Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (16 page)

He’d replaced sniping with pride in her
accomplishments. Whenever she looked into the banked fires of his cobalt gaze,
his obvious desire kindled sparks deep within her and shunted aside the fact
that he felt he couldn’t trust her. His strength and relentless loyalty, his
determination and pride gave her a sense of security and protection that she
liked much too much.
Oh God, what am I going to do?

She had no answer to the question.

After handing over the baby to Espie, Maddy ducked
into the barn to help bring out the implements of their work for the
day—bottles of vaccine, syringes, antiseptic sprays, and ear-notching and
castrating tools.

As soon as they were ready, Luke Rafferty and another
cowhand he introduced as Sonny arrived in a high-wheeled black pickup with the
ranch brand, an
S
inside a circle, as a logo on the side panel. From the
horse trailer behind, Luke unloaded his horse.

Holt circled the vehicle, scanning it up and down
while Luke saddled up. When the deputy gazed at him quizzically, he said, “Nice
truck. Do much off-roading in her?”

“A bit around the ranch is all. Why?”

Holt’s lips curved briefly. “Thinking about new wheels.”

Maddy shook her head at the odd exchange. She made a
mental note to ask later.

After everyone was assembled inside the corral, Holt
said, “Let’s get to it, folks. We’ve got about a hundred of these little
critters to tackle.”

With that call of the ringmaster, the circus began.
The day before, Holt and Bronc had gathered up the cattle and stashed them in
the nearby meadow. About twenty of the brick-red-and-white calves had already
been separated from their mothers and penned beside the corral. Mothers and
calves mooed nervously to each other.

Bronc and Luke mounted up, ready to begin roping
calves. Both riders wielded seventy-foot leather braided reatas, nothing like
the simple rope Maddy had practiced with. She grabbed her camera from her case
parked beside the corral fence so she could capture the action.

Bronc lassoed the first heifer’s hind legs, and the
O’Grady boys dragged-carried the bawling animal over to the branding fire.

“That’s it, boys. Danny, sit on her neck and grab onto
that foreleg,” Bronc yelled. “Sean, pin those hind legs or you’ll catch it.”

The calf and the boys struggled in the dust, and the
humans almost lost the battle. Finally the calf lay on its side. Once
immobilized, the animal quieted.

Maddy set aside her camera, ready to start her work
for the day. She injected the first of three vaccinations.

“You do the ear notching next,” Holt ordered. “The
branding’s last.” Observing her every move, he rotated the branding iron in the
propane fire.

The ear notching tool worked a little like a hole
punch, and she’d done that before, but being so close to the red-hot branding
iron tightened her stomach.

When she finished her tasks, he nodded his approval,
then applied the Valley-D brand, a
V
overlaid with a
D
. She
winced at the burnt hair smell and the calf’s bellow for mama, but dug in her
heels. She could do this. After she dusted the brand with antiseptic powder,
the little heifer scrambled to her feet in a flurry of kicked dust.

From then on, the day was a blur of dust, the stench
of burned hide, and bawling calves. Bronc and Luke worked together as if they’d
performed as a tag team for years, alternating loops to capture the calves.
Then the O’Grady boys wrestled each wriggling calf over to the branding site
and held it down for the duration.

Besides administering the Valley-D brand, Holt’s job
was to snip the testicles from the bull calves, determining their destiny as
beef. Maddy covered the incision with antiseptic spray before the animal was
released. Once the two of them eased into a rhythm, their part of the process
took less than two minutes.

As soon as a calf was on its feet, Bronc herded it
into the meadow to mother up, brief pain and indignities forgotten. The process
began all over again with a new batch of calves.

Espie called them in for lunch at noon, and none too
soon. Maddy had aches in places she didn’t know she had muscles, and Danny and
Sean looked like the entire adult herd had trampled them into the dirt.

“You ready to call it quits?” Holt said, eyeing her
with skepticism.

She grinned at him. “When you are.” No way was she
yielding. A little nourishment and she’d be all set.

Espie had prepared a meal fit for a working crew—fried
chicken, mashed potatoes, and a mountain of vegetables, followed by apple
cobbler. Everyone fixed plates from the spread on the table and found a place
to sit down and shovel it in.

Maddy observed Holt following Luke out to the porch.
Interrogation time.

Chapter 16

Holt collapsed into one of the rocking chairs. “I sure
do appreciate your coming over to help out like this.”

Luke placed his dusty Stetson on the small table
beside him, then smoothed his blond hair. He forked up a mound of potato.
“Ridin’ and ropin’ sure beat whatever my big brother would have come up with
for me to do today. I might have to catch forty winks before riding patrol
tonight, though.”

Luke’s relaxed demeanor and candid expression opened
the door for Holt. “Sheriff tell you I called about K.C. Riggs?”

The deputy’s candor vanished under a shuttered gaze. “He
might have mentioned it.”

“Any particular reason Foley or you didn’t tell me
about Riggs before?”

Luke shrugged. “No point. Until we had some
information, there was nothing to tell. He’s not a suspect. Officially.”

“You had luck tracing him?”

“Sent his description out. The sheriff telephoned
Sonora, where Riggs told one of the hands he was going next.” He returned to
his meal, biting into a chicken leg. “Too bad there’s no more to go on.”

“Description’s not much help,” Holt mused. “Brown hair
and eyes, medium build fits half the men in the country.” He laid his fork on
his plate. Leaned forward. “What about the gun?”

“Riggs’s rifle?” Luke snorted. “Hell, that’s even
worse. Could’ve been a deer rifle for all I know. Slick’s the only one who saw
the weapon. He couldn’t describe it worth shit.”

Holt stirred around Espie’s Parmesan tomatoes that
usually vanished into his stomach first thing. He jabbed his fork into a crispy
chicken thigh. “Did he see a scope?”

Chewing, the other man shook his head. “Even if we had
this guy Riggs and his rifle, and he had opportunity, that still leaves
motive.”

That was the kicker.
Why
. The guarded aspect of
Luke’s expression nagged at Holt. “Motive indeed. Like the sheriff said,
everyone around here liked Rob.”

Indecision rippled across Luke’s cool green eyes. He
took his time chewing on his buttered roll. “Foley did say that. Fact is not
everyone thought Rob walked on water. More than one caught the rough side of
his temper.”

“You one of them, Luke?”

*****

At nine o’clock that evening, Maddy flopped on the
enveloping silk cushions of the blue and mauve living-room sofa. Pretty and
comfy but much too frilly and delicate for the rustic ranch house. She stuffed
one of the brocade throw pillows behind her back and propped her feet on the
mesquite-wood cocktail table.

They’d finished with the branding just before dark.
All the calves endured their rite of passage and scampered to the meadow to
mother up. After backslapping and handshakes all around, Luke and the other
Circle-S cowboy loaded up the horse and left. Sean and Danny O’Grady collapsed
bonelessly on hay bales, moaning they’d never be able to walk again. As soon as
Holt waved paychecks at them, they kicked up their heels like colts in a
pasture. Espie invited Bronc home to dinner, and to everyone’s surprise, he
accepted.

Maddy and Holt devoured the few leftovers for supper
before she put Bobby to bed. Exhaustion engulfed every fiber of her body, but
it was a good kind of tiredness, accompanied by the satisfaction of a job well
done. Of participating in something permanent that went back generations, a
ritual rooted in the soil as deeply as the surrounding mountains.

Holt came in and stretched out at the other end of the
sofa. He too had showered and changed. He wore clean Wranglers and a black tee
shirt that proclaimed in red letters, “COWBOYS DO IT IN THE SADDLE.”

Sandy hair frothed across the backs of his hands, and
sinews defined his forearms. Maddy ogled his broad chest and narrow hips, but
it was the intimacy of his bare feet and wet hair that had her swallowing hard.

“I have to hand it to you.” Holt passed her a
longneck.

“You just did,” she quipped. “Thanks.” The cold brew
bit and soothed at the same time. She sighed and sank lower into the cushions.

“Smartass.” He slugged back a long swallow of beer.
“Seriously, Maddy, you did great out there. Without your help, I might not have
finished all those calves today. The cow herd is ready to go to the upper
pasture anytime.”

“Thanks. It was fun.” She shifted sideways and curled
a leg beneath her. “Get back to what you were telling me about Luke. Did he and
Rob have problems?”

He wagged his head. “I still don’t know why Chris
Hawke and Luke were shaking their horns at each other. What you said about
that, ‘
Cherchez la femme
,’ applies here too.”

“A woman? And Rob?”

“Sara. Seems Luke went out with her a few times before
Rob horned in. He let Luke know in no uncertain terms he better butt out.”

She’d been thinking about Rob’s obsessive control over
his wife. It was possible he was so controlling because of Maddy’s leaving. She
shook off the question. No way to know. Would he have become so over-protective
of her? She’d not have let him get away with smothering her, but apparently
Sara didn’t mind. He seemed to have given in to her in other ways, indulging
her whims and wishes. Jealousy of other men might’ve seemed the behavior of a
loving husband to Sara, younger than Rob. But the other man—Luke or anyone
else—reacting with murder? A stretch. She wouldn’t reveal any of those
suppositions to Holt. He’d had enough shocks about his brother.

“Not much of a motive for murder,” she finally said.

“As a DEA agent, I’ve known people to kill for less.”
He closed his eyes and leaned against the sofa. “But in this case, I agree. I
don’t see Luke blowing Rob away—and Sara—because he’s warned off after a few
dates. And he hasn’t the cash to hire out murder.”

Sipping their beers, they sat in companionable, tired
silence for a few moments.

“You know, when I came home and started all this,” he
said, his voice deep with intensity, “I never thought I’d be finding out things
that made me ashamed of my brother.”

She saw in his troubled gaze that he needed to cleanse
the wounds Rob’s vagaries had made, air them before they’d heal. “You knew he
had flaws—his temper, for one.”

“And his obsession with you—with Sara too.” His jaw
tightened, then eased. “My brother never really grew up, I reckon. I thought
he’d learned to control his temper, but Luke implied Rob had alienated a few
people around Rangewood.”

He sat up straight and lowered his brows as he studied
her face. “He never turned violent with you, did he? Abusive?”

Maddy laid a hand on his knee. “He never touched me
except in affection. He may have been controlling, a good-time Charlie who
wanted things his way, but physically abusive, no. That’s something you don’t
need to worry about. Don’t let yourself feel guilty for what you had no power
over.”

“So now you’re reading minds.” He turned his hand over
and laced his fingers with hers.

The rough, callused texture of his big hand shimmered
heat up her arm and through her body. “No mind-reading involved. You’re a
take-charge kind of guy. You pride yourself on being responsible for everything
around you.”

“I do that?” He shifted closer to her.

“You always have.” She smiled, her heart squeezing at
the sadness in his eyes. “You can’t fix everybody. People are too complex. He
was your brother and you loved him. Find his killer if you can, but don’t feel
ashamed that your loyalty doesn’t extend to blindness.”

“So I should let the rest go, huh, doc?” He sent her a
crooked grin that softened his rugged features.

“At least don’t think you’re responsible for whatever
faults Rob had.” She winked at him, and then yawned. “Now take two aspirin and
call me in the morning—but not too early.”

“Thanks, McCoy.” The tension in his jaw eased, and
male awareness gleamed in his eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her pulse jumped. It would be so easy to lean into his
kiss, to block out problems with a night of mindless sex. Would a man so in
control of his emotions use that control to give and prolong pleasure?

There lay inspiration.

Or would the rein he kept on himself be so tight, so
stretched that it snapped?

And there lay temptation.

And way too much risk.

She placed her free hand on his chest. When she’d
rather fist it in his shirt, breathe in his clean scent, and taste those
sculpted lips, she pushed gently. “Whoa, boy. Things are already more
complicated than a twin-lens reflex.”

He released her hand and slid his arms around her. “At
this moment I don’t much care. What I want is damned simple.”

“Holt, we—”

Sharp tapping at the kitchen door stunned them both.

Holt slumped. “Bronc must be back. I hope nothing’s
happened to any of the calves.” He pushed to his feet and loped into the
kitchen.

Three louder, peremptory knocks brought Maddy to her
feet as well. When she saw Edgar and Phyllis Patterson in the open doorway,
tension knotted her stomach. Whatever they wanted, their visit meant trouble.

Holt hung up their coats on the pegs by the door
before ushering Bobby’s grandparents into the room. “Hour’s a little late for a
social visit,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

Phyllis shielded her matronly stomach with her clutch purse.
Her green polyester pantsuit was smooth as armor, but disapproval gathered more
wrinkles around her pursed lips than on the Wicked Witch of the West.

If she didn’t have such a strong portent of disaster,
Maddy would’ve smiled at the image. “If you’re worried about Bobby, you can go
peek at him. He’s sound asleep.”

Phyllis scurried down the hall, her low-heeled pumps
clicking on the worn oak floor.

Edgar Patterson had girded for battle in a charcoal
gray business suit and a red power tie. He smoothed his wispy hair over his
balding pate. “The county weekly came out this afternoon. The
Rangewood
Messenger
contained some very disturbing news. Two days ago you two were
shot at.”

Holt had dreaded Patterson’s reaction to the news. How
would the wily banker turn the situation to his advantage? He began to explain,
but Patterson cut him off.

“I know all about how it happened, young man. What
disturbs me is what it means for the safety of my grandson.”

“My nephew was perfectly safe.
Is
safe. He was
here with Espie, not in the line of fire.” But he realized what worried the
Pattersons was exactly what worried him—what might happen if the killer
returned for another try. The same thought must have crossed Maddy’s mind, but
thankfully she curbed any impulse to say so.

When Phyllis returned to the room, Maddy said, “Let’s
go sit in the living room. We’ll be much more comfortable.”

The older couple took up positions on the sofa, and
Holt and Maddy selected the opposite matching armchairs.

With a scornful glance at the half-empty beer bottles
on the table, Phyllis said, “My Sara picked out this furniture. She was a good
girl, a steady girl, my Sara.” She plucked a tissue from her bag and dabbed at
her nose.

“Yes, ma’am.” Maddy scanned the room as if assessing
the decor. “She had good taste.”

The colors were all right, but not the puffy sofa and
chairs. Or the silly pillows. Too flimsy-looking. The mesquite wood table was
okay.

“Just what’s your concern, Edgar?” Holt held himself
still and composed, but his jaw ached, and double granny knots bound up his
gut.

Patterson cast his wife a sideways glance. “We have
more than one. Bobby’s safety must come first and foremost, of course. Perhaps
the shooting was merely a hunting accident. I have urged the sheriff to put his
best men on the case.”

“I appreciate that. An important man such as yourself
can have more influence than I can.” Flattering the enemy never hurt your
cause.

The banker’s chest puffed out with self-importance. He
nodded. “We have nothing personal against Ms. McCoy here—” he studiously
avoided Maddy’s gaze “—but Phyllis and I have doubts about her reliability.” He
went on to enumerate her failings—leaving Rob at the altar and traipsing the
globe, the very history that made Holt doubt her.

“I see you’ve done some checking on me.” Maddy kept
her voice neutral and her expression blank, but a wash of red on her fine
cheekbones stood out in relief against a pale-as-bone complexion.

“I felt it was my obligation to know what sort of
person was caring for my grandson.” He still addressed only Holt as if Maddy
wasn’t there. “Instability is detrimental to a child’s growth and well-being.
We intend to assure that the judge is cognizant of Ms. McCoy’s background, her
penchant for, shall we say...flight.”

“She ran away from one wedding. What’s to say she
won’t do it again? Like the girl in that movie.” Patting her tight gray curls,
Phyllis sent a dagger glance Maddy’s way.

“It was eight years ago. I was young and unsettled.
I’ve matured. I’ve changed.” It wasn’t surprising that Maddy could contain
herself no longer. Her expression bordered on mutinous.

“And the situation has changed.” Holt reached across
the magazine rack between their chairs and clasped Maddy’s hand. When she held
on tight, her trust reassured him. “Maddy’s made herself an integral part of
the ranch as well as an important part of Bobby’s life. I trust her to stay.”

At his hypocrisy, she dug her nails into his palm. If
they were long instead of short and neat, she’d have drawn blood. He felt her
eyes raking him, winced at their amethyst slice. Dammit. He didn’t trust her,
but by God, he wished he could.

“Be that as it may,” Patterson said, apparently
unaware of the undercurrent, “
we
don’t trust her to stay, and neither
will the judge.” Eyes as gray and cold as gunmetal, he stood and took his
wife’s arm. “I can see we’re at an impasse here.”