The following morning, Christie was drinking coffee when her dad’s landline phone rang. It tended to get better reception, so she rarely used her phone since being home. It had been nice to not be attached to the phone since being here, but she hadn’t seen it in a while. She’d probably left it in the console in her Jeep, so she’d look for it later and make sure she charged it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Chica.” It was Trish. “Wanta go out for a ride this morning?”
While the idea of getting out in the heat wasn’t particularly inviting, riding the hundred-acre property would be nice. She knew there were cool spots with trees, and they could go down to the creek so the horses could drink.
“Sounds good, but we don’t have any horses for riding.”
Trish responded, “Oh, no worries. I’ve got two geldings which we rescued, and they are the sweetest boys. I’ll bring them over in the trailer.”
“Okay, how long do you think you’ll be?” Christie shifted the phone to her other ear.
“Forty-five minutes or so.”
“That’s pretty quick, isn’t it?”
“I knew you’d say yes. The tack is already loaded. All I have to do is load up the boys and head over.”
Christie laughed. “You know me too well. I’ll be ready.” She ended the call and took a swig of coffee.
Pop set his cup on the table. “So you all are riding the property? How’s about you check the fence line while you’re at it?”
“We can, but I’m not sure we’ll get to the entire perimeter. We’re not planning on spending the entire day out.”
“Wimps.” Pop grinned.
Christie got up and washed her cup, hanging it on a hook over the sink. “Is there any place you want us to check?”
He nodded. “Yep. Check the fence along the Altgelt property.”
“Any particular reason, Pop?”
“One of his cows got over here just before you arrived home. I planned on getting out to check it, but then,” he raised his arm, then thought better of it and put it back down, “this happened.”
“Okay, we’ll check it out.” She hated to bring it up but figured now was as good a time as any. “Pop, what did you decide about accepting the check? That is a lot of money.” It had surprised Christie to see a check for $25,000 written out to R.C. Taylor. The note read, “gift for recovery.” They’d covered their bases on that one. They could probably even write it off as a gift on their tax return. They had written nothing that would show culpability in the accident.
“The Websters are crazy if they think I’m taking their stinking money. Not one red cent. Look what they have done to others. They’ve increased the pressure on Curtis, too. I’m going over to see him in a bit.”
“Pop, you can’t drive. I’ll take you over later if you want to go.”
He shifted in his seat. “I can drive. I’ve still got the use of this hand.” He wiggled his fingers on his good arm.
“How ‘bout I make you a deal? If you wait and let me drive you over, I’ll make your favorite pecan pie?” Making a pie in the heat of summer wasn’t appealing, but she knew nothing else would appease her father.
“Done.” He raised his cup, and Christie poured him some more coffee.
“Do you need anything else while I’m out with Trish?”
He shook his head. “You have fun.”
Christie rummaged through her suitcase to get a long sleeve shirt she could wear over the tank top. She found an old baseball cap and tied a bandana around her neck. She was just pulling on her boots when she heard a truck pull up.
“That can’t be Trish yet.” Christie went over to the door.
Oh, no. A Webster vehicle.
A petite woman with a mountain of bleached blond hair piled on top of her head stepped down onto the automatic step from the truck.
Good grief. It’s like Sweden around here with all the blondes.
She waved at Christie who moved out onto the porch.
“Hi-ya,” she trilled. She wore three-inch stilettos with red soles, a colorful peplum top, and white pants with decorative gold buttons up the sides. As she approached the porch, the first thought that came to Christie was “firecracker.”
The woman reached the porch steps and thrust out her hand. “Hello. I’m Emma Webster. I just came by to see how y’all are doing and see if I could pick up that letter.” She smiled, revealing bright, white, straight teeth. Veneers. They were almost as shiny as the huge round diamonds in her ears. Christie noted that she also had an enormous gem on her left hand.
“I’m sorry, but it seems you’ve come out here for nothing. My father will not accept your check.”
The woman’s face crumpled but her eyes stayed hidden behind her Chanel sunglasses.
Am I getting ready to see an adult have a toddler tantrum?
The woman quickly composed herself and propped the sunglasses up on her head like a tiara. She smiled up at Christie. “Now, y’all take as much time as y’all need. No hurry. We just want what’s best for your father.”
I’ll bet you do.
Christie replied, “Well, it’s good you came out here because my father also wants to let you know that he is not, nor will he ever, sell this property.”
The woman’s eyes flashed with irritation, but she kept a smile on her painted pink lips. “Of course. No need to think about that right now. I wanted to let you know that we’re in negotiations with Curtis Altgelt to sell his property. After his barn fire, he’s giving our offer more consideration.”
That came as a shock, but Christie remained silent.
“We will make him and his heirs very wealthy people.” Her implied note about heirs was so blatant, Christie almost wanted to laugh out loud.
“Well, good for them.” Christie could play this game, too. She’d had to deal with enough greedy family members, who cared nothing for the person in her care. Vultures, she’d called them. Emma also fit that bill.
“I would just hate to see y’all not get a good asking price for this place. Some places have been found to have contamination in the soil or water, and the owners practically have to give it away. Or eminent domain for roads and such. It’s just so… sad.”
Christie kept her cool. “Well, as we have no intention of selling or giving anything away, we’ll be just fine.”
The woman exhaled, pushed her sunglasses onto her nose, and gingerly made her way down from the porch. She started the vehicle remotely and turned back to Christie.
“Oh, one last thing. It appalled me to hear that your father threatened Hector with a shotgun. Waving a gun around could be mistaken as mental instability. I hope he’s not suffering from the first signs of dementia or other issues. I’ve begged Hector not to press charges, but,” she shrugged her shoulders, “there’s not much I can do.”
Just then, the screen door shot open. “I’ll show you who’s crazy! This is my property, and you’re trespassing. You better leave now.” Pop pulled a pistol from the back of his pants.
Emma squawked like a chicken being chased for dinner. She ran—as much as one can run in stilettos—to her truck and climbed up into the cab. She reversed quickly, and gravel sprayed from her tires as she backed up, barely missing Trish’s truck and horse trailer coming down the road.
“Pop! Give me that. Are you trying to get arrested?”
“Naw. Just having some fun. This pistol belonged to my great-grandfather. It’s not loaded, and it hasn’t been fired in generations.”
“They don’t know that.”
“Good. Then they should get the hint to stay off my property.” He took the gun and went back inside.
Trish stood next to her truck door and pointed at the departing vehicle. “Am I mistaken or was that Miss Snooty Pants Webster?”
Christie laughed. “I guess that’s as good a name as any.”
“I gotta tell you that woman is strange, but it makes sense.” Trish went to the rear of the horse trailer and opened the gate.
“What makes you say that?”
“Have you met her husband, Tyler, yet?” She backed a handsome gelding out of the trailer and handed the reins to Christie.
“No, can’t say I have.”
Trish went back into the trailer. “There’s just something about him, that’s all.” She backed another horse out of the trailer.
Christie patted the American Paint’s muzzle. “You’re a handsome fella.”
Trish swung the other horse around by the leads. “That’s Champ, and this here good fella is Scout. We bought both of them from a ranch about a year ago. “Which one do you think you want to ride?”
Champ nuzzled Christie. “I think we have a winner.” Trish had already saddled the pair, so Christie mounted Champ and took a few turns around the yard. She leaned down and stroked his neck.
“Oh, I forgot to grab drinks and snacks.”
Trish patted the saddlebags she’d added to the back of Scout. “Got some right here. You ready?”
Christie nodded, and they walked the horses until they were away from the homestead. They picked up the pace, and once they hit a large patch of meadowland, Christie took Champ into a trot before squeezing her legs to get him to go into a canter. The ride was enjoyable and invigorating, and as the horses slowed back into a walk, they headed toward the fence line between the properties. Everything looked good, until they came to a section where the fence lay crooked with a large gap.
“What in the?” Christie dismounted, and Trish followed suit. Trish’s quarter horse, Scout, lowered his head down and picked at a small patch of grass.
Christie bent down. “Look. Someone cut these wires. I know Curtis wouldn’t have done that. I need to tell him and Pop about this. I don’t have the tools, so I’ll have to come back and fix it.”
Trish wiped sweat from her face with a red bandana. “It’s getting pretty hot, anyway. How about we head down and follow along the creek bed? We can let the horses drink and take a break.”
“Sounds good to me.” Christie swung herself back up on Champ and Trish followed.
They made their way over to the creek. After they let the horses drink and ate some snacks Trish had brought, they walked alongside the horses.
“Once we get up here, we can take the service road and—”
Trish squinted and pointed. “What’s that?”
Christie looked ahead. A large white truck. Had Emma come down here after she’d left them? But that had been hours ago. A man in a white shirt staggered from the truck. He appeared to be moving with some difficulty.
“Come on.” They got back up on the horses and trotted to the truck.
It was Hector.
Christie swung down from Champ and ran over to the man. “Hector, are you okay?”
“Don’t feel so good.” He vomited a blue liquid.
Trish had followed and held the reins of the horses. She blanched. “Ew. Gross.”
“I’ve seen everything there is to see in my line of work. That’s nothing.” She crooked his arm over her shoulder and put her arm around his waist. “Come on, Hector. Let’s get you into the shade.”
He doubled over. “My stomach.”
Christie noticed the lack of sweat on his brow. “Trish, I think he may have heat stroke. Let’s get him something to drink.”
Trish ran over to his truck and grabbed an electrolyte drink in the console. She held it up. “What about this? It’s cold. I see he has an ice chest, so he must have gotten it from there.” She handed it to Christie who took it but set it down on the ground.
“No, that’s the worst thing you can drink when you’re hot. You need cool or room temperature water. Grab some from your bags.”
Trish ran over to Scout.
“Oh, no! He’s losing consciousness. Trish, Call 911!”
Trish pulled out her phone. She cried out, “There’s no signal!”
“Hurry! Ride to the house. Get help. I’ll stay with him,” Christie yelled.
Even as Trish took off with Scout at a full gallop, Christie knew it was a fool’s errand. She checked Hector’s pulse. His heart rate was elevated. She opened the neck of his shirt and poured water onto the bandana she’d brought with her. She wiped his head and neck, but his breathing grew more labored.
Trish, hurry. He doesn’t have long.
Christie moved over so she could elevate his feet onto her legs. Her mind raced while time slowed. Why was Hector on their property and why had he come here? Had he meant to hit Pop, or had it truly been an accident? Cole had complained of a stomachache and now, Hector. Had they both gotten food poisoning from the same place? Or was this heat-related?
She spoke soothing words as she had done on many previous occasions when no family or friends were present. And Christine Taylor was once again the last person who heard a person’s final breath.