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STILES SPENT MUCH of the afternoon reading through the ledgers for the ranch. Savage Beare was thorough; Stiles would give him that. The numbers all added up. He didn’t leave a thing out and every penny spent was accounted for. It was clear he was trying to make the ranch run efficiently and profitably. So why was he so protective of the information? At lunch he had been truly upset by whatever it was Doc had shared with him, and yet he didn’t say anything to anyone. Stiles knew Savage was hiding something, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
The evening meal was much the same as the others Stiles had eaten while at the ranch. Though something was out of place. The atmosphere seemed stilted. No rude comments directed to Stiles, or about Stiles. Not even from Gus Williams. Drew Largo seemed to be lost inside his own thoughts, and the rest of the crew were just as quiet. Too quiet. Savage sat across the table from Stiles instead of beside him. When everyone was nearly done, Savage stood and addressed the room.
“You all saw Doc here today and I know you are wondering what he has discovered.” He turned toward Stiles. “And since Mr. Long has already been informed of the cattle that have been killed, I feel safe speaking in front of him.”
Everyone at the table, along with Lizzie and Pete Huggins, looked at Savage Beare with anticipation. Stiles could feel the tension in the air. Gus Williams was scowling at Drew Largo. Larry Largo and the other hands twisted in their seats.
“Poison. It wasn’t arsenic but something that could be had locally. Probably something like a plant. Maybe hemlock. Doc is positive the water at station two has been contaminated and can no longer be used. If it was hemlock, the cattle had no chance. They drink the poisoned water and then return to it over and over again. Eventually, their lungs swell and their breathing stops. It can cause convulsions too. At certain levels, hemlock can even cause heart failure. It’s an awful way to die.”
“How the hell are we supposed to water the herd in the west acres of the ranch without the well at the station?” Gus Williams’ face had taken on a deeper shade of red. He wasn’t just pissed off, he was angry. Really angry. He glared at Stiles, then turned away, eyes cast low. “I just don’t get why someone would poison the cattle. What are they hoping to get from that?”
“I have a plan, but it’s going to take every man here and maybe a few more. We need to move that eight hundred head of cattle to station three.” Before he could say another word, the men at the table erupted into a furious rumble.
Always quiet Larry Largo spoke up. “That’s crazy.”
“Not just crazy, it can’t be done,” Parker Smith added.
“It can be done, but it’s going to take us days to be sure we have them all and get them moving in that direction. There’s not nearly as much green grass there as they have in the west,” Gus Williams said after calming down.
“It doesn’t matter whether it can or can’t be done. It has to be done. We can’t afford to lose any more cattle. Every man at this table will be heading out at sun up in two days to help.” Looking at Stiles, Savage said again: “Every man.”
JUST BEFORE SUNSET Savage met Stiles in the barn. They both mounted their horses and rode west. They had ridden about twenty minutes when Savage motioned for Stiles to hold. A noise from a wide patch of prairie grass startled the horses and they stamped their hooves. Savage dismounted, withdrew his rifle from its holster, and walked toward the location of the sound. Just before he reached the tall grass a lone wolf jumped out, crouching into an attack stance. The wolf growled, showing Savage his fangs.
“Stay where you are, Stiles. Don’t move.”
Savage was ready to shoot, when another wolf appeared from nowhere. Stiles pulled out his Colt.
“Behind you!” he shouted, aimed his Colt 45, and shot the wolf, taking it down with one bullet.
The first wolf charged Savage. He fired his rifle. It fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Stiles and Savage watched the prairie grass, waiting for another attack. There was no more movement. Remounting his horse, Savage turned the animal toward the ranch. Stiles followed after him.
“Maybe another night would be better for watching the sunset,” Savage said.
They came into the yard of the ranch and trotted their horses to the barn. Once inside, Stiles finally found his voice and his body stopped shaking.
“I should have listened to you and Gus. Things are different here.”
Savage pulled the saddle off his horse and placed it over a tall fence rail in the horse’s stall. He took the blanket off next and the bit from the horse’s mouth. A rough brush lay beside the stall on a low bench, alongside a bucket of water. Savage took the brush and started rubbing down his horse before he finally turned to speak to Stiles.
“Things might be different here but you didn’t freeze out there. That tells me you are a good man to have in my corner. Thanks.”
They worked over their animals in silence. Stiles watched Savage as he brushed his horse with hard strokes. He whispered quietly to the steed as he moved. The muscles in his upper arms and shoulders bunched as he stretched his broad back. Stiles could see dampened spots at Savage’s lower back where he was sweating. Then he noticed more dampness dripping down the man’s sinewy neck. Stiles was brushing Sally, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from Savage’s strong body. His fingers tingled at the thought of running his hands over those taunt muscles. Savage had never turned to look at Stiles, and when he spoke, it sounded loud in the quietness of the barn.
“You should brush her harder. They like that. The horses, I mean. Strong hands pushing a brush across their hide feels like a massage would to you or me.”
Stiles didn’t know how to respond, so he continued to brush Sally but put more effort into it. Eventually they headed back to the ranch house and walked the hall to where each of them had a separate room. Savage Beare had done nothing to make Stiles think he was like-minded in his attraction to men. He only knew one thing: he was finding it harder and harder to ignore the feelings stirring in him. Strong feelings that some men would find very offensive. Men like Gus Williams or Pete Huggins. Looking across the hall at Savage Beare as he said his goodnights and closed his bedroom door, Stiles had to wonder: was Savage that kind of man as well.
LOUD CURSING AND a crash woke Stiles from his dreaming. He was back at the brothel in St. Louis and Paul was dead and he couldn’t stop it from happening. He rose from the bed and pulled on his pants and boots. When he opened the bedroom door into the hallway, he nearly ran straight into Savage, who was dressed identical to him.
He wasn’t nearly as muscular as Savage, but there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body either. Where Savage was covered in that soft-looking mat of fur over his chest, Stiles was smooth-skinned. The perusal Savage was giving his torso sent cold shivers up the vertebrae in Stiles’ spine. He stiffened under Savage’s fixed gaze. Everything stiffened. He swallowed before he could speak.
“Noise. Outside.”
“Uh huh.”
“Should we....”
Before Stiles could finish, another loud crash sounded from the yard. Savage’s hands fisted by his sides. He turned to walk toward the front of the house. Stiles followed close behind.
Savage bounded down the steps of the porch, into the yard, and got between the two men rolling around on the ground, stirring up dust. Men came running from the ranch house and the barns carrying lanterns. The front yard was suddenly awash with light. Savage pulled Gus Williams by the hair and jerked him away from the man underneath: Drew Largo.
His face bloody and clothes ripped, Drew looked like he’d gotten the rough end of the fight. Though Gus didn’t appear much better. His nose had clearly been broken and the bruising from a black eye was beginning to make itself known. Savage threw Gus toward Pete Huggins and bent to help Drew up.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Neither man said a word.
“I mean it, you two, this has got to stop!”
Larry Largo reached the center of the commotion and lunged toward Gus.
“Larry! NO!” Drew finally spoke up.
Savage put out a big burly arm to stop Larry’s forward motion. Larry turned toward his brother and pointed at Gus.
“Why do you have to hurt her, Gus? She doesn’t deserve to be hit.” The color in Larry’s face was blood red. He was shaking with anger. Stiles had not seen Larry like this before.
“Don’t tell me no!” Larry shouted at Drew. “He ain’t got no right to hurt her.” Now there were tears sliding down his face.
“Good God, don’t tell me this is about Dolly again,” Savage said.
Drew dropped his head and wiped his bloody nose on his shirtsleeve. “Larry thinks he’s in love with Dolly.”
“I think Mr. Beare should know what —”
“Shut the fuck up kid!” Gus let out a loud curse, then started laughing. “They never change kid. Once a whore, always a whore. I’m not the only one here who’s had a time or two with her. Dolly does what Patrick O’Donnell tells her, and that means fucking whoever is paying for her.”
He didn’t get to say another word because he was on the ground again. This time it was Savage Beare who punched Gus in his gut.
“Both of you need to get out of here and head to bed. We’ve got chores to complete and men to recruit. The sun will be up in a few hours. If either one of you can’t keep up tomorrow or the next day, you’ll be looking for work at another ranch the day after.”
“You don’t mean that Savage!” Gus yelled. He pulled himself up from the ground, holding his stomach. “You know Drew and I don’t mean nothing by this. It’s just a way to blow off steam.”
“I do mean it. It goes for both of you!”
“Sorry, Mr. Beare,” Drew said before he headed to the ranch house.
It didn’t escape Stiles that Gus Williams never bothered to apologize. He stormed off, still ranting at Savage with anger-filled words.
“Break it up and get back to bed... ALL OF YOU!” Savage barked as he headed back into the house.
Once inside, Stiles found Savage in the kitchen running cold water over his hand from the pump in the sink. Grabbing a towel, Stiles waited until Savage pulled his hand from the flow of water and wrapped the towel around it.
“Did you break anything?”
“No. Just busted up my knuckles on his belt buckle.”
“Ah.”
The silence seemed to go on forever. It couldn’t have been more than a few moments and yet something shifted between them for just that small amount of time. Savage suddenly pulled his hand away from Stiles and stepped back. His eyes were dark and stormy. Stiles wondered what it would take to get that storm to let loose and rain down on him.
“Good night,” was all Savage said; then he was gone.
Stiles stood in the kitchen and leaned against the basin. He dropped the bloody towel on the floor and wondered what the hell he was doing. The sun would be up in three hours. He needed sleep, and standing here wasn’t going to help him understand Savage Beare anyway. One moment Stiles was sure the man wanted him and the next—nothing. He was never sure which Savage he would see at their next meeting. It was confusing.
The following day went by without too much of a problem. More men showed up at the ranch as word got out that help was needed. The only surprise came late in the afternoon, when Patrick O’Donnell arrived.
He looked more out of place than Stiles had the first day he’d come to Circle W Ranch. Suit, tie, and pocket watch gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, all made Patrick O’Donnell into a businessman, not a rancher.
“Savage, I hear you are having trouble with the herds again. Thought I’d come see if I could be of any help,” O’Donnell said as got down from his horse.
Stiles had seen many moods on the face of Savage Beare in the short time that he’d known the man, but he couldn’t read the one there now. He was hiding behind a mask of indifference.
“I don’t think you’re cut out to be riding shotgun on a herd, Patrick. It would mess up that fine suit of yours.” Savage wore a smirk that matched one the devil himself would own.
Patrick O’Donnell was clearly pissed off by Savage and his attitude, but he talked on as if no words had been said. Stiles thought the two men were an awful lot alike.
“In that case, just invite me in for a drink and I’ll be on my way.”
Savage jerked his head toward the ranch house and O’Donnell followed him in. Stiles was right behind them. Once inside, Savage poured amber liquid into three tumblers and passed one to each man.
“Sláinte!” Patrick said in a salute to Savage. He started to choke as he chugged the drink in one go. “Oh hell, Savage. When will you ever invest in a proper bottle of whiskey?”
“I like this whiskey just fine, and I don’t hear Mr. Long complaining,” Savage answered.
Patrick O’Donnell took a long look at Stiles. “Good day to you, Mr. Long,” he said, then turned to Savage to add, “and you can go to hell, Savage.”
Something about the interaction between the two men led Stiles to believe there had been more to them at some time in the past. There was a great deal of bitterness on O’Donnell’s part from the tone of his words. Stiles had seen the way Patrick’s eyes had raked over Savage’s body when he first approached them in the yard. It was an intimate look. Savage seemed unnerved by it. Stiles could see it in the flinch at the corner of his eyes and the way he clenched his fists at his side. Savage was uncaring in his words as he spoke to Patrick, as though he meant to embarrass the man. They could have been lovers who had ended badly. Or a business venture gone awry. Something connected these two men, and Stiles intended to find out what it was.