In the end, hed returned to be closer to her.
Reed shook off the past and focused on the smashed prairie grass all around. Look here. He pointed at holes in the dirt, spaced evenly in a wide circle. Looks like they had portable corral panels.
Sí. Fernando straightened. They cleaned up well, didnt they?
Too well. I dont see tire tracks or hoof prints anywhere around. He stood. All he found were a few footprints probably left by the sheriffs team whod investigated the site last night.
As if they raked it before leaving. Fernando crouched next to the loose barbed wire. Look at this.
Reed joined him for a closer examination. On one of the barbs was a tuft of coal-black human hair and a bloody patch of what looked like scalp. Someone has a scrape on his head thats pretty deep.
Sí. The old Mexican nodded farther along in the dust. They missed a track.
The telltale print of a dogs paw stood out as clear as a signature. Whoever the rustlers were, they had a herd dog. Every rancher on the plains had herd dogs.
An engines roar alerted him to the approach of a vehicle from the direction of the ranch house.
The ancient red-and-white ranch truck, with the fading sign of Rancho Linda on its side, lumbered across the grasslands, lurching to a stop next to the fence. Chewy, Jesses border collie, hopped out of the back and ran around the area, sniffing at the tracks.
While Dusty and Jesse unloaded tools from the rear, Reed walked the fence line, bending to inspect the snapped posts.
Dusty dug the blades of a posthole digger in the dirt beside Reed and brushed his gloved hands together. Wont take long to fix this fence. Jesse and I can handle it, why dont you and Fernando check for any loose steers.
Reed had intended to do just that, but hed changed his mind. No. Ill help here, if you dont mind. He stared past Dusty to the foreman.
Fernando nodded and walked across the dirt to his horse, silently climbing into the saddle. He crossed over where the fence should have been and turned to his right. Following the remaining line of wire and posts, he disappeared over a rise.
Reed lifted his hat, brushed the sweat from his brow and grabbed the posthole digger Dusty had left beside him. Ten minutes later, he lifted the last clump of dirt from the hole and set the implement to the side. His muscles burned with the honest effort of physical labor. He hadnt known how much hed missed it until today.
While he fitted a post into the hole and packed dirt around it, Jesse grabbed the tool and went to work on the next hole, twenty feet away.
Jesse, Dusty and Reed worked at mending the fence. Several wooden posts had been snapped as if run over by something big. Some of the thin metal T-posts had been bent double. Dusty was able to straighten one, but the others snapped off, rust and weather making the metal brittle.
Wielding the posthole digger, Jesse dug through the hard earth, making a hole deep enough for another wooden brace post theyd brought along in the back of the pickup.
The constant sound of metal clanking against metal rang in Reeds ears. Dust kicked up by their heels smelled of Texas and cattle.
Dusty pounded a new T-post in the ground with the heavy post pounder that fit over the post like a giant metal sleeve. He pushed the pounder up and off the post, letting it fall to the ground at his feet. Going to Leons tonight, Jess? Theyre having a wet T-shirt contest, from what I hear.
No. Jesse raised his arms high and slammed the sharp blades of the posthole digger into the hard-packed dirt.
Catalina works there tonight. Maybe shell enter the contest. The sly way Dusty spoke made Reed glance up.
Was Dusty goading Jesse? Did Jesse have a thing for the pretty young woman hed seen waiting tables at Leons?
Jesses hands paused on the upswing with the posthole digger. Catalina wont enter. He rammed the diggers into the hole with more force than hed been using.
I bet she will. Shed do almost anything for money. Wont she? That Catalina is a wild one. Dusty shot a glance at Jesse. Wouldnt mind doing the tango with that little chili pepper.
The young Hispanics face turned a mottled red. Shut up.
Shes one fine-looking woman.
Leave her alone. Jesse left the digger in the hole and stalked across the dirt toward Dusty.
A good four inches taller and with twice the bulk as the lean and trim Jesse, Dusty hiked his sleeves up his arms, not a shred of fear in his cocky expression.
Shes better than you.
Shes no better than any of you Mexicans. Except shes a lot prettier. If I want her, Ill take her and theres nothing you can do to stop me.
Red flushed beneath the dark tan of Jesses skin right before he swung. His fist skimmed past Dustys jaw as the other man deftly ducked to the left and swung a right hook into Jesses midsection.
Chewy leaped into the fray, tearing at Dustys arm, growling like a rabid wolf.
Damn dog. Ill kill the son of a Dusty swung his arm, pushing the dog out and away from him, the animal slamming against a fence post.
Reed dropped the post hed been working and grabbed Jesse by the back of the shirt, jerking him out of the path of the bigger mans next uppercut. Cool it, Dusty.
Chewy staggered to all four feet and shook out his coat before stalking toward Reed now, growling deep in his throat, his gaze sweeping from Dusty to Reed.
Reed nodded toward the animal. Call off the dog, Jesse.
For a moment Jesse hesitated, then he said in a stern tone, Down, Chewy.
Need a bodyguard, Jesse? Dusty taunted.
Get out of the way, Bryson. Jesses voice was low and threatening. This is between me and the jerk.
Its over. We have work to do. Reed stood between the two.
Finally, Dusty shrugged and lifted another T-post from the ground at his feet. Dont know why you get all upset over her. Cats not all that great. Shes got too much attitude for her own good.
Shes got more class in her little finger than you have in your entire body.
Never said I had class, maybe thats why I like hanging out with her.
Knock it off. Reed waited a full minute until Jesse went back to work digging his hole and Chewy followed him. The dog planted himself next to the man, his black-eyed gaze following Dustys every move.
Once Dusty and Jesse seemed in control, Reed went back to the post hed been working. He kicked dirt into the hole to pack the post in, wishing he could kick a little sense and manners into Dusty. The man was trouble. Why Mona kept him on, he didnt know. Something smooth and black buried in the dust caught the sunlight and glared into Reeds eyes. When he leaned over and brushed aside the dust, he found a square matchbook with white letters spelling out Leons Bar.
Dusty tossed the pole pounder beside Reeds feet.
Anger bubbled up inside Reed at Dustys carelessness. The pole pounder wasnt something you tossed close to others. If Reed had moved an inch or two, Dusty could have hit him in the head. The blow from the heavy steel could have killed him or rendered him unconscious with a caved-in skull.
Find something? Dusty asked.
Reeds instinct where Dusty was concerned was one of gut-level distrust. He closed his fist around the matchbook and straightened, shooting a glare from the pole pounder to Dusty. No, I didnt find a thing. Did you? He moved away from the man, pocketing the matchbook and tucking away a mental note to check out the story on Dusty Gaither.