Roped (Gail McCarthy Mysteries) (22 page)

That was true, I remembered. Joyce had been a very good shot when I was in high school. Glen had built her a private range up behind the house, and Lisa and I had watched her practicing. Self-defense, she had said, living out here on the ranch. Judging by her demeanor, she seemed prepared to use her talent.

She stared at me some more. I could only guess at the thoughts that were going through her mind, but I noticed she wasn't hurrying to put the gun away.

"Well," I said, trying a smile, "do you want to help me pick out some clothes for Glen?"

She thought about it and then put the gun back in her purse. It was a big white purse very like the big black purse I had been searching. Now that I thought about it, Joyce always seemed to have a big purse like that. Very handy for carrying a gun.

"Glen's still unconscious," she said without expression. "What does he need clothes for?"

"Tim called Lisa this morning," I said slowly. "They think he's waking up."

She looked surprised, I thought, not happy. But she walked into the closet and sorted out a shirt and jeans and underwear. "Here," she said. "You go ahead and take them. I'll be along in a little while."

I took the things from her and tried to keep any of what I felt from registering on my face. Her consternation seemed to be vanishing fast. She was composed and unruffled again, the eyes still flat and blank. I noticed that she was made-up, with carefully arranged hair, and that her light blue pants and top were unwrinkled. She didn't look as though she'd spent the night at the hospital. I wondered where she'd been.

"Thanks, Joyce," I said, as pleasantly as I could manage. "We'll see you later."

I heaved a deep sigh of relief once I was out of the house and walking away down the hill. Thanked God she hadn't asked me why I had walked and not driven. I didn't know what I could have said to that. The true answer-that I didn't want anyone to know I was there-would certainly not have done.

Glen's truck was still parked in front of the barn where I had left it. To my surprise, Lisa's truck was parked next to it. Lisa and Al and Janey were all standing in a little group in the barnyard, talking. I walked over and joined them.

Lisa smiled when she saw me, by which I judged that everything was all right. "How is he?" I asked.

"OK," she said. "He's awake and he seems normal. They say there's no brain damage. He's being a little strange, though. He doesn't remember what happened to him at all. Even though we told him he was electrocuted, he's acting like it was no big deal. He wants to go right home and get the rest of the cattle in so they can be shipped tomorrow the way he arranged." Lisa waved a hand at the holding pasture, which was heavily dotted with bovines. "They're all here except half a dozen that are still out in the back pasture. Dad seems obsessed with the idea he has to get home and get those gathered so everything can be shipped. The cattle trucks will be here tomorrow morning," she added.

I thought I understood. Glen wanted to feel that life was still normal, that nothing had changed. He needed the routines of the ranch to be important, needed to deny that there was a fundamental disaster at the heart of his world. I sighed inwardly. He wouldn't like what I would have to tell him.

"Those six steers are out on the far side of the back pasture," Lisa said. "They got away when we were gathering on Friday, and we didn't have time to go back for them." She looked at Al, Janey, and me doubtfully. "Could one of you guys go get them?"

Al and Janey were markedly silent. What the hell. "I'll go," I said. "Can I use Chester?"

"Of course," Lisa said gratefully. "I'm going back to the hospital. Tim's still there, trying to hold Dad down. If I can tell him the cattle are taken care of, maybe he'll sit still for the tests they want to do. If those go well, it's possible he can go home. He sure wants to." She glanced at the watch on her wrist. "I need to get going."

"Here's some clothes for Glen." I handed Lisa the bundle I was carrying and didn't explain anything more. There'll be time enough, I thought. That was a mistake.

Lisa took the clothes, talked to Al a little about shipping the cattle, and hurried away. I got back in Glen's truck and drove to Lisa's house, collected Joey, and then went back to the barn and caught and saddled Chester. It was time to gather.

TWENTY-TWO

I rode along the dusty road to the back pasture. I had been there before, many times, helping Glen gather when I was a girl. This pasture was the largest field on the ranch-somewhere between five and six hundred acres-and was located, as the name suggests, at the back of the property. There was a dirt road that led from the barn to the back pasture; it wound down one side of a long gully full of redwood trees, then climbed a bare, empty hill to the pasture gate.

Chester marched readily along the road in a swinging walk, his ears flicking forward and back. Joey trotted behind. The rich scent of the redwoods filled the shadows; late-morning sunlight slanted through the branches in long shafts. It was a moment right off a postcard, and it barely registered on my mind.

I had too much else to think about. The main thing that emerged was that I needed to talk to Glen. Right away. Before something else happened.

I reached in my pocket and dug out the object I had found in Joyce's purse. It was a smooth copper bar about as big as a woman's little finger. About as big as a fuse, in fact. It was what I had been looking for when I started to search, though I'd thought it unlikely I'd find it. A dummy fuse.

I stuffed it back into my pocket and stared blankly ahead of me. I saw and didn't see Chester's ears, red with black tips, his heavy, almost wavy black mane lying on the left side of his red neck. The redwoods slipped along beside me; a gray squirrel ran overhead, jumping from branch to branch. He was in another world-the safe, normal world I'd occupied before this last week. To be riding along trying to decide what to do about an attempted murder was unbelievable, unreal. Especially one involving Glen and Joyce, people I'd known since I was a kid. These things just didn't happen. I thought that I, like Glen, wouldn't mind returning to life as I'd known it.

The road descended down the side of the gully, getting steeper and steeper. Soon we would be at a little creek crossing, I remembered. Wrong. The road made a hard bend I didn't remember and showed me a brand-new bridge.

I stared at it in surprise. Chester stopped and stared, too. The bridge was a slender wooden ramp, with low rails, spanning the gully about twenty feet above the creek. I couldn't see the track of the old roadbed. As I recalled, it had descended in a sudden chute to the creek, a section that had been impassable for horse or vehicle in bad weather. No doubt this was why Glen had built the bridge. Apparently the bulldozing necessary to dig the footings had eliminated the previous roadbed.

Well, here goes, I thought. I clucked to Chester and bumped him gently with my heels. He took a step and stopped dead, his ears pointed sharply at the bridge.
Un-uh,
they said.

"Come on," I told him. "I know you've been over this before." I hoped it was true.

Chester wasn't buying it. He tried rooting all four feet to the ground; when I thumped steadily on his sides he took a hesitant step forward, then three fast steps backward. I thumped again and he jumped sideways. Not good.

A mere foot from his right front leg the bank dropped off sharply to the creek twenty feet below. Rolling down this bank was a potentially lethal wreck. I presumed Chester had no more wish to do this than I did, but there was no accounting for taste. I also had no idea how much distaste Chester had for the bridge.

I considered my options while Chester stood rooted, staring at the horse-eating monster. If this had been Gunner, I would have kicked him sharply and told him to get on with it. But I knew Gunner, and Gunner knew and trusted me. Chester and I were strangers. I wasn't sure what he'd do if I insisted.

The hell with the cowboy ethic. I talked soothingly to Chester, patted his neck, and was able to climb off him without spooking him. Pulling the reins over his head, I led him to the bridge and walked out onto it.

Chester followed me docilely. As I'd more than half suspected, he'd obviously been over the bridge before, but probably always in a group of horses. No doubt an older horse had usually been in the lead. Chester was perfectly willing to follow me over the bridge, despite giving it several suspicious looks when he put his feet down on the echoing wooden ramp. Joey followed the two of us, unperturbed.

Once over, I remounted, and we wound our way up the far side of the gully and out into the open. The road followed a grassy slope toward the gate. Hills rolled away around us, empty and quiet. The wind blew the thin yellow strands of grass, and a buzzard circled in the distant blue. Silence washed over me like a physical wave. It was so damn quiet it was shocking.

I looked around, almost disoriented. The forest had been full of small noises-the whisper of the creek, rustles and creaks from the trees, the sounds of animals in the underbrush. Out here, in the open hills, there was only the thin sound of the wind. When it died-nothing. No distant traffic, no omnipresent background bustle. Nothing.

I realized I'd never been out here alone before. The force of the quiet emptiness had always been broken and diminished by the presence of other human beings. Alone, it was oddly overpowering. Almost disturbing.

I shook the feeling off and opened the gate to the back pasture. Rode Chester through it and shut it behind me. Wondered where the cattle were.

Lisa had said they were in the back, by the water hole, which made sense. If I was lucky, they were still there. Unfortunately, the water hole was at the far side of the field. I pushed Chester into a long trot and headed up the dusty road, Joey trotting behind me.

I rode for half an hour before I found the steers. They were where I expected them to be, grouped around a little puddle of a spring that made a tiny green island in the most desolate part of the ranch-an area called Jackass Pass. The hills here were so barren that in places they looked like a moonscape. The ground was chalky white, crumbling and dry. It was alien, unfriendly country to my eyes, though I supposed it had a certain stark beauty.

Counting heads, I ascertained I had six steers-the requisite number. All that remained was to get them back to the corrals near the gate. The nice thing about the back pasture was that, though big, it was roughly pie-shaped, narrowing steadily downhill to the gate and the holding corrals. As cattle will almost always go downhill when chased (horses go uphill), this made the pasture easy to gather, which was important if you were alone, as I was. The tricky part would be to keep the steers from holing up in the brush, which was why I'd brought the dog.

I started the steers back toward the corrals. Joey made to charge after them, but I was prepared. I had a pocket full of pebbles. "Get back!" I hollered and hit him squarely in the ribs with a rock. He yipped in surprised and looked at me reproachfully, but he did, indeed, fall in obediently behind my horse. A few more well-timed shots convinced him he should stay there unless I sent him.

I trailed the steers at a sedate pace, our assorted hooves raising puffs of dust in a small cloud. I coughed repeatedly and wondered why I'd ever wanted anything to do with horses and cattle.

Occasionally one of the steers, usually a high-headed brindle, would try and peel off into a patch of brush, in an attempt at escape. Fortunately, the brush was sparse on this part of the ranch, affording the cattle little cover. I sicced Joey on the brindle a couple of times, and the dog dove in enthusiastically, nipping and yapping, until the steer trotted back to the others, head and tail high. Two or three such lessons and the brindle gave up. After that, we all got along fine.

A black steer took over the lead, clopping steadily toward the corrals, seeming to know where he was going. Joey trailed behind the group, panting and happy. I relaxed and rode along in the rear, coughing intermittently.

There was plenty of time between coughs to think. I thought. None of the thoughts were pleasant. I kept adding up the events of the past week and wondering. There were a few things that just didn't fit, and I was at a loss to explain them. I had the unpleasant conviction that the things I didn't understand were vital.

We were almost back to the corrals. The cattle picked their way along a shallow dry creek bed, nosing at the occasional willows and cottonwoods. I turned my head to look for the dog, and a tree branch exploded next to me.

There was a split second of pure unreality; nothing in the world made any sense. Chips of wood stung my face, and a sharp crack echoed in my ears as Chester dove sideways with incredible frightened violence. Comprehension and adrenaline flooded into me in the same instant. I let go of the saddle horn in time to let the force of Chester's leap fling me off his back.

I landed rolling and flopped breathlessly and, I hoped, limply behind a boulder. Chester and the steers galloped off in a thundering herd. I didn't dare look for Joey. I lay perfectly still and listened to my heart thud.

That was a shot. My mind repeated it obsessively and uselessly. Somebody was trying to kill me. A spine of rock dug into my leg where it was folded under me. I barely felt it. All I felt was intense, heart-stopping fear.

The boulder I lay behind was little better than no cover at all. Not to mention I wasn't exactly sure which direction the shot had come from. Near the corrals, I guessed.

I replayed the sharp crack that was still ringing in my ears. A rifle. The sniper could be a long way away, then, if he/she had a scope.

Joyce? I had never seen Joyce shoot a rifle before, only a pistol. That didn't mean she couldn't. Had Joyce discovered the dummy fuse was missing from her purse, learned from Lisa where I had gone, and marched out here to shoot me? There was a rack of deer rifles in the den at Glen's, I remembered.

Oh, shit. I was dead. The next shot would be coming any moment. If I hadn't turned my head, I'd be dead now. Holding my breath, I lay frozen.