Gambling On a Heart. Sara Walter Ellwood
Herbert Milroy caressed his graying mustache. “Nope. Damned frustrating, is what it is. But I haven’t seen a rustler yet in my twenty years of being a TSCRA agent that didn’t suffer the same disease: cockiness.”
Tossing the sheet of paper onto the jumble of traffic tickets and deputy reports covering his desk, Zack leaned back in his chair and tried to ignore the ache springing up in his temples. “I sure as hell hope so. The Westcotts were already on the verge of bankruptcy. Losing forty-three prime steers didn’t help them. And I’d hate for someone else as bad off to be hit next.”
Milroy rubbed his hand across his nose and sat in the chair in front of the desk. He glanced at his hands before looking up at Zack, and cleared his throat. “I need to talk to the owners of Butterfly Springs Cattle Company.”
Zack straightened in his chair. “They’re on their honeymoon and left Tracy Parker in charge. If you need anything, she’s the one to ask.”
The agent seemed to consider his words before nodding. “Alright. I’ll do this your way. I suppose Quinn and that sassy filly he married deserve to have a little peace after what happened at the Independence Day Charity Ball.”
Herb Milroy was a local man and had been at the Gambler’s Lake Country Club for the annual shindig when Leon Ferguson had held Charli and Dylan at gunpoint. Zack still remembered the adrenaline rush when he’d pulled the trigger of his Glock from twenty yards away. He hadn’t shot a man since his last tour in Afghanistan over two years ago. Although he hadn’t wanted to kill Ferguson and had aimed for his shoulder, he now wished he’d saved the state of Texas and himself the trouble of wanting to try him for his various crimes. The businessman’s lawyers were making Zack’s life a living hell. The thought of the meeting with the DA earlier that afternoon weighed on him, threatening to drag him under.
The slight ache in his temples turned into a bonafide throb.
“Thanks, I know Charli and Dylan will appreciate it.” Zack focused on the puzzle currently in front of him and stood. “Want some coffee?”
With a wrinkle in his bushy brows, Herb glanced at the old, stained coffeemaker in the corner. “How old is it?”
Zack shrugged and poured himself a cup of the brew. It smelled as strong as it looked. One step up from road tar. “I made it at lunchtime.” As he stirred four heaping spoons of sugar into the cup, he looked over his shoulder at Herb and caught his grimace. With a chuckle, Zack turned. “That was only four hours ago.”
“Thanks. But no thanks,” Herb muttered. “My ulcer hurts just thinking about drinking that swill. Do you know where I could find Miz Parker?”
Zack sat in his chair again and sipped from the cup Mandy had given to him for Father’s Day last year. The old coffee hit his empty stomach with an unpleasant thud. Maybe he shouldn’t drink the stuff. “She’s probably at her hair salon. I’ll follow you over there.”
Or was the fluttery feeling from the prospect of seeing Tracy?
* * * *
Tracy pushed her glasses up her nose and stared at the list of classes she’d have to take to complete her bachelor’s degree. If she could go full-time, she’d be done in three semesters. But since she couldn’t quit her life and devote every second to studying, it would take her at least five.
She sighed and clicked the exit icon at the corner of the University of Texas at Austin website. It was foolish to entertain the idea of going to medical school. She’d be forty before she’d graduate.
With a sniff, she opened her email, deleting junk mail and spam until she landed on a subject line that read, In response to your ad.
Tracy leaned back in her chair. Was it possible someone had already replied to her advertisement she’d placed that morning on the local paper’s website after Henrietta had left? She clicked it open and read the note.
Hi, not sure if you remember me. I’m Melissa Blackwell. I’m back in Colton to take care of Buck, my dad, who recently was diagnosed with lung cancer. Anyway, I saw your ad this morning and would love to meet with you to talk about the job. I worked for six years in LA at LaSalle’s. I’ve attached a copy of my resume.
I’ll be waiting to hear from you.
Melissa Blackwell
Tracy didn’t remember Melissa, but she knew who she was. Melissa and her identical twin sister had lived in Los Angeles with their mother since they were little. Their father, Buck Blackwell, owned the Broken B Ranch across the road from Butterfly and Oak Springs.
As she opened the resume, the bell above the front door twinkled its cheery warning that someone entered the shop. No other customers were scheduled. She glanced at the clock on her computer and frowned.
“Tracy?” Zack’s voice sounded from the front reception area. “Are you here?”
She gasped, pulled the glasses from her face and reached up to touch her hair. Messy strands stuck out of the butterfly clip. She hurriedly took it out, twisted her hair, and put the clip back in, calling, “I’m here. I’ll be out in a minute.”
After she jumped from her chair, she rushed into the small bathroom and peered into the mirror above the pedestal sink. Her makeup had long ago disappeared and the mascara had smudged under her eyes. She rubbed at the marks and sighed.
Figures, he’d show up when I look my absolutely worst after a day of making others look beautiful.
Giving up, she headed out to the front of the converted Victorian to the front room. Zack bracketed his waist above his service belt and stood next an older man she recognized as Herb Milroy.
Zack turned as she entered the room, and removed his hat. He stared at her with those new-denim blue eyes for a moment as if he wondered why he was there. “Tracy, I think you know Agent Milroy.”
Tracy rounded the antique desk she used as a reception counter. Holding out her hand, she smiled. “Herb, it’s been a long time.”
Herb shook her hand. “Ma’am, I’m hoping you can answer some questions regarding the cattle your brother and his wife lost the other night.”
She glanced at Zack, who was busy looking everywhere but at her. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
One side of Herb’s lips twitched up, and he took out a notepad. “What can you tell us about the cattle that were stolen?”
Tracy folded her hands and shrugged. “According to Tom Miller there were forty-five taken. Ah...I’m not sure what you want me to tell you.”
Zack stopped avoiding her and met her gaze. “How long were they in that pasture?”
Sweat gathered at the back of her neck and she rubbed it. “They were moved over into the pasture about two weeks ago. I think they were going to be rounded up after Dylan and Charli come back from their honeymoon, and put into the feedlot.”
“What can you tell us about their brands?” Herb looked up from his pad.
“They are the last of the cattle that were owned by Leon. Their brands are the old oak leaf with an F inside. The Oak Springs brand, rather than the B bar OS brand.”
“Thanks, Miz.” Herb put his notebook away and bobbed his head. “That gives us something to work on. Have a good day.”
“You, too. Tell Ellie hello from me,” she said, referring to his wife.
“Will do.” Herb smiled as he settled his hat onto his head. “See you tomorrow, Sheriff.”
Tracy expected Zack to follow Herb out the door, but he hung back. After the door closed, Zack looked down and turned his hat in his hands. “Have you talked to Dylan and Charli?”
“I got a text from Charli letting me know they arrived in Hawaii okay. But if you’re asking if they know about