Texas Blaze. Debbi Rawlins
any trouble, have you?” Mitch asked.
“None.” Joe shook his head. “They only seem to be hitting the smaller, lower-tech ranches. Except for the Double R. Frank Reynolds got slammed twice by them. He lost so many cattle the second time that he had to let half his men go. Friday night he told me he might have to sell off his north pasture just to make payroll and supplement whatever herd he has left.”
A sickening thought occurred to Mitch. “Anything happen over the weekend?”
“No, Joe and I brought in extra security from Houston and made sure guards were posted at all the ranches,” Clint said. “We figured the long weekend would be open season with most folks attending the festivities here.”
The Mannings’ generosity didn’t surprise Mitch. They were busy running the second-largest ranch in the county, yet they’d always looked out for their neighbors. “Shouldn’t the sheriff have taken care of that?”
“It’s only him and two deputies,” Joe said, shrugging. “They can only do so much. As it was, neither Chuck Jackson or Lou Davis came with their families to the party this year. They were too afraid to leave their property even with the extra guards.”
Mitch grudgingly acknowledged that the sheriff could cover only so much territory. He still didn’t like the man.
Clint studied Mitch thoughtfully. “Have you met the sheriff yet?”
“No, I talked to him on the phone. But he sure was one uncooperative son of a gun.”
Clint frowned. “Can’t account for that. He seems to be a fairly straight shooter. Nobody’s complained about him, anyway.”
“Look how long this has been going on, and he has no leads?” Mitch grunted. “You’d think he would’ve asked for outside help by now.”
“You have a point,” Joe agreed. “Though there hasn’t been an incident since beef prices dropped. Which makes sense since typically that’s when rustling cools down.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t help the victims who’ve already been chased off their ranches.” Mitch’s bitterness rang through loud and clear. “Matter of fact, I just didn’t like the sheriff’s attitude when I called. I hope he’s not an ass in person.”
“Want me to go to town with you?” Clint offered.
Mitch half smiled and pushed back from the table. “I promise not to raise any hell.”
KATE WOULD HAVE MUCH preferred to shut herself in her room for the day, but from her bedroom window she saw Mitch’s truck coming down the driveway and knew she had to leave. Joe and Clint would probably invite him to dinner later, and she was far from ready to face him even then. Especially not in front of her brothers. For a minute she considered stretching out her headache excuse if they tried to get her to go downstairs, but eventually she concluded she’d be better off leaving.
After scribbling a note that she’d gone to town and leaving it in the den, she sneaked out the patio door near where she’d parked her car last night. If her brothers and Mitch heard her leave, she didn’t care, though she doubted they would be able to all the way from the barn.
As soon as she got to the highway she switched on her cell phone, annoyed to see that she had four messages from Dennis. She didn’t want to worry her brothers by being unreachable. Dennis, on the other hand, could get lost. She still hadn’t talked with him since last night, nor had she told Clint and Joe that the wedding was off. Naturally, they’d want to know what happened, and she doubted they’d settle for her claiming irreconcilable differences.
If she told them the truth, they’d likely go kick Dennis’s ass. As much as he’d deserve it, the humiliation factor for her to admit that he cheated squashed that option.
She arrived in town in record time, which meant she had to have been speeding like crazy. The scary thing was that she had no recollection of how fast she’d driven. After parking in front of Wilbur’s Food Town, she sat numbly in the car. Her head felt heavy from lack of sleep and from the frank and emotional conversation she’d had with her friends before they’d left this morning. They had all wanted to run Dennis up a flagpole. She really should have let them.
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