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THE REST OF the men rose from the table, thanked Lizzie, and filed out of the room. Savage rose as well, spoke to Lizzie and Pete, and left the kitchen without another word. Stiles didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He felt like doing a little of both. When his hands stopped shaking, he got up from his seat and wandered back to his room. He found his smokes and matches, and made his way out onto the porch. There were several straight-back chairs and rockers scattered about. Stiles walked the length of the front porch and settled on one of the rockers that faced the west where the sun was slowly sinking. It was a breathtaking scene.
He seldom had time to sit and watch the sun setting. But this was a spectacular show and he’d never seen anything like it.
As the light faded, clouds that looked like brush strokes painted the sky. The evening sunlight burst into colors. Orange and red, pink and purple, all blended into a massive background on the horizon. The golden sun ball seemed to float on the edge of the prairie that stretched as far as Stiles could see.
“Amazing.” He breathed the word quietly to himself.
“Yes, it is.”
Stiles jumped. Savage Beare had crept up behind him while he was lost in the sunset. How could a man that large be so silent?
“I never grow tired of watching it. The sunrise is almost as stunning. Though, you’d have to be a really early riser to see that.”
Stiles watched as the large man sat in a swing, stretching out one long leg across the bench seat. He laid one muscled arm across the back of the swing. Stiles’ eyes drifted to the length of the man. His pulse quickened.
They sat in silence, watching the sun slip behind the horizon. The evening sky darkened. It wasn’t long until the first stars begin to twinkle. Within fifteen minutes, there were so many stars, it felt like Stiles was looking at diamonds sparkling and lighting up the darkness.
Stiles felt something brush against his leg. Looking down, he watched as that three-legged cat he’d seen earlier in the day rubbed against his pants leg.
“Oh, go on. He’s not interested in you rubbing all over him.”
Stiles couldn’t look at Savage, so he looked at the cat and scratched behind its ear. Purring his approval, the cat stayed a moment, then moved along.
“Can’t see a sunset like this in London, can you?”
Stiles froze. He couldn’t imagine what had given him away, but he smiled at Savage Beare innocently. “I’m sorry?”
“The accent. It takes years to completely get rid of it.” Savage let loose a deep chuckle, making the hairs on Stiles’ neck stand to attention. “Aye, many years.”
The lilting Scottish brogue threw Stiles for a moment, then he laughed. “And what exactly gave me away?”
“Nothing in particular. Maybe the clothes. Could have been the mumbled word ‘arse’ you directed at something Gus said at the dinner table.” He finally turned to face Stiles, then added, “Or it could be the way your arse looks in those pants. Though that really has nothing to do with you being from London, does it?”
Savage Beare stood and walked casually to the front door of the house. He didn’t look at Stiles, but he spoke before he entered. “I’d wear something a little less dressed up if you are going to sit a horse tomorrow.” Then he was gone.
Stiles stared out at the dark night, wondering what the hell had just happened. Clearly, Savage Beare knew more about him than he should. Who could have given him the information and why? Stiles knew one thing for sure: Lizzie had been correct. He couldn’t trust anyone on this ranch except for her.
Later, as Stiles was getting ready for bed, exhaustion overtook his curiosity. He found the facilities and took care of things as quickly as he could. The chance that he might run into Savage Beare again tonight made him move even faster. His bed had been turned down and he found another note from Lizzie under his pillow.
It was much the same as the other, except to say that Pete Huggins had warned her to stay away from him and not show him any favors. Stiles was sure that Mr. Huggins had a more personal interest in Lizzie than just her being an employee under his care.
Stiles woke to the sound of a whispered argument. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than thirty minutes, so it was hard to become completely awake. The argument quieted, but then the distinctive whinny of a horse brought Stiles up out of bed. Pushing the curtains aside, in the distance, Stiles could see a lone rider on a dark horse galloping quickly toward the west, away from the ranch. He was gone before Stiles got a good look. A slamming door drew Stiles’ attention to the barn, but he wasn’t fast enough to see if someone shut the door or if the wind was the culprit.
Lying in bed, his mind kept replaying the scene. Why would someone be rushing off in the dead of night that way? Who was arguing? Most of the men had left for town hours ago. Unless someone slipped back, he had very few suspects. As far as he knew, Savage Beare, Pete Huggins, and Larry Fargo were the only ranch hands to stay behind. Savage Beare was supposed to be in the bedroom across the hall, sleeping. But was he?
THE NEXT MORNING, Stiles dressed in a cotton shirt the color of the morning sky, a well-worn pair of riding boots, and a pair of dark blue pants similar to the ones the rest of the ranch hands wore. He even had a Stetson for when he went riding.
He ate breakfast with the men at the table and noticed that Larry Largo had dark circles under his eyes. He looked as bad as the ones who had been in town most of the night. Stiles wondered if he had been the lone rider quickly leaving the ranch in the middle of the night. Larry’s brother, Drew, was not at the table.
Savage Beare entered the kitchen and accepted the coffee mug Lizzie offered him.
“Thank you, Lizzie.” He smiled brightly at her, then walked around to the empty seat beside Stiles.
“Gus, I need you to ride out to station two and check the herd there. Get a head count. Where’s Drew? I need him to do the same at station one. The rest of you work on the regular Sunday chores.”
No one spoke, but it seemed every man understood his task and rose from their seats to be on their way.
“Wait,” Savage said, and all the men at the table stopped. “Where is Drew?”
“He’s still in the bunk house. I’ll go wake him,” Larry offered and hurried out the kitchen door.
“I had one of the stable boys saddle a horse for you,” Savage said to Stiles. “Do you have a gun?”
“What?”
“You’ll need a gun or a rifle if you are going more than a few yards from the main buildings. This isn’t the city, Mr. Long. There are wild animals here.”
A shiver of excitement passed through Stiles as he thought about one wild animal in particular: Savage Beare.
“He probably don’t even know how to shoot a damned gun, Savage,” Gus added, laughing as he left the room. “We all know he’s a greenhorn.”
Stiles wanted to lay Gus Williams flat on his back and pummel him. Savage Beare’s face showed a hint of grin. It was a handsome face, but then a mask could hide evil deep inside a man. Stiles had seen that before many times.
“Yes, I have a gun and I know how to use it.” He was already tired of being the butt of everyone’s jokes.
With everyone else finished and gone, Stiles was left alone with Savage at the table. He had questions to which he needed answers and there was no time like the present to get them out of the way.
“I’ve got a few questions, if you have the time,” Stiles stated as both men pushed away from the table.
“Let’s talk in the office,” Savage said as he tipped his head to Lizzie and left Stiles to follow.
Pete Huggins had disappeared shortly after the ranch hands had filed into the kitchen and started eating. Lizzie had done most of the serving and clearing away before the man reappeared. Stiles wondered where he’d been, but followed Savage down the hall to the office with the large bookcases.
The office was decorated to a man’s taste. The chairs scattered about the room were large, over-stuffed, and leather-covered. A colorful woven blanket was tossed carelessly across the arm of the chair closest to the fireplace. The desk centered the room. It was made of solid oak and stained dark to match the wood on the floor and walls. Filled bookcases lined one of the walls. A brief look at several of the books as he passed by surprised Stiles. Several volumes by Jules Verne and Mark Twain rested next to a book by Karl Marx and a copy of Tolstoy’s The Cossacks. There was even a book on the Italian Renaissance. Stiles was impressed.
Savage took the seat behind the desk and motioned for Stiles to sit across from him. Then Pete Huggins stuck his head in the door.
“Do you need anything Beare? Coffee maybe?”
“No thanks, Pete,” Savage said, then added, “Close the door as you leave.”
Pete didn’t look too happy about being pushed out, but he did as Savage asked.
“That’s one of the largest desks I’ve ever seen,” Stiles said, and he had no idea why.
“Size isn’t everything.” Savage grinned at Stiles while he lit a thin black cigar. Silver blue smoke filled the space between them.
A sudden vision of himself bent over the desk, with the big burley man pounding into him from behind, caused heat to rise in Stiles’ cheeks and a fine sheet of sweat to break out over his body. Stiles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose—hard. When he opened his eyes, he found Savage studying him intently. The man’s eyes darkened, but Stiles couldn’t be sure what caused them to change. Anger or curiosity or lust. Whatever it was, it was gone in the wink of an eye and he was wrapping his lips around the cigar butt again.
Stiles had the gut wrenching thought that he’d just been sized up and found lacking in Savage Beare’s mind. He didn’t like this idea at all.
“What did you want to know?”
“How far out are the stations where you sent Gus and Drew? And what direction would they be headed in?”
Savage Beare’s eyebrows creased and tiny lines pinched around his eyes.
“That’s not exactly what I expected you would be interested in, but since you asked. Station one is about a half-day’s ride, headed southwest of the ranch. Station two isn’t quite that far, but still several hours’ ride due west. In case you’re interested, there are two more stations, northeast and due east of the ranch.”
Gus Williams went in the direction Stiles had noticed the rider going last night. Would Gus have a reason to go to the station in the middle of the night? He went into town with the others, so why come back to the ranch before going there?
“Is there any reason someone would go to the station in the middle of the night?”
“No. Traveling the route at night could be very dangerous.” Savage stared at Stiles.
“Do you trust all of the men you have working this ranch?”
Savage’s face flushed and his brow creased as he answered Stiles. “I resent that question. I’ve known most of these men for several years. Gus has been with me almost since the very beginning. Look, I don’t know exactly what you are hoping to find but—”
“Where were the dead cattle found?” Stiles asked.
“What does it matter? That has nothing to do with a buyer wanting the ranch.”
“I think it does. Why would my employer want to buy this ranch if someone was trying to destroy it? Why would the killing stop if there was a new owner? Unless, of course, it’s personal. A vendetta against you maybe?”
The man sitting behind the desk didn’t seem to have a ready answer for those questions. He leaned to the right, pulled open a drawer, and withdrew a large, bound journal.
“This is the current ledger. It has the income and expenses for the last two years logged in it.” He handed the journal to Stiles.
Thumbing briefly through the pages didn’t give Stiles much, but even a short perusal made it clear the expense entries far outweighed the income.
“The next cattle drive is vital to the operation of this ranch.” Savage’s words were solemn as he spoke.
“How many head have been killed?” Stiles asked, closing the journal but not returning it to Savage. He’d need time to study it closer.
“About two hundred.”
“Out of how many?”
“Six months ago, before they started showing up dead, there was just over two thousand.”
“Damn, you’ve lost ten percent,” Stiles stated in amazement.
Savage Beare’s calm demeanor exploded. “I didn’t lose them, Mr. Long! Someone killed them. Leaving us to burn their carcasses so no one could eat all that wasted meat. I don’t know how—yet—but I will. That’s why the cattle drive is vital to this ranch surviving.” He pushed his seat back with force as he glared across the desk at Stiles. “If we are done, I have a ranch to run. I believe, you were going for a ride. Just remember not to travel too far from the ranch and carry a weapon with you.”
He circled his desk and strode across the room to the door. Stiles stood and turned to follow him. He wasn’t finished.
“I’ve got a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
Savage Beare stood ramrod straight with his back to Stiles.
“How long have you been foreman on the ranch and what color is Gus Williams’ horse?”
It was quiet for so long, Stiles thought the man was not going to answer him. He still didn’t face Stiles when he did speak.
“I have been foreman of the Circle W Ranch for four years. Would you like to see the ledgers going back to before I took over?” His words were low and precise. There was no hint of emotion in any of them.
Stiles didn’t want to do it, but he had to. It was part of his job, and he still didn’t know whom to trust. “Yes.”
“Black. Gus’ horse is black,” Savage stated, and grabbed the handle of the door.
“One more thing, Mr. Beare. Is there anyone who would have a personal grudge against you?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Savage Beare opened the door and walked through. It closed softly behind him, and Stiles was left standing in the middle of the ranch office. He’d never felt so alone in all his life.