was asleep.

After covering her with a light blanket and tipping the chair to a full recline, he let himself out of the house, locking the door behind him.

He felt strange leaving her alone, but she’d insisted she would be all right. Six months into his mother’s recovery, Reed still worried about her. What if she had another stroke?

Darkness had settled in over the town of Prairie Rock. From a distance, he could hear loud country-western music booming into the star-filled night sky. That would be his next stop for the evening. Leon’s Bar.

Fernando had insisted he should go to town and play babysitter to the two young hotheads who’d been ready to tear each other’s throats out all day. Once off the ranch, with no one to hold them back, they’d probably succeed. Part of Reed was ready to let them go at it. The other part knew Jesse was no match for the much larger and meaner Dusty, and having two of them out of commission would only add more stress. Mona needed ranch hands who could work long, hard days, not men with broken bones, laid up for the next six to eight weeks.

Reed ran a hand down his face. Being up all night had left him tired and cranky. He was used to pulling all-nighters, but they got harder the older he got.

With a sigh, he climbed into his truck and turned toward the bar. He had another reason to come to Leon’s Bar—to track a rustler.

When he pulled in front of the ramshackle building made of heavy timbers and corrugated-tin siding, he noted the dozen trucks and cars lining the parking lot. With the band playing a lively tune, the night was just getting started.

Careful not to appear too obvious, he walked in front of the heavy-duty trucks looking for signs of damage from pushing through wooden fence posts. The trucks sporting heavy front grilles all looked as if they’d been driven hard over rough terrain. Any one of them could have done the damage.

At the door, Reed paid the cover charge to a burly man wearing a black cowboy hat and stepped into the smoky tavern. Scantily clad waitresses, wearing shorts no mother should let her daughter out of the house in, sashayed between the tables and bar, filling orders and swatting straying hands.

He spotted Catalina at the bar talking to one of the local ranchers, a tray balanced on one pretty, rounded hip. He could see why Jesse and Dusty were fighting over her.

Her long, blond hair reached down to the middle of her back and her smile and laugh had every red-blooded man in the room turning her way.

Dusty sat at the bar, dressed in clean, pressed jeans and a fancy western shirt with shiny pearl buttons, a sure sign he was on the prowl for a little female company. He shouted for another round of whiskey, his voice loud enough to be heard all the way to the courthouse on Main Street. Definitely loud enough to be heard over the band.

So far, Jesse hadn’t made an appearance. Maybe Reed was in luck and he wouldn’t have to break up another fight today. One had been enough and he wanted to take the time to people watch. If their black-haired rustler showed up with a cut on his head, he was going to nail him to the nearest post.

Choosing a table as far away from the speakers as possible, Reed sank into a seat in a dark corner, the bass woofer pounding against the inside of his head, even from this distance.

Thankfully, after five more minutes of eardrum-splitting tunes, the band took its first break and the jukebox took over in much lower decibels.

More people drifted in as the hour neared ten. So far Reed hadn’t found a dark-haired man with a cut on his head. Then again, most men wore cowboy hats. At least half a dozen had black hair, some long, some short. Reed ruled out the short hair. The length he’d seen on the barb had been at least two inches and straight. Which ruled out the buzz-cut young cowboys two-stepping around the wooden dance floor.

Several Hispanic men crowded around a table at the opposite end of the bar from Reed, all guzzling beer and watching the dancers and other bar patrons.

At least three of the five had longish straight black hair. One had gray hair and the other had his hair cut in a short buzz. Of the three with long hair, two wore cowboy hats.

How to get them out of their hats. Reed bided his time.

“Can I get you another beer?” Catalina Garcia leaned over the empty table next to him and lifted empty bottles onto her tray, a healthy amount of cleavage on display.

“No, thanks.” He’d been nursing the same beer since he arrived. It had gone flat and warm, but he wasn’t there to drink.

“Mona tells me she hired you out at her place.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mona’s a really nice girl,” she said as if commenting on the weather, while she wiped the table with a wet washrag. When she was done, she turned to him. “Don’t do anything to hurt her, will you? She’s got enough going on in her life.”

“She hired me to help her, not hurt her.” Reed’s brows drew together. “What exactly do you mean?”

The serious look she’d just given him changed into a twisted smile. “You’re not exactly hard to look at, you know.” With that she flounced away, her bottom twitching back and forth like an open invitation.

An invitation Reed wasn’t accepting. Nor was he interested in Mona as anything other than his boss. The end.

“Mind if I join you?”

Reed stiffened. He knew that voice and he’d never welcomed the sound. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He didn’t turn to look at his father, but a chair scraped and the older man sat next to him anyway.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past six months, but there never seems to be the right time or place.”

“So why bother?” Reed lifted the warm beer and downed the last drops. A long silence stretched between them as the jukebox switched from a lively tune to a cry-in-my-beer song. All the old anger and hurt of his teen years had mellowed into an even stronger indifference for the man who’d never treated him like a son. Now he looked across the table at the weathered, retired rancher, who’d almost lost his wife and immediately afterward sold his ranch. Property that had been in his family for a century. William Bryson wasn’t as intimidating as he’d been twenty years ago. He just looked old and tired.

The graying man rested his elbows on the table and laced his fingers. “I’m a stubborn man.”

Agreed.

“A stubborn fool,” the man continued without looking up. “But one thing is for certain, I’ve always loved your mother more than anything. It took her almost dying to realize how unfair I’ve been to you all your life and how hard it was on her.”

A lone fiddle picked up the tune on the Jukebox song and played a plaintive melody, accentuating the anguish in his father’s voice.

Reed shifted uncomfortably and leaned forward to stand.

“Don’t go. I have to get this out. I have a confession to make.”

“It’s a little late for confessions.” Reed continued his upward movement, but his father’s hand gripped his forearm and held him.

“It’s not just my confession. It’s something your mother wanted me to tell you as well. She just doesn’t have the strength to right now.”

Had it only been his father, Reed would have left. Instead he sat back in his seat. “Go ahead.”

“Your mother and I dated for two years before we were married.”

“And I was born nine months later. I’ve heard this story.”

“Not quite nine months,” he said in a whisper. “What you don’t know is that she was pregnant when we got married.” His father looked up, his gaze colliding with Reed’s. “With another man’s baby.”

The sound faded into the background of Reed’s mind as his father’s words sank in. The people moving around the bar blended into a dark blur. “What are you saying? I’m not your son?”

“No.” William Bryson stared into Reed’s eyes, the lines etched deeply into his weathered face. “And I never gave you a chance to be mine.”

Reed shook his head slowly. The way his father behaved toward him all made sense now. The man couldn’t love another man’s son. His jaw tightened and he leaned toward the man who’d pretended to be his father all these years. “Not that it matters, but who is my father?”

“Up until the day I sold the ranch, your mother hadn’t said a word. All she told me back when she had her stroke was that she was raped.”

The older Bryson’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Raped? And she didn’t tell anyone?” So his father was a scum-of-the-earth bastard. And here he thought the hard, unbending man he’d known as his father was bad. Talk about a winning combination. The heat in the stiflingly full bar got to Reed and he pushed to his feet. “Pardon me.”

He couldn’t get away from his father fast enough. At first he headed for the door, but then he saw one of the Hispanic men from the far corner getting up and heading for the men’s room.

No matter how he felt about his father, he couldn’t walk away from the cattle-rustling investigation. He followed the man to the bathroom, hoping to see him without his hat. Perhaps if he only focused on Mona’s problems, he could forget his own.

MONA PULLED INTO the parking lot near ten o’clock, tired, disgruntled and ready to kick some ranch hands’ butts. And just her luck, Dusty had just shoved Jesse out the front door of Leon’s.

Catalina followed on his heels, pounding his back. “Leave him alone, Dusty Gaither, or I’ll call the cops!”

In a pool of light cast by the lamp over the door, a crowd of rowdy rednecks gathered around the wrestling men and the one waitress trying ineffectually to break up the fight.

As soon as she opened her truck door, the wind whipped her hair into her face, blinding her for a second. Shouts sounded in between the roaring of the wind in her ears. When she pushed her hair out of her face, and she could see again, fists flew and Catalina was in the middle of it.

“No!” Mona might as well have spit in the wind for all the good her shout did.

“Stop it!” Catalina tried to grab Dusty’s arm. He backhanded her and sent her flying into a couple bystanders.

Her blood rushing to her head, Mona tossed her cell phone to the man nearest her. “Call the sheriff.” Then she pushed her way through the thickening crowd, careful to shield her belly from stray elbows.

A roundhouse punch to the gut sent Jesse sprawling in the dirt flat on his back. Mona ran to him while Catalina jumped on Dusty’s back.

The cowboy laughed out loud. “That’s right, pretty thing. You’ll be riding me soon.”

When she sank her teeth into his ear, he roared and jerked her over the top of his head, flinging her to the earth.

Jesse stumbled to his feet and charged Dusty.

“Don’t go there, Jesse,” Mona said in a low, pleading voice. “He’s not worth it.”

“I’ll kill him.” Jesse reached out to push her aside.

“Don’t or I’ll fire you and Dusty both. And where would you get the money to help your mamma?” Mona was running out of steam and her baby was kicking against her ribs so hard, it took her breath away. If she didn’t get Jesse to leave soon, she didn’t know if she’d still be standing to stop him.

REED RINSED HIS HANDS, taking his time, waiting for the man behind him to finish his business, take off his hat or something.

The dark-haired man flushed and left the bathroom without washing his hands. Reed followed.

A shout went up, “Fight!”

Already people rushed for the door, anxious to see the action.

Like everyone else, the Hispanic man hurried out, his buddies ahead of him.

Reed waded through the crush, two deep behind the disappearing dark-haired man.

When his quarry stepped through the open door, the wind whipped his hat off his head.

No sign of an injury from the back. Reed’s pulse quickened and he pushed his way through and out into the open, determined to get around in front of the man.

As soon as he did, he saw it. The angry slash of red high in the man’s hairline. This was one of the rustlers. Reed was certain. The man grabbed his hat from the ground and disappeared around the corner of the bar.

Reed took a step toward him, when he heard a shout.

“Go home, Jesse!” The female voice lifted above the heads of the crowd. The determined ring to her tone could be none other than the owner of the Rancho Linda. What the hell was Mona doing here?

Reed shouldered his way to ringside where Dusty and Jesse threw punches at each other. Jesse had a cut high on his left cheekbone, his eye already swelling shut.