Three Cowboys Page 3

  “Old hurts, too,” Justice conceded.

  With a temporary truce in place, Bull smoothed out the paper he’d crumpled in his fist, dutifully adjusting his focus. He swore as he read the concisely worded threat. “Why didn’t you ever tell us about this sister sooner?”

  “Margaret—her mother—never wanted me to be a part of Brittany’s life, and I respected that. She thought it’d be harder for Brittany if gossip got around that she’d slept with a married man and gotten pregnant. And she knew I wouldn’t leave your mama.” His father looked suddenly like a much older man as he sank down into the chair behind the desk. “Margaret was smart enough to know I wasn’t good father material. I tried to do right by her, though. As long as I kept it anonymous, she let me help out financially. I even paid her medical expenses when she got so sick at the end.” Pain deepened the lines of his face. “It was her decision to finally tell Brittany the truth. And then, when she was gone and there was nowhere else for the girl to go... I promised I’d take care of her. Look how well I’ve done so far.”

  Wyatt reached over to squeeze their father’s shoulder. “You’re not the same man who raised us, Dad. We’ll get her back. And you’ll have the chance to make things right with her.”

  Justice patted Wyatt’s hand, then looked across the desk to include Bull. “What about you boys? Will I ever have the chance to make things right with you?”

  Bull wanted to believe there was a chance at reconciliation. He might have believed it if he didn’t have thirty years of life experience to remind him that Justice McCabe lied. Wyatt had apparently bought into their father’s reformed ways. But Bull had come here braced to do battle. Maybe he had gone on the defensive far too quickly. The aging man sitting across the desk from him, the man who played with a little boy, wasn’t the father he remembered.

  A knock on the door curtailed the internal debate. “Mr. McCabe?”

  Rusty Fisher, a longtime ranch hand at the J-Bar-J, stepped into the room. The deferential hat in his hand went by the wayside when he spotted Bull. A big, gap-toothed smile lifted the corners of his handlebar mustache. “Well, look who’s come back home. Bull, how are ya?” He slapped his hand into Bull’s for a hearty shake before stepping back. “Hear you’re a big-city boy now. Other than being a little pale, you look as fit and ready to work as ever.”

  “Rusty, good to see you.” The snakeskin belt was new, but the prized mustache and friendly welcome were the same as they’d always been. “There’s not much call for herding cattle up in Chicago these days.”

  “Still roundin’ up those bad guys?”

  Bull pulled back the front of his jacket to let him see his badge. “I made detective a couple years ago.”

  “Well, don’t that beat all.”

  “Rusty.” Justice stood up, propping his fists on the desktop. “I’m having a meeting with my sons. Is there a reason for this interruption?”

  Quickly remembering who was boss around here, Rusty glanced over at Cody. “I ran into Mrs. Dayton out back. She said her boy was in here, but that you needed to conduct some business. I can take him out to the stable with me for a bit. I know he likes looking at Missy’s colt.”

  “Horsie!” Cody piped up.

  Justice’s stern face softened with a smile. “Good idea, Rusty. Thanks.”

  “Come on, little man.” Cody eagerly latched on to Rusty’s hand and headed out the door with him.

  “Don’t you take your eyes off him,” Justice warned.

  “I won’t.” Rusty tipped his hat to say goodbye, then hurried his pace to keep up with the excited child.

  Instead of going back to the unsettling idea that his father’s desire to make amends was sincere, Bull concentrated on the reason he was here—and summoned the investigative skills Wyatt had asked for. “Is this all we know so far?” He read aloud the ransom message in his hand. “You have a deadline. By midnight Christmas Eve, you sign over usage rights to the river valley on the western expanse of your ranch to Javier Calderón, or your daughter will die.”

  Wyatt added his report. “We know that she left school three days ago. One of her friends saw her get into a rusty old farm truck with a flatbed, and she hasn’t been seen anywhere in town since.”

  “Any description of the driver?”

  “Hispanic male was all I got. He wore a hat that shadowed his face. They didn’t recognize the truck and nobody wrote down a license number.”

  That description was next to useless in this part of the country. “Does she have a boyfriend? Any other place in town or on one of the nearby ranches where she’d go to get away from things?”

  “She’s not old enough to date,” Justice insisted. “Besides, she’s been kidnapped. She hasn’t run off with some boy.”

  Bull had to guess it was more wishful thinking than naïveté that made his father think a teenage girl wouldn’t be interested in a boy. He turned to Wyatt for a more levelheaded answer. “Who does she trust enough to get into a vehicle with?”

  “I’ve talked to some of her friends.” His brother shook his head. “None of them say she’s been seeing anyone.”

  “The friend or boyfriend might not be from here.” Bull remembered the argument on the front porch when he’d first arrived. “Is that why you asked Agent Vargas to get involved? Does she have contacts over the border?”

  “Something like that.”

  Justice wouldn’t be left out of the conversation. “I own every inch of this land—from the Mexican border to the Cobb’s spread up north and west to the river.” He crossed to the map painting on the wall behind his desk, outlining the ranch and surrounding lands. “Calderón says he wants to use it as a shipping shortcut for his alpaca farm in Mexico. Alpacas, my ass. He wants to bring drugs into the country over J-Bar-J land. I make a lot of deals when it comes to running a successful business, but I won’t help a criminal. I won’t let that happen.”

  Bull narrowed his gaze. “Something tells me he’s approached you before.”

  “He offered me money to transport his livestock and I told him no. His men slashed my tires in town and threatened that other accidents would happen if I didn’t cooperate. That’s when I knew this was about the drugs.”

  “And now he has your daughter,” Bull said evenly. “Are you going to rethink saying no to him?”

  “There has to be a way to rescue her and keep the Los Jaguares off my land.”

  “Not to mention keeping his drugs out of the country. Were there any other threats between the slashed tires and the abduction?” Ah, hell. That stony silence meant there had been. “Your stubbornness let the trouble escalate to this?”

  “I thought I could handle it. I made it clear to Calderón that I wouldn’t condone or be a part of what he does.”

  “So he found a way to bend the mighty Justice McCabe to his will.”

  “Here we go again,” Wyatt muttered.

  Justice pushed back his chair and stood. “What is that crack supposed to mean? You think this is my fault?”

  “You almost had me there, with Wyatt throwing his sweet talk in on the argument. No wonder Morgan hasn’t shown up yet. He’s smart enough to keep his distance.” Bull folded the printouts and stuffed them inside his jacket pocket. “You hurt everything you touch. All to save your land or your pride and reputation.” He tapped his heart, where Brittany’s image lay inside his jacket. “And now this girl is paying the price for being a part of your life.”

  Justice came around the table. “Still so angry? Holding on to hate like that wears a man down, son. I made mistakes—said and did things I deeply regret. I asked you boys to be men before you were ready to handle that responsibility, and then I cut you down when you couldn’t live up to my impossible demands. But I’m trying to live a better life now. For Brittany. To honor your mother’s memory. I’ve learned to ask forgiveness and move on.”

  Bull squared off against him. “Are you going to ask for my forgiveness, Justice?”

  “When you’re ready.�
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  “Don’t hold your breath, old man. You promised this place would be mine one day and then you threw me out.”

  “I was angry at the world. I was devastated by your mother’s death.”

  “So was I. We all were. In the end I didn’t care about the damn ranch. What I needed was my family. And all I had was you, smacking me around.”

  The weathered skin went pale. “I thought you could take it.”

  “I couldn’t.” Before any other emotion—guilt, regret, anger, love, pain—could blindside him, Bull stormed out of the office. “I need some air.”

  “Bull!”

  The Christmas tree was a colorful blur as he headed back to the hallway. The faint hope that things might have changed on the J-Bar-J was blurring, too.

  “Hold up, big man.” Wyatt closed the office door and chased Bull into the hallway, falling into stride beside him. “You two are just alike. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Like that helps.” On impulse, Bull grabbed the black hat, brushing the dust off on his pant leg as he headed out the door. If he was still a teen, right about now is when he’d be marching off to the stables to escape the latest conflict on a long ride into the countryside. Today, he’d settle for a fast drive in his pickup.

  His brother’s booted feet followed him down the steps and across the gravel to his truck. “You’re tired. Your nerves are on edge. The old man hasn’t slept much in the last couple of days, either—”

  “Enough, Wyatt. You’re not working any miracles here.” Bull tossed his hat into the open window of his truck and spun around. “Alike or not, that man and I are never going to make peace. If I can’t get past the resentment he stirs up in me, I’m not going to be any good to you. Or Brittany.”

  His glance back at the house took his gaze farther north across the rugged landscape. He remembered losing himself in the rocks and dust. He remembered finding solace there.

  “If you’re looking for Tracy Cobb, she doesn’t live at her parents’ ranch anymore.”

  “What?” Bull squinted into the rosy sunset and dragged his gaze back to Wyatt.

  “I know how you and Dad would get into it, and then you’d go off to find her. The two of you would talk until the sun went down.” The pipsqueak grinned. “Or came up. You know, she hasn’t married.”

  His brother was matchmaking now? “Tracy Cobb and I were never more than neighbors. Friends. Classmates.”

  “You’re tellin’ me that all those times you rode over to the Cobb ranch you never once made a play for Tomboy Tracy?” What Bull and Tracy had done on their long rides together was nobody’s business but theirs. And if anyone thought something had happened...it hadn’t. They’d talked. They’d listened. They’d been each other’s adolescent salvation. But it rankled to hear that his brother—or anyone else—believed Tracy had been anything more, or less, than his best friend. “Well, if you’re looking for an old classmate to reconnect with, she lives in town now. Her apartment’s a few blocks from where I live.”

  Bull opened the truck door and climbed in behind the wheel. “I’m not staying, Wyatt. I’m not reconnecting. All I need is a drink and some space to clear my head. Where do I go to find a cold beer around here?”

  “I don’t want to hear that one of my deputies pulled you over for a DUI.”

  “You won’t.” He closed the door and started the engine. “Let me know if you hear from Morgan. In the meantime, I’ll call my contacts to see what I can uncover about Calderón’s operation. I’ll find you later tonight to compare notes.” He held up his wrist and tapped his watch. He could do the innuendo thing, too. “Isn’t it about time you checked in with Agent Vargas?”

  “I recommend Margarita’s over on Acuna Street,” Wyatt advised, cleverly avoiding the question and backing away as Bull shifted the truck into gear.

  Between Justice and the kidnapping, the memories he wanted to forget and the ones he wished he could hold on to, he definitely needed that drink.

  * * *

  THE SUN HAD SET BY THE TIME Bull found a parking space on Acuna Street. And while things hadn’t changed all that much out at the J-Bar-J, the scenery here in Serpentine had. Apparently, lots of folks were getting a jump start on their holiday celebration this weekend. For a town of only 35,000, the downtown area was jumping.

  The growing population of locals, immigrants and military personnel from the nearby air force base was reflected in the explosion of bars and restaurants here. Bull adjusted the black Stetson he’d reclaimed on top of his head before strolling down the sidewalk. The cop in him liked the idea of blending in with the other pedestrians and partiers, giving him the opportunity to take note of his surroundings without calling attention to himself any more than the Illinois license plate on his truck already did.

  The temperature hadn’t cooled all that much, but he left his blazer on to mask the gun he wore, and quickly sized up the hot spots. A saloon-styled bar dubiously named Shifty’s had a line waiting outside to get in. Frankie’s Cantina seemed to have a corner on the military clientele while a rare sighting of men and women in suits and business attire were smoking their cigarettes outside a sit-down restaurant called Miguel’s.

  Bull politely averted his head from the make-out session inside one of the cars parked on the street, and wondered if the trio of young Hispanic men claiming the right-of-way by walking side by side on the opposite side of the street were up to anything they shouldn’t be, or if their boisterous conversation and flirty catcalls to every woman they passed just meant they’d started their drinking sooner than the rest of the crowd. It was good to get a feeling for the town again, see what he recognized, identify what was less familiar, so he wouldn’t be at a disadvantage asking questions and looking for leads into Brittany’s kidnapping.

  The tension he’d felt at the ranch eased a little more with every step. He tipped the brim of his hat to a pair of raven-haired hotties who smiled up at him. And the mix of country music and Latin rhythms pouring out of Margarita’s bar at the end of the street was calling to him like the thirst for something tangy and cold to drink.

  The crowd thinned and the music grew louder as he neared the end of the block. His eye was drawn to a woman pacing near the alleyway next to Margarita’s. Shooting darting glances at every man who passed, and underdressed for the town’s nightlife in plain jeans and a blouse, she stood out like a wallflower at a junior high dance.

  Still, there was something about her that kept distracting him from the street life he wanted to survey. Her hair wasn’t just a brown ponytail hanging down her back. The shining neon from the bar’s entrance reflected red highlights, giving the curling waves a sorrel sheen. And plain clothes didn’t matter. There was plenty to admire in the rear view of her jeans when she turned and moved away.

  Bull’s blood warmed with the possibility of unwinding with something more than a cold beer. He meant what he’d told Wyatt—he wasn’t back in Serpentine to make any lasting connections with anyone. But maybe he could persuade that sweet backside to go for a two-step spin around the dance floor with him.

  “Or not.”

  Wasn’t that just the way this trip back home had been going for him? The woman’s entire posture changed from restless waiting to an eager greeting when a tall, black-haired Hispanic man walked out of Margarita’s. Although dressed a little warmly for the night in a black leather jacket, he flashed a smile when she waved and he hurried over to join her. Miss Sweet Jeans was taken.

  Bull’s own pace slowed as he watched the couple’s greeting unfold. Sweet Jeans straightened her shoulders and tipped her chin as the man approached. She was bracing for the encounter, not welcoming him. She reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out a roll of money.

  Seriously? A drug buy? He’d been lusting after a user?

  A suspicious beat of alarm in his pulse pushed aside his disappointment as the man in black leather slapped his hand over her fist and pulled the money down out of sight between them. Bull leng
thened his steps into a jog. Where was the dope? Where was the smooth handoff? Dealers didn’t linger with their customers like this guy.

  “Walk away, lady,” Bull urged on a tight breath.

  He recognized the signs of a drug buy going south. The dealer clamped his free hand around the woman’s arm and pulled her into the alley with him. Sweet Jeans was in trouble.

  Bull’s interest morphed into concern. With a quick check for traffic, he bolted across the street and ducked into the shadows at the edge of the alley. All it took was a peek around the corner to see the woman yank her arm from the man’s grasp and to see the gun holstered beneath the leather jacket.

  “Well?” she demanded, rubbing her arm. “I brought the money.”

  With one hand, the bum stuffed the cash wad into his jacket pocket. With the other, he reached out and stroked the woman’s cheek. She jerked away from his touch and he laughed. “What else do you have for me, chica?”

  “You said—”

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?” Spotting a second bulge at the man’s ankle where another gun or knife was hidden, Bull stepped out of the shadows and made his presence known.

  Startled, she whirled around, her eyes catching the light from the street. For a split second, Bull was struck by the blueness of her irises and just how pretty they were. Then the rest of her face registered.

  Oh, no. There was a wholesome maturity to the dusting of freckles across her cheeks that hadn’t been there a decade ago. Breasts and a butt softened the coltish figure he remembered.

  One thing had definitely changed in Serpentine, Texas.

  “Tracy?” Tomboy Tracy? The girl next door all grown up into this pretty woman? Buying drugs? “Tracy Cobb?”

  “Bull?” She threw up her hands, gasped something distinctly unladylike, then pointed toward him. “Duck!”