Last Chance Cowboys: The Drifter (20 page)

The cowhand spit out a stream of chewing tobacco, then went back to cleaning the saddle. “Figured as much,” he said finally. “Isaac Porterfield had no match when it came to handling horses. Me and Eduardo did some checking after the so-called accident but couldn't find no evidence—at least not that would hold up in court.”

“But you found something. What was it?”

“Turnbull sent us out to bury the horse and bring back the old man's saddle and stuff. There were a couple of things that didn't fit right. Like the saddle cinch was awful loose and frayed, but not like it was old and needed replacing. Like somebody had taken a file to it—but not so obviously I could prove anything.”

“What else?”

“The animal's shoes had nails loosened or had fallen out altogether. Mr. Porterfield took a lot of pride in his horses, and he took extra good care of his favorites, especially Macho over there. No way he wouldn't have checked these things before starting out.”

“Where was he headed?”

“Had a meeting in town with the bank, way I heard it. He was on his way home when it happened. When he wasn't back by suppertime, Mrs. P. had their son, Jess, organize a search. Miss Maria was the one to first spot his body.” He shook his head and scratched his beard. “Never saw the likes of her crying, like her heart was just broke in two. Course she rallied after that—had to with her brother taking off the way he did and her mama sick with grief.”

Chet was still thinking about the “accident” and one thing didn't make any sense. “Whoever messed with his horse had no way of knowing when or where things might go wrong, and they sure couldn't be sure Maria's pa would die in the process.”

“Oh, they made sure all right. They must have trailed him after he left town. Mr. P. had a snakebite on his neck. Thing was, the way the body was lying kind of on top of the horse, that don't make sense. Rattlers don't climb, so how'd the snake get to his neck?”

“Maybe it wasn't a rattlesnake. Maybe it was a copperhead.”

Bunker shrugged. “Maybe but not likely around these parts.”

“So you think somebody made sure Porterfield's horse fell and then finished the job?”

“I think ol' Isaac knew exactly who put that snake in striking distance.” He gave the clean saddle a final slap with the rag. “Trouble is, nobody else knows. And there ain't enough proof to do anything if we did.”

They both looked up when they heard the creak of the wagon leaving the barn. “Poor ol' Joker,” Bunker muttered.

“Ever built a coffin, Bunker?”

“Yep.” He picked up the saddle and started toward the barn. “Come on, Hunt. Might as well get started.”

* * *

Maria heard the sounds of a hand saw scraping its way through wood, then a hammer, two hammers, and knew that someone was building the coffin for Joker. She'd watched from the courtyard as Rico drove the wagon away. In the kitchen, Juanita and Ezma were busy baking and preparing food for the wake that would take place that night. Ezma had reported that Loralei was napping, so Amanda had taken the baby with her to visit her mother. Trey was in the courtyard sketching something, and for once, everything seemed normal—or as normal as things could get given the circumstances.

“Sounds like Seymour has started building the coffin,” she said as she passed through the kitchen. “I'm going to ride out and gather some wildflowers for tonight and to put on Oscar's grave tomorrow.”

The truth was that ever since she'd learned that her father's death had been no accident, she'd been intent on returning to the site where they had discovered his body. Not that it would do any good. In the months that had passed since that horrid day, there had been dust storms and rain, and no doubt the hooves of hundreds if not thousands of cattle had passed over the spot. But she had to go.

She stepped inside the barn and saw Bunker and Chet working on the coffin. “I'm going to gather some flowers,” she said. “Thanks for cleaning my saddle.”

“You shouldn't go nowhere alone, Miss Maria,” Bunker said. “Hunt, I can finish up here. You go with her.”

“I'll be perfectly fine…” Her understanding of her feelings for Chet was too new. If he came with her, she wouldn't be able to think straight, and she needed to have her wits about her.

But already Chet had taken the saddle from her and headed for the corral, his dog at his heels. He slung the saddle over the railing and then chose a horse from those milling around the corral. He saddled it, then turned to her. “Which horse?”

“You really—”

“Which horse, Miss Maria? There's not a man on this spread that would let you go off on your own, so if you don't want me to ride with you, then pick another cowhand.”

She entered the corral and placed the bit in the mouth of a dappled-gray horse, then led the animal into the yard closer to where Chet had left her saddle on the fence. “You'll do,” she muttered as she slung the saddle into place, cinched the belt, waited for the horse to accept that, then tightened the belt again.

“You talking to the horse or me?” Chet asked.

“You'll both do.”

“There're plenty of flowers down by the creek.” Chet watched her cinch the saddle and then mount the horse. “But then, you aren't planning to pick flowers, are you?”

“Actually I am, but I have something else I need to do first.” She waved to Trey as they passed the house.

“Going to the place where your pa died?” Chet guessed.

“Maybe.”

“And exactly what do you hope to find there, Maria?”

“Answers.” She urged the horse into a gallop.

* * *

When Maria had come to the barn, Bunker had muttered, “Uh-oh.” Like Chet, he had known that she would be unable to leave well enough alone once she found out her father's death had been no accident. “Whatever she's up to, you better go along with her,” Bunker had said before turning to greet Maria.

Chet hadn't needed to be told twice. Truth was, he wanted to see the place where Maria's father had died. Not that he was any smarter than anybody else who'd seen the place, but maybe there might be something, and Bunker was right. With two men now dead and no one in custody, it was downright foolhardy for her to be out on the range alone.

He caught up to her and followed as she and her horse picked their way over a well-marked trail. She kept her eyes focused on the ground and ignored him. When finally she reined her horse to a halt and slid from the saddle, Chet waited to see what she would do. When she dropped to her knees and began running her gloved hands over the dirt, he climbed down from his horse and approached her.

“Maria?”

“There's got to be something,” she said, her voice calm. “Help me look.”

He knelt beside her and began running his hands over the ground as well. “What are we looking for?”

“Something. I'll know when we find it.”

“You're sure this is the spot?”

“Pretty sure.”

Cracker sniffed the ground. “Is that your pa's hat,” Chet asked, pointing to the hat she was wearing. He was pretty sure it was, but the mood she was in, he wasn't going to risk making any assumptions.

“Of course,” she snapped and kept searching.

“Let me have it a minute.”

She sighed, pulled the hat off, and tossed it to him, then continued going over the dirt on the trail.

“Crack,” he called and gave the dog a chance to sniff the hat.

“That's not going to work. It's been months, and I've been wearing the hat and…”

Cracker moved along the trail, nose to the ground. She doubled back twice to where Maria waited before continuing to sniff the trail.

“See? She keeps coming back to me because it's me she's smelling on the hat not…”

Cracker barked two sharp yelps and then sat down next to a spot fifty feet from where Maria and Chet waited.

“Worth a look,” Chet suggested.

She tightened the rawhide under her chin and walked to where the dog waited. Cracker barked again. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered as she dropped to her knees and started a fresh search.

Chet watched while Maria went over the ground inch by inch. After a while, she held up a bedraggled feather that had once been red but was now made maroon by exposure to the elements. She reached over and hugged Cracker. “Good girl,” she murmured.

“What is it?”

“Pa wore a feather just like this one in his hat—this hat.” She removed the Stetson and stuck the sad-looking feather in the band. “Whatever we're going to find, it's going to be right here.”

Seeing that she was more determined than ever to spend the night if necessary searching for clues, Chet squatted down next to her. “Maria, we should go. We can mark the spot and…”

“A few more minutes,” she said as she picked up something then discarded it and moved on. An hour later, she had returned to the area where she had found the feather.

“Maria, please.” It broke his heart to see her there on her hands and knees, so determined to find something that could not possibly be there—but then she cried out.

“Look,” she whispered as she held up two small pieces of turquoise.

“What is it?”

“Not sure but maybe…” She carefully wrapped the stones in a handkerchief and tucked them into her shirt pocket. “Let's go,” she said as she whistled for the horses.

They rode side by side without talking. Cracker kept pace, looking up at Maria from time to time. After a while, Chet pointed to a field of wildflowers, and when they reached it, Maria dismounted and began gathering a bouquet. She seemed deep in thought, as if she might be planning something, and that made Chet nervous. “You gonna tell me what you found back there?”

She took a deep breath. “My father once gave Roger a turquoise and silver bolo that he wore for years. It was a sign of trust and appreciation for all Roger had done for us since coming on as foreman.” She reached in her pocket and produced two small turquoise stones. “These are from that bolo—I'm sure of it. So why would they be there if Roger wasn't?”

“Maybe he chipped it another time.”

“He only wore it on special occasions, and he was wearing it that morning when Papa asked him to accompany him to the bank.”

“Still, Maria, it's not proof of anything.”

“Well, it's all I've got.” She pocketed the stones and walked on, gathering flowers as she did. Finally she turned to him. “Chet, I'll ask you the same thing you once asked me. Do you trust me? I mean do you trust what…has passed between us these last few days?”

“Trust is a funny word for it, Maria.”

“Not really. You were betrayed by Loralei, and I would hate to think you might believe me capable of similar tactics.”

“What's this about?”

“Over the next days—maybe even weeks—I need to make Roger Turnbull believe that I have had a change of heart where he is concerned—at least until I can find the bolo and make sure I'm right that the pieces fit. Playing up to him obviously means I will have to pretend to ignore you—maybe even appear to be angry with you.”

“Don't do this, Maria. You don't know what Turnbull might be capable of.”

“Oh, I think I know him well enough.”

Chet reached for her, and she did not resist. “Let me handle this for you,” he said.

“No. This is something I need to do for my father and my family. Roger holds the key—he may not have had a hand in killing my father himself, but he knows who did.”

“Maria, please.”

She cradled his face in her hands. “Please don't fight me on this,” she said softly, and then she kissed him. “Please, Chet, say you understand why I need to see this through.”

Her courage and determination proved to be his undoing. He had never known a woman like Maria. And when he deepened the kiss and she wrapped her arms tightly around him, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the edge of the field, where the flowers met the shade of a large cottonwood tree. He glanced at Cracker. “Stay,” he ordered.

He settled himself on the grass and pulled her into his arms. What he wanted more than anything he'd ever considered was to make love to her. But they were from two different worlds, and he was not the right guy for a woman like Maria.

“Maria,” he began.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “No more talk, Chet. Just love me.”

And, after all, how could he say no?

He removed her hat and eased her down onto the grassy ground, winding a lock of her hair around one finger. He reached over her and picked up one of the flowers she had dropped.

“Kiss me, Chet.”

“Where?” he asked, teasing her with the blossom, running it over her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips. “Here? Or here?” He trailed the flower down her throat, to the opening of her shirt. “Here?”

Her eyes widened and he knew she'd never considered being kissed anywhere but on her cheek or lips. She smiled. “Everywhere.” She pulled him closer, and he was only too happy to oblige.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said as he began kissing her eyelids, then her ears, where he took time to explore with his tongue, feeling more than a little excitement of his own as she squirmed beneath him.

“That tickles,” she said.

He moved on to her neck, turning her to find the spot at the nape that he'd thought about a good deal. “How's that?” he whispered.

“Wonderful,” she said, her breath starting to quicken.

He pushed open the neckline of her oversized shirt and it fell off, exposing one shoulder and allowing him to taste her collarbone.

He sat back on his haunches and started to unbutton his shirt. “I want you to be very sure about this, Maria.”

Her answer was to brush his hands aside while she finished opening his shirt. Then she ran her palms over the planes of his chest. When she raised herself up to feather kisses where her hands had been, he felt a jolt of desire rocket through him.