By the time he felt able to drag himself outside, he saw the dog was halfdead—maybe more than half. He tossed some food in a bucket. Pumping water into another brought on a violent coughing fit. He spat out blood-tinged mucus, wheezed breathlessly as he took a look at the cow.
Hadn’t been milked in a couple days, he judged, and like the horse had made due with snow and the spare grass under it. The chickens fared little better. It all showed him, clearly, bitterly, the boy had barely been around. And when he had been he’d done his work halfway.
Boy was useless, just like his cursed mother.
When he got his strength back, he’d take that boy to task good and proper. And he’d go out, get a young wife, get a young one who’d bring forth sons who’d honor their father instead of one who came and went as he damn well pleased.
Made a mistake with Esther, and he could admit it. Wasted too many years on her. Made a mistake or two trying to take on a second wife, but he wouldn’t make another.
He just had to get his strength back, even enough to get himself some medicine, some supplies.
Dizzy from the effort of tending to the animals, he stumbled back inside. He wanted to check the Internet, gain some solace from the words of men who knew what he knew, believed as he believed.
He’d paid good money for the Wi-Fi antenna, for the hot spot devices and repeaters. And he’d learned how to use them and stay off the grid.
Goddamn government, spying on everybody, stealing land, shoving their gays and blacks and Mexicans down the throats of real Americans.
He was a sovereign citizen, he thought, a man prepared, even eager, to shed blood to protect his rights.
He’d shed Esther’s, he thought. He’d thrash some respect into the whelp she’d foisted on him. And he’d find a wife who’d give him the sons he deserved.
But all he could do was crawl back in bed, shiver with chills, wheezing out breath from lungs thick with fluid.
*
Callen’s gut knotted when he saw Sheriff Tate pull up.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said to the farrier, walking over to meet Tate. “Has there been another one?”
“No. No, that’s one blessing. Got a little May weather in March.”
“It’ll turn on us, but I’ll take it.”
Tate scanned the paddocks, the shelter. “You on your own?”
“We got two trail rides out, another two this afternoon, and a pair of lessons down at the center. May weather means May bookings.”
Tate nodded. “Is that Spike over there?”
“Yeah. Hell of a name for a farrier.”
“You don’t often see a farrier wearing a spiked dog collar and sporting half a dozen tattoos. But he knows his work. Can you take a break?”
“It appears I’m already taking one.”
“Let’s walk over this way.” Tate aimed for the big paddock. “Some fine-looking horses.”
“We brought more in today. We’re going to take them out to pasture tomorrow if this weather holds like it’s supposed to. It’s been some time since I herded horses to pasture at dawn, rounded them back up for the night.”
“It sounds like you’re looking forward to it.”
“I guess I am. I like the work here, even though there’s a lot of computer and paper involved.” He reached out, rubbed a curious bay down the nose. “I know you didn’t ride over here to see how I was taking to the job.”
“No. I’m heading over to the Bodine Ranch to talk to Alice. She’d be having her talk with the psychiatrist now. I’m going to hope she remembers a little more.”
“I can tell you she’s had more to say. I heard her myself when I went over at breakfast. She thought Rory was hers. She named off seven children. All girls but for one named Rory and another. The way she put that one he either died in the birthing or right after.”
“Ah, my Christ.”
“I don’t figure I’m telling you anything I shouldn’t when I say she latched onto Rory. She talked about how she’d rock him, sing to him, play peek-a-boo, how he’d learned to walk on his own. It about broke your heart. Have you got anything on this son of a bitch, Sheriff?”
“I wish I could say we did. We’re working with the Staties. We put up her picture, gave it to the media, in case anybody’d seen her. We had dogs out, trying to pick up her trail, but with the rain, and not having a damn clue how far she’d walked up or down the road before she collapsed, we don’t have so much as a starting point.”
“You need her to tell you, and you can’t push at her.”
“You’re right on both counts.” When the curious bay nudged at his shoulder, Tate gave him an absent pat. “But any little thing she can say is one more thing to work with. But that’s not why I came by. I heard Garrett came out here in an official vehicle, wearing his official uniform, and went at you again.”
“Clintok doesn’t worry me.”
“I suspended him.”
Callen turned now, shoved at his hat. “There’s no cause for you to do that on my account.”
“I didn’t do it on your account.” Temper ruddied Tate’s cheeks. “He disobeyed a direct order. He harassed and threatened a private citizen. I suspended him rather than firing his arrogant ass, as he’s got some good qualities under the bullshit, and … I’ve got two manhunts on my hands. I got two women dead, and a cold trail on whoever killed them. I got a man who kept a woman I have a fondness for locked up we don’t know how many years. And right now, that trail’s cold, too. But if Garrett crosses the line again, he loses his job, and that’s for me to say.”
Tate tapped a finger on Callen’s chest. “Are you in charge around here?”
“I guess I am.”
“Would you tolerate one of the people out leading a trail ride, giving a lesson, tending the stock doing the opposite of what you told them? Getting up in the face of one of the guests here? Disrespecting your authority?”
Wedged firmly in a corner, Callen heaved out a breath. “All right, you made the point.”
“And my next is this. He’s as pissed off as it gets. If he comes at you, Cal, I hear about it. I don’t want any bullshit from you here about handling him fine, about him not worrying you. He’s one of mine, and if he comes at you again, I need to hear about it. I can’t have a man who’d do that holding a badge and a weapon and working under me. You got that clear?”
“Yeah, yeah, I do.”
“You don’t have to like it.”
“Well, I don’t. But I understand it.”
“Your word on it.” Tate held out a hand.
“Hell.” Boxed in yet again, Callen shook hands. “My word on it.”
“Then we’re good. I’m going to go talk to Alice.” But Tate stared out at the horses another moment. “Seven children.”
“She named them off. She named them.”
“Merciful God,” Tate muttered and walked away.
When he pulled up to the ranch house, he hoped he’d timed it well. He recognized Dr. Minnow’s car, so that was good. He wanted to hear what she had to say, too.
When he knocked, Cora came to the door.
“I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Bodine.”