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“BE RIGHT THERE, D-MAN.” Frank Wembly paused before slamming the receiver into the cradle, giving Derek time to hang up first. No point in letting the boss know you’re not happy to be called in on your day off. At zero five hundred.
Five minutes later, he was dressed. Fifteen minutes later, he swung his pickup down the approach road to the Triple-D Ranch. Two minutes later, he parked by the ranch house backdoor, strode through the mudroom into the kitchen. The aroma of coffee helped his mood—a little.
Tim Halloran, one of the other ranch hands, leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee from a stainless steel travel mug.
Frank filled one for himself. After that first restorative sip, he found his voice. “Where’s everybody?”
“Loading the horses. Glad you came in. D-Man doesn’t need more trouble,” Tim added in a rare show of seriousness.
“You don’t say no to the boss,” Frank said. Especially when the ranch’s budget sheets, although Derek would never admit it, straddled a fine line between the red and the black.
“You didn’t leave some sweet nubile delight behind, did you?” Tim grinned and lifted his coffee.
As if. There was the wisecracking cowboy Frank knew. He ignored the dig and screwed the lid on his mug. “We should get moving.”
They made their way to the barn, where the horse trailer was hitched to the ranch’s F-350 pickup. Derek’s gloved hands tapped a staccato on the steering wheel. Frank climbed into the backseat along with Tim. Bryce Barret, the other ranch hand, secured the tailgate on the trailer and hoisted himself into the shotgun seat. Frank slouched against the door and finished his coffee.
When they arrived at the far north pasture, Frank helped Bryce unload the horses. “D-Man didn’t give me many details when he called.” No need to mention the boss’s call had yanked Frank out of a much-needed deep sleep cycle and half his words hadn’t registered.
“Fencing down,” Bryce said. “Cattle going walkabout.”
Bryce saved his lengthy conversations for the animals. Damned if Frank didn’t swear they understood. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of them talked back one day.
Derek swung out of the cab and joined them. “Order of business. First priority, we find the strays, bring them back. Frank, put your tracking skills to use and see if you can figure out where the herd got off to. Sheriff’s office called early this morning. A man reported a couple of cows alongside the county road, a couple more roaming down the middle. Said he almost hit one, but he couldn’t pinpoint his location. He wasn’t from around here if he didn’t know enough to check mile markers.”
“Time to do your magic, Sherlock,” Tim said, using Frank’s handle from their Army Ranger days.
Frank glared at him. Tracking wasn’t magic. It boiled down to observation, experience, and common sense.
Bryce led Shadow and Pumpkin out of the trailer and chatted with them while Frank headed to see what kind of a trail he could pick up. It hadn’t rained in over a week. The land around the pastures was lined with aspen and pine trees interspersed with granite boulders. “Did whoever reported the cattle say which way they were going? Might save time.”
“East,” Derek said.
Frank scanned the pasture. To his recollection, they were grazing fifty-two head in here this rotation. Steers and heifers. Not ready for market, which was good, but if they had to be replaced, it would set the ranch back a hefty sum. Unusual for all fifty-two to have wandered off. Although cattle were herd animals, in the pre-dawn hours, most should have been asleep, and a few meandering away shouldn’t have initiated all of them following. Derek knew this. He’d been raised on the Triple-D.
Frank strode to a spot where the earth appeared churned up, crouched for a closer look. Damn sage was blooming, and he sneezed. Multiple times. In his early-morning haste, he’d forgotten his allergy meds.
Derek crouched beside him. “This where they left, Sherlock?”
Frank pointed at obvious hoofprints. “My guess is yes, but like you said, it’s more important to find them than study the site. This will still be here when we get back.”
“Need to know where to start looking,” Derek said. “If they headed for the trees, they could have split up and gone anywhere.”
“Or someone took them,” Frank said.
Derek snorted. “Cattle rustling’s a crime.”
Frank stood. “I’m not seeing evidence someone drove a cattle truck in here. Or any large vehicle, for that matter. Someone driving a herd along the road, even a rural county road, it’ll get noticed. Locals will know something’s wrong. All your land is on this side of the roadways. No need to move them out there.”
“Those were my thoughts,” Derek said. “Needed corroboration.”
“We’re wasting time.” Frank pointed to his left. “My money says that’s the way they went. Straightest line to the road to where whoever called the sheriff said he’d seen them. From what he said, he saw four. There’s more than forty others to find.”
They walked to the trailer where Bryce had their horses ready and mounted up. Zephyr, Derek’s black steed, snorted and stomped as if to complain about being kept waiting.
Frank patted Pumpkin’s neck, keeping his voice low. “Sorry you have to work today. I know you were looking forward to your day off.” As was Frank, but he didn’t need Derek to overhear.
“I was going to saddle Elmer,” Bryce said, “but he’s been favoring his right foreleg.”
“Not a problem,” Frank said, patting his horse’s neck again. “Given the terrain, it’s not going to be a rigorous ride.”
“You take point, Sherlock,” Derek said. “Eyes open, everyone.”
Frank clucked and urged Pumpkin forward. That many animals shouldn’t be too hard to spot. His fear was that because of the trees, they’d scattered in different directions and gathering them would be their biggest challenge.
Other than figuring out how they’d gotten loose. If they’d moseyed out on their own, the tracks should be more distinct. Someone had spooked them. Who’d have it in for Derek?
~~
KIERA O’LEARY CRANKED up the volume in her car and belted along with “Bohemian Rhapsody”. Ten more days of vacation time, and then a new career—she hoped. A new life without Sleazeball Stu Thurman. Of course, her boss didn’t know he was out of the picture yet. She hadn’t told him she wouldn’t be coming back from vacation.
If Stu thought sleeping her way to a promotion was something she’d even consider, he could think again. If he wanted to cause trouble? She had copies of emails, records of phone calls. She gave an involuntary glance toward the glove box, where she’d stashed the printouts.
If she was going to get the sunrise pictures she wanted, she’d have to hurry. She pushed her Lexus as fast as she dared, enjoying the open mountain road. No traffic at this hour. Nothing but nature. Singing, composing shots in her mind, she navigated a series of S turns and was late to notice an obstruction in the middle of the road.
Things played out in slow motion.
A cow?
Kiera stomped on the brakes. Hit the horn. Yanked at the wheel. Tried to swerve around the animal.
Almost made it. Almost wasn’t good enough. The impact deployed the airbags.
Stunned, she waited until her faculties returned, coughing against the powder that filled her car. Was she hurt? Short answer, yes. Everything hurt. She reached for the rearview to assess the damage. Pain shot through her wrist. Switching hands, she adjusted the mirror. A trickle of blood dripped from her forehead.
She took a deep breath—another mistake. Pain stabbed her chest.
What had happened?
The memory returned. A cow. Where was it? She definitely hadn’t imagined it. An imaginary cow wouldn’t set off her airbags.
First things first. Get her car out of the road. Regroup. She ignored the pain. She’d probably feel worse tomorrow. She wiggled her fingers, moved her wrist. They hurt, but weren’t broken, right? She tested her ankles. Fine. Same with her knees. All functioning.
The ignition was off. She pressed the starter. Nothing.
At her father’s insistence when she’d first gotten her driver’s license, she carried a roadside emergency kit. She reached for the trunk latch, popped it open. As she got out of the car, she noticed the cow lying in the middle of the road. Ohmigod. Had she killed it?
This day wasn’t going the way it had started.
She took out the first aid kit and dabbed at the blood on her forehead. That seemed to take care of it. She turned on the car’s hazard lights, then hobbled around the car and set the emergency triangle warnings and flares. One behind, one in front of the car. Should she mark the cow, too?
It was struggling to get up now but seemed unable to do so. Instead, it was bellowing. Constantly.
Time to make a 911 call.
She eased herself into the driver’s seat and took the phone from the console. After explaining to the dispatcher what had happened, and giving the best estimate of her location, including the color of the cow’s ear tag—red—Kiera made her way around the car for a closer look. The left front fender was bent into the tire. Which sported a nice gash. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not without a tow.
She punched in the number for roadside assistance, told them where she was.
“We should have a truck there in an hour,” the dispatcher said, not apologizing for the lengthy wait. Kiera shoved the phone into her purse.
Could she salvage anything from this morning? She was stranded until help arrived. The sunrise had turned the scattered clouds a brilliant pink against the rich blue. A perfect shot, one to add to her portfolio. With a sigh, using her good hand, she dragged her camera bag from under the remains of the airbag on the passenger side and grabbed her camera. Colorado Mountain Sunrise, she’d call it.
She’d better take pictures of the cow, too. She might need them for insurance purposes. And the car. Would the owner of the cow pay for the damages to her Lexus? Or would she owe him for the cow? How much was a cow worth? Not as much as a Lexus, she was pretty sure.
Sunrise first. The colors would change within minutes. The car and the cow weren’t going anywhere. She looped the strap around her neck, bracing her elbow into her ribcage to help support the camera—ouch—and peered at the viewscreen, composing her shots.
Sky, clouds, trees, and a mountain skyline. A palette extending through cotton candy to fuchsia along with a broad range of oranges against a powder-blue backdrop.
Wait. Was something moving in the distance? She zoomed in, trying to bring whatever it was into focus. Another cow? Or a bear looking for breakfast? She’d read they could smell food from miles away. And that they could run really fast.
Dizzy, Kiera climbed into her car and locked the doors.