Three Cowboys

Chapter Three

“Good ID, Tracy.” Wyatt pocketed his smart phone after pulling up some suspect photos that matched her description of the men in the alley the night before. Looking far more authoritative than the kid brother he’d grown up with, Sheriff McCabe confirmed Bull’s suspicions. “Sol Garcia and Manuel Ortiz. Intimidating and eliminating their enemies is just the kind of work Calderón hires them to do. They may have been in town, scouting out our actions—finding out if Justice has talked to a lawyer about deeding over the land rights down by the river, or if we’d brought in reinforcements to go up against the Los Jaguares.”

Bull felt his brother’s gaze slide across Justice’s office to where he stood behind Tracy’s chair. He was the reinforcement Wyatt was talking about. Morgan, too, if he ever came out of where he was hiding and got his butt here to Texas.

“Garcia and Ortiz have had plenty of time to report in.” Wyatt shared the grim news with everyone in the room. “So Calderón knows we’re looking for him.”

“Are we sure this is Brittany’s hair?” Bull asked, handing off the plastic evidence bag to Wyatt. “Is this our proof of life?”

“She’d better still be alive.” Justice pounded his fist on top of his desk. “Calderón won’t want to mess with me if he harms my daughter.”

“Let us handle Calderón, Dad.” Wyatt was trying to play peacemaker again. “You’ll get your chance with Brittany.”

“It sure looks like Brittany’s hair. She told me she was growing it out for prom in the spring.” Tracy’s queasy expression as she watched the long twists of dark blond braids go by seemed more genuinely concerned than his father’s outburst had. “Is this my fault? Did I provoke them to hurt Brittany?”

Bull reached over the winged-back chair where she sat to squeeze her shoulder. “If Garcia and Ortiz are the men who delivered this to the house last night, then they already had it on them when we met them.”

Wyatt agreed. “Frankly, I like the idea of you getting a few licks in on Calderón’s men and throwing them off their scheduled plan. Makes me feel like he’s not controlling every move we try to make.”

Tracy sat a little taller in her chair. “So making contact with Calderón’s men was a good thing?”

“Yeah,” Wyatt assured her.

“No.” Bull couldn’t agree. Sol Garcia’s backhand had left a bruise on Tracy’s cheekbone. “We’ve already got a sister in trouble with the Los Jaguares, we don’t need anyone else to get hurt.”

“Bull—”

“I just meant—”

“All of you, shut up!”

For once in his life, Bull didn’t snap back at his father’s shouted order. Of course, the quick squeeze of Tracy’s fingers around his where they fisted on her chair might have something to do with that. Everyone’s nerves were on edge this morning.

He opened his hand and squeezed back, thanking her for her calming influence before pulling away and crossing to the window to gaze out over the east paddock and the mares and colts there. The flies must be bad today. The horses seemed to be a little skittish, dancing around like that instead of quietly grazing. Bull wasn’t feeling quite like he belonged inside his own skin today, either. A reassuring touch from an old friend shouldn’t make his pulse leap like that.

He’d like to attribute this whole weird vibe with Tracy to fatigue and stress. It had been a long night with little sleep, thanks to the bittersweet memories he had of bunking in his old bedroom on the second floor and to the fitful dreams he’d had about Tracy herself.

The trouble was, he didn’t know which was more unsettling—images of Tracy being beaten or cut by a pair of Los Jaguares gang members, or the erotic visions he’d had of sharing that bed with her. Somehow, the long, friendly hug he remembered from Tracy’s apartment had become her soft skin and lean curves pressed against his naked body. And there were no teasing remarks or words of solace. There’d been moans and sighs and that wild chestnut hair falling all around him until he’d sat bolt upright in bed—wide-awake, hot with sweat and wanting.

A cold shower and a silent breakfast with Justice this morning had convinced Bull that it was just wishful thinking to believe something had changed between him and Tracy over the years. She’d been a rock of caring and common sense to him growing up, and he needed her to be that for him now. He wouldn’t chase away her support by acting on that latent attraction he felt for her. Nor would he mislead her into thinking he had any intentions of staying in Serpentine once Brittany Means was safely back at the J-Bar-J.

“The longer Brittany’s away from us, the harder it will be to get her home unharmed.” Justice’s sharp voice intruded on Bull’s thoughts and pulled his attention away from the horses outside. “That’s what this latest threat means, isn’t it?”

“May I?” Tracy reached for the sealed note Justice handed across the desk. “I don’t think you believe we mean business, Mr. McCabe. Here is your daughter’s hair. Next time it will be a slice out of that pretty face of hers. 12 a.m. Christmas Eve—your land, or your daughter’s life.”

“There has to be something more we can do than sit here and listen to the clock ticking. She’s only seventeen. Brittany thinks she’s all alone in this world. She may not even believe this new family of hers is looking for her. Missing her.” Tracy’s soft gasp of anger and despair punched Bull right in the gut. His instinct was to reach for her, to soothe her raw emotions. He curled his fingers around the window sill, instead, and watched her scoot to the edge of the leather chair, pleading with Justice. “I can’t imagine how frightened she must be. We need to do whatever it takes to get her home safely before Calderón makes good on these threats. Can’t you talk to him? Make some kind of deal with him so we can at least speak to her and reassure her?”

“If I give him access to that part of the ranch to smuggle his drugs, who knows what he’ll want next? And who knows what he’ll do or who he’ll hurt to get it?” Justice shook his head, denying Tracy’s request. “I can’t stand the thought of him touching Brittany—much less hurting her. But I have to protect my family and their future. I don’t want Javier Calderón to think that he can come after me again and win.”

“Then we have to rescue her,” Bull stated plainly, striding back to his father’s desk. Justice might put his principles above people’s lives and feelings, but Bull wouldn’t. “We have to take away his bargaining chip.”

“We have to find Brittany first,” Wyatt reminded him.

Tracy turned those sweet blue eyes, bright with hope, up to him, reminding Bull to start thinking like the detective he was. “Let’s track them down. There has to be some lead as to where he would take her.”

Wyatt shook his head. “You think I haven’t tried? Calderón’s not a man who leaves loose ends.”

“Wait a minute.” Tracy picked up her purse from the floor beside her chair and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. “I don’t know if this would be any help, but I looked up the names of other students who missed the same three days of school before Christmas vacation that Brittany did.”

She unfolded the paper as she stood and handed it to Bull.

Wyatt circled the desk to look around Bull’s shoulder and read the list of names with him. “What do the X’s mean?” he asked.

“I double-checked against the principal’s truancy list and crossed off the students who had excused absences because of illness or family travel.”

“And the three that are left?” Bull read off the unmarked names. “Marvin Tate, David Echevarria and Julio Rivas?”

“Unaccounted for,” Tracy explained. “David and Julio are seniors. Marvin is a sophomore.”

Wyatt was typing the names into his smart phone.

These students being absent might be nothing more than a coincidence, but Bull could tell that Tracy believed them to mean something more. “Do you have any reason to suspect that one of those students had something to do with Brittany’s kidnapping?”

“No, but Brittany is a young woman with a lot of hurt and anger to work through. One of the causes that she seemed to obsess over was reuniting families who’ve been separated by immigration laws or divorce or whatever.”

“She wanted to make sure that no one was denied her real family the way she was.” Bull could understand that sentiment.

“Something like that.” Tracy hugged her arms in front of her, clearly uncomfortable with where her suspicions were taking her. “At least two of those boys—David and Julio—still have family down in Mexico. I can see Brittany agreeing to help one of them get back to his family for the holidays.”

“Watch your accusations, son.” Justice rolled back his chair and stood. “I didn’t deny that girl anything. I respected her mother’s wishes. I want my daughter to be a part of this family, even if you don’t like it.”

“Get off your high horse, Justice.” Bull didn’t have time to either reason or argue with his father. “This isn’t about you. Or me. We’re profiling Brittany and her motivations—why she might choose one option or another. See if we can retrace where those options took her. It’s called investigative work. It’s what I do. And I’m damn good at it, too, if you want to know.” He turned from Justice’s snarling shock to Wyatt and his phone. “Do either of those boys drive a rusty black farm truck?”

“I’m checking them in the DMV database now to see if we get a match.”

“If she drove across the border with one of them, she’d make an easy target for anyone following her.” And she’d be a hell of a lot tougher for U.S. authorities to find. But this was McCabe territory, and Bull believed he could find anything—or anyone—here if he put his mind and considerable will to it.

But Wyatt was shaking his head. That search was a bust. “Neither one of them is a registered vehicle owner.”

Bull turned the paper back to Tracy. “Are the addresses you have on here current?”

She nodded. “Those are the homes they have listed in their school files.”

Bull handed the list off to his brother and picked up his hat. “I’ll check out one and you get the other.”

Tracy followed Bull out the office door into the main room. “What would Calderón’s men do to the boy she was helping?”

Bull took his time settling the black Stetson into place, trying to figure out how to make “Don’t ask” sound like a reassuring thing.

But Tracy’s fingers had already curled into the tight muscle of his uninjured forearm. The skin beneath that dusting of freckles on her cheeks had paled. She understood that Calderón wasn’t the type of man who left innocent witnesses to his activities alive to talk about them. “They’re expendable, aren’t they? We have to find them and make sure they’re okay.”

“Easy, sweetheart.” Bull couldn’t help it if the endearment slipped out. He needed to see a smile on her face again. He at least needed to see a little bit of that lifelong faith in him shining in her eyes. With a gentle fingertip, he caught that long curl that refused to stay in her ponytail and tucked it behind her ear. “I won’t let anybody get hurt.”

“I know you won’t.” Despite her fear for her students’ safety, Tracy was smart enough to realize the importance of moving quickly on this. She rested her hand at the center of his chest and nudged him toward the hallway. “If Brittany was with one of those boys, then he would have been the last person to see her before the kidnapping.”

Bull finished her thought. “And talking to him could put us that much closer to finding her.”

“Then you need to hurry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Don’t set up a clandestine meeting with any drug dealers while I’m gone?”

That triggered a smile. “I won’t. How about I wait here and keep an eye on your dad—make sure he stays out of trouble.” She nodded toward the Christmas tree at the front end of the room. “Maybe we could string a few more lights on that tree. Looks like he hasn’t quite bought out all of Serpentine’s supply of decorations yet.”

“Sounds like a plan.” And then, because it seemed like the right thing to do, Bull dipped his head and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her soft smile. But her fingers folded into the placket of his shirt and she stretched up on tiptoe to cling to his mouth for a few seconds more. He inhaled a breath of her clean, citrusy scent. Her other hand came up to cup his jaw and hang on to him. Her mouth opened at the touch of his tongue and her moist heat swept through him. His fingers tunneled under the silky weight of her ponytail as he palmed her nape to anchor her lips beneath his and give full reign to this impromptu kiss.

Wait. He was kissing Tracy Cobb?

Confusion darkened her eyes and ricocheted like a shot inside him when he lifted his head. She’d felt it, too. That zing of rightness. That sudden heat. An undeniable connection between them. Her lips were pink and decadently parted as quick, warm breaths snuck between them and caressed the sensitive skin at the base of his throat. What the hell...?

“Trace?” His uneven breaths mingled with hers. He narrowed his eyes in a frown, trying to make sense of what was happening here. “Was that weird?”

“Virgil McCabe...” Heat instantly dotted her cheeks. She blinked the confusion from her eyes and released his crumpled shirtfront. Was she angry about that kiss? Had he overstepped some line he shouldn’t? He knew he tended to be a little impulsive, but she’d been right here in the room with him, kissing him back. “Sometimes you’re totally clueless for a detective.”

“Tracy—”

“You coming, Bull?” Wyatt came out of the office and strode past them. A chuff on the shoulder reminded Bull that they needed to move.

“Right behind you.” Bull spared one more look at Tracy’s flushed cheeks and tilted chin before turning to follow his brother. He could still feel those hands on his skin, clutching at him like she meant it.

“Boss!” The screen door slammed back in the kitchen. Maria squealed and a pan clattered to the floor. “Boss!” Bull exchanged a glance with Wyatt and hurried out to meet the sound of booted feet running across the house’s hardwood floors. He reached the hallway and Rusty Fisher plowed into him. He caught the older cowboy by the shoulders, steadying him on his feet before releasing him. Red-faced and panting for breath, Rusty looked from one brother to the other. “Bull? Wyatt?”

“What’s wrong?” Bull asked. Did the horses have reason to be restless?

Tracy and his father filled the archway behind them. “What is it, Rusty?” Justice demanded.

“The southwest pasture, down by the river.” His chest heaved with one more deep breath. “It’s on fire.”

* * *

INTERVIEWING THE TWO BOYS Brittany might have been helping cross the border had to wait. Steel-gray smoke billowed on the horizon to the south, and the wisps of black curling higher up toward the sky indicated that the fire was spreading, and fast.

A grass fire under these arid conditions, especially when the winds picked up at this time of year, could have devastating consequences. While Wyatt called 911 to report the fire and call for a helicopter to give them eyes on the exact location and dimension of the blaze, Tracy and every able rider on the J-Bar-J hurried to saddle a horse or get behind the wheel of a truck to rescue the livestock who were caught in the fire’s path. A couple of the older hands stayed at the house with hoses to water down the grass and roofs of the main house, bunk house and cabin.

Most of a long, hot day later, Tracy’s thighs ached from the hours she’d spent in the saddle. And the ball cap she’d borrowed to help ward off the sun had left enough of her face exposed that she could feel the heat of the late afternoon drawing the freckles out across her cheeks.

“Yaw, yaw.” She swatted a coiled rope against her leg, using the sound and the movement and a quick turn of the sorrel mare named Lila she was riding to drive the straying Hereford back toward the stone gate to the section where they were moving all the cattle they’d been able to round up. With the cow now trotting after the others who’d already found the new grass to graze on, Tracy nodded to the woman standing ready to close the gate. “Okay, Dakota.”

The tall blonde might not be an expert at herding cattle, but every person on the ranch had gone to work, trying to save as much of the livestock as possible. Maria was a mile away, back at the main house, watching over Dakota’s son and calling brothers and cousins in the area who could get to the J-Bar-J quickly and help. Even Tracy’s dad was out on his horse, moving some of the cattle onto Cobb land, while her mother was fixing coffee and sandwiches to feed the ranch hands and volunteers who had given up their time to help a neighbor save his home and livelihood.

“Hold up!” Bull came loping up to the gate on his big bay with two more steers.

“Yaw, cow!” Justice trotted in on his horse right behind him with two more. Dakota caught the gate and held it open, and as soon as Bull came back out, she closed the steel bars and slid the lever into the stone post to keep it closed.

Horses and riders gathered outside the gate to rest for a few minutes and drink water from the bottles in their saddle bags. Bull’s bay rocked him back and forth as he peeled off his black hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the fresh blue bandanna he pulled from his hip pocket. For a few seconds, Tracy saw a glimpse of the tall boy who’d stolen her teenage heart.

But when he adjusted his Stetson back over his forehead and used its shade to peer off toward the late afternoon sun, she could see he was all man now. It wasn’t just the deeper voice and shorter hair. Or the broader shoulders and harder chest that stretched beneath the dusty white shirt he wore. It wasn’t the leather holster that crossed his back or the badge clipped to his belt.

Lines of life experience were etched beside his handsome eyes—hopes, regrets, secrets she might never know created complex shadows there. This was the man who had kissed her this morning—seasoned by life, sure of what he wanted. The boy deep inside, beaten down by his father’s will and clinging to the familiar security of a lifelong friendship, was the one who had pulled away and questioned why they were so drawn to each other.

Tracy Cobb loved them both—the hurting boy and the mature man. She gripped the saddle horn tight in her leather-gloved hand. A lot more than her leg muscles ached. If only she could convince him that that love was real—and that it was reason enough to stay.

Catching her staring assessment, although misreading its cause, Bull nodded to her. “The wind shifted and it’s taking the fire down to the river. It’s out in the wilds now and shouldn’t come any closer to the house or irrigated land.”

“Hopefully, there’s enough water in the river and creeks out there to burn the damn thing out.” Justice turned to the man with the mustache climbing over the gate. “How many acres do you think we lost?”

Rusty snapped shut the cell phone he’d been talking on and buttoned it into his red shirt pocket before climbing into the saddle of the quarter horse he rode. “Hard to tell right now, boss. But I counted eighty-four head in there.” He tapped his pocket. “Mr. Cobb says he’s got another twenty up at his place. That leaves another dozen animals we weren’t able to find.”

Justice swore. “That’s a hell of a lot of money to lose. Not to mention the hay I’ll have to buy to replace the grass we lost.”

“Hell of a way for an animal to die, too.” Bull’s sarcasm tempered his father’s anger.

“Maybe they found some high rock where there’s nothing around them that can burn,” Tracy suggested.

Not bothering to mask his heavy sigh, Justice looked toward the coming sunset. “It’s too late to start another search. I don’t want anyone finding a hot pocket still burning and getting trapped. I’ll have to hire some extra men to clean up this mess and sort out the herd again.”

With the urge to lash out cooling along with his father’s, Bull nodded a grudging agreement. “You’d better take these people on up to the house and feed them.” He tugged on the reins and turned his horse away from the group. “While there’s still some daylight, I want to check out a few things. We’re pretty close to the border here.”

“Son?”

Bull heard his father’s warning. Maybe he even understood a little of the concern that aged Justice’s chiseled face. Bull touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

Tracy touched her heels to the sorrel’s sides and urged her into a trot. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

Ignoring Bull’s protest, she reined the mare in to walk beside his taller mount. “It’s dangerous to ride out by yourself when there’s been a fire. Your father’s right—there could be some pockets still burning. Two pair of eyes are better than one. You do your detective work and I’ll watch out for everything else.” A knowing smile warmed her face. Patience might not be a virtue Bull possessed, but Tracy had had a lot of practice waiting for him to wake up and realize they were made for each other. She could wait a little longer. “Besides, it’ll be like old times—you and me riding the hills together.”

“You’re not still mad at me for kissing you?”

“Maybe it’s not the kiss I was mad about.” Pulling the ball cap snugly over her hair, Tracy nudged her horse into a canter and took off.

It didn’t take long to hear Bull running up behind her.

Forty-five minutes later, at least one fear had been laid to rest. The fire was out.

But something even more troubling left Tracy twisting nearly 360 degrees in her saddle to ensure that she and Bull and their horses were the only things moving around the burnt pines and rocks on the bank leading down to Homestead Creek, a tributary that fed into the Rio Grande less than half a mile away. Bull was kneeling on the ground, holding on to the reins of his horse as he studied the inky-black streaks that were slightly darker than the charred earth around them. He put his gloved fingers to his nose and rubbed the sooty residue between his fingers.

“Is that what I think it is?” Tracy asked.

Bull wiped his hand on his jeans and pushed to his feet. The leather creaked beneath his weight as he swung up into the saddle. Her heart was already beating a little faster before he confirmed her fear. “I don’t have a crime lab out here to verify it, but I think this fire was intentionally set. Those look like chemical pour burns to me.”

Tracy tried to cool her concern on a deep breath. “Another message from Calderón?”

“Most likely.”

“This is the kind of enforcement Garcia and Ortiz carry out, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Poor Brittany.” The girl had been Calderón’s prisoner for four days now. The drug lord had lopped off her hair and threatened worse. She must be terrified, and feeling so alone and abandoned. And Justice was aging by the minute, it seemed. Tracy remembered him as a force of nature growing up. Last week she’d seen a father, a normal man. Now, as the clock ticked toward the Christmas Eve deadline, the lines of his face grew more deeply etched, and the height and breadth of him seemed to shrink. And, as if abducting his daughter wasn’t enough, now the Los Jaguares were bringing the threat right to Justice McCabe’s back door.

A tight fist of helpless fear and frustration squeezed around Tracy’s heart. She couldn’t see the purplish and rose hues surrounding the giant orange sun where it set on the horizon. Its beauty was lost in the enormity of the devastation surrounding them—the cruel deaths of innocent animals, both J-Bar-J livestock and wild animals. The destruction of property that would require money and man-hours to rebuild. The unnatural changes in the landscape, with exploded cacti and char marks on the beautifully dramatic rocks. Calderón and his men were responsible for all this waste and intimidation and galling lack of compassion for anyone and anything. All for drugs. All for money.

Tears scratched like grit in her eyes. Such a waste. Such a violent, horrible waste.

“Brittany’s a McCabe.” Bull tried to reassure her. “She’s tough. She’ll be okay.” Or maybe he was trying to reassure himself. “She’s a tough kid in school, right? You said she tries to help others?”

“Yeah.” Reaching across the space between their horses, Tracy linked her hand to Bull’s, needing some of his strength at that moment. “Now that I think of it—the essays she writes, the way she expresses herself in class—she reminds me a lot of you.”

“Smart and good-looking?”

His teasing made her laugh. Tracy returned the favor. “Hardheaded and passionate about the ideas that get stuck in her head.”

His laugh was deep and rich and drove away the tears that had tried to spill over.

Then, just as though someone had flipped a switch, the laughter stopped. Bull released her hand and stood up in his stirrups, peering over the top of the creek bank. “What’s that?”

“What’s what? Bull?”

He was already picking his way down through the charcoal tree stumps and limestone outcroppings by the time Tracy got her horse to high enough ground to see the old dirt supply road that ran parallel to the creek bed. But it wasn’t the washed-out road that had caught his eye. It was the burned-out flatbed truck sitting on four melted tires in the middle of that road.

“Oh, my God. You don’t think somebody got caught in the fire, do you?” Tracy followed him down and tethered the horses while Bull circled the truck for a closer look. Had the Los Jaguares’s intimidation tactics turned to murder? Had the fire been set to get rid of the truck? Or its contents? “Brittany?”

“Stay there.” Metal screeched across metal as Bull pried the blackened passenger door open. “There’s no driver. No body. She’s not here.”

Tracy’s breath rushed out in a gasp of relief. “Thank God.”

With a grunt of steely determination, he forced the glove compartment door open. It snapped off in his hand and Bull dug through the debris inside. “Whatever identification was in here is burned to a crisp. Let’s hope the thing has plates.”

As Bull inspected the rest of the abandoned vehicle, Tracy evaluated the skeletal remains of the truck’s shape. “Do you think that’s the farm truck Brittany got into at school?”

“With this location and the destruction of evidence?” Bull circled the truck, scanning up and down the creek bed. “I’d bet my badge on it. Hold on.”

“What is it?”

He pulled out a pocketknife and pried a sticky tar-like substance off the bed of the truck. He sniffed it, then nodded. “I’ve seen this before, when drug dealers burn their cocaine stash. Somebody was using this truck to run drugs.” He knelt down to clean the substance off his knife. “It’d be easy enough to hide a kilo or two inside the middle of a hay bale. I’ll call Wyatt, see if he knows who some of Calderón’s drivers are. Maybe one of them picked up Brittany.”

“I don’t think she’d get into a truck with a total stranger. It’d have to be someone she—”

“Miss Cobb?” a raspy voice croaked from the rocks behind Tracy. The horses shifted. A bloody, soot-stained hand clamped over her shoulder and Tracy screamed.