Ren’s face hardened. “She’s nice enough,” was all he’d admit to his brother.
Randall hesitated again. “She’s not like most of the women I bring to the ranch,” he started to say.
“I know she belongs to you. Don’t worry about it,” Ren assured him.
“It’s not quite like that,” Randall said.
“Ren!” Delsey called from the staircase. “Willis called. There’s a truck pulling up to the main gate. A big truck. The driver says he has a delivery.”
“What sort of delivery?” Ren asked at once.
“Barrels.”
“Barrels? Of what?”
“Beats me. Willis doesn’t know, either. He’s headed for the gate.”
“Tell him to stop right now. Randall, I have to go. I’ll speak to you later.”
“Okay. Take care.”
“You, too.”
He hung up. “I’ll get my jacket. Tell Willis to call J.C. right now and have both of them meet me halfway to the gate. Hurry.”
*
REN LOADED HIS Winchester and put it in the truck beside him. He called Willis on the truck’s CB radio.
“You armed?” he asked the cowboy.
“Yes, and I told J.C. to bring his cannon with him.”
Ren chuckled. “It’s just a .44 magnum, Willis.”
“Looks like a cannon to me. Here he comes.”
A big black SUV was barreling down the hill toward them, not sliding in the snow, even though the truck didn’t have chains.
“Irritates the hell out of me that he doesn’t use chains and never slides off the road,” Ren muttered.
“He grew up in the Yukon Territory,” Willis told him. “I don’t think this much snow even bothers him.”
“Who were his parents? Inuit?” he asked, using the appropriate name for Eskimo people.
He chuckled. “His father was Blackfoot. His mother was a little redheaded Irish woman.”
“He’s not redheaded,” Ren remarked.
“Not hardly,” was the amused reply.
The SUV pulled up beside them. A tall, lithe man with short, straight black hair approached them. His jacket was pulled back over a huge .44 Magnum, and he carried a small automatic weapon in one big hand.
“What do you think it is?” J. C. Calhoun asked Ren, nodding toward the truck, which was still sitting at the gate, idling.
“I think it’s trouble,” Ren replied.
“Then let’s go start some,” J.C. said, and he grinned, showing snow-white teeth.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE TRUCK DRIVER grinned at them out the window. “Hi,” he called in a friendly voice. “Sorry I’m so late, but there was a wreck over on the interstate. We sat for two hours while they cleared it.”
“What are you hauling?” Ren asked the man.
The truck driver saw all the guns and whistled. “Hey, I’m not a bandit,” he said, tightening his hands on the wheel. “I’m a genuine, run-of-the-mill truck driver making a delivery.”
“We didn’t order any barrels,” Ren told him.
“But, you did. See here. This is the purchase order.” He pulled it out of the truck’s pocket and handed it across to Ren. “Barrels.”
Ren frowned. Then he looked at the purchaser’s name. He laughed. “This is Skyhorn Ranch,” he told the driver as he handed the paper back.
“Skyhorn?” He frowned and looked around. “That man who gave me directions said to look for a ranch way off the road with a silo sitting far off on one side of the gate and a big tree on the other.”
Ren looked around. “Yes, we have those. But so does Nat Beakly. He’s ten miles down the road, that way.” He pointed east. “His spread is the Circle Bar J.”
“Oh, darn.” The truck driver sighed. “I’m going to be even later. Well, thanks for the help. Sorry to have bothered you.” He noted the guns. “You guys looking to start a war, or expecting an invasion?”
Ren chuckled. “I run purebred Angus bulls here. Some of them are worth millions. We’re, shall we say, overly cautious.”
“I noticed.” The driver nodded toward a prominent camera nearby. “Should I smile?” he asked.
“Only if your face is well-known on the FBI website,” Ren said with pursed lips. “We run facial recognition software on everyone who comes near the place.”
“Guess it pays to be cautious, huh?” the driver said. His dark eyes darted from one man to the next. “Sorry to get you out of bed.”
“We’re up all hours,” Ren told him. “We have sharpshooters posted around, too.” He smiled coolly. “As I said, we’re cautious.”
“Well, I’ll be on my way. Have a good night.” The driver waved and backed the truck up to the turnaround. He waved again and tooted his horn as he went down the road.
“Something suspicious about that guy,” J.C. said curtly. “He was too curious.”
“I noticed.” Ren turned. “Check the facial recognition software on this camera and see if anyone turns up.”
“You bet,” J.C. said.
“Willis, tell the boys to keep their eyes and ears open,” Ren added. “If this was a trial run, to see how we responded, there may be another attempt soon. Remember the camera I had checked, between the house and the stable?”
Willis nodded.