Beef Stolen-Off (7 page)

Just then, an older man pushing a wheelchair entered the room, and all eyes turned toward the back. Jordan took a step out of the aisle when the man started her way.

Tall with a full head of gray hair and enough wrinkles on his tanned face to suggest he worked outdoors in the Texas heat, the man maneuvered past the people standing in the back. As he got closer, Jordan got her first look at the woman in the wheelchair.

Olive-skinned with eyes nearly as dark as Rusty’s, she was dressed in a black suit with a matching pillbox hat, Jackie O style.

When they reached Jordan, the man stopped. “Is she the one?” he asked, pointing to Jordan.

Bella nodded. “Yes, Diego, she is.”

The man leaned toward Jordan, sadness blanketing his swollen eyes. “My son would have liked you, I’m sure,” he said before fixing his gaze back on Bella.

For an instant, Jordan saw the grief in his eyes disappear, momentarily replaced by something else. Was it anger? Hatred?

“You were with him when he died?” Rusty’s father asked Jordan, finally breaking eye contact with Bella.

“Yes, sir. I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for that.” He leaned down to the woman in the wheelchair. “Maria, this is the reporter who was with Rusty Saturday night.”

The woman attempted to speak, but nothing came out except a garbled sound.

“She had a stroke a while back and hasn’t been able to speak since. Doc called it aphasia. Said her voice may or may not come back.” He patted the woman lovingly on the hand. “Come on, dear. The priest’s ready to begin.”

As Jordan moved back a few steps, Diego pushed his wife toward the front of the room. Halfway past her, Maria Morales reached out and grabbed Jordan’s wrist in a death grip.

Jordan flinched when the pain shot up her arm. Before Diego could unclench his wife’s fingers, the woman’s squinting eyes drilled into Jordan.

What was it behind that stare? Pain? Sadness?

No, it was fear. Jordan was sure of it.

Help me
, Maria mouthed before her husband wheeled her to the front row for her son’s memorial service.

The eulogy was short and sweet despite several pauses while Lucas Santana swiped at his eyes. Although Rusty had been raised Catholic, he’d stopped going to church many years before. Nevertheless, the priest led the rest of the service and at one point, even stopped to walk over and comfort Maria Morales.

Jordan couldn’t stop thinking about the way Maria had clung to her. Did her mouthing “Help me” mean anything, or was it merely something said out of grief? Jordan’s only experience with stroke victims had been her ex’s grandmother, who’d had no noticeable physical effects except right-sided paralysis. Emotionally, however, she’d been a time bomb, one minute laughing, the next crying.

Was Maria having that same kind of poststroke mood swing?

Jordan couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it, and her imagination ran wild with the possibilities. Was
Diego Morales abusing her behind closed doors? He’d seemed so loving toward his wife that Jordan quickly dispelled the notion. What then? Was the woman asking for help to speak again?

Maybe Danny was right when he said she was watching way too many TV shows and imagining something more sinister. Perhaps “Help me” was all Maria could say.

“It was a nice service, wasn’t it?”

Jordan turned as Lucas walked over. Dressed in jeans and a starched white shirt, he still looked good for a guy her father’s age, even with swollen eyes.

“It was, Lucas. I’m glad I’m here and could give my personal condolences to Rusty’s family.”

He harrumphed before catching himself, and the words of the old cowboy who’d given them a lift to the door that day sprung into Jordan’s head. Lucas Santana and Diego Morales were not on the best of terms.

“Since you were there the other night, I feel like you’re part of the family now, Jordan. I hope you won’t be a stranger to Santana Ranch.”

Jordan absently crossed her arms over her chest, aware of his interest in that area.

Yeah! Like I’d ever visit the ranch without a bodyguard.

“Come on,” Lucas said, reaching for her arm. “The food’s ready in the bunkhouse.”

On her feet now, Jordan suddenly remembered she hadn’t come alone. “Lucas, I want you to meet my brother. He’s—”

“The special agent sent to our neck of the woods by TSCRA. I know.” He reached over and shook Danny’s hand. “’Bout time you guys showed up. Some of my friends have already lost thousands in cattle revenue just this month alone.”

Both Jordan and Danny were speechless.
So much for anonymity.

“So Danny—that is your name, right?” When Danny nodded, Santana continued. “I figured they’d send someone with a little more experience. Guess we’ll have to take what we can get. Anyway, how are you going to go about finding these good-for-nothing thieves?”

“I’m working on that, sir,” Danny replied. “Right now we don’t have much to go on. But if it helps you sleep easier tonight, I was in the Department of Agriculture for a lot of years before I got this assignment, and I have a criminal justice degree. I can assure you, I know what I’m doing.”

Jordan watched Santana’s reaction, looking for any hint that Danny might be right about the rancher being in on the crime. Other than a grunt, there was nothing.

“That’s good to know. Fortunately, I haven’t been hit as hard as some of my friends, but that’s only because I now have men patrolling the west pastures at night. Told them to shoot first, ask questions later. Word must have gotten out.”

Jordan shrugged. “I can see where that would be a deterrent.”

“Damn straight.” Lucas leaned closer. “If you ask me, putting a bullet in a few chests would make them think twice, seeing as the organization taking our good money to protect us can’t seem to find their own behinds with both hands.” He glared at Danny. “No offense, but how hard can it be to find a stolen cow at an auction when they’re branded?”

Danny inhaled sharply. “That’s the problem, Mr. Santana. Not everyone is branding their livestock. Without a brand, it’s difficult to find your stolen Elsie when she’s
standing next to someone else’s Sophie. You know what they say—they all look alike after a few beers.” He stopped then added, “No offense taken, by the way.”

Santana puffed out his chest. “No need to get snippy, young man.”

“I’m sorry if I came across that way. I’m just saying if every ranch owner would take the time to brand their herd and register that brand with the department, it would make my job a whole lot easier.”

“Easier, maybe, but you still don’t always get it done. Joe Rosco over at the Starboard Ranch in Ellis County lost ten head last month alone, and every single one of them wore his brand and was registered with TSCRA.”

Danny cleared his throat. “That’s a problem we’re working on. There’s a possibility the stolen animals are being transported across the border. Our agency now has inspection points for every trailer hauling cattle to Mexico.” He held up his hands. “If you have any better suggestions, I’d love to hear them.”

“Just catch the yeller-bellied slime.” Santana looked away when Cooper Harrison tapped his shoulder.

“My crew’s ready to serve lunch, Lucas. They’re waiting on you.”

Santana turned back to Danny. “Maybe you and I will have more time to talk about this now that Jordan will be coming out this way more often.”

Before Jordan could respond, he added, “You’re part of the family now, remember? We have a sit-down dinner every Sunday afternoon, and I expect you here even if it means I have to put a bug in your editor’s ear.” He turned and followed Cooper to the bunkhouse.

“Now that man’s a piece of work. Why he’s attracted to your skinny butt is beyond me.”

Jordan ignored him, still thinking about what Santana had said earlier. “Danny, if it’s as simple as branding the cows, why doesn’t everyone do it?”

“Cattle rustling wasn’t a big problem until the last ten years or so. Many of the smaller ranches are slow to implement branding. In today’s economic downturn, stealing cattle has become the new carjacking.”

“Get out! How much can a cow be worth?”

“You think you know everything. For your information, one cow can bring in as much as a grand or two at auction. Wagyu, a whopping ten to twenty thousand.”

She gasped. “Twenty grand?”

“Some more than that. Ever eaten Kobe beef?”

She tsked. “You know darn well I don’t do steak.”

“Well, if you ever decide to give a big juicy steak a try, Kobe is the way to go.”

“I still don’t get it. What’s so special about Wagyu?”

Danny lifted a cocky eyebrow, apparently loving that he knew something she didn’t. “They’re treated like royalty, pampered more than most humans, with massages, first-class food, and even beer.”

She laughed. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope. All that coddling makes their flesh highly marbleized with interspersed flecks of fat. Marbling so subtle it bastes a steak in its own juices. Shoot! I’ve been told a Wagyu burger in Manhattan will set you back over forty bucks.”

Before Jordan could react, Bella appeared and gently pushed them toward the door.

“Come on, you two. Cooper brought his special chopped beef that melts in your mouth. For the life of me, I don’t know how he gets it so tender.” She accompanied them out the back door and across the lawn to the bunkhouse.

As soon as they entered the building where Jordan assumed Rusty had spent much of his time, she made eye contact with Maria Morales.

Tears streamed down the older woman’s cheeks while she held Jordan’s stare, and then her husband pushed her across the room to a table of Rusty’s coworkers. Bella led Jordan and Danny to the back, where Cooper Harrison and his fiancée, along with Carole Anne’s father, had a table to themselves.

Throughout the luncheon, Jordan caught herself watching Rusty’s mother, feeling a surge of guilt for not being able to help her son when he was dying. She realized it was stupid to feel that way, but seeing Maria so heartbroken made her wish she’d been able to do more. The woman’s grief tugged at Jordan’s heartstrings.

Even though she’d just met Maria, and her son only a few days before, she felt a special bond with the grieving woman. She could only imagine how hard it would be for a mother to sit through the funeral of one of her children. Her own mother came to mind. No wonder she’d been so upset when Jordan’s friends called her from the hospital several weeks before.

Jordan straightened in her chair when she saw a woman approach Rusty’s mother and bend down to kiss her forehead. It was the same woman Rusty had spoken with on his way out of the ballroom that night, the one who was so upset when the ambulance took Rusty away.

“Brenda Sue Taylor,” Carole Anne said, obviously noticing Jordan’s interest. “She and Rusty used to be an item before he dumped her and then introduced her to her husband, who by the way is twenty years her senior and rolling in money.” She shook her head. “He did the same
thing with me. Introduced me to Cooper one night on a date and then quit calling a week later. Guess he thought it was the perfect way to let us down gently.”

Jordan was positive she detected a hint of anger in Carole Anne’s voice, but before she could find out more, Danny blurted out why he was in Ranchero, and the conversation at the table turned to cattle rustling. Both Cooper and Carole Ann bombarded him with questions, making Jordan believe it was a bigger problem than she had assumed.

“Fortunately, we’re not affected by it,” Carole Anne said, nodding toward her father. “We only process the meat and ship it to buyers for the ranchers.”

Danny put down his coffee cup and leaned forward slightly. “And you make sure every cattleman who brings the animals has legitimate proof of ownership?”

“Of course,” Mr. Summerville answered, his speech slurred from the three double Scotches he’d had with lunch. “We’ve been doing business with most of the ranchers for over thirty years. Everyone has to show a bill of sale or proof the brand is theirs, or they go someplace else.”

“Did y’all get enough to eat?”

Everyone turned when Bella approached and stood behind Carole Anne. Not waiting for their response, she continued. “Lucas asked me to tell you that he’ll call your editor this week, Jordan.”

“Why?”

Bella shook her head. “He didn’t say, but I think he wants to work out some kind of arrangement with Egan.” She turned to walk back to the front but not before Jordan noticed how her fingers had absently massaged the back of Carole Anne’s neck. They hadn’t seemed that friendly at the ball.

“What was that all about?” Cooper asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why would Lucas need to work out an arrangement?”

Jordan stood up. “I have no idea. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to give my condolences to Rusty’s mom one last time.” She turned to her brother. “I’ll only be a few minutes, and then we can head out.”

“Take your time. I’ll get another cup of coffee and finish your cake.” He grinned, sliding over the plate with her half-eaten dessert. “What’s up with you leaving chocolate?”

Jordan shrugged, then headed toward Maria Morales, thinking it might be advantageous to talk to Brenda Sue as well. The way the woman had caressed the inside of Rusty’s arm that night didn’t jive with a woman scorned. Still, she might reveal something that could be helpful in figuring out why Maria felt threatened.