Cowboy PI (11 page)

Embarrassed, Alex cleared his throat. “Brought your runaway back to you, Sam.”

“Thank you, Alex,” she said kindly.

“What about the other runaways?” Roark asked, referring to the herd.

“Managed to turn them. They’re driving them back now. No more fight in them. They’re docile as sheep. How about you guys? You okay?”

“Fine,” Samantha assured him. “Did you see Irma? Is Irma all right?”

“Safe along with the rest.” Alex cleared his throat again. “Well, I’ll see you back at camp. Gotta let Ramona know to put the coffee on. Man oh man, what a night.”

He left the mare with them and rode off. Roark didn’t wait until he was out of sight to address Samantha, his voice husky with emotion. “About what just happened between us…”

“I know what happened,” she said, making an effort to smile about it. “You were branding me. Or trying to. That’s what cowboys do, isn’t it?”

Knowing how she felt about cowboys, he wasn’t sure whether it was a teasing observation or an accusation. “Is
that how you saw it? I thought it was a kiss between two people who’ve come to care about each other.”

“Let’s not discuss it. Come on,” she said, turning away and mounting the mare. “I could use some of that coffee.”

She thought that what had happened between them was a mistake. Hell, she was probably right. Except his acknowledgment saddened him.

“W
HAT HAPPENED OUT THERE
?” the irritated trail boss asked them as everyone sat around the campfire drinking coffee. All of them, that is, except Dick and Cappy, who were watching over the herd.

Roark knew that Shep was referring to the stampede and not Samantha and him. “The cattle were spooked.” Before he could continue, Ramona spoke up.

“There was lightning and thunder,” she said quickly. “It woke me up. You must have all heard it yourselves.”

Roark eyed the woman. She looked tired, worried…and anxious for them to believe that the stampede had to be the result of a natural cause. He felt sorry for the cook, wished he didn’t have to contradict her.

“It wasn’t lightning or thunder,” he said. “That storm was too far away to set them off, though I grant you it did make the herd restless. Ripe for an opportunity, you might say.”

“What are you telling us?” Shep demanded.

“The stampede happened because of something much closer than a storm up in the mountains. Right on the spot, in fact. Wouldn’t you agree, Samantha?”

Roark looked to her for confirmation. She had seated herself well away from him on the other side of the fire. She was nervous herself, though not for the same reason as Ramona. He could tell by the way the lobe of her ear was squeezed between forefinger and middle finger as she pulled at it slowly.

She looked so much younger in those jeans and with that braid hanging down her back, nothing at all like the
businesswoman back in San Antonio with her self-assured, sleek image. This was another Samantha, a vulnerable one who tugged at his gut, making him all the more determined to defend her against any threat.

Her eyes met his, and he knew she was remembering their kiss and wishing it hadn’t happened. “Roark is right,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t lightning, and it wasn’t thunder. It was another sound.”

“Gunfire,” Roark informed them. “Probably the crack of a rifle over their heads.”

The trail boss leaned toward him earnestly. “Are you sure of this? Did you see someone out there?”

“I’m sure, and I didn’t see anyone. It came from out of sight over on the other side of the herd. Samantha?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t spot anyone either.”

Alex was perplexed. “Somebody out there hunting at this time of night?”

“It wasn’t a hunter,” Roark said. “And it wasn’t an accident. It was someone taking advantage of the storm, because I’d swear that shot was deliberate.”
Meant to sabotage the drive, because if the cattle are somehow prevented from reaching Alamo Junction in time, Samantha will fail to qualify for her grandfather’s inheritance.
But he couldn’t voice this part of the explanation, not when there was no way to be certain of it. Yet.

“But why?” Alex wondered. “And who?”

Roark glanced at Ramona. She was looking more distraught by the moment. “Ramona,” he said easily, “I know it’s too early for breakfast, but this puzzle has got me all hollow inside. Do you suppose you could scare up something for me from that pantry of yours? Anything will do.”

Ramona wasn’t a fool. She had to realize his request was an excuse, that he was sending her away because he didn’t want her to hear his answer to Alex McKenzie’s question. That he suspected she was somehow connected to this whole business. But the cook offered no objection.
Tight-lipped and silent, she got to her feet and reluctantly moved off in the direction of her pickup.

Once Ramona was out of earshot, Roark started to quickly explain his intention to the others. “I don’t know the
why,
but there is a good candidate for the
who.
Our shadow on the ridge. Which means—”

Shep interrupted him. “Why are we still worrying about this guy when you and I found no evidence of him evening before last? Plus, all yesterday there was no sign of him up there. I thought we’d agreed he left the area.”

“I think we were wrong. I think he’s still with us. And there
was
a sign of his presence. Samantha spotted the smoke from a campfire just before sundown last evening. Okay, that’s not proof it was
his
campfire, but after what happened here tonight, I don’t think we can afford not to deal with him.”

“
If
he’s still around,” Shep said. The trail boss paused, and Roark knew he was thinking of the cattle and his responsibility to prevent any further danger to them. “What do you have in mind?”

“Surprise. It’ll start to get light in another couple of hours. If we can find where he’s bedded down, sneak up on him before sunup has him on the move again, there’s a chance we can take him.”

“All right,” Shep agreed. “I suggest we try to get what sleep we can before then.”

It was decided that Roark and the trail boss would handle the confrontation while Alex and the others remained with the herd where they were needed. Ramona returned and handed around a container of sourdough biscuits. She continued to wear an unhappy expression, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Before they turned in, Samantha drew Roark off to one side. “What about me? Am I staying behind?”

He’d been thinking about that. There was no way to be positive their man on the ridge had crept down here and fired that shot. For all he knew, it could have been some
one from their own outfit. Maybe the same someone who had allegedly fired on Joe Walker in the ravine back in Texas. In which case Samantha would be at less risk sticking close to him where he could exercise every caution to keep her safe.

“Are you up to coming along?” he asked.

She hesitated and then nodded. “I’m in.”

T
HE FIRST GLIMMER OF DAY WAS
just beginning to streak the eastern sky when the three of them slipped away from camp. Though it lit the higher elevations, it was still dark down in the valley. The moon had set, so they didn’t have the benefit of its glow, but the surefooted horses were able to find their way.

It was also cold. Roark was glad of his denim jacket and hoped that Samantha beside him was warm enough in her own coat. And that he wasn’t making a mistake by bringing her with them.

The light had strengthened to a gray twilight by the time they ascended the slope of the ridge. It was possible in its pallor to fix their course on the spot that had been the source of the smoke. Or at least in the approximate direction.

They lost that advantage when they entered the trees, where the shadows were so heavy it was difficult to know if they were still on target. They moved in absolute silence now, the thick carpet of pine needles muffling any sound of the horses that might alert their man.

Providing, Roark thought, he was even in the vicinity. If he had been responsible for the stampede, there was the possibility he had already moved on. Or, for that matter, that he’d never been here at all.

They might have wandered forever through the pine forest without finding their man if it hadn’t been for his horse. Sensing the presence of other horses, the animal nickered softly, betraying his position less than a hundred yards away. They came to a standstill, with Roark praying that
none of their own mounts answered him. Thankfully, they didn’t.

Shep raised his arm and pointed in the direction from which the whinny had originated. Roark nodded, and the three of them quietly dismounted. Not wanting to leave Samantha on her own, which could leave her vulnerable to an ambush from behind, he motioned for Shep to stay with her while he checked out their objective.

His gun is his hand, Roark stole silently through the trees. The light from an opening in the pines drew him to the edge of a small, grassy clearing where a chestnut was staked out to graze. Satisfied by what else occupied the clearing, Roark retreated to the place where he’d left Samantha and the trail boss.

“He’s there,” he whispered to them. “Fast asleep on the ground. Samantha, stay with the horses and do what you can to keep them quiet. Shep?”

The trail boss nodded, drew his own gun and accompanied Roark back to the clearing. The chestnut lifted his head as they came through the trees, noted their arrival in the clearing, then lowered his muzzle again to the grass. On the other side of a dead campfire, wrapped in a blanket and with his back to them, lay a motionless figure.

Neither Roark nor Shep nor the chestnut made a sound. But the man on the ground must have somehow realized he was no longer alone. Jerking awake, he twisted around to face them, a startled expression on his blunt features. For a second he gazed at them, then his hand started to reach for a rifle nearby.

“I wouldn’t,” Roark warned him.

Thinking better of his action, he withdrew his hand.

“Get up,” Roark instructed him. “Carefully.”

Eyeing the guns in their hands, he stumbled to his feet, the folds of the blanket twisted around his legs hindering him. When he was finally free of the blanket and standing, Roark could see he was short and stocky. There was something else he observed. The guy was young, probably in
his early twenties. The surprised expression on his broad face had become a surly one.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I think you know who we are,” Roark said. “The thing is, we don’t know who you are or why you’ve been shadowing us.”

“Or why you stampeded our cattle last night,” Shep said.

“That’s bull, man. I never came anywhere near your herd.”

“By firing that rifle there over their heads,” the trail boss added.

“I never fired a shot from my gun. Check it if you don’t believe me.”

“Rifles can be cleaned,” Roark said. “And you still haven’t told us who you are.”

“Why should I? This isn’t private land. I got a right to be here when I ain’t botherin’ you or nobody else. Which means I don’t have to answer your questions.”

Roark and Shep communicated with quick glances that told Roark the trail boss was thinking the same thing—that it was time this young man and Ramona were confronted with each other.

“Maybe,” Roark said, “you’ll be in a friendlier mood about those questions back at our camp.”

“I don’t have to go with you.”

“This says you do.” Roark wagged the gun in his hand. “Now, get your things together.”

The young man eyed first the pistol trained on him, then the gun in Shep’s hand. “And who made you cops?” he muttered. But he obeyed the order and began to collect his gear while Shep saddled the chestnut for him. When he started to reach for his rifle, Roark stopped him.

“Uh-uh, that goes with me.” Taking possession of the rifle, he gestured in the direction of the chestnut that Shep had waiting. “Now, get on your horse, and if you’re a
good boy and don’t give us any trouble, we might even feed you breakfast.”

Sullen and silent now, he accompanied them to where Samantha was waiting with their own mounts. If he was surprised by her presence, he didn’t indicate it. Nor was he any more communicative on the trip back to the valley, remaining stubbornly silent when Shep, who rode beside him, tried again to question him.

After a few minutes, the trail boss dropped back to Samantha and Roark, who were bringing up the rear. “He still refuses to tell me his name,” Shep confided in a low voice, “but I’ve seen him before.”

“You remember where and when?”

Shep nodded. “I do now. It was back at the Walking W, about six months ago. I only caught a glimpse of him storming away from the ranch house and roaring off in an old jalopy. Joe was on the porch glaring after him.”

“You ask Joe what it was all about?”

“I tried, but you know what the old man was like. He told me in so many words to mind my own business, but if I ever saw that jalopy around the ranch again I was to throw its driver off the property.”

Roark turned questioningly to Samantha. “You have any clue?”

She shook her head. “You forget I haven’t been anywhere near the Walking W in a long time. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before, but…”

“What?”

She gazed at the rider in front of them, frowning in puzzlement. “There’s something familiar about him.”

Roark knew what she meant. He, too, had an impression of being reminded of something. Or someone.

The sun had risen by the time they reached camp. Cappy was still with the herd, but Alex McKenzie and Dick Brewster were having their breakfasts when they rode in and dismounted. Alex’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked up from his plate and caught sight of the chunky
young man who was with them. Along with that surprise was recognition.

Before Roark had a chance to question Alex, Ramona came around the side of her cook wagon with a skillet in her hand. She stopped when she caught sight of the new arrival.

The young man met her anxious gaze and nodded. “Hello, Ma,” he greeted her matter-of-factly.