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AT HOME, FRANK HEADED straight for the shower and washed away the day’s grime. Feeling less fatigued, he put on a pot of coffee. The chicken he’d planned to grill for his dinner could wait another day, since there was nothing light snack about Tanya’s turkey sandwiches. While he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, he leafed through the day’s mail. As usual, it went straight to his recycling box. Anything significant generally came electronically.
His thoughts—not unexpectedly—drifted to Kiera. Why the fascination? Personable—and attractive—as she was, she wasn’t his type. Not that he’d ever given much thought to what his type was. Attachments weren’t his thing.
Or was it a matter of his being the only unattached rancher at the Triple-D? Derek had Sabrina, Bryce and Cecily were an item, and even Tim had given up his womanizing ways for Rebecca. What would it be like to come home to someone? Someone to share his day with?
You could get a dog.
Brushing aside his attack of introspection, Frank poured a mug of coffee and took it to his office. His tracking skills weren’t limited to physical evidence. He was no slouch in cyberspace, either. He powered on his computer and hit his usual search engines, using cattle rustling as a starting point.
After skimming through a few dozen articles—and forcing himself to avoid tumbling down rabbit holes—Frank narrowed his search to Colorado. Nothing to say their guy couldn’t have pulled his stunt elsewhere, but it made little sense for someone to hit a ranch in one state, then move to another after one theft. The Triple-D was hours from the borders.
He bookmarked a couple of articles, then switched to local newspapers. Most of these had crime report sections, and he might get lucky. He decided to start at the outskirts of the state. Anything close to home would have been widely reported by now. Tomorrow, he’d ask Cecily if anything had come through the county system. Or if she’d be willing to call in a favor with her detective friend in the department to see what he could find.
It shouldn’t take a favor at this point. Frank rubbed his eyes. Yesterday and today were catching up, and his brain was lagging behind. There’d been a crime in the county, at the Triple-D, and of course the sheriff’s office would investigate. Anything Frank could give them might speed things up.
Being systematic was key. He pulled up a map of Colorado divided into counties, printed it, and started at the top. He’d go back three months. An arbitrary figure, but given the nature of raising cattle, more ranchers would have more cattle out grazing during the warmer months. More temptations for rustlers?
An article snagged his attention. Rabbit hole or legitimate research? Someone arrested for trespassing on cattle ranch property in Weld County. The suspect, one Bart Braverman, claimed he was unaware he was on private property.
I’m an artist. I work in barbed wire. This was lying around. Heck, I was doing the property owner a favor, picking it up. Someone, or some animal, might have gotten hurt.
Frank punched the man’s name into his search bar and followed it to the man’s website. He was indeed an artist who used barbed wire as his medium. Not Frank’s taste, but that had no bearing on the man’s motive in helping himself to ranch scraps. Trouble was, no self-respecting rancher would leave lengths of barbed wire in or around a pasture.
To Frank, although he doubted the artist was unaware he was trespassing, it was a stretch to think he’d rustled cattle as well.
What the article didn’t say was whether the “stolen” wire was deliberately harvested from existing fence lines, and if it had been, by whom.
Back to his search engines, hunting for any reports of missing cattle on ranches in the vicinity of the artist’s arrest.
What he found had him calling Derek.
“D-Man. I’ve got something you should look at. I’d like your take. I know you and the crew will be busy tomorrow. Is it too late to pop over now?”
~~
KIERA MOVED TO STAND, but Derek waved her down. She swiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry about your heifer,” she said, putting Frank’s cow terminology lecture to use.
“No harm, no foul,” he said, lowering himself to the other chair.
“From what I heard, it’s not no harm. I hit it—her. She wasn’t able to get up. What were the damages? I want to pay the vet bill.”
“Accidents happen,” he said. “Your car sustained a lot more damage. There are those who would argue my heifer was the cause.”
Kiera realized she’d never thought of it that way. “They’d be wrong. The animal couldn’t know she was creating a road hazard. It was my fault, and I insist on making good.”
“In that case, I’ll ask the vet to send a separate bill. Normally, we settle monthly.”
“Please. I expect to pay for my room here, as well as any meals, starting with the excellent turkey sandwich Tanya gave us.”
“Out here, people look out for each other,” he said. “You needed a place to stay, and I have one.”
Before she could argue that she wasn’t going to accept charity, his phone rang. Or mooed. He stood, pulled it from his pocket.
“This is Derek.”
After a moment or two of him listening, he said, “Not a problem. See you in a bit.”
Kiera tried not to let her curiosity show, but either she was an abysmal failure or Derek was a sharer.
“That was Frank,” he said. “He said he might have found something related to our cattle rustler and will be here in about twenty minutes.”
Was that supposed to be an invitation for her to stay? Or leave?
“I guess I should get going, then. Tanya said she had ... fixings ... for me to have in the guesthouse so I won’t need to trouble you. I hope by tomorrow I’ll have my car situation taken care of and I can be out of your hair.” There was the matter of driving while taking pain meds, but maybe Rupert would get out of her hair—or head—and she could switch to over-the-counter pills.
“Can we continue this in the kitchen?” Derek asked. “You mentioned a turkey sandwich, and I’m starved.”
Heat rushed to her face. “Of course. I didn’t mean to keep you from your supper.”
He gestured her to the kitchen.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“No need.” He went to the fridge, pulled out a plate covered in plastic wrap, and brought it to the island counter. After the first bite, he tilted his head. “Tanya’s been playing with recipes again. It’s good.”
“Yes, it was. I want to make sure you include mine in your bill.”
He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed, then wiped his mouth with a napkin he plucked from a holder on the counter. “To continue our conversation. First, you’re not in my hair. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to. Second, I don’t normally rent rooms in the guesthouse, so I have no idea what to charge. When the cooking students use it, it’s included in their tuition. When any of my sister’s program kids are on the ranch, the grant covers it.”
“Program kids?” Kiera envisioned the guesthouse filled with raucous youngsters—not that it mattered, as she’d be gone soon enough.
“Long story, but Cecily has this overactive helping gene, and she founded a program where she places troubled teens on local ranches where we put them to work.”
Troubled teens. Cattle rustlers. Idyllic scenery. Snippets of ideas challenged Rupert for a place in her head.
“Will you be housing one of the program kids soon?” she asked.
He shook his head. “The program’s still new, so not a lot of kids are enrolled. It’ll be another month at least. There’s one on a neighboring ranch.”
Rupert’s drumming hit a crescendo. Kiera checked the time. She rummaged in her purse for the vial of pills the doctor had given her. “Can I get a glass of water?”
Derek insisted on fetching it for her. Maybe her preconceived notions about cowboys being rough around the edges was wrong. Both Derek and Frank had gone out of their way to show her hospitality, and both had manners her mother—and grandmother—would have approved of.
Derek finished his sandwich. “Would you like some ice cream?”
Since he didn’t seem to be in a rush to get her out of here before Frank arrived, she accepted.
They finished, and she managed to get Derek to let her put the bowls in the dishwasher. They adjourned to the living room. How long before Frank got here? Could she stay awake? The sugar rush from the chocolate syrup and whipped cream on her ice cream said yes.
She ran her budding ideas through her head again. Dare she present them to Derek? Smarter to do it tomorrow when her head was clear. Anything she came up with tonight would be due to a crazy jumble of pain meds, lack of sleep, and Rupert’s incessant thumping.