Cattle Valley 28 - Second Chances
Read Cattle Valley 28 - Second Chances Online
Authors: Carol Lynne
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.comSecond Chances
ISBN # 978-1-78184-151-8
©Copyright Carol Lynne 2012
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2012
Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
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free excerpt
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Cattle Valley
SECOND CHANCES
Carol Lynne
Book twenty-eight in the Cattle Valley Series
With the new dormitory on the Second Chance Ranch nearing completion, Drake Smith butts heads once again with ranch owner, Robert ‘Oggie’ Ogden.
After a shotgun blast ends his career, ex-Chicago Police Officer, Robert ‘Oggie’ Ogden, cashed in and headed for a new life in Cattle Valley. In search of a second chance, the last thing he wanted was pity, especially when it stared back at him through whisky-coloured eyes.
Drake Smith learned at an early age to carry a bigger stick than the bullies who tormented him, and although he’s grown into a highly skilled fighter, he still guards himself against those with the potential to hurt him. Compassion doesn’t come easily to Drake, so when he reaches out to help Oggie, he finds his surprising efforts rebuffed, making him angry at himself and the object of his unwanted affections.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Porsche Cayman: Dr. Ing. h.c. F. Porsche AG CORPORATION Bluetooth: Bluetooth SIG, Inc
Browning: Browning Corporation
Wranglers: Wrangler Apparel Corp.
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Lincoln: Ford Motor Company Corp.
Twinkie: Hostess Brands Inc.
Stetson: John B. Stetson Company
Facebook: Facebook, Inc.
Campbell’s Soup: CSC Brands LP Campbell Finance 2 Corp. Readers Digest: Reader's Digest Association, Inc
Muppet: The Muppets Holding Company, LLC
Drake Smith ended his call moments before his boss, Asa Montgomery, walked into his office. “Shane Rendell called. He came across a bootleg copy of DX12 on the internet.”
Asa stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. “How’s that possible?”
“Good question.” Drake stood and walked around the desk. “As far as I know, there are only a handful of people who even know of its existence. Shane’s gonna use his hacking skills to track the sonofabitch.”
“Shit!” Asa swore, running his fingers over his thinning hair. “It’s not even ready. If the public gets hold of an inferior copy…”
“Yeah, it’ll ruin us before we even launch,” Drake said, finishing Asa’s sentence.
Throwing his hands up, Asa shook his head. “Okay, well, it’s just money, right?”
Drake knew DX12 meant more than money to Asa, but he nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll find the leak.”
Shane came running into the office, skidding to a stop in front of Drake. “We’ve got a problem.”
Drake glanced from Shane to Asa. “You remember Shane, don’t you, Asa?”
Shane jumped as if he were completely unaware of Asa’s presence in the office. “Oh, sorry, sir.”
“What’s the problem?” Asa asked, grinning at the young hacker they’d recruited right out of high school.
“DX12 has already been downloaded two thousand and twenty-six times,” Shane said. “I managed to break the link, but it’s out there, and someone else will put it back up if they haven’t already.”
Asa turned to Drake. “Ideas?”
Shane pulled nervously at his eyebrow for several moments. “I don’t know. I need more time to look at the version uploaded. The biggest question is why would someone do it in the first place. Everyone who’s been working on the project knows it’s not ready, so why do it?”
“Sabotage.” The thought of being betrayed by someone they all trusted cut Drake like a knife.
Asa shook his head vehemently. “No, I refuse to believe one of our own would do this.”
Drake shut Shane down before he could say anything. His job was to protect Asa, and if that meant shielding him from the ugly truth, so be it. “Shane, see if you can find anything on the uploaded copy. I’ll dig into the personnel records this weekend and see if I can find anyone on the team who’s questionable.”
Drake turned his attention to Asa. “Let us worry about this until we can bring you something concrete to act on. In the meantime, go enjoy the Fall Festival with Mario.”
“How am I supposed to do that? Hell, half—if not more—of my employees will be there. You expect me to just smile and shake hands with someone who’s trying to ruin me?” Asa argued.
Drake put his hand on Asa’s shoulder. “No, I expect you to go and enjoy being with Mario and your friends. If there’s someone out there who’s trying to hurt you, I’ll deal with them.” Asa was the closest thing to a friend Drake had ever known, and he refused to let him down.
“Call me the minute you find something,” Asa ordered.
“Will do.” Drake glanced at Shane. It was obvious by Shane’s disappointed expression that he, too, had planned to attend the festival. He decided to cut the young man some slack. “Can you have something by Monday?”
Shane brightened. “Yes, sir.”
Drake accompanied Shane and Asa out of the office before walking to his bare-bones apartment on the first floor of the building. He dug out his keys and unlocked the row of deadbolts that secured his home. It didn’t matter to him that the locks were pointless in a building as secure as he’d made Montgomery Enterprises. They kept his apartment safe from ridicule, from the prying eyes of those who would judge him.
Hungry, he entered the kitchen. Opening the cupboard, Drake shook his head. “Shit.” He’d eaten the last can of soup the previous night. A quick search of the refrigerator yielded nothing but condiments and a stale loaf of bread.
With a groan of frustration, he turned back and retraced his steps through the living room. He pulled his black leather coat out of the closet and shrugged it on as he stared at his mother’s picture that hung on the wall. Not a day went by that he didn’t miss his best friend.
“I know. I know,” he told the photograph. “I should eat more vegetables so I can grow big and strong.” Drake grinned, grabbing his keys from his mom’s cut crystal bowl beside the door.
Drake unlocked his apartment and left the building through the back door and into the parking lot. His car was right outside in a reserved space. The sexy black Porsche Cayman gleamed in the overhead security light, drawing his appreciation. With a satisfied smile, Drake ran the back of his hand over the smooth, cold metal of the hood as he rounded to the driver’s door.
Buckling himself into the low-slung sports car, he fired up the powerful engine and let it purr for several seconds. His mom would’ve loved the car—its low profile perfect for her to get in and out of. For him, it wasn’t as comfortable as a larger sedan might have been, but as always, his decisions had been based on what would put a smile on his mom’s face.
Drake pulled out of the parking lot and headed into town. Grocery shopping was one of his least favourite things to do, but until Elliott’s store started delivering, he had little choice. On the drive past the park where the festival seemed to be in full swing, Drake turned up the classical music coming from the stereo camaraderie and laughter.
speakers, trying to drown out the sounds of
Robert ‘Oggie’ Ogden climbed out of the pickup and slammed the door. He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to meet Ryan, Rio and Nate at the festival. It wasn’t that he considered himself anti-social, but he’d quickly become comfortable on the ranch, even letting his guard down from time to time.
He surveyed the area closely before walking into the massive crowd of people, nodding cordially when it was appropriate, never stopping long enough to actually engage in conversation. It was probably foolish on his part—there was no one in Cattle Valley connected to the gang leader who’d ordered the ambush on Oggie and his partner, but one glance at where his hand and forearm should be, but wasn’t, reminded him that the world would never again feel completely safe.
“There you are,” Ryan said, a bowl of chilli in one hand and a plate of cinnamon rolls in the other. “We’re over there.” He gestured to a picnic table, almost spilling his food in the process.
“Over there at O’Brien’s booth, but you’ll have to stop by the Brynn’s Bakery stand first and get a cinnamon roll. I’ll save you a spot at the table.”
It hadn’t taken Oggie long to learn of the strange connection the people of Cattle Valley had between chilli and cinnamon rolls. He’d baulked at first, but when he’d finally tasted the combination, he’d become as addicted as the others. “Be right over.”
After standing in line at both places, Oggie balanced a borrowed tray with one hand as he made his way back through the crowd to the table. The moment Rio spotted him coming, he jumped up and rushed towards Oggie.
“Shit, sorry, I should’ve helped you—” Rio began.
“No! I’ve got it.” In trying to hold onto the tray, Oggie’s food came out on the losing end, falling to the ground. He stared down at his dinner and shook his head. “I could’ve handled it myself,” he ground out between clenched jaws.
Rio bent over and tried to salvage what he could but came up with a third of a bowl of chilli and two cinnamon rolls with grass clinging to the icing. “Sorry, man. I’ll get you some more.”
Oggie shook his head. Making a scene in front of the entire town wouldn’t be the best way to introduce himself to people. “That’s okay, don’t worry about it.” He pointed towards the trash can nearby. “Go ahead and throw that away. I’ll get more.”
“No,” Rio refused. “It’s my fault, I’ll get it.”
Oggie’s first instinct was to refuse, but he eventually agreed, knowing it would end the conversation faster. “Sure. Thanks. I’ll go over and get a beer while you do that.”
In his peripheral vision, Oggie spotted a little boy staring at the healed stump protruding from the sleeve of his rolled up shirt. He subtly rolled the sleeve down far enough to cover the three inches of forearm that was left below the elbow and turned away. It wasn’t that he was ashamed—hell, he was grateful to be alive, and if the price was a few stares from the innocent who hadn’t yet learned to be discreet, so be it.
