Rough Rider (14 page)

Shit!
It was worse than he'd feared. The buzzards were picking the bones of not one, but three of the missing herd—a cow and twin calves. Dirk's chest tightened at the loss. It had taken three years of careful and highly selective breeding to establish the beginnings of a Wagyu herd—not to mention a huge financial risk that Wade wasn't about to let him forget.

Wade dismounted, crouching with a handkerchief over his nose to examine the half-eaten remains—the obvious work of wolves. A grizzly or mountain lion couldn't have taken down all three at once. Nor would they have torn away the haunches and eaten the viscera first.

Bad enough they were killing his stock, in this case they were killing his future too. Even if the insurance paid out on the dead cattle, it wouldn't come close to what he'd invested. He'd busted his ass for the past three years trying to keep the ranch going while everyone else around him was selling out. With the beef market going all to hell, he'd studied every angle in hope of doing better than they'd done in the past.

He couldn't afford to lose any more stock, but how the hell was he going to keep a pack of wolves away? He didn't have any help and sure as hell couldn't be a twenty-four-hour babysitter to a herd of cows. He seemed only to be running into obstacles at every damned turn!

“How many were you missing?” Wade asked.

“Seven,” Dirk hissed through his teeth.

“Well, then I guess this accounts for almost half of 'em.”

“Think the wolves got the lot of 'em?” Dirk asked.

“Not unless they took them last night,” Wade replied. “'Cause I swear I saw at least a half-dozen grazing up on the ridge. Maybe more.”

“Couldn't have been more. The rest are all accounted for.” Dirk gave Wade a dark look. “And we wouldn't have lost
these
if you hadn't been so damned preoccupied with your prick.”

“Bullshit! This kill is at least two days old. Besides that, it would have been too dark to bring them down the mountain last night anyway. I'm not about to risk my life for a stupid cow.”

“That's the difference between us. This cattle
is
my life. I spent the past three years cultivating this breed, and now I'm looking at over six grand in dead stock.” He slapped his hat on his thigh.

“How much can you reclaim from a wolf kill?”

“Hell, that's nothing but a crock to begin with. Unless you can
prove
it was depredation by a wolf, they won't pay a friggin' nickel.” He dismounted. “C'mon. Wildlife Service has to investigate, so we'd better cover these carcasses and preserve what little we can of the crime scene—not that I'm holding my breath. Even if they do pay, it'll only be a fraction of what I had invested.”

“Which begs the question—why do you still want to hold on to this? You know there's no future in it. Private ranching is as dead as these cattle.”

“You're wrong. There is still an opportunity, but it has to be the
right
cattle. In Vegas they're getting three hundred bucks for a Kobe T-bone. There's opportunity for those who can think outside the box, Wade. American Kobe is an emerging market.”

It was purely by chance that Dirk had come upon that answer. The night Grady'd won the World Bull Riding championships they'd celebrated at Vic and Anthony's where Grady ordered the most expensive thing on the menu—a jaw-dropping three-hundred-dollar steak. Dirk had never even heard of Kobe beef before that night, but at thirty to fifty dollars an ounce, it didn't take a mathematical genius to figure out where money could still be made in cattle.

“There are all kinds of restaurants and gourmet food chains looking for suppliers,” Dirk said. “It's going to take off in a big way. I just need to be able to meet the demand.”

“You're crazy, Dirk, and I'm done! I'm not putting another penny into this operation. It's stupid to hang on. I finally had the ol' man seeing reason—until you laid waste to everything,” Wade added bitterly. “Is that damned ego of yours worth giving him another coronary? He can't do this anymore. You're gonna kill him.”

“Then we'll hire some help,” Dirk argued. “There's plenty of hands looking for work.”

“And why is that?” Wade scoffed. “You just proved my point. Name me one private ranch that isn't struggling just to survive.”

“You've made yourself crystal clear, that you want to bail out. That's the difference between you and me. While you'd just walk away from four generations' worth of blood, sweat, and tears, I'm willing to fight to keep it.”

“You're an ungrateful asshole, you know that? It's been
my
hard-earned money that's paid the taxes and grazing leases to keep this place going—money that would have been better spent on a condo in Arizona where our folks could retire.”

“If that's how you feel, I'll buy you out. Whatever offer Fuck-Me-Pumps produces, I'll match a third of it—your share. All you've ever cared about is money, anyway. You've got no loyalty, Wade.”

“Loyalty?” Wade snarled back. “You sure as hell are no judge on loyalty!”

“Back to that, are we?” Dirk's jaw tightened along with his fists. He refused to swallow any more of Wade's bullshit. “You got what you deserved, little brother.”

Wade speared him with a murderous look. “Is
that
what you really think?”

“Does it matter what I think? It's what
she
thought and it's what killed her.
You
killed her, Wade.”

“You goddamn son of a bi—” Wade reined in and pulled back a fist, but a ground-shaking sound of thunder halted him. “What the hell?”

“Holy shit!” Dirk echoed his cry as a band of madly galloping horses came barreling down the mountain toward them. In hot pursuit was a pack of half a dozen ravenous-looking gray wolves.

Dirk cocked his rifle, raised it, and took aim, but then held his fire at the last second. He could take down one or maybe two but then risked bringing the whole pack down on them if he missed, not to mention the litany of laws he'd be breaking if he shot any of them without a kill permit. As it turned out, the wolves were too preoccupied with their current prey to pay any attention to the two riders.

Dirk lowered his rifle with a head shake. “They've been having some wolf troubles down in Paradise Valley for a good while, and I'd heard there were a few who'd ventured farther north, but I hadn't seen any around these parts. Now a whole friggin' pack of 'em? How the hell am I going to protect my stock?”

“Guess you'd better bring in Wildlife Services,” Wade said. “They'll probably just trap and collar them, but maybe you can convince them to relocate the pack.”

“Yeah, that's real likely,” Dirk snorted.

“What about those horses?” Wade asked.

“Hell if I know. I have enough on my hands without worrying about a herd of mustangs. Maybe if I'm lucky, they'll keep the wolves away from my cattle.”

Janice pulled into the drive of the Flying K just as a silver Lexus SUV pulled out. Recognizing the driver as Wade Knowlton, she waved, but he returned only a perfunctory nod. Based on the cloud of dust and flying gravel he'd left in his wake, he was in a big hurry. She hoped it didn't bode trouble.

She continued slowly up the half-mile-long drive to the Knowlton homestead. She'd been there dozens of times in the past when friends and neighbors all pitched in to help one another with sorting, roping, and branding. Not to mention castrating the calves. With an operation as large as the Knowlton's, it had taken a crew of twenty hands all day. It was hard and dirty work, but she'd enjoyed every minute of it. She loved the feel of a stiff rope in her hand and the challenge of roping cattle and missed it sorely.

Although the hours were long and the pay meager—even compared to waitressing—ranch work was what she'd hoped to find when she'd come back home. But she'd quickly discovered that jobs were scarce. Even though she was a more than capable hand, being female didn't help her chances when there were so many good cowboys out of work.

She parked her faithful red Dodge dually, the same truck she'd hauled stock with ten years ago, between the old white F-150 and a new Cadillac Escalade. She stepped down, shut the door, and then froze in her tracks. The Colorado plate and Majestic Ranch Brokers sign on the Cadillac door confirmed the worst. There was only one person who would be driving a car like that in Madison County—the same person who'd brokered the sale of her family's place.

Were the Knowltons selling out too? A giant knot lodged in her throat at the very thought. She couldn't imagine the Ruby Valley without them. They'd been in Twin Bridges for four generations, as far back as the gold rush that forged the town. But by the look of things, the Flying K suffered as much as everyone else. That was not to say it appeared neglected—just too quiet. Almost deserted. There was always
something
to do on a working ranch—horses to shoe, fences to mend, machinery to repair—yet Janice found no one around when she'd pulled up between the house and the main barn.

Realizing she'd come at a bad time, Janice debated knocking on the door and paying the briefest possible call, or just driving quietly away. She nixed that idea. If anyone had noticed her arrival, it would look really rude to drive off. She was still deliberating when an earsplitting crash sounded from the barn, followed by the crack of splintering wood. Apparently the place wasn't deserted after all.

She heard it a second time and her pulse quickened. Was an animal loose? Had a horse got itself cast? She hustled toward the barn to check it out, sliding the metal door on its track and advancing inside. Her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness of the barn after the brightness of the afternoon sun, when a tall figure emerged from the tack room. He stepped toward her, or maybe it was more like a lurch and her heart almost stopped beating.

Even in the dim light with his hat tipped low, she knew it was Dirk. She'd come purposely to see him, but now face-to-face she felt like a deer in the headlights, poised for flight, but with feet rooted to the sawdust-covered ground.

“What the fuck do
you
want?” he growled, rubbing his fist.

His aggressive, almost unrecognizable tone told her everything she needed to know—coming out here was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.

“I—I heard a noise,” she stammered. “I thought an animal might be in trouble. I'm sorry I intruded. So sorry.” With shaking hands and unsteady legs, Janice backed toward the door. Shoving it open, she strode briskly and blindly into the late afternoon sun, her only thought to get inside her truck before she broke down and started bawling.

“Janice?” Dirk's voice, low and gravely, called after her. “Holy shit! Is that you?”

She didn't turn around or even slow her pace, but he was on her in seconds. His powerful hands gripped her shoulders, whirling her around to face him. Their eyes met for the first time, his widening in shock. They were still icy blue and just as mesmerizing as she remembered. The effect they had on her hadn't changed either, but other things had. Though his hat was pulled low to throw his face in shadow, she could discern the scars that marred his handsome face—a long strip of angry red and pitted flesh that mismatched the surrounding skin—a graft. It made her heart ache for him.

“Red? Hell, I'm sorry for snarling at you like that. I thought you were someone else…”

“Who?” Janice choked out through her thick throat.

“Allie Evans.” He released her arm and stepped back, shaking his head. “If I'd had any idea…I'm sorry, Red. I still can't believe it's you.”

“Yeah, it's me, all right. I've been back for a couple of months now, me and Cody. We're out with Mama at the old homestead—or at least what's left of it.”

“Just visiting?”

“Nope. I'm hoping to stay if I can find a way to make a living. So far none of the ranches are hiring, so I've been waitressing at the Pioneer.”

“You? Waitressing?” He made a scoffing sound.

She scowled back at him. “What of it? I did it for three years in Las Vegas. It's an honest living.”

“Not what I meant,” he said. “It's just a damned waste of your talents.”

“Oh.” She smiled slowly. “Thank you.”

“What brings you out here?” He seemed suddenly wary, almost suspicious. He kept his head cocked at an awkward angle, as if to hide the damaged part of his face.

“Curiosity. I heard you're raising some new breed of stock.” Unable to look him in the eye and lie, she dug the toe of her boot into the dirt. “I wanted to see the bulls.”

“You're curious about my bulls or maybe you heard the talk and wanted a look at me?” He ripped off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “Go ahead and gawk your fill, sweetheart. There's not too many burned-up, one-legged cowboys 'round these parts. There's even fewer who wear their asses on their face.”

Janice clenched her fists. She'd never wanted so badly to slap anyone in her life. How could he say such things to her? It hurt like hell. He'd lashed out, so she lashed back. “Then maybe that's fitting, Dirk, since you're
acting
like a complete ass to boot.”

He winced. “What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

“You have no clue what it took just for me to drive out here. I've been trying to work up the nerve for weeks.” She was trembling with hurt, rejection, and rage.

“Why? Thought you couldn't stomach the sight of me?”

“Just stop it!” She jutted her chin to look him squarely in the eye. “My reluctance had nothing to do with your injuries. I knew you were hurt and actually expected a lot worse.”

“That so?” His brows met and his mouth compressed. “You've been back two months and you're just now coming around? Why'd you stay away so long?”

She swallowed hard, but it did no good. Her mouth was dry as sawdust. “I didn't know if you'd want to see me.”

He clawed a hand through his short, sandy hair with a groan. “How could you have come to that fucked-up conclusion?”

“After the way you disappeared from Las Vegas—”

“Las Vegas?” He shook his head with a derisive laugh. “Yeah, a lot of ugly shit happened in Vegas and a lot more afterwards.”

“What do you mean?”

“Grady didn't tell you?”

“Grady couldn't say much of anything for a while. He went out with you that night and came home with a broken jaw. What really happened, Dirk? And why'd you leave without even saying good-bye?”

He shrugged. “It's history best forgotten. 'Sides, what happens in Vegas is s'posed to stay there.”

She chewed her lip. “Does it really, Dirk? I don't think so.”

“Maybe not, but we gotta move on, don't we?”

“That's what I'm trying to do,” she said, her gaze wavering. “It's why I came back. Cody needs a real home and I need a fresh start.”

“So you're really planning to stay?”

“If I can make it, I will, but it hasn't been easy. Mama lives on social security and her health isn't good. She probably should sell what's left of the place.” Janice gave a fatal shrug. “That's probably what it'll come down to in the end.”

He pressed a hand to the small of her back. “C'mon, Red. We've got some serious catching up to do. Let's you and me go have a beer.”

“OK,” she replied. “But I can't stay long.”

With a hand on her back, he steered her toward the bunkhouse behind the barn. Janice looked up at him in question.

“I'm not in the mood to deal with what's going on at the house right now,” he explained. “There's time enough for that bullshit later. 'Sides, you and me need some private conversation.” He opened the door and beckoned her inside. “It's not much, but it's home.”

“Home? Wasn't this the bunkhouse?” Janice asked as she stepped inside. It was a typical log cabin with a clean-swept floor, scarred oak table, and leather-upholstered sofa and armchair angled next to the stone fireplace. There were several of the requisite mounted hunting trophies marking it as a male domain, but not much else. The room seemed strangely devoid of personality. “Why are you here instead of in the main house?”

“It was empty and I needed space,” he said. “I have a bed, shower, kitchen, and office.” He nodded toward a corner desk and laptop. “Everything I need.”

“So you've let all the hands go? Things are that tough?”

He shrugged. “It's no secret. It's tough for everyone right now. We only have a couple of part-timers left who come out as needed.”

A number of ranching outfits had downsized in the past few years, and just as many had sold out, but she'd never expected the Knowltons to join those ranks. “Are you selling out too?” she asked. “I saw the broker's car.”

Dirk's face darkened. “Wade's been pushing for it, but it'll be over my dead body. Seems it just may come to that too, 'fore all is said and done. How 'bout that beer?” He grabbed a couple of Coors from the fridge and popped the tops.

“Your hand's bleeding,” she observed. She closed hers over it as he offered her the bottle. Their eyes met, the first contact of skin on skin seemed to startle them both. “Let me wrap it up for you.”

“It's nothing.” He jerked it out of her grasp. “I don't need a mother, Janice.”

He handed her the bottle and then made a careless bandage from a paper towel he snatched from beside the sink. He waited until she sank into the sofa, before settling into an overstuffed chair to her right. She wondered if he'd done it to hide his scars from her.

“Wanna tell me now what really brought you out here?” he asked. “We both know it wasn't to talk about bulls.”

Heat inflamed her face to be called out for her subterfuge. “I saw Wade the other night and asked about you,” she confessed. “He said you could use an old friend—and frankly so could I. I've been away a long time now and I've lost touch with a lot of folks. Most of my connections were with the rodeos and I don't do that anymore, so I guess I'm just feeling kinda lonesome.”

“And you wanna be
friends
?” He snorted.

“Yeah. Why's that so funny?”

“Because we've had this conversation before, Red. I told you a long time ago that men and women
can't
be friends. Sooner or later…” He let his words die off with a shrug.

“But time changes things, Dirk. People change.”

He laughed outright this time. “Don't know why you think time makes any difference. I haven't
changed
genders and haven't changed my views either.”

But he had
changed
in a lot of other ways. He'd become hard, wary, and cynical. She was comfortable with the old Dirk, but this version was different. He seemed edgy and volatile. She knew she'd changed a lot too, but in less obvious ways. His wounds were visible; hers were well hidden.

“For my part,” he continued, “I'd only find the whole thing frustrating as hell if you started coming around, and I already have enough frustrations without adding to them. I hate to be so blunt, but I'd rather save us both the trouble and cut through the bull. If you came only looking for polite conversation, you've knocked on the wrong door.” His eyes drifted slowly over her with the kind of look that made her insides stir. In reality, his gaze hadn't left her since the moment he'd closed the door.

She fully understood the implication, his interest in things other than conversation was perfectly clear. Still watching her, Dirk took a long swig from his beer. Janice hadn't taken a single sip of hers. She shifted uneasily. For the second time she felt the impulse to take flight.
Coward. You know why you came.

She'd been with two men in her entire life—Dirk and Grady. She'd lost her virginity to the former and her innocence to the latter.

Sex had been second only to bull riding with Grady. And he was just as rough and aggressive—especially when the adrenaline was still raging after a ride. And he liked trash talk. The raunchier the better. It was titillating at first but the novelty had quickly worn away. Then there were other women. Lots of women. He was discreet in the beginning but later… No matter how hard she tried, Grady could never get enough and she could never
be
enough.

The years with Grady had shaken her confidence to the core. If it wasn't for that one night she'd spent with Dirk, she might have been turned off from sex for good. For ten years Janice had held that memory close to her heart. They'd connected on a level she'd never experienced with Grady. It gave her hope that she could still have a normal relationship, a normal life. She was desperate to reclaim that intimacy, but now that the moment she'd fantasized about for so long had come, she was suddenly terrified.