Saddled hearts, p.7
Saddled Hearts, page 7
Colt sat unmoving until the jailer motioned for him.
There had to be a way to stop this nightmare. How did one of his hoof picks get into Tompkins’ hotel room?
Someone was setting him up.
His gut told him that much.
But who and why? And how to prove it?
Hopefully, a bail hearing would be today. He had to get out and set about finding some answers.
Except he’d need to be smarter about his methods.
A memory flashed across his mind. He’d been almost thirteen. His grandfather was trying to teach him how to break a new horse. You’ve got to pay attention to every little signal—every flick of the tail, every blink of the eye, every snort, every breath. If you miss one tiny thing, the horse wins.
That’s precisely what he’d have to do now—pay attention to everything around him at all times.
Hold your friends close and your enemies closer.
Dammit! He wished he knew who those enemies were. Even more so, what their end game was.
Chapter Ten
Much to his dismay, Colt spent a night in jail. His bond hearing was set for eight the next morning.
Nothing he could do.
At least they locked him in a single cell, which left him alone with his thoughts. The clanging of cell doors, pounding of boots on the concrete floor, and yelling back and forth between the prisoners grated on his nerves. Lunch had been a tasteless sandwich on day-old bread. But he ate it just to stop the growling of his stomach. He doubted supper would be any better.
Reaching into his pocket for the white rune as he did out of habit, when he needed to think, it took a minute to remember they’d confiscated it when they took his other personal items.
He sank down into a metal chair and played over each scene in his mind from the first time Jeremiah Tompkins set foot on his land with his ludicrous demands to now, when the man lay dead in a morgue.
He was missing something, but damned if he could figure out what.
Melanie Luttrell. Now there was one to ponder.
Moving to the hard bunk, he lay back. Attempting to tune out the sounds around him, he covered his eyes with his arm.
Melanie had been a high school fling. At seventeen, Colt was a horny teenager and took what she offered. Plus, they shared the love of rodeo. Melanie was a barrel racer. He chuckled, remembering some of the crass jokes he and his rodeo buddies shared. One in particular about a man with cancer who goes to see his doctor, and the doctor tells him he’s got one week to live. Then he advises the man to go out and find himself a barrel racer with two little dogs and marry her. The man asks if that is going to make him live longer, to which the doctor replies, “No, but it will make that one week feel like an eternity.”
Colt never had any serious interest in her. He left to go to college and didn’t see her again until he settled back in Cedar Springs, when he discovered she worked as an assistant to the veterinarian who’d taken care of the ranch livestock for many years. Now, she often came out to administer vaccines and other routine care that didn’t require the doctor.
He was always casual and friendly to her but felt no attraction. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been aware of her flirting. Especially one night when she came out to a club where Inside Straight was performing. She pretended to be drunk and had all but undressed him outside in the parking lot. When he’d pushed her away, the anger flashing in her eyes warned of revenge.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He’d read that quote somewhere. Yet what would she have to gain except maybe the satisfaction of watching him fail?
Holden, the man who had been with her at the restaurant, looked the part of a cowboy. But Colt didn’t know him. He appeared to be a lot younger than Melanie, but in all honesty, Colt couldn’t have cared less. He wouldn’t judge anyone. He’d just been relieved to see her move on from him. Perhaps that meant she’d given up on pursuing something that would never happen. At least he hoped so.
Call it a sixth sense, but seeing Melanie and her cowboy at the same time and place as Tompkins was too coincidental to ignore. And yet, he had no way to connect the dots.
One thought after another flashed through his mind, like vignettes in a silent movie. When he finally dozed off in the wee hours of the morning, he dreamed crazy dreams―dreams that had blood splattered through them and jeering faces taunting and threatening him.
It took a minute to orient himself when the jail came to life around 6:00 a.m. with more clanging and loud yells. The aroma of fresh coffee drifted past from somewhere down the hallway, and he longed for a cup.
After he splashed water on his face from the tiny metal sink in the corner, he ran a hand through his hair and tucked in his shirt.
Eight o’clock wouldn’t come a minute too soon.
Finally, the jailer escorted him down a long hallway and up three flights of stairs to the judge’s chambers.
He entered a not guilty plea for voluntary manslaughter when the judge asked. Then the judge set his bond at $500,000.
While Colt could raise the funds, it would set him back a pretty penny.
But the shock came from his lawyer, Mr. Cartman.
“Mr. Layne, your bond has been posted. You’re free to go until there is a trial date.”
“Been posted? By who?”
“I’m not privy to that information. They wished to remain anonymous.”
“This shit just gets crazier and crazier. Surely a man is entitled to know who’s bailed him out of jail.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know, Mr. Layne. Maybe a friend?”
Jag Peters came to mind. “Maybe.”
Nevertheless, he was grateful and couldn’t get away from the jail soon enough. He had a ranch to run, and it needed his full attention.
For now, there was nothing more he could do but keep his eyes and ears open and pay attention to every tiny detail around him.
Two hours later, on the way back to the ranch, he called Jag. “Hey, man. Thanks for everything, but especially for sending Mr. Cartman.”
He told him about the anonymous person who’d posted his bond.
“Please, tell me you didn’t post it.”
Jag replied, “No, it wasn’t me. But how strange.”
Colt couldn’t agree more. Every time he thought he found an answer to one question, three more popped up.
They talked a few more minutes before hanging up, the identity of the anonymous benefactor still unknown.
Colt arrived back at the ranch around mid-morning. Both Mattie and Sheila greeted him enthusiastically. After a quick shower and change, he jumped on a four-wheeler, called for the dogs, then made the rounds, stopping first at the quarantine barn.
Having employees that did their jobs whether or not he was around to see it made him a lucky man.
Satisfied the new horses were recovering nicely, his next stop was at the bunkhouse.
Stubby was bent over the oven with a scrub brush when Colt strode through the door. The old man raised his head. “Good to see you, boss. Heard you ran into a little trouble.”
Colt headed for the coffee pot. The brew there was always hot and fresh. He poured a cup, then pulled out a chair. “Stubby, I’ve been through the wringer. And that includes a night in jail. Seems they think I’ve killed a man, which couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
Stubby put down his brush and joined Colt at the table. “There’s something that’s been coming around in my memory since we last talked.”
“What’s that?” Colt sipped the much-needed elixir.
“In some ways, your grandaddy was a peculiar man. He could sit on a bull like no one else, but he was a writer. Did you know that?”
“That goes without saying. As you said, he could sit on a bull like no one else.”
“No, Son, I mean writing. Like he was forever scribbling in those journals of his. Now, I may be pulling this out of thin air, but you just might find the answers you’re looking for in some of those.”
Colt blew out a sigh. “I hadn’t thought of that, Stubby. When Pa passed away, I packed all of his stuff up and stored it in the attic. It may be time to take a look. Someone is out to ruin me, and I need to understand why.”
Stubby nodded. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Colt pushed to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee and advice. See you later.” He’d purposely not shared that an anonymous someone had posted his bond. It wasn’t information the old man needed to know.
Next, he went in search of Hank.
After they discussed the ranch operations, Hank shoved a hand in his pocket and kicked the dirt. “Boss, I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Hank. You’re a good hand, and you take care of business. That’s all I need to know.”
Hank lit a cigarette. “A year ago, I got into a little scuffle in a bar in Cheyenne. A man pulled a knife on me.” He blew out a stream of smoke. “I took it away from him and left him in a pool of blood.”
“Sounds like self-defense to me.”
“I didn’t stick around to see if he lived or died. I hightailed it out of Wyoming and never went back. I don’t know for sure that there’s a warrant for me, but I’m not willing to take a chance. I just want you to understand why I have to lay low.”
Colt clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, man. You seriously never tried to find out?”
“Nah. I figured the best thing was to get as far from Wyoming as I could. Texas called my name.”
“I can see why you might be paranoid. When things settle down, we should try to find out. In the meantime, someone is trying to destroy me, and I have to figure out who and why before I go to trial for a murder I didn’t commit.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“Just keep everything here running smoothly. That’s what I need most right now. I’m taking the rest of the day off and doing some research. You can find me at the house.”
It figured Hank’s trouble would be something like that. Maybe Mr. Cartman could do some digging, if Hank Griffin was even his name. That was another problem for another time.
With Mattie and Sheila riding shotgun, he turned the ATV toward the ranch house.
The dream he’d had about keys and locks could be a message.
His grandfather’s voice echoed in his head with the same words for the second time. You’ll figure it out, boy. The answers are there for you to find.
It was time to look.
An hour later, after he’d devoured two sandwiches and washed them down with another cup of coffee, Colt trudged up the narrow pull-down stairs that led into the attic.
Even though the day was mild, the musty cool air inside the attic prickled his skin. Stale memories, forgotten lifetimes, and nostalgia filled the cramped space.
He shuffled around a few boxes and bins, then pulled out the footlocker where he’d stored his grandfather’s journals. First, he’d have to find the key that opened that lock.
His next search took him to a large metal bin that held trophies, newspaper clippings, and a menagerie of keys.
Funny that he’d never thought to ask his grandfather why he collected keys, but they obviously symbolized something important to the old man.
Methodically, he tried key after key until the lock clicked.
When he lifted the lid, at least twenty journals lay inside. And some of them had locks. “Damn!”
This was going to take a while.
He blew out a long sigh, closed the footlocker, and hauled it downstairs, along with the keys. At least it would be warmer and more comfortable.
After he cleared off the dining room table, he set the footlocker on one corner. Putting the journals in some sort of order seemed to be the best way to approach the task. That is, once he found all the right keys to unlock them. He had to chuckle at his grandfather’s obsession with keys and locks.
Trying to shake the feeling he shouldn’t be prying into his grandfather’s private affairs, he tackled the chore.
After all, he had good reason to pry.
Patience had never been Colt’s strong suit. This was pure torture. For two seconds, he considered smashing the small locks and moving on, but respect for his grandfather stopped him.
He removed the rune from his pocket, laid it on top of the journals, then he continued sorting through the box of keys, pulling out the smallest ones.
After a while, he stood and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck, shocked to see the sun setting. The lack of sleep and events of the past forty-eight hours had caught up with him.
A decent meal and some rest were much needed. Everything else would have to wait.
Surprised that he didn’t wake up until mid-morning the next day, he leaned against the kitchen counter, deep in thought, while the coffee brewed and eggs sizzled.
He’d swiped the last bite off his plate when a hard insistent pounding on the back door jerked him out of his seat.
He strode to the door and flung it open to find a distraught Hank. “Sorry, boss. I hate to bother you, but there’s something you need to see.”
The look on his foreman’s face left no doubt as to the severity of the matter.
Taking time to grab his hat, he followed Hank out. “What’s going on?”
“Hurry. It’s in the quarantine barn.”
The two men sprinted across the distance between the house and barn with the dogs at their heels, barking with every step.
Colt drew up short at the sight of the struggling mare inside her stall. “What the hell?”
“I don’t know. I just found her like this. There’s no explanation.”
“There, there, girl.” Colt soothed the frightened mare, laying a gentle hand on her neck.
Blood gushed from both of the horse’s nostrils.
Chapter Eleven
Colt sprang into action. “Hook onto the trailer and pull it around.” He dug his phone out, then stabbed a number in his contact list.
“Doc Sanders’ office,” a woman’s voice answered.
“It’s Colt Layne. We’re on our way with a mare that’s bleeding profusely from both nostrils. No idea what happened to her, but her situation is critical. On the way right now.”
“Okay, Mr. Layne. Doc will be waiting for you.”
Colt jammed his phone back in his pocket as he put a lead rope around the horse’s neck, all the while muttering calming words. “You’re gonna be all right, girl. Doc’ll fix you up.”
He led her out into the center of the barn where he ran his hands over the rest of her body, searching for any apparent wounds. The distressed horse shook her head from side to side, slinging blood. He tried to dodge, but a stream landed across the front of his shirt.
If he could calm her down enough, perhaps she could communicate with him, tell him what happened. But she was in distress. That’s the only message that came through. She stamped her feet and squealed.
“Hurry, Hank,” he whispered.
At the sound of the truck, he coaxed the mare outside. The minute it rolled to a stop, he flung open the metal trailer door and walked her in, keeping his voice low and soothing.
Hank hurried to secure the barn door.
Both men jumped into the truck and sped away. Time was of the essence.
“You didn’t see anything at all out of place around the barn today or yesterday?” Colt questioned.
“I swear, the last time I checked, all the horses were quiet and munching alfalfa. Not a one was out of sorts. And when I came back, I found her like this. She was still in her stall.”
“Did you see anybody come or go?”
“Not a soul.”
Colt tightened his jaw. The possibility of someone deliberately sabotaging the horse loomed big, but he couldn’t be sure. “Maybe we need to revisit our plan to have security around the clock. Or install cameras like you see in banks.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with that Tompkins fella?” Hank gripped the steering wheel.
“I don’t know, but I’m more than a little paranoid. First, we need to find out what’s wrong. I didn’t see any signs of trauma.”
Hank nodded and maneuvered the pickup and trailer onto the highway.
Thankfully, the vet’s office wasn’t far, and Colt breathed a sigh of relief when he handed the ailing horse over to the doctor.
“I’ll need to keep her overnight and run some tests. I’ll let you know what I find.” The doctor led the horse to an isolated stall.
Nothing more they could do, Colt and Hank headed back to the ranch.
Colt’s phone jingled inside his pocket.
“Hello.”
“Hey, boss. This is Brady. There’s a woman here who says she was supposed to have a tour of the ranch today. What do you want me to tell her?”
“Oh, hell!” He covered the phone. “Hank, what day is it?”
“Saturday.”
“Oh, shit!”
Brady asked, “Want me to tell her to leave?”
“No. Definitely not. Let her into the ranch house and tell her I’m on my way. Offer her a cup of coffee or something. Don’t let her leave. We’re on our way back. And, hey, Brady, tell Stubby to thaw out two T-bones.”
“You got it, boss.”
****
Sage frowned and fought against the urge to get in her car and drive away as the young cowboy relayed the message. Disappointment crawled up her spine. He’d forgotten about her.
And to just barge into the man’s house without him there? No, she couldn’t do that. She’d wait on the porch. Ten minutes is all she’d give him, and then she was out of there.
The two dogs stayed at her heels until she settled into a rocking chair on the porch, then licked her hand and demanded pets.
“Oh, you’re such pretty girls,” she crooned as she scratched behind their ears.
They rewarded her with whimpers and sloppy kisses.
She leaned back and took in the scenery around her. Large sprawling oaks, a winding driveway, early spring bluebonnets poking their heads through the rich dark soil, and cardinals flitting through the trees was like an organic scene frozen in time. Serene, peaceful, and alive.
