Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (9 page)

“What would a backwoods hick like you know about a big word like
attitude
?” Ramsey kicked the wall and swore when his bare toes slammed into a cement block.

“Okay, wise guy. Here’s the deal.” The officer’s voice was hard. “You cooperate, we feed you. Keep up the smart-mouthing, you’ll go hungry.”

“I’ve worked corrections. You can’t deny me food.”

“Try me.”

Ramsey rolled over. The sudden movement hurt, especially his face. He groaned, fingering his swollen cheek. Had a piece of bone chipped off? His knuckles felt stiff and raw. He couldn’t see out of his left eye. His tongue tasted like liverwurst and his big toe was about to burst. “I wanna talk to the chief.”

The officer laughed. “Looks like Ol’ Henry tossed you and then tromped on your head.” He snorted. “Meanest bull on the rodeo circuit. You wouldn’t last half a second.”

“I demand you take me to the chief.” Ramsey slammed his fist into the thin mattress, ignoring the pain. “Now!”

“
Demand
is not a word we respond to around here.”

Though the officer’s voice carried no animosity, his cock-sure attitude cut to the core of Ramsey’s self-control. The first chance he had, he’d squeeze the jerk’s scrawny neck until he gave him the keys.

“Neither is
bozo brain
. Try saying
please
, and you might get lunch.” He started to walk away but stopped. “You have a visitor.”

A visitor? He didn’t know anyone in town. Maybe Neilson changed her mind, knowing it would cost her if she didn’t. He struggled upright. “You have a visitors’ room? Or does she come in here?”

“Down the hall.” The officer lifted keys from his belt, slid one into the lock. “She moves fast.”

Ramsey started to stand, but the pounding in his head knocked him back down. He cursed and tried again. This time slower. “What do you mean,
fast
?”

The officer opened the cell door. “Considering you pulled into town yesterday ...” He motioned for Ramsey to step into the hallway. “To your right.”

Ramsey reached into the solitary pocket of his orange jumpsuit, but his comb wasn’t there. He spit into his palm and rubbed saliva across his disheveled Brylcreem helmet.

“Give it up, man. She’s not worth the primping.”

Ramsey ignored him.

They halted before a gray metal door. The officer inserted a key.

Ramsey heard a loud click as the door unlocked.

They stepped inside. The overly bright but bare, bathroom-sized room reeked of sweat and frustrated testosterone. The officer pointed at a stool positioned before a small window. “Five minutes.”

The door closed behind Ramsey with a solid steel thump—then another click of the lock. Irritated to be on the wrong side of the visitor window, he slumped onto the low stool and hooked his heels on the rungs to avoid the cold concrete floor. He picked up the phone.

A figure on the opposite side of the glass lifted the other handset.

Ramsey squinted, trying with his good eye to see past his bruised reflection. It was a woman, all right, but she was the redhead from the bar, not Neilson. What did
she
want? He smoothed his hair again. She obviously found him attractive. Most women did. He put the receiver to his ear.

She winked. “You can sure chug ‘em down, big boy. I tried to convince the chief to let you sleep it off at my house, but Rhoades is a prude.” She ran her tongue across the tips of her perfectly aligned, brilliantly white teeth.

Yeah, he had a vague memory of white teeth and lipstick. They’d drunk a few beers and talked about … About what, he couldn’t say.

“You’re quite the slugger, Jerry.”

He grinned with one side of his bruised mouth and sat a bit taller. He’d always had a killer left hook. He just wished he could recall using it.

She arched an eyebrow. “Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She rested her forearms on the counter and carefully enunciated. “My name is Tara.” She paused. “Hughes.” She leaned forward, straining the halter top and revealing three small butterfly tattoos that fluttered with each orchestrated breath. “I just ran into your woman. Don’t know what you see in her, but she’s apparently been hired as a secretary at the Whispering Pines Ranch.”

He swore under his breath and nibbled at a fingernail. She knew about Neilson. How much had he told her?

She tilted her head. “I think you and I might have a mutual goal, Mr. Ramsey.”

He didn’t speak, didn’t blink. Just chewed.

A flicker of fear, maybe disgust—he couldn’t tell—crossed her face.

She squirmed then pouted. “If you’re not interested, I can leave.”

“Out with it.” He slapped the shelf. “What’s this
mutual goal
of yours?”

She flinched. “
Ours
, Jerry—
our
goal.” She caressed the glass with her long, orange fingernails.

He glanced at the clock. “Two minutes.”

She pressed the phone to her lips. “We both want your friend off the Whispering Pines payroll.” Her voice was low. “You have your reasons. I have mine.”

His hand twitched. Must have said too much. “Keep talking.”

She sat back, eyebrows raised in victory. “I’m in the phonebook, under
Hughes
. Call me when you get out of the slammer.” She dropped the phone onto the counter.

The clatter blasted his eardrum. He threw the handset at the window and sprang to his feet, spewing expletives. Tara stood and strutted to the door, butterflies bobbing with the swing of her bare shoulders.

***

Kate walked outside to shake the feather duster. Sunshine poured through evergreen branches, weaving the trees’ brisk scent into the morning air. A pair of chipmunks squeaked and scampered up a nearby tree. She could hear the toccata of a woodpecker in the distance. As she stood enjoying her first morning on a mountainside, a doe tiptoed into view, followed by two speckled fawns with black eyes and noses. Their legs were wobbly and unsteady.

Kate hurried back into the cabin. “Laura, come see the fawns!”

Laura, who’d just turned off the vacuum cleaner, peered out the window. “Oh, my. Aren’t they beautiful? I’ve seen that sight dozens of times, but it never fails to move me. God’s creatures are so amazing, especially the babies.”

Mike appeared in the doorway. “Now you know Lulabelle’s little secret. That’s her third set of twins.”

Laura lifted her chin. “How do you know it’s Lulabelle?”

“Remember, she’s the doe with the long scar on her left front leg.” He turned to Kate. “Probably tangled with barbed wire.” He scanned her face. “You feeling okay today?”

The clarity of his blue eyes startled her. “I’m …” She blinked and cleared her throat. “I’m a bit stiff, but the more I move around, the easier it gets.”

“Good.”

That half grin again. Kate hoped he couldn’t hear her heart pound.

They watched Lulabelle and her little ones with their twitching tails nibble their way through the trees, sometimes standing on hind legs to reach higher branches.

Mike asked, “Any more problems with that guy?”

“No.”

“That’s good, but...” He frowned. “I just can’t get over how he appeared out of nowhere just before our guest season starts—and your first night in that cabin.”

Laura sighed. “The timing is strange. We’ll have to pray he doesn’t come back.”

“And stay alert.” Mike eyed Kate. “Which means—“

“Yes, I know.” She folded her arms. “Call you or the sheriff if he comes back.”

Laura placed her hand on her son’s shoulder. “How’s your leg?”

“The same as it was at breakfast, Mom. It’s bruised, that’s all.”

She laughed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pester you.” She reached up to angle his black cowboy hat. “Nice hat.”

“I hope you don’t mind.” He touched the brim. “Dad wore the same size, so I borrowed his until I get mine cleaned.”

She smiled. “Keep it. You look good in it—just as handsome as your father.”

Kate, who could see color creeping from his neck to his cheeks, grinned at his discomfort. “Where’s your dog?”

Mike seemed relieved to talk about something else. “He’s in the dog house, literally. He didn’t come when I called him yesterday morning.”

She shrugged. “Sounds like a typical dog to me.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But obedience is important on a ranch.”

Laura chimed in. “Tramp caused a lot of trouble yesterday, so Mike locked him in the dog run we provide for our guests’ dogs.”

Kate laid the feather duster on an end table. “I bet he hates that.”

“Actually, he didn’t seem as upset as I expected.” Mike had a wry smile on his face. “He just laid down in the shade. We hiked a long way yesterday, so I figure he’s tired. But Tramp loves having the run of this place. He’ll get the message after a few hours in the pen.”

Kate flinched.
The pen.
Had she gotten the message after her time in the pen?

Laura picked up the duster and flipped it through a spider web that clung between logs. “Tramp hates to be separated from his master. He thinks he should go everywhere Mike goes.”

Mike wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Speaking of going places, I was just wondering, Mrs. D …”

She winked at Kate. “When he calls me
Mrs. D
, I know he’s got something up his sleeve.”

The tanned skin at Mike’s temples creased. “This is important.”

Laura’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I should be the judge of that.” She obviously adored her son. Kate envied the easy affection they shared. Familial love was only a vague memory for her.

“I thought Kate might want to ride with me to check on the bison herd this afternoon—if you can spare her for a couple hours, that is. I need to get the current running through the fence again.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “I should have known—buffalo.” She looked at Kate. “Interested in going?”

“I’d love it. I’ve only seen bison in pictures.” She raised a finger. “I just remembered seeing a herd near where I spent the night in Nebraska on my way here. But they were too far from the road to get a good look at them.”

Mike beamed like a first grader with a pet frog on show-and-tell day. “Great. I’ll meet you at the barn around two. I’ve got a couple things I need to do first.”

He turned to go, but Laura stopped him. “Did Tara Hughes find you this morning?”

He scowled. “No. What did she want?”

Her response was interrupted by the crackling of his radio. “Bossman—you there?”

He retrieved the radio from his belt and showed his mom. “I found dad’s in the storeroom.” He punched the button. “Clint, would you cut out the
bossman
bit?”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, we’ve got a problem down here. I was riding fence at the bison pasture and came across a dead cow.”

Mike groaned. “You positive she’s dead?”

“As positive as I am that the sun rises in the east. Could a been shot. But we can’t be certain until we take a closer look. She’s about twenty yards from the fence.”

“I’ll be right there.” He replaced the radio, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. A slashed fence yesterday and a dead cow today. Is it just coincidence, or …” He turned to go. “I’d better get down to the Battle Creek pasture.”

“Wait.” Laura grabbed his arm. “Aren’t you taking Kate with you?”

He looked at Kate. “Sorry. Circumstances changed. You’re welcome to ride along. Just can’t guarantee what we’ll find when we get there.”

“I’d like to go, unless you think another time would be better.” Why did her heart have to flip out every time he glanced her way?

Laura patted his back. “I think it would be nice for you to have someone to visit with on the way. Do you need to borrow my SUV?”

“Rusty and I got Old Blue running again last night.”

Kate had to ask. “Who or what is Old Blue?”

Laura laughed. “That’s the name Dan gave his pickup. Mike had a little adventure with it yesterday.” She winked. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to tell you
all
about it.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, right.” He motioned to Kate. “We’d better get a move on. Clint is waiting.”

***

Mike opened the passenger door for Kate. The bottom half of it looked like it had been slugged by a giant fist.

Kate touched the pickup’s faded hood. “So this is Old Blue.”

“Yeah, the truck that keeps on trucking. It gained a few more dents and scrapes yesterday, plus a broken window and mirror on the driver’s side.”

He stared at the glass that littered the vinyl bench seat. Not exactly the best time for a ride-along.
Thank you, Mom.
But the truth was, it was his idea to show off his bison to the new girl on the block, and this is what he got, rotten timing included.

Using his hat rim, he swept the shards onto the floor of the truck. “Better to stomp on glass than sit on it. I’ll clean up the mess later.” He straightened, shaking slivers from the hat. “I’d get the door for you, but the other side is jammed, which is crazy. You’d think the door that got hit would be the inoperable one.” He plopped his hat on his head. Anyway, if you don’t mind, I’ll get in first—or, I could crawl through the driver’s side window.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

He got in and maneuvered behind the steering wheel.

Kate followed, pulling the door shut.

Mike started the engine. “You can close the window, if it’s too windy for you.”

“No, thanks. I like to smell the fresh air.”

Mike turned onto the same dirt road he’d driven and walked the day before. “There’s no window on this side, so raising yours wouldn’t make much difference, anyway.”

He drove as fast as he dared, staring into the questions that swirled through his mind. Was it only yesterday he’d found the gap in the fence? What was going on? Who would shoot an animal in the middle of a fenced pasture? Why? And why a single cow? If it wasn’t a gunshot, how did she die?

But if someone did shoot the bison, why did they do it? Would he have to prove wrongful or malicious intent to their insurance company? Should he take pictures? He hadn’t brought a camera. Should he call the vet—or the sheriff? Or both? He rubbed his chin and stared unseeing at the road. So many questions, and their guest season hadn’t even started. How would they get through the summer without Dad?