Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders) (7 page)

When she spun around to say something, he put his finger across her lips.

“Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

Chapter Five

Day two in the rehab hospital sucked ass.

Dalton didn’t know why he and his brothers were sitting in an overheated bedroom with a bitter man who didn’t want them there. The one time when he’d made eye contact with Casper, he’d seen that mean gleam—as if the asshole was remembering the last conversation they’d had three years ago that’d resulted in Dalton leaving.

The TV blared behind him as Casper flipped between twenty-four hour news channels. At least the noise cut the tension in the room.

How long did they have to stay?

The respiratory therapist came in and Casper made that frantic motion that he wanted them out.

The three of them wound up in the reception area. Listening to the constant
ding ding
that indicated a resident needed assistance. The phone at the receptionist’s desk rang constantly. A couple of people in wheelchairs parked outside the reception area stared at them with vacant eyes. One guy waited by the door, intent on making a break for it.

The sights, sounds and smells overwhelmed him, but didn’t seem to bother his brothers at all.

Tell flipped through a newspaper. He read interesting tidbits out loud. Then he said, “Whoa, check this out.”

“What?” Brandt said.

“Remember last year when the legislature revised that law about elk farms?” Tell asked.

“Elk farms aren’t allowed in Wyoming,” Dalton said.

“True, but they passed a bill that allowed for privatization of a few elk farms on a trial basis. That last brucellosis outbreak with the Yellowstone herd fucked up the brucellosis-free status for cattleman too. Which pissed off the Wyoming Stockgrowers Association. They demanded policy changes with the state’s wildlife management plan, but I know this ain’t what they had in mind. There’d been talk of privatization, but no one really believed it’d happen. No one wanted it to happen, but now it has happened. They’re takin’ applications. Only four permits will be issued.”

“What areas are included on the list?”

“Everywhere in Wyoming with the exception of the two areas where the state is already feeding wildlife—in Yellowstone and the Tetons.”

Years ago when he and Tell had discussed putting in a livestock feedlot adjacent to the land Gavin Daniels owned, Dalton had researched the wildlife end of it as an alternative, mostly thinking they could get into the buffalo business if the feedlot idea didn’t pan out.

When the feedlot hadn’t looked feasible, he’d gone so far as to check out privatized wildlife farms in Colorado and South Dakota to check the topography and containment and find out what type of acreage was needed for how many head.

Dalton hadn’t bothered checking the regulations for elk farms because they weren’t allowed in Wyoming. But now…this changed everything.

He needed something to do and a way to prove to Rory he intended to stick around. The section of land he owned might be a perfect fit for the program. Chances were slim his brothers had done improvements. After he checked the regulations and determined whether his land fit the criteria, he’d send in an application. No one would have to know until the applicant’s names were made public. Then he could offer Rory proof that he’d applied right away so she knew he was serious about staying in Sundance since she’d chosen to settle back here. He’d deal with any fallout with his family after the fact.

“Dalton? You okay?” Tell asked.

He glanced up. “I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re wearing an evil smile.”

“Because I’m planning ways to escape this hell.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “How long we stayin’ here?”

“Why? You got someplace else to be?” Brandt asked.

Anyplace besides here
. “Casper don’t want us around. And I’ve grown past sticking around someplace where I’m not wanted.”

Tell and Brandt exchanged a look.

“What?”

“Do you really need us to point out how selfish and unsupportive that statement is?” Tell asked and tossed the newspaper on the table.

“But you didn’t dispute the truth of it. Look, maybe you guys have had reconciliation time with him. I haven’t. I haven’t seen the man in three years and I sure as fuck didn’t miss him.”

Brandt’s gaze sharpened. “Why’re you bein’ so hostile about this?”

Two fucking days back here and Dalton was slipping into old patterns. Be enough to make him roar with outrage if he hadn’t gotten a handle on that former tendency too. “I’m not hostile. I’d like to know why it was so all-fired important for me to be here when it’s obvious he doesn’t want me here.”

“You wondering why he don’t want you here?”

No. I already know.

Brandt blew out a frustrated breath. “Look, he’s mentioned over the years he don’t think it’s right that you just up and left your ranch responsibilities to us.”

Dalton shoved his anger down, way down deep. After the mean bastard had all but chased him out of town, he had the fucking balls to talk smack about him to Brandt and Tell?

You’re surprised? He always tried to get you and your brothers to turn on each other.

Pointless. All of it. And he wouldn’t get sucked into an unproductive fight with his brothers because Casper had orchestrated it. He stood and gathered up the newspaper. “You’re right. My hostility, veiled as it may be, is causing problems. So I’ll go. I wouldn’t want to impede Casper’s recovery process.”

Maybe a small part of him was disappointed when his brothers didn’t try and stop him from leaving.

Tell stared at the door that’d banged shut after Dalton’s abrupt departure. “What the fuck is goin’ on with him?”

“Hell if I know,” Brandt said.

“I hate this.” Tell forced himself to flex his fingers, which had balled into fists. “Why won’t he talk to us?”

“I wish I knew.” Brandt got up and started pacing. “I never understood why he took off like he did after the thing with Addie. Something else happened. Something he didn’t tell us then and he ain’t tellin’ us now.”

Tell agreed. He’d gone over that last conversation between Dalton, Brandt and himself a million times. Still made his chest tighten when he remembered how fast it’d happened and everything in their lives had changed.

He and Brandt had shown up at their little brother’s trailer five days after the wedding fiasco at Dalton’s request. He’d taken his lumps for being a runaway groom and the three of them exchanging the good-natured barbs they always did. Then he’d tossed them the keys to his trailer and announced, “Thanks for coming by. Just a heads up that I’m leavin’.”

“What? Why?” Brandt had demanded.

“I don’t fit this place anymore.”

“Bullshit. It’s just a kneejerk reaction,” Tell said.

“I assure you it’s not.” Dalton pointed to his pickup. “I’m packed.” He pointed to the house. “It’s cleared out. Propane is shut off. They’re coming to cut the electricity Monday. The water is turned off. I wanted to say goodbye before I take off.”

“To where?”

Tell had watched as Dalton’s gaze swept the land he’d worked on, cursed at and been part of his entire life. “Anywhere but here.”

“No need to do nothin’ rash because of the Addie situation,” Brandt said. “It will blow over. We’ll help you figure something out that makes more sense than you running off.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer but my mind is made up.”

“Just like that? You didn’t come to us about any of this?” Tell demanded. “You just handled it on your own, like you do everything else? Fuck that, Dalton. You don’t get to leave.”

“Tell, that ain’t helpin’,” Brandt warned.

“I don’t care. This has been building for a while and we all know it. I thought if you settled down with Addie, things would go back to normal between us.”

“Normal…how?” Dalton asked.

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“I’m not. I’m dead-ass serious,” Dalton said, trying to keep his tone even. “Things haven’t been normal around here since Mom and Casper split up and he got hit by the Jesus stick. We lost our family unit—shitty as it was. We’ve lost out on land. We’ve bought land. We’ve made plans to do something different in agriculture to expand our income base beyond what we’re makin’ as part of the McKay ranch. But I realized it’s all talk.” Dalton held up his hand when Tell started to protest. “Not laying blame. Just stating facts. The feedlot ain’t gonna happen. We’ve got extra acreage but we’re not running more cattle. Haying it does save us feed costs, but I didn’t charm Charlene Fox to become a damn hay farmer.” He paused. “And I get it, all right? You guys have wives and families of your own and you’re settled in. Those plans don’t mean as much to you now as they used to. But I sure as hell can’t implement any of those plans on my own, so I’m gonna take my cue from you two, let it go and move on.”

“So we didn’t do things your way, on your time frame, so you’re showing us how pissed off you are by leavin’ town? That’s pretty freakin’ childish, bro,” Tell said. “Plus, you are part of this ranch. It is your job to hay. Just because you ain’t happy with the work we’re doin’, or the way we’re doin’ it, don’t mean there ain’t work to be done.”

“My job, huh? When was the last time I helped either of you with chores?” Dalton asked, looking between them. “You don’t know, do you? I do. It’s been over a month. Five weeks and four days. The fact that neither of you noticed I wasn’t around at all during that time just proves you don’t need me around.”

Dumbfounded, Tell said, “Dalton, that ain’t—”

“Let me finish. Jessie helps out. Georgia helps out. Not because they have to; because they want to. That’s what both of you wanted in a wife—a partner who understands ranch life and is a daily part of it. Problem is, there’s nothin’ left for me to do.” Dalton’s jaw tightened. “I’m already known as the youngest McKay. I’m already known as the last single McKay. I sure as fuck won’t be known as the worthless McKay. Which is why I’m leavin’.”

“Tell?” Brandt prompted.

Jerked out of the memory, he opened his eyes and looked at his older brother. “Sorry. What?”

“We have to figure out a way to get Dalton to talk to us,” Brandt said softly. “It’s on us as much as it’s on him that this has gone on so long.”

“I know. Got any ideas on how to get him to open up?”

“Nope. He’s changed. So I don’t think the usual
insult him until he fights back
way we used to deal with him will work.”

Tell couldn’t even laugh at that. This situation with Dalton was no laughing matter.

Brandt sighed. “Dalton is right about one thing. Sitting here is a waste of time. Let’s go home.”

Rory’s office phone buzzed right before lunch. She checked the line and saw the call was coming from Director Tibke’s office. “This is Rory Wetzler.”

“Rory? Could I see you in my office, please?”

Her stomach did a slow, sick roll. She’d never been called into Director Tibke’s office before. Had she done something wrong? Was she about to get fired?

Relax. Alice in HR does the hiring and firing.

But that didn’t mean Alice couldn’t be lying in wait in Director Tibke’s office.

Answer the man
. “Yes, Director Tibke. Right now?”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rory hung up and somehow stopped herself from hyperventilating. She focused on the projects she’d accomplished, her interpersonal relationships with other agents. She didn’t think she’d had negative evaluations, either from her boss or any of the constituents she’d helped.

They had to be letting her go.

And her ambivalent feeling about that scared her. She didn’t love this job—okay, she sort of hated it, but that didn’t change the fact she needed it.

Rory checked her appearance in the bathroom. She’d made extra effort today on the off chance she’d see Dalton. Sort of pathetic that she dolled herself for a man but not for her job.

Stop finding negativity in everything. You are a professional.

Not much of a pep talk, but she’d take it.

She paused outside of Director Tibke’s door and inhaled a deep breath before she knocked.

“Come in.”

Whew. No sign of Alice inside the room. “You asked to see me, sir?”

“Yes, I did. Thanks for making time for me. Have a seat.”

Rory wondered if the visitor’s chairs facing the desk were purposely uncomfortable so employees squirmed.

Director Tibke was in his early sixties and had been at the helm of this office since its inception in the 1990s. He’d dealt with a myriad of ecological issues that affected the Wyoming environment—coal mining, methane gas extraction, toxic waste cleanup “super sites” from WWII ammo and chemical dumps. Not to mention dealing with national wildlife endangerment groups who affected state policy as much as the Wyoming Stockgrower’s Association that strong-armed the state on Ag management policies. Rory respected Director Tibke because he’d always done what was best for the environment—no matter which group disapproved.