Oregon Outback (15 page)

For Carver’s sake, she hoped he was right. Catching the rustlers would benefit the county as well.

Sheridan stared out the window at the moonlit landscape passing by, trying to stay awake even with the strong coffee. She thought she knew the man sitting next to her. Thought she knew he was an arrogant, hardheaded, wealthy rancher who liked to get his way and stomped around town like he owned the place.

Sure there were plenty who admired and respected him, but it didn’t help that everyone knew he didn’t approve of her as sheriff. Every time she had any dealings with him, he gave her a hard time.

But now, sitting here with him as he drove them to the middle of nowhere on a measure of faith that he knew where to look for the rustlers, Sheridan decided she hadn’t known anything at all about the real Carver. Maybe he’d been off-putting to Sheridan those years ago, but there were a hundred reasons men acted that way. Maybe he’d just needed to grow up.

By spending time with him again, she was getting to know the man a little better. And she liked what she saw inside. A lot.

“Sheriff.” At a nudge on her shoulder, Sheridan opened her eyes to gray dawn.

“Sheridan …” the familiar voice, softer now.

There it was again. Carver said her name. Sheridan sat up. She cleared her throat, embarrassed that she’d dozed. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

“No harm done.” Surprising tenderness skirted his tone. “I would have done the same if I hadn’t been driving, believe me. We could have some hard riding ahead of us.”

Unease weighed his last words as he turned off the ignition and looked at her. She searched his eyes, understanding passing between them. He was concerned about her ability to handle the next few hours, maybe days, in the saddle for their mounted posse of two.

The vehicle was parked at the side of a gas station situated next to a café. Sheridan turned in her seat, taking in their surroundings. “Where are we?”

“We’re halfway on Hogback Road in the northern Warner Valley. We can leave the trailer here, that is, after you make arrangements with the property owner.” Carver grinned over at her as he unbuckled.

“What if we spooked them with the plane and they changed their plans and head to Steens? We’d never find them there.”

“That’s a possibility, but I don’t think they’ll do that. Too far. We have to go with what we have.”

Sheridan glanced at her watch. They were at the designated point at least forty-five minutes sooner than she’d projected with their late start. She slid a suspicious glance at Carver, who proffered an innocent look, telling her he knew exactly what she was thinking—with her asleep, he’d taken the opportunity to speed. He climbed from the cab without an explanation.

She smiled to herself. They were on sheriff’s business, so she’d let that pass, but the man was beginning to endear himself to her. Following Carver’s lead, she stepped from the vehicle and made her way around to the back of the trailer.

“I’m going to speak to someone, explaining our use of the property, and grab us more coffee.”

“I’ll get the horses saddled and packed with our food and supplies in case this is a long search.” Carver opened up the trailer and began ushering the horses out.

Sheridan left him to it.

“Sheriff?”

She turned around. “Yes?”

“I appreciate you helping me with this.” He nodded and tipped the brim of his hat.

She wanted to tell him it was her job, but that would only tear down the progress they’d made. “You’re welcome.” And the words felt good, sincere.

Her reward? Carver smiled at her—a smile that spoke volumes, turning her insides soft, rather than hard like any good sheriff’s ought to be—his attention on her rather than the half ton of horse flesh he encouraged from the trailer.

She refocused on her task as she made her way to the gas station in search of the person in charge, worried that whatever was going on between her and Carver could be a dangerous distraction.

Inside the gas station, she grabbed two cups of coffee from the dispenser. After paying the cashier, she was directed to the café where she’d find the property owner, Mabel Follis. Sheridan explained that she didn’t anticipate this taking more than a day, but she’d ask a deputy to retrieve the Yukon and trailer if it took longer. After squaring things with Mabel, Sheridan walked outside and started toward Carver and the horses.

A truck pulling a trailer loaded down with cattle slowed and prepared to pull into the gas station, then suddenly increased speed, the driver apparently changing his mind.

Her gaze followed the trailer, unable to read the license plate covered with mud. As she jerked her head to Carver, a cup of coffee slipped from her hand.

A
ll Carver’s next thoughts and actions collided, happening at once in slow motion, which wasn’t fast enough for him.

His eyes locked on the sheriff’s startled, wide-eyed gaze—she held his, her suspicious expression mirroring his questions.

Were those his cows? Why had the driver changed his mind after putting on his blinker and preparing to turn into the gas station? If he spotted the sheriff, her vehicle, and the horse trailer—an obvious mounted patrol—
and
if he was guilty, that could very well be the reason.

“Unhitch the trailer, Carver!” Sheriff Hall ran toward him, the one coffee cup in her hand, sloshing liquid everywhere.

“You hold the horses.” He handed off the reins. Her reaction time was faster than his, and if he had time to think on it, he was sure he’d be impressed.

Carver did as she asked and unhitched the trailer. He hated leaving her with the horses, but they didn’t have time to reload them and tow the trailer if they were going to catch that truck possibly hauling his cattle. When he’d finished with the hitch, he jogged over to the driver’s side of the Yukon but before he made it, the tires spun out, pulling the vehicle away from the trailer.

What the …
He saw now that she’d tied the horses to the back of the trailer and now drove the vehicle. What was she thinking? He was supposed to drive. Go after the rustlers.

He ran after her, waving his arms. On the radio, she stopped where the parking lot met the highway and rolled down her window.

Pulse racing, he had seconds to make his point. “What are you doing? Those could be my cattle. I’m going after them.”

“You don’t have any authority to stop that truck or arrest those men. Remember your place.” She turned her attention back to her radio and the road, looking both directions as she gave instructions to her deputies.

“Sheriff!”

She peeled from the parking lot, turned on the flashing lights, and roared away down the highway after the cattle-trailer truck.

Carver whipped off his hat and slapped his thigh, spewing a few unsavory words. He tugged his cell from his shirt pocket, thankful he’d learned to keep it close, or it would have been in the Yukon and out of reach, and dialed the sheriff’s number.

She answered on the first ring. “I don’t have time for this. Now, let me concentrate on driving, on doing my job.”

Though her tone left no room for argument, Carver wasn’t giving in so fast. “If those are my cattle I want to be there. Come back and get me.”

“Do you really want me to risk losing them?”

“How are you going to lose them? There’s only one road and they’re pulling a trailer? You can drive faster. Sheridan … please.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, but you can’t leave the horses alone anyway. Now, you’re just going to have to trust me, Carver. And, please, address me as sheriff.”

Then you can just call me Mr. Love
. He thought it, but he didn’t mean it, and wouldn’t say it. That would put too much distance between them. He’d overstepped one too many times, calling her by her first name, but he thought they’d crossed that threshold.

Maybe it was too much to hope for.

Unable to think of anything else he could say to bring her back, Carver hung up and trudged back to the trailer where his horses waited patiently. He felt like one of them, left tied to the trailer with nothing to do but wait. That had never been one of Carver’s strong points. He pressed his hands against their muzzles, feeling the softness, reassuring them as he considered his next step.

Pacing on the unpaved side of the parking lot, he kicked up dirt and rocks. Should he unsaddle the horses and trailer them because the sheriff would have the rustlers in custody? Were they even the right men? And if not, he and the sheriff were wasting valuable time.

Carver made a call to Ray and got no answer, but within seconds, the man returned his call.

“We’ve been in the saddle for more than an hour now. Haven’t seen a thing.” Ray sounded weary. A lack of hope often did that to a man.

“Before we got on the horses a truck pulling cattle passed us. The sheriff went after them and left me here.”

“You think that was the rustlers? Maybe they made better time than we thought, pushed the cows long and hard to the highway?”

“I don’t know. I want to get a look at those cattle myself.”

“Well, if it’s like you said, the sheriff likely caught up with them by now. She’ll call, Carver, don’t worry. Then you can let me know if we should call off this search.”

“Will do.” Carver hung up. Now he had no choice but to face the uncertainty and his impatience alone.

He hated being stripped of any control over his life, control over the situation. And as the minutes ticked by, Carver started to worry about Sheridan, the woman sheriff, as Ray liked to call her. She was a sturdy one, and she was beginning to earn his respect and confidence that she could do the job Carver thought was meant for a man. But that didn’t ease his anxiety. Not one bit.

There was only one thing he needed to get a grip on the current unfavorable circumstances. He grinned when he saw the hardy truck with a sturdy trailer hitch turn into the gas station. An ordinary sight on any given day in open range cattle country, but especially this morning, it was a sight for weary eyes. Now, to convince the woman driving it that he had an emergency.

Sheridan accelerated, driving as fast as she felt necessary but at safe speeds. Ronny was on his way, but weaving through the Warner Mountains would take time. Her other deputies were spread over the county, handling other problems. She’d also apprised the Oregon State Police of the situation. Ronny was only one of twelve deputies under her direction covering the entire county, and right now, she didn’t think that was nearly enough if they were going to see more days like today or like the day she faced off with that mobster.

Normally, her county didn’t see this much action. But she was trained and ready to meet the call of duty. Her cell rang again.

Carver.

Let him stew, she didn’t have time for him. Where was that truck? She passed a slow-moving tractor trailer and swerved back into the lane as an oncoming car drew near.

Didn’t these people know they were supposed to move over when they saw flashing lights? She ground her teeth, her heart pumping adrenaline through her veins, preparing her to face whatever was ahead of her. It couldn’t come soon enough.

At this speed, she should have caught up with that truck by now.

Sheridan looked in the rearview mirror and spotted dust flying up in the distance. There wasn’t another main road intersecting the highway, but there were a few private roads and driveways. She screeched to a halt on the shoulder, allowing a truck to pass, then made a U-turn, and called Ronny, letting him know she was still in pursuit, giving him her approximate location.

After all this, those boys could turn out to be innocent. But the way the driver had changed his mind about getting gas once he’d spotted Sheridan erased almost all doubt. If the cattle belonged to Carver, all the better—it would save them time spent in the saddle roaming the endless backcountry without any clear direction.

Sheridan drove to the property entrance, opting for her siren in addition to the lights for good measure. Turning onto the unpaved drive, the bumpy path did its best to jostle her insides, but she kept a good pace over the dirt road. About a mile up, the dust began to settle, allowing Sheridan to see a house, and the cattle trailer she was after.

What were they up to?

Keeping her senses alert, she continued the drive, but flipped off the lights and siren. By now, they knew she was there. She pulled to the side of the drive behind the trailer loaded with cattle, but not too close. The hair on the back of her neck and arms rose.

At that moment, she realized part of her had hoped this was all a mistake, but … something wasn’t right.

She stepped from the vehicle, her eyes scanning the surrounding area, the house, the trailer. Nobody was around. She tugged out her notepad and wrote down the plate number. If the driver didn’t show his face soon, she’d knock on the door.

If these men were the rustlers, she didn’t like facing off with them out in the middle of nowhere, but in her county, waiting for backup was often a luxury. Ronny would take too long.

Her cell rang inside the Yukon. Probably Carver again, and she fought the urge to answer. The screen door creaked and a man stepped onto a porch needing a coat of paint. “Something I can do for you?”