“Don't think.”

“I can't afford—” She pressed her cheek against his. “I like you too much.”

“That's a bad thing?”

“It could be. I don't know what you're up to.”

“I don't mean to cause you any trouble at all.” He squeezed her hand, and she turned to him, eyes bright with her willingness to taste more trouble. All he wanted was another taste of her, which was no trouble. Not for him, anyway. Not unless thinking made it so.

“Oh, Del, you …” She dropped her head back and laughed. “You have no idea.”

Never Trust a Cowboy

Kathleen Eagle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHLEEN EAGLE is a New York Times bestselling author, teacher, mother of three grown children and grandmother of three children. Many years ago she fell madly in love with a Lakota cowboy, who's taught her about ranching and rodeo, Sun Dance and star gazing, and family “the Indian way,” making her Grandma to more beautiful children than she can count. Visit her at www.kathleeneagle.com and “friend” her on Facebook.

In loving memory of Phyllis Eagle McKee

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Delano Fox enjoyed watching a smooth heist in progress the way any skilled player might be entertained by another’s performance. Sadly, under the starlit South Dakota sky on the flat plain below his vantage point the only real skill on display belonged to a blue heeler, and even he was a little slow. Del was going to have to forget everything he knew about rustling cattle if he was going to fit in with this bunch. Otherwise he’d find himself itching to take over, which wasn’t the best way to get in thick with thieves. Even rank amateurs had their pride.

One by one, six head of black baldy steers stumbled into a stock trailer, each one springing away from the business end of a cattle prod or kicking out at the biting end of the dog. There was no ramp, but a jolt of fear helped the first two clear the trailer’s threshold. When the third one tried to make a break for it, Ol’ Shep lunged, crowding the animal against the trailer door. The guy manning the door cussed out both critters, while the one handling the prod added injury to insult by missing the steer and connecting with the dog. It would’ve been funny if he’d stung the other man with a volt or two, but Del instantly set his jaw at the sound of the yelping dog. Inexperience was curable, but carelessness could be a fatal flaw, and lack of consideration for man’s best friend was just plain intolerable. The best cowhand of the lot—the one with paws—jumped into the bed of the jumbo pickup, where he shared space with the gooseneck hitch.

Two shadowy figures climbed into the growling workhorse of a pickup that was hitched to the stock trailer, while the third—the prod handler—hopped into a smaller vehicle—a showy short box with an emblem on the door—parked on the shoulder of the two-lane country road. He would be Del’s mark. One of them anyway. He would be local, and he would be connected. Rustlers were high-tech these days, and they used every resource, did their research, found their inside man.

Del didn’t go in much for high tech. He did his research on the down low, and he had already had a private, persuasive conversation with a man he knew to be one of the two hauling the stolen stock. The job he himself was looking for would soon be his.

He chuckled when he passed the sign welcoming him to the town of Short Straw, South Dakota, promising, You’ll Be Glad You Drew It.

Maybe, but there was bound to be somebody in the area who wouldn’t be. Del knew how to handle the short straw. He’d drawn it many times.

He followed the sawed-off pickup at a distance, which he kept as he watched the driver pull up in front of a windowless storefront emblazoned in green neon with what would have been Bucky’s Place if the P were lit up. The B flickered, trying mightily to hang on to its dignity, but it was ucky that cast a steady glow above the hat of Del’s mark, the man who had just helped steal six head of cattle. Del could see enough of the guy’s face now to add a few pieces to those he’d already collected. He could now read the Flynn Ranch emblem on the pickup door. So far, so good. The driver wasn’t much more than a kid, early twenties, maybe. The steers might well belong to his father. Wouldn’t be the first time the heir decided to help himself to his inheritance a little early. Del just hoped Junior had the power to hire and fire ranch hands.

It took Del all of thirty seconds to disable a taillight on Junior’s pickup.

A typical edge-of-town watering hole, Bucky’s was shades of brown inside and out. Customers were lean and green or grizzled and gray, but they were all on the same page at Bucky’s. They were winding down. Two guys sat side by side at one end of the bar, a third sat alone at the other, a man and a woman exchanged stares across the table in a booth and pool balls clicked against each other under the only bright light at the far end of the establishment.

“I’m looking for the owner of the Chevy short box parked outside.” Del was looking at the bartender, but he was talking to anyone who’d noticed his entrance. Which would be everyone.

“That’d be me.” The kid who’d wielded the cattle prod waved a finger in the air and then turned, beer bottle in hand. He wore a new straw cowboy hat and sported a pale, skimpy mustache. “What’s up?”

“The name’s Delano Fox.” Del offered a handshake. “If you’re with the Flynn ranch, I was told you might be hiring.”

Junior admitted nothing, but he accepted the handshake. “Who told you that?”

“Ran into a guy who said he’d just quit. Told me to look for a red short box with a taillight out. Your taillight’s out.”

Junior frowned. “You been following me?”

“More like following up on a tip. Not too much traffic around here. Hard to miss a single taillight.”

“When did he say he’d quit?”

“Maybe he said he was about to quit. I don’t remember exactly how he put it, but if you’re not short one hand, you soon will be. You hire me, you won’t need anybody else. I’d get rid of the other guys.”

The bartender chuckled.

“Only got one hand. Had, sounds like. Where did you run into him?”

“Couldn’t say. Somewhere along the road.” Del tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and gave an easy smile. The way to play the game was to keep the questions coming and the answers on the spare side. “After a while they all look alike. Faces and places and roads in between.”

Junior nodded toward the empty stool beside him.

“Did he mention his name?” Junior asked as Del swung his leg over the stool. “Or mine?”

“Flynn was all he gave me. Said he was helping move a few steers and that the guy driving the red pickup might be hiring. That last part was all that interested me.”

“Brad Benson. Tell me why I should hire you.”

So this wasn’t Junior. One missed guess, but it was a small one. As long as the kid could hire a new hand, he would be hiring Del.

“I’ll put in a full day every day.” Del sealed the deal with a sly smile. “Or a full night. Whatever you need.”

Benson took a pull on his beer, took his time setting it down and finally glanced sideways at Del. “How about both?”

“A guy’s gotta sleep sometime. But yeah, calving time, I’m there. Workin’ on a night move once in a while? I can do that, too.”

Benson didn’t bite. “Where have you worked before?”

“Just finished a four-month job on a place west of Denver. The Ten High. Foreman’s name is Harlan Walsh.” Walsh was his standard reference. Harlan knew the drill. Del had actually worked at the Ten High, just not recently.

“If Thompson don’t show up tomorrow—”

“Pretty sure he won’t.” Damn sure he won’t. Thompson had been most cooperative once Del had ruled out all other options.

“If he don’t, then we’ll try you out. The Flynn place is sixteen miles outside of town on County... Well, I guess you already know the road. We pay thirty a day to start, six days a week. You’ll have the bunkhouse to yourself, and you’ll get board with the family.” The grin was boyish. “Bored, too. Get it?”

“Either way, as long you’ve got a good cook in the family.”

“You can always get yourself a microwave,” Benson said, tipping the beer bottle in Del’s direction. “Oh, yeah, and you answer to me. It’s my stepdad’s operation, but he’s getting on, and we’re trying to get him to take it easy.”

“Understood.”

“And if it turns out you’re more skilled than most, more...specialized...” Benson’s lips drew down in the shape of his mustache. “You could bump up your income, put it that way.”

“Like all good cowboys, I’m a jack-of-all-trades.” Del tapped his knuckles on the bar as he dismounted from the stool. “With resourcefulness to spare.”

“Just to show your appreciation, spare some on buying the second round.”

Del chuckled. There hadn’t been a first round. “My employer always gets the better end of the deal. I’d suggest the other way around if I wasn’t dog tired. I’ve been on the road awhile.”

“And I’d show you to your room, but I ain’t ready to hit the road.”

“I’ll be there by eight.”

“Breakfast’s at six.”

Del glanced at the shot the bartender set down next to Benson’s beer, and then gave his new boss a slight smile. “I’ll be there by eight.”

* * *

The Flynn Ranch sign hung high above the graveled approach five miles south of the scene of the previous night’s crime. Del’s first thought was how easy it would be to alter the Double F brand that adorned the intersection of the gateposts and the crossbar on both sides of the entrance. A seasoned rustler would have it done by now even if he was hungover. Del was betting Benson was fairly new to the game and that last night’s haul still carried the Double F. He doubted Benson had any authority to recruit new thieves. A man new to the game only stole his own cattle for show, to convince family, friends and FBI that he was among the victims. And by peeling off some skin and dropping it into the game, he bought himself some street cred. But he’d have to keep up appearances on both sides. Del looked forward to seeing whether Benson was any more serious about his acting than his rustling.

The red Chevy pickup was parked kitty-whompus beside an old two-story farmhouse that probably had been a local showplace in its day. The right front tire had crushed a bed of pretty blue-and-white flowers. Some of the once-white paint on the house was peeling, and some had been scraped. The covered porch looked as though it had recently been painted.

Del mounted the steps to the sprawling porch and rapped on the screen door. He heard movement, peered through the screen and saw a pair of chunky rubber flip-flops—neon green, if he wasn’t mistaken—sitting on a rag rug in the dim alcove.

The bare feet that belonged to the shoes appeared at the top of the stairs beyond the alcove, paused and then ran down like water bouncing over rocks. Del was fascinated by the quickness of the flow and the lightness of the feet. He’d never seen prettier. He watched them slip into the rubber thongs, pink toenails vying for his attention with bright green straps. The colors spoke volumes about the woman who came to the door.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hold off on looking up. The colors were cheerful, the feet were pretty and their owner probably belonged to his new boss. But for some reason he wanted to take her in bit by stirring bit.

She wore jeans that ended partway between her knees and her curvaceous ankles—Del admired a well-turned ankle—with a sleeveless white top over a willowy body. Her neck was pale and slender, chin held high, lips lush and moist, dark hair pulled back, and her big blue eyes stared at him as if he were some kind of a rare bird. Maybe he was looking at her the same way. He couldn’t tell.

“Mornin’.” Del recovered his game face and touched the front edge of his hat brim. “I’m looking for Brad Benson.”

He watched her shut down any interest he’d sparked. “You came to the wrong door.”

“If you wouldn’t mind pointing me to the right one...” He smiled. “Sorry. Del Fox. I’m your new hired man.”

“I don’t have an old hired man. Or a man of any kind behind any of my doors. And if I did, it wouldn’t be Brad Benson.”

“My mistake. I saw his pickup out here.” He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant to be funny, but he had to work at keeping a straight face. His new boss was clearly in trouble. He stepped back and nodded toward the side of the house. “Looks like his pickup anyway.”

She pushed the screen door open and ventured across the threshold, took a look and planted her hands on her hips. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Same plates and everything. Must be around somewhere. You wanna tell him I’m here?”

“I want to tell him to get his pickup out of my flower bed. Or maybe you’d tell him for me when you find him.”

“Should I try the doghouse?”

“I don’t have one. My dog...” She stepped past him and surveyed the yard. Her tone shifted, the wind dropping from its sails. “Should be chewing on the seat of your jeans right about now.”

“Guess he ain’t hungry. Maybe he got a piece of Benson.”

She gave her head a quick shake, banishing some momentary doubt that had nothing to do with him or with Benson. “Maybe you should check the pickup.” She nodded toward the dirt road. “It’s another mile and a half to the new house, and you can be sure Brad didn’t walk. How drunk was he when he hired you?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“And you wouldn’t if you could.” She lifted a lightly tanned shoulder. “It really means nothing to me, but it might make a difference to you.”

“I’ll check the pickup.” He touched two fingers to his hat brim and stepped back. “Sorry to bother you. Sign says Flynn Ranch, and Benson wasn’t clear on where the house would be.”

“I’m Lila Flynn,” she said quickly. “Brad is my stepbrother. He lives down the road with his mother and my father.”

“In the new house.” He smiled, grabbing the chance to start over. “You get the home place.”

“And you’ll get the bunkhouse out back if Brad remembers hiring you.” Suddenly retreating, she cast a backward glance. “Like I said, check the pickup.”

Before the screen door slapped shut, Del caught the edge of a smile, the flash of blue eyes. Slim chance, he thought, but the door to making a second first impression had been left ajar.

Driveway gravel rattled under Del’s boot heels as he approached the red short box pickup. Benson’s chin rode his collarbone as his head lolled from one side to the other.

“Good morning.”

Benson opened his eyes halfway, squeezed the right one shut again and squinted the left one against the sunlight until Del’s shadow fell across his face.

“Remember me?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Brad waved a fly away from his face as he slid his spine up the back of the pickup seat. “You said you had all the experience I might be looking for. You haven’t seen Thompson around, have you? The guy you’re replacing?”

“Not since last night. Your sister’s the only person I’ve run into since I got here.”

“Stepsister. She sure can be a bitch, that one.” Brad draped one hand over the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes with the other, muttering, “The kind you wanna bring to heel.”

“She said I could have the bunkhouse out back.”

Brad dragged his hand down over his face. “She did, huh?”

“She did, but it’s up to you. Like you said, you’re the boss.”

“You just said the magic words. What’s the name again?”

“Del Fox. Do I need a key?” No answer. “You got anything you want me to do before I stow my gear?”

“What time is it? You probably missed breakfast.”

“I had breakfast.”

“That’s right. You got yourself hired and called it a night. Showed up on time, too. Maybe we’ll keep you around.” He fired up the pickup. “Make yourself at home. Fox? It’s Fox, right? Sorry, I’ll be more hospitable after I’ve had some coffee.” He pointed to the cabin fifty yards or so behind the house, not far from an old red barn with a lofty arch roof. “That’ll be your home sweet home. We’ve got another barn down at the new house, but that’s the only bunkhouse. Who needs two bunkhouses these days, right? Or two hired hands.”

“One of each is more than most places have.” And having a cozy log cabin to himself was a vast improvement over his usual accommodations.

“Everybody around here is downsizing. Either that or diversifying.”

Del glanced to one side and noticed a fenced area close behind the house with a swing set, a little playhouse, a sandbox and more kid stuff. For some reason he was surprised, and he turned quickly back to Brad. “Which is it for you?”

“You’ll have to ask Frank. My stepdad. Can’t seem to make up his mind.” Brad shifted into gear. “Take your time. I’ll be getting a slow start today. If Thompson shows up, tell him to come find me.”

* * *

Del dropped his duffel bag just inside the bunkhouse door and drew a deep breath. Pine pitch and dust. Pine was fine, but dust— He grinned—busting dust was a must. He opened the window between the two single beds and heard someone whistling—warbling, more like—and then calling out for Bingo. From the window he had a view of distant tabletop buttes and black whiteface cows grazing on buffalo grass. A meadowlark sang out, and a chorus of grasshoppers responded. He liked the sights and sounds, most of the smells, and he decided he wouldn’t be living out of a suitcase for a while. He liked the idea of hanging up his shirts and putting his toothbrush on a shelf.

He was wrestling with the drawers in a broken-down dresser when the warbler tapped on the door.

“It’s open.”

The woman with the big blue eyes, Lila, peered inside. “It’s always open, but you can have a lock on it if you want.”

“I don’t use locks. You knock, I’ll answer.” Gladly. No man in his right mind would lock her out. She was a pretty woman trying to pass for plain, and it wasn’t happening. The world owed women like her a clue. She’d get noticed no matter what. “You need any help?”

She pushed open the door with the edge of a straw laundry basket. “I brought you some bedding. I have a feeling you won’t see Brad before suppertime, and I don’t know what’s here.”

“Somebody’s clothes. If anyone comes looking, they’re in that box on the bench outside the door.” He nodded toward the floor in front of the dresser, where he’d tossed the sheets he’d stripped off the beds. “I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do with those.”

“I’ll take care of them.” She peeked into the bathroom. Her hair was clipped up on the back of her head in a jaunty ponytail. “I guess I could spare you some towels. Doesn’t look like the last guy...” She turned and handed him the neatly folded bedding. It smelled like early morning. “I still can’t find my dog,” she said quietly as he set the laundry on the bed.

“I didn’t see anything on the highway.”

“You weren’t really looking.”

“You want me to? I’ve got nothing else to do. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been on the payroll for about an hour now.”

“He’s pretty old. Doesn’t usually go far from the house.”

“You probably don’t want your kids to find him first. How old are they?”

“My kids?” She gave him a funny look, as if maybe he’d been reading her mail. And then the light went on. “Oh, the play yard. I do some day care. Other people’s kids.”

“Maybe other people’s kids took your dog.”

“The kids aren’t here on the weekend. Bingo. Little black terrier. If you see him...” She wagged her finger and chirped, “Bingo is his name-o.”

“Ain’t much of a singer, but I’m a hell of a whistler.” He reproduced her warble perfectly. “Like that?”

“He won’t be able to tell us apart.” She smiled. “I’m not a hell of a whistler.”

He smiled back. “You’re a singer. You can have my whistle for a song. I’ll drive out to the highway and walk the ditches. How’s that?”

“As you said, you’re on the payroll, but you don’t work for me.” She started for the open door, did an about-face on the threshold and came back. “But it’s a generous offer, and I’ll take you up on it. In return I’ll—” she grabbed the laundry basket by one handle and lifted her shoulder “—owe you one.”

“Two.” He presented as many fingers. “If one good turn deserves another, I’ll take two towels. If you’re sure you can spare them.”

“I’ll even throw in a washcloth.”

* * *

He came back empty-handed and genuinely relieved. He liked dogs and didn’t want to see her lose hers. He was good at turning on the charm for people no matter what he was feeling, but there was no pretense when it came to dogs. He’d lived with them, worked with them, learned to respect them without exception. Lila Flynn was a dog person. He could be himself with her on that score.

Plus, she’d brought him clean sheets without him even asking.

He parked his pickup near the bunkhouse, taking care not to block the view from the door or either of the windows. He had to smile when he noticed the broom and mop leaning against the bench on the little plank porch, along with a bottle of Pine-Sol. His favorite.

His return didn’t distract her from pinning laundry to the clothesline in her backyard. He watched her from his new front yard, a little below the level of hers. Another nice view. The summer breeze batted blue denim and white cotton around and toyed with Lila’s hair. He enjoyed watching. But if she was still feeling friendly toward him, he would enjoy shooting the breeze with her even more.

Especially if she’d found her dog.

“Any luck?” he asked when he reached the clothesline. She shook her head. “I didn’t find anything on the highway.” She paused for a moment. “Guess that is lucky, when you think about it.” He ducked under an assortment of socks and turned so he could see her face. “Maybe he’s off huntin’ rabbits.”

She didn’t look at him, but she smiled a little.

Try again, he told himself. “I haven’t been around too many terriers. Maybe not big enough to take down a rabbit.”

“Size doesn’t matter. Not to a terrier. They’ll take on all comers.” She snapped a wet shirt straight. “So to speak.”

He was pretty sure she meant to be funny, but her face wasn’t showing it.

He smiled big. “A little confidence buys a lot of respect. From most comers anyway.”

“Thanks for your help.” She slid her empty basket across the grass and touch tested a sheet. “Oh, right. Towels.” She headed for another line. “Let me fold these sheets and then I’ll see if they’re dry.”

He stepped forward to help, and they fell naturally into the two-person task of taking down sheets and folding them, meeting corner to corner, brushing hand to hand.

“So your dad’s kicking back and letting Brad take over?” Del asked.

“Take over what?”

“The cattle operation. Sounds like your brother’s stepping up.”

“Stepbrother.”

“Stepping on toes, is he?” He surrendered a smooth sheet to her charge. “Kinda feelin’ my way here. You hire on with a family operation, you like to get a feel for the pecking order before you step into the coop. Don’t wanna slip on anything the first day.”

She bent to the laundry basket. “You’ll be on the bottom.”

“And you?”

“I’m not part of the order. There’s no pecking in my coop.”

“Good to know.” He unpinned a stiff towel. “Is the bunkhouse part of the peck-free zone?”

“That’s up to you. Do you have any terrier blood in you?”

He laughed. “I can sure tell you do.”

“Here you go.” She selected a pair of blue towels, started to turn them over but paused for a quick nuzzling. “Mmm. Don’t you just love the smell of air-dried laundry?”

“Mine usually comes from the Laundromat.”

She straightened suddenly, her attention drawn to something just outside the play yard. “Bingo!” She dropped the towels in the basket, ducked under the clothesline and took off toward a mass of conspicuous greenery. “Bingo?”

A telltale hiss prompted Del to follow her. The woman could sure move.

“Lila, back off,” he shouted, and she froze at the edge of the vegetable garden. “Step back real slow. That’s not Bingo.”

The critter sprang a good two feet above an orderly row of bush beans. It was a badger.

“He’s got something cornered,” Del said quietly.

“Bingo!”

He grabbed her from behind, pulled her to his chest and clamped his arms around her. “Good Lord, woman.”

He held her close and still, and they watched the badger disappear and a rattlesnake spring forth. Snake down, badger up, like squeezing a long balloon, alternating ends. It might have looked funny if desperation hadn’t been alternating with brutality.

“Damn. We’re not even on their radar.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Lila whispered, mesmerized by the hopping and hissing. “Good thing Bingo isn’t around. He’d be right in the thick of it.”

“You were close.” And he wasn’t letting her go.

They were close. She turned her head and looked up at him, and for a moment he was as deep into her as the snake was into the badger. Just as surprised. Just as engaged. Her eyes were crystalline, as blue as the sky, and damn if they weren’t almost as big. They had power.

It wasn’t until she turned back to the combatants that he was able to draw breath. He loosened his arms reluctantly but didn’t let go, and she seemed a little reluctant to be let loose. An even match, neither could gain without yielding. It was too late to compromise, too soon to take prisoners.

Too late for a handshake; too soon for a kiss.

“I can’t tell who’s winning,” she whispered.

He chuckled. All things considered, he’d made gains.

“No, really,” she insisted. “Can you?”

“I think they’re both hurtin’. Probably both wishing they’d never met.”

Finally the two animals jumped apart as though someone had blown a whistle, then turned tail and took off in opposite directions.

“What do you s’pose that was all about?”

“Home.” His arms were a little lazy about letting her go. “Some dank hole in the ground. Had to be. They sure as hell weren’t fighting over the same female.”

“As long as it wasn’t about my dog.”

“I didn’t hear either one call out, ‘Bingo!’”

“You’re funny.” Her little smile settled the urge to apologize. “I like that.”

“You really love your dog. I like that.” He grinned. “How about going to supper with me?”

“You’re expected at the other house.”

“That’s what I mean. How about going with me?” He shoved his thumbs into his front pockets. “When I get my first paycheck I’ll take you to the best café in Short Straw.”

“I thought you’d been to Short Straw.”

“I’ve been to Bucky’s Place. Had a sausage-and-egg sandwich there this morning. Fresh out of the microwave.”

“I can make you some lunch.”

“My stomach’s still working on that sandwich. Iron gut chippin’ on a rock.”

“It doesn’t get much better in Short Straw. As for Flynn ranch fare...” She glanced past him, nodded toward the road to the other house. “Here comes your boss. Do you have much experience working cattle?”

“I’m a good hand, yeah.”

“Don’t let Brad get to you. He likes to give orders.”

The red Chevy short box turned off the road and sped across the grass in their direction. Brad leaned out the window. “Hey, Fox, you ready to get to work?”

“Been ready.”

“Hop in and I’ll show you around.” He pulled on the brim of his straw hat. “What’s up, Lila?”

“Have you seen Bingo?”

“What, that old dog? You lost him?”

“I can’t find him.”

“Then he must be dead somewhere. I guarantee you, nobody would steal him.” Brad caught Del’s eye, expecting an ally. “Good for nothing, that dog. Except making a lot of noise.”

“Only when you come around,” Lila said.

“Recognition of the alpha. One thing about dogs, they know their place.” He stroked his scraggly mustache with thumb and forefinger, then grinned, basking in the perfection of his observations. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled. If I see hide or hair, you want me to bag it up for you?”

“If you find him, I’d like to have him back. Del’s already searched the right-of-way.”

“Del, huh? Just remember he works for me, Lila.” He watched Del slide into the passenger seat. “Don’t let her boss you around, man. She likes to give orders.”

“Just something to do while I was waiting on the boss.”

Del’s smiling eyes connected with Lila’s as he propped his elbow on the open window and gave her a conspiratorial wink.

Chapter Two

Lila wasn’t taking the new hand seriously. She’d known he was kidding when he asked her to go down to her father’s house with him for supper. She had managed not to look out her kitchen window more than once or twice, checking for signs of life at the bunkhouse. She told herself she was only parking her horse in Dad’s corral now because it was time to check in. She hadn’t seen her father in more than a week, and she was suddenly missing him.

She stuck her socks in her boots and left them in the elaborate mudroom June had added to the plans for the new house, padded through a kitchen filled with the smell of beef and fresh bread—interesting, since she’d never known June to bake bread—past the kitchen table normally used for meals and ventured into the dining room.

“Well, look who’s here,” Brad said. “There’s an empty chair next to me and one beside our new hired hand. Take your pick.”

“Your new hired hand asked me to go to supper with him.” Del almost managed to get out of his seat and pull out the chair before she claimed it herself. Lila tamped down a smile. “So I choose him.”

“You should’ve told me you had a date, Del. We could’ve picked her up.” Brad peered across the table at Lila. “How’d you get here? Don’t tell me you finally decided to put the crazy woman in the closet and get behind the wheel of a car again.”

She eyed him right back. “The horse I rode in on is helping himself to your hay.”

Frank laughed. “My daughter is no crazier than I am, son. I’m taking up bread making. Watched one of them videos and got the recipe off the internet. How’d I do?”

“I knew he’d find it relaxing,” June said. Her red hair looked freshly styled, the color skillfully revived. Dar’s Downhome Dos had done it again. “It’s very good, my darling. And you notice, the baker in the video was a man. The best chefs are men. So it doesn’t surprise me that this bread is delicious. No more store-bought for us.” She flashed Frank a doting smile. “No surprise, he especially enjoyed kneading the dough.”

“What else has he been kneading?” Brad pulled a fake double take. “Never mind. We probably don’t want to go there with our parents. Right, Lila? I mean, we’re eating.”

Once begun, half done, Lila reminded herself.

“He experimented with the dough hooks that came with that new mixer I got him, but that didn’t do it for him. Right, Frank? I’d say mission accomplished, technique perfected. What do you think, Del?”

Del brandished the buttered heel he’d just torn into. “Great bread.”

“There’s more in the kitchen,” Frank said.

“Just for you,” June told Del. “When Brad said he’d hired a new hand, Frank was all about welcoming you with a good meal.”

Frank gestured with the point of his table knife. “If you’re as good as Brad claims, I’d like to keep you around for a while. Guess Thompson took off without saying too much. I never thought much of him, tell you the truth. Brad says he called a guy you worked for, what? Couple of years, right? Said you’re a top hand.” He turned to Brad. “Where’d you say that was? Colorado somewhere?”

“Denver,” Brad said.

“So you came along at the right time. You mind puttin’ up hay?”

“It was a four-month job,” Del said quietly. “This last time. But I’ve worked for Walsh before. And I guess I wouldn’t be much of a ranch hand if I minded putting up hay.”

“I used to hate that part of the business, but nowadays, with the new equipment we’ve got, I can just—”

Brad’s knife clattered to his plate. “I’ll make sure Del has plenty to do, Dad. I drove him around all afternoon, so he knows what he’s in for. He’s like you. Says his cowboy ass ain’t sittin’ on no ATV. Right, Del?”

“Brad fixed me up with a good mount.” Del glanced at Lila, an I’m-on-your-side look in his eyes. “Nice big buckskin.”

“Hombre,” Brad told Frank. “Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Best horse on the place.” Frank grinned. “He should be ridden, and by somebody who knows how.”

Between her father’s grin and the look in the hired hand’s eyes, Lila suddenly took heart.

“Sounds like something I’ve heard before,” Brad said.

“That’s what Rhett Butler said to Scarlett,” June put in.

“Kissed.” Lila attended to buttering her bread. Attention with a secret smile. “He said she should be kissed often.”

“I don’t get to many movies,” Del said. “This Butler, is he a cowboy? You got a horse needs ridin’ or a woman needs kissin’, you find yourself a real cowboy. Ain’t many of us left.”

“Probably just as well,” Lila said. “Hollywood isn’t making many Westerns these days.”

“R-e-a-l,” Del instructed. “Not r-e-e-l. The world is full of actors.”

Lila flashed him a richly deserved smile.

“You like that?” His answering smile lit a true twinkle in his nearly black eyes.

“I do.”

“What’s going on here?” Brad said. “If I didn’t know better...”

“You’d think I was rackin’ up points with the boss’s daughter. But I can already tell she doesn’t give out easy points. I’m just trying to keep up with the conversation.” Del glanced around the table. “Lila and I witnessed a rare sight this morning.” He nodded at her. “You tell it.”

“We watched a fight between a badger and a rattlesnake. They tore up my garden.”

“I thought I tore up your garden,” Brad said.

“You ran over a flower bed.” She took Del’s cue and kept going. “It was amazing. They really kept at it for, I don’t know, five minutes, maybe... They just kept at it.” She turned to Del. “Didn’t they?”

A loaded look accompanied Del’s nod. “Time stood still.”

“In fact...” Damn, he was good-looking. Nearly black hair, chiseled cheekbones, angular jaw and no white-above-the-eyebrows farmer tan on this cowboy’s face. Unless she was mistaken, he’d be head-to-toe brown. Lakota, probably. It took her a moment to turn her attention to her father. “Del caught me before I walked right into the fray.”

“How awful. I hate snakes of any kind.” June gave a tight end-of-story smile. “And I really hope you’ll start joining us for supper regularly, Lila.”

“I didn’t have any kids today. Del helped me look for Bingo. I’ve been searching on horseback, still haven’t found him.” She lifted one shoulder. “So I was...in the neighborhood.”

“I haven’t seen the pup at all lately.” Frank turned to his wife. “Have you? You’ve been out quite a bit getting groceries and whatnot.”

“I thought he always stayed around your yard,” June said, turning to Lila.

Lila nodded. “That’s why—”

“Bingo is the first dog we’ve had around here since Lila left for college,” June explained, apparently for Del’s information. “I’m not a dog person. Kind of allergic.” She turned to Lila. “I think that’s why you decided to move into the old place when you came back, isn’t it?”

“That’s my house,” Lila said.

“I know, but it’s as old as the pyramids, all dark and depressing. We’d like to see more of you. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’m not far away, June. You have to drive past my house to get to the highway. We see each other all the time.” Lila welcomed the mental distance that slid over her like a cool cloud. “And your hired hands are always perfectly positioned to keep an eye on me.”

“That happens to be where the bunkhouse is,” Brad said. “The men don’t give you any trouble, do they? You tell me if they do. I never hire anybody without checking him out. And I don’t tell them to keep an eye on you.” He turned to Del. “I never told you to spy on her, did I?”

Del shook his head. “This was a fine meal.” He tucked his napkin under the edge of his plate and slid his chair back from the table. “It’s been a long time since I had any homemade bread. Sure was good.”

“Now, listen, you tell her I never said anything about—”

Del chuckled. “In my line of work you quickly learn when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em. Hold your tongue, fold your napkin and leave the table.” Which he did, all but the tongue-holding part. His calm, cool parting shot was aimed at Brad. “I can handle most any chore, but spyin’ ain’t one of ’em.” He nodded at June. “Thank you, ma’am.”

* * *

Lila found Del in the barn currying the buckskin. He’d had time to saddle up after making that break for it, killing the time she’d allowed to pass before she left the house. Nothing further had been said on the subject after he left. Maybe they all felt ridiculous. Keep an eye on her. If Brad had asked—and she had her doubts about that—Del would have refused. She’d only been around him for a few hours, but she’d learned a lot, and she had no doubt he would have said no.

“So that was awkward, huh?” She ducked under one of the cross ties and scratched Hombre’s throatlatch. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Whatever that was about, it’s for you guys to deal with.”

“But we put you in an uncomfortable spot, and I’m—”

“Don’t apologize. It had nothing to do with me.” He glanced at her. “Unless you think otherwise?”

“I don’t. I know you wouldn’t go along with anything like that.” She smiled. “I realize we just met, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. Brad can’t push you into doing anything you don’t want to. I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“I’m here to work, and I’ve been at this kind of work long enough to know when to excuse myself from the table.” He ran his hand down the horse’s back and patted his rump. “I’m the one who owes an apology. I asked you to come with me for supper, and then I didn’t show up.”

“You were working.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. Should’ve taken my own pickup instead of getting in with Brad. But now that I’ve got this guy...” He lifted a familiar black saddle onto the buckskin’s back. “Brad didn’t tell me he was Frank’s. You think he minds?”

“I think he’s glad to have you ride him.”

“Is he a good judge of character, too?”

“Sometimes. He’s already taken a shine to you.”

“So...” He gave the saddle cinch a firm tug. “Would you like some company on the ride back to your ancient digs?”

She smiled. “Would you like a tour of the ruins when we get there?”

“You got any mummies?”

“I had one, but she died when I was twelve. Now I just have a stepmummy.” She gave a shy smile. She knew she was being too cute by half. She was far afield of her comfort zone. “You?”

“Mine’s dead, too. So’s my dad. Been a while, so, uh...” He lowered the stirrup. “We should cover new ground on the way back. I didn’t get much chance to look close, flying around the pasture in Brad’s pickup—hey, that man sure has a lead foot—but I tried to be on the lookout. You know, for...any kind of sign.”

“See what I mean? You’re obviously a nice man.”

“You want me to throw a saddle on that pretty black?”

“I pull out my own chair and saddle my own horse.” She smiled. “But thanks for the thought.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He touched his hat brim. “Always thinking.”

* * *

The sun hovered above the sawtooth horizon and the air was still, leaving the horses to stir the grass and offering the crickets a quiet setting for their serenade. Lila had covered the side of the road before supper, so they took the south side, zigzagging separately, cutting across a wide swath. She knew the odds of finding anything weren’t great, but every search was a chance, and she wouldn’t rest until she knew for sure. She’d adopted Bingo from a shelter in Rapid City, and he’d seen her through some lonely times.

“Was he sick or anything?”

Lila looked up and saw Del staring at something on the ground. His dismount was as fluid as any she’d ever seen. Reins in hand, he squatted on his heels, picked something up and sniffed it.

“C’mon, Jackpot.” She trotted her horse in his direction. “Anything?”

“Too old.” He stood up and tossed his discovery. “A piece of something hairy, but all dried up.”

“Why do I have a feeling you haven’t always been a cowboy?”

“I don’t know.” He used the horn as a fulcrum and swung back into the saddle without benefit of a stirrup. Grinning like the boy who’d taken a run and jumped all the way over the creek, he adjusted his hat. “Maybe I started out as a trick rider.”

She narrowed her eyes, considering, and shook her head. “What else you got?”

“I like to work my way up, one surprise at a time. Keeps ’em guessing.” He braced his forearm over the horn and took a turn studying her. “Where’d you go to college?”

“Minneapolis.” He’d started moving. She nudged her gelding to catch up. “Were you ever a cop?”

He gave her an incredulous look, caught himself and laughed. “How did you come up with that?”

“The way you examined the evidence.”

“Too many detective movies and not enough Westerns, college girl. What did you study?”

“Art history, music, British history, literature—”

He whistled appreciatively.

“—business, library science.”

“That’s a lot of studying.”

“I didn’t quite finish,” she said quietly.

A meadowlark answered Del’s whistle.

“I’m listening,” he prompted after a moment had passed.

“I had a bad car accident.”

He let the words have their due. The grass swished, crickets buzzed, the sun settled on the sharp point of a hill.

“Hurt bad?”

“I wasn’t. The person I hit... She was.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t drive anymore.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

More grass sound filled in.

“She okay now?”

“Were you ever a reporter?” she retorted stiffly.

He said nothing. He’d gone one step too far. Game over.

“Put it this way,” she amended. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who usually asks a lot of questions.”

“I’m not the kind who’d strike you at all. I’m the kind who’d do his job, tip his hat when you walk past him and keep his thoughts to himself.”

“Sounds like we’re two of a kind. Or were, until you took an interest in helping me find my dog.”

“You’d do the same, right? It’s all about the dog.”

“We were talking about ancient history before,” she reminded him. “Mummies and all like that. Been a while, you said. For me, too. And the passage of time helps. I know it does. It takes the edge off regrets, shuts down the what-ifs.” They were riding slowly now, the search all but set aside. “She recovered, but it took a long time, and it changed her life. Don’t ask me how it happened. It doesn’t matter.”

He nodded.

She knew she didn’t have to tell him not to discuss it with anyone. It wouldn’t kill her if he did, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t. They had things in common, spoken and unspoken things. What things they were didn’t matter as much as how they felt about them. They could move on without exchanging details.

“I have to find Bingo, no matter what. I have to bring him home.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

“You’ll know him when you see him. He’s the only little black terrier around. This isn’t exactly terrier country.”

“What’s the cell phone reception like around here?”

“Terrible. You have to go up on a hill, and even then it’s hit or miss. You’re welcome to use my old reliable landline anytime.”

“I was thinking if I find the dog and he won’t come to me...”

“He loves cheese.” She tucked her hand in her back pocket, pulled out a chunk of it wrapped in brown paper and reached between horses to hand it to him. “He won’t care if it’s a little squashed.”

“Funny dog.”

She smiled. “You two will hit it off just fine.”

* * *

At breakfast the next morning Del was assigned his first official chore. No surprise, he was to ride the fence and check for breaks.

“Neighbor called and told Dad there’s been cattle disappearing again. I’m gonna head down to the south pasture and start counting.”

“If I find anything, you want me to fix it right away?” Since he knew where to look, he was going to help himself to a second cup of coffee. He gestured with the pot, and Frank offered up his cup for a refill.

“Well, yeah,” Brad said. “That’s one job you can be sure gets delegated.”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

“If we’re missing cows and we don’t find them, we’ll let the sheriff in on all the details.”

Frank took no notice. Either he didn’t hear, didn’t want to hear or his agreement went without saying. In any case, nobody was too concerned about preserving a possible crime scene.

Del took his time riding the fence along the dirt road that separated two Flynn Ranch pastures. He knew he would find the wire down less than a mile off the blacktop, but along the way there was a chance he might run across Lila’s dog. He found himself hoping otherwise. This far from the house, it was bound to be a sad discovery.

A faint set of tire tracks in the dry ground led to the hole in the fence. Three loose strands of barbed wire curled away from the steel post in three different directions. A qualified lawman would be able to get a clue or two, and fixing the fence wouldn’t make too much difference. But it would make some. Not to Del, of course. He’d been a witness. Now he had to figure out where Frank fit in, and he knew better than to ask questions he didn’t know the answers to.

He fixed the wire, and then he followed the fence line until it took a right turn at the highway. There he saw the grass stir. It could’ve been a snake or a grouse, but it wasn’t. He knew before he reached the spot that he’d found the little black dog.

Not quite what he’d expected, but it was small and male and black. Who else could it be? And he was alive, which was a whole lot better news than he’d expected. Del whistled. The paper crinkled as he unveiled the chunk of cheddar.

“Got some cheese for you, Bingo. Come and get it, boy.” He sank to his knees, and the pup bounded through the grass and pounced on the cheese. Del’s left knee cracked in protest as he stood with his arms full of wiggly, scrawny, finger-licking dog. “I thought you’d be fuzzier. How’d you get this far from home on such short legs, huh?” The dog seemed a little young, but maybe that was because he was scared and hungry. He rooted around Del’s shirt, struggled to get his nose in Del’s scratching hand. “That’s all I’ve got, boy, sorry. We’ll go get you some more. Lila sure is gonna be happy to see you.”

But she wasn’t.

She petted the pup’s head, but she wouldn’t take him in her arms. “He’s cute enough, but he’s not my dog.”

“What do you mean, he’s not your dog?” Del put the dog on the ground, let him check out the furniture legs on Lila’s front porch. “I found him not three miles from here, nobody else around. He fits your description. He’s— You’re pullin’ my leg, right?” The dog sniffed Lila’s bare toes. “He likes you.”

Then he abandoned bare toes for black boot.

“Hee-yah!” Del ordered, and the dog looked up and cocked his head as though he needed a translation. And, of course, he did. Forgetting himself—more like forgetting his cover—Del had spoken in Lakota, his father’s first language. “No. Don’t you dare.”

The dog wagged and whined.

Lila laughed. “He likes you even more.”

“Only because I fed him. Hell, he loves cheese, just like you said.” He jerked his thumb toward the porch steps and told the dog, “Show her you know where to pee.”

Lila folded her arms imperiously. “He’s not Bingo. He’s too young, and he’s not even a terrier.”

“He’s a little black dog. Bingo?” The wagging speed doubled. Del had to reward such obvious name recognition by picking him up again. “Yeah, Bingo. She’s messin’ with me, ain’t she?”

“He’d wag his tail for you if you called him Stupid. He’s not my dog.”

“Damn.” Del lifted the dog’s muzzle and looked him in the eye. “You sure?”

“I’ve never seen him before. I’ll ask my kids’ parents when they drop them off, but my guess is, you’ve found yourself a dog.”

“What do you mean, myself? I’ve been looking all over hell for your dog.”

“He doesn’t have a collar. Either somebody dropped him off or...” Lila scratched the furry head. “Are you lost? Did you run away? Speak.”

“Ruff!”

“Aw.” Del put the pup down and offered a hand. “Shake.” Paw plopped into hand. Del flashed Lila a grin. “And you can just tell he’s housebroken, too.”

“Lucky for you,” she said. “Because I’m not looking for a dog. I’m looking for my dog. Unless somebody comes looking for him, the finders-keepers rule applies.”

“I like dogs, but there’s no way.”

“Yes, there is. I see the will in your eyes.” She glanced at the dog. “And thirst in his.” She retrieved a pan of water from the other end of the porch and set it down. They watched him go for it. “Bingo... When he comes back, Bingo will let him stay with you, but not with me. So you’ll have to take care of him, and you might as well start now.”

“No, I can’t...” Del slid the pup a sympathetic glance. “Somebody’s been teaching this dog tricks. That somebody’s looking for him as we speak.”

“And if that somebody comes to call, you’re in luck. Or out of it, which would be—” Lila levered an eyebrow and growled “—ruff.”

“I’m bettin’ somewhere there’s a kid crying over this dog.” The eyebrow arched again, and he groaned. “You got some food for him?”

“I have all kinds of stuff you’ll need for him. I’ll drop it off in the bunkhouse. And I have kids coming this afternoon. I promise I’ll ask about him.”

“They’ll love him.” And they’d all play with him, give him a name.

“If nobody comes looking for him, you’ll have to get him vaccinated before he can be around my day care kids.” She patted his arm. “I’m holding out for Bingo.”

“I looked all over, Lila. This little guy needs—”

“All over? You’ve only been here a couple of days. This place is a lot of all over.” She watched the pup for a moment, stepped back and shook her head. “It was an honest mistake. I don’t want to keep you from your job.”

“You’re not. I was on my way to find Brad.” The little black dog was right behind Del when he left. He turned, looked down at the wagging tail, the expectancy in a pair of big brown eyes, and he chuckled. “Yeah, you can come along.”

“Wait!” she called after him. “I’m...” He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “I’ll get you some dog food.”

“Leave it in the bunkhouse.”

Del walked away muttering, “The hell with her,” to the dog. If she was interested, the woman heard him. If she wasn’t, a little curse didn’t matter to her anyway. But he was pretty sure he still had her attention, pretty damn sure he was getting under her skin right now.

“And we both know there’s more’n one way to skin a cat,” he whispered to his new companion. “Ain’t that right?” Then he laughed at himself for conjuring an image of peeling Lila’s T-shirt over her head. “Skin the cat” was one of his dad’s crazy sayings.

“The hell with her” was not.

* * *

Del found Frank cleaning a saddle in the new barn. One wall of the tack room was lined with racks stocked with saddles and hooks heaped with bridles, all in beautiful condition. Frank was a true horseman.

“Brad back yet?”

“Haven’t seen him.” Frank tapped the lid on a can of saddle soap. “He took his pickup. I don’t think he was too serious about checking cows. Not from a pickup.”

“The fence was down about a mile off the highway on the cut-across. All three strands cut.”

Frank dropped the can into a rubber tub. “Could be kids.”

“There were tire tracks. I don’t know why kids would go to all that trouble, though. Not the best place for a party. Nothing left behind. No cans, no bottles, no butts.”

“Did you fix it?”

“For now. Should be replaced.”

“You rode the fence line on horseback?” The older man’s face lit up. “There’s wire out in the shop. We’ll load some up, drive over and do it right.”

“I can take care of it now. Just say the word.”

“I did. It’s we. We’ll go out and stretch some wire.” He slid his stool up against the wall, lifted his John Deere cap, raked his fingers through thinning gray hair and then settled the cap back in place as though they were heading for town. “I think I’m gonna like you, Del. Seems like you’re here to work.”

“I’ve worked for guys who want me to wade right in and do what needs doing and guys who want me to wait for orders. I’m good either way.”

Frank clapped a sturdy hand on Del’s shoulder. “Then you’ll be good loading up the wire in case my wife looks out the window. I’ll bring the pickup around.”

“Guess I’m done waiting.”

The chance to spend quality time with Frank fit nicely into Del’s plan, and considering the way things were working around the Flynn place, it had come sooner than expected. It was a good sign, he thought, and then he dismissed the idea. He was looking to connect the dots. From his perspective they were neither good nor bad. They were just dots. The connections were all that counted.

“I didn’t mean to bother you with this,” he told Frank as they approached the stretch of fence he’d patched earlier. He pointed, and Frank pulled over. “Retirement must be nice.”

“Brad says I’m retired?” Frank chuckled. “Don’t worry. You can answer truthfully. It won’t get back to him.”

“I guess what he said was, he’s trying to get you to take it easy.”

“In my old age?”

“Now, he didn’t say that. You’ve got a real nice place here, Frank. Probably been building it up acre by acre for...”

“Most of my life.” Frank pushed his door open, but he wasn’t in any hurry to get out. He was taking in the view. Grass and sky. “Belonged to my wife’s family, my first wife. I own half the land. Lila’s grandmother left her the other half, along with the home place.” He turned to Del, as though he was about to deliver news that deserved special treatment. “My first wife died.”

“When Lila was twelve.”

Frank raised his brow. “Brad told you?”

“Lila did. My mother died young, too.”

Frank gave a tight-lipped nod. Del read the message in his eyes. Tough break all around.

“Lila’s never forgiven me for getting married again. She should’ve outgrown that by now. A man doesn’t stop living just because his wife dies. Especially not if he has a young child. Your dad remarry?”

Del shook his head. “Never did.”

“Is that some kind of tradition?

“You mean for Indians?” Del shook his head. “My mother was white. My dad was Lakota. I’m sure he had his reasons for not getting married again, but being Lakota wasn’t one of them.”

“It’s hard, losing your wife sudden like that. Or your mother. Leaves a big hole right through your chest. The wind—” he gestured with a shivery hand “—whistles right through.”

Del showed Frank the tire tracks, which, interestingly enough, didn’t elicit much reaction. Del had to fish for it.

“Brad said neighbors have been losing cattle.”

“Could be rustlers, I guess. There’s been some rustling now and again lately, but it’s mostly been tribal cattle. I don’t lease any tribal land, so I stay out of their business, but I’ve heard rumors about the tribe being short quite a few cows.” Frank turned his attention to the fence, but he kept talking as he examined Del’s fix. “They say the ranch manager is a suspect. Old fella named Stan Chasing Elk. His daughter and mine were real close.”

“Who’s accusing him?”

“Mostly the tribal police, but I guess the tribal council is getting down on him. Anyway, that’s what I’ve heard. As long as it’s just the tribe’s cattle, it’s none of my business.”

“Could be it’s your business. You callin’ the law on this?”

“If we’re missing cows, you damn betcha. You did a nice job here, but we’ll string up new wire.” His tone shifted, as though he’d been asked to testify. “It ain’t Stan. We go way back. Good man, Stan.” He turned his attention to a passing cloud. “Stan the Man. Remember the baseball player?”

Del glanced at the cloud, half expecting to see a Stan or two up there, acknowledging Frank’s memory with a thumbs-up.

Frank snapped out of his reverie with a chuckle. “Course not. That was a long time ago.”

“Stan the Man Musial. One for the books, and I do read some. Musial said, ‘When the pitcher’s throwing a spitball, just—’”

“‘—hit it on the dry side,’” they quoted in unison, and then they both laughed as Frank clapped a hand on Del’s shoulder.

“I played baseball in high school. First base. Pretty good hitter.” Del read approval in Frank’s face, and he figured the old man had faced more spitballs over the years than he had. “Your sport, too?”

“Was. Never had time to play much, but...” He looked down at the tire tracks and shook his head. “Yeah, I think we might’ve lost some cows. We’ll see what Brad comes up with. I keep my books on paper. He’s got this computer thing going, and we don’t always match up.”

“I’m not much of a computer guy myself.”

“Glad I’m not the only one. Guess we need to get with the program, buddy.” Chuckling, he laid his hand on Del’s shoulder. “They say everybody’s replaceable these days. Even cowboys.”

“Yeah, that horse is out of the barn.”

“Come to think of it, they haven’t made the computer yet that can chase that horse down and run him back in.”

“Or string wire,” Del said. “So I guess I’m not completely replaceable.”

“Brad either chose well or lucked out this time.” Frank smiled. “I admire a man who knows the value of a good horse. Still the best way to herd cows.”

* * *

Del tried two hills before he found a piece of high ground where his phone quit cutting out. Truth be told, he was one hell of a space-age cowboy. While truth telling wasn’t part of his job description, he made an effort to keep mental tabs on it, and taking his smartphone in hand and tapping out a couple of texts allowed him to get in touch with reality even as he was keeping his head in the game. The message that came back was unsatisfying, but at least it was a contact.

Follow Benson. Get a line on Chasing Elk. Move up the line ASAP.

ASAP wasn’t Del’s preferred approach to a job. Space-age aside, a dyed-in-the-hide cowboy didn’t do ASAP. If the question was “Fast or good?” his answer was always “The best you’ve ever had.”

Which made him think of Lila.

“I like her,” he told the dog in the passenger seat. He gave the animal’s head a vigorous scratching, the velvety drop ears a floppy workout. The pup lifted his head, eyes closed in pure bliss. “Okay, so she rejected you for now, but it’s not personal. She can’t give up too soon. It would be like saying out with the old, in with the new. That’s hard for a woman like her. She’s got no ASAP button. Give her time.”

The dog whined.

“No? Sorry, buddy, we got no choice. We gotta let her come to us. Okay?” He patted the dog’s back. “Meanwhile, I’m here for you.”

Chapter Three

“I think we’re missing six head of steers,” Brad reported. He glanced at Del as though he might have something to with it. Then he turned his attention to Frank, but he didn’t look him in the eye. He dug his boot heel into the pulverized corral dirt like a kid who was having trouble making stuff up as he told his father how he’d done exactly what he was supposed to do. “Unless they got in with the cows. I mean, I drove across the south pasture and didn’t see any steers in with the cows there. That’s the only place...” He jerked up his chin suddenly. “You say there’s tire tracks?” he asked Del. “What kind?”

“Sixteen and a half inch, probably a GM, maybe a Ford—big one-ton sucker—towing a gooseneck trailer.”

“What color?” Frank asked, straight-faced as hell.

“The pickup or the gooseneck?”

“Either one,” Frank allowed. “Hell, both.”

Del’s expression matched the old man’s. “Black. Had to be a matched set.”

Brad was speechless, waiting for something to drop—a shoe, a net, something. Del purely enjoyed the seconds that passed before Frank tapped his shoulder with the back of his hand, signaling it was time for a good laugh.

“I can read tracks, but not quite that good,” Del said.

“Ground’s too dry,” Frank said. “You were doing real good finding any tracks at all.” He turned to Brad. “You sure we’re missing six? You got ear-tag numbers?”

“Dad, they’re missing.”

“You get the numbers that are there,” Frank explained with exaggerated patience. “The ones that aren’t there are the ones we’re looking for.”

Brad glared briefly at Frank and then at the fence wire in the back of Frank’s pickup. “You know, I told Del to get that fence fixed.” He turned to Del. “You didn’t need to go to my dad for help.”

“He didn’t,” Frank said. “He was looking for you. I went out there with him because I needed to get out of the damn house.”

“Well, good. That’s good.” Nodding, Brad slid Del a cold glance. “I’ll give the sheriff a call, tell him where to meet up so he can see what’s going on out there.” He turned back to Del. “You go get the tag numbers off those steers out where I showed you yesterday. You remember how to get there?”

“You don’t want him to show you where he found the tire tracks?” Frank asked.

“You said the cut-across, right? How far off the highway?”

“Little less than a mile. I marked the fence with a red flag. You can tell where it was cut. Anyway, Sheriff Hartley can tell.” Frank turned to Del. “I’ll get us the list of tag numbers. We’ll go out and check them off, see what’s missing.”

“You’re not thinking about getting on a horse,” Brad challenged.

“I think about it all the time.”

“Don’t tell Mom that. She’s thinking all the time, too. About that trip you promised her after you get your other new knee.” Brad sidled up to Frank. “Let me take care of this, Dad. We’ll check the ear tags and figure out what’s what. You get hold of Hartley. Better you than me.” He looked over at Del and went back to being boss. “Mount up. Dad knows best.”

* * *

Del let his horse drop back to a trot when he heard the roar of the pickup at his back. He didn’t need help with taking ear-tag inventory—he could easily handle Frank’s metal clipboard himself—and he doubted he would get much. But making waves didn’t suit his purpose. Neither did ignoring Brad, as much as he wanted to. They both knew how many steers were missing. Brad didn’t know or care which ones they were. But Frank cared, and that was another good sign.

Sign. Just a piece of information. Connections, Fox. That’s all you’re looking for.

“This works out better,” Brad called out from the pickup.

Del slowed to a walk. “What does?”

“Letting Frank be the one to deal with the sheriff. I had a few run-ins with Hartley back when I was a kid, young and dumb. But I’ve stayed away from him since then. I need to keep it that way.”

“I hear you.” And hearing was enough. He kept his eyes on the view. Clear blue sky and rolling hills. The grand scheme. “Cops have tunnel vision. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“You know it. I didn’t count, but I figure there was probably a hundred head of steers in that pasture. Frank won’t be satisfied until he has ear-tag numbers. There’s no way around it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Brad came to a stop and toyed with the accelerator. Power. Play. Del spun his horse and let him prance a little in response.

“But you can’t fake it,” Brad warned. “He still keeps records.”

“He seems pretty sharp.”

“He’s slipping. A year or two ago he wouldn’t trust me to count the eggs in the fridge. So you got this?”

Del spun again, enjoying the buckskin’s responsiveness, but a hint of something black lying in the shade of a chokecherry bush caught his eye. He urged his mount to trot ahead.

Brad shouted out to him and then followed, but he had to slow down for rutted terrain. By the time he reached the copse of bushes, Del had dismounted, dropped a knee to the ground and greeted the little corpse by name. Only the soft black hair moved, ruffled by the breeze.

“You got something I can wrap him up in?” Del asked when the sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. This wasn’t the way you wanted to find the friend of a friend.

“Just leave him. I’ll tell her there wasn’t much left.”

Del got up and craned his neck for a look in the pickup bed. “A plastic bag or something? When we get back to the barn I’ll find something better to put him in.”

“It’s a dead dog, for God’s sake. Coyotes should’ve made short work of the thing by now.”

“They didn’t.” Del pulled his hat brim down to block out the sun. Or, far more irritating, the sight of Brad Benson. “She said she wants him back no matter what. It’s a small thing to ask.”

“Throw it in the back of the pickup. What’s the use of having coyotes around if they don’t do their part?” Brad gave him a look, half suspicious, half mocking. “Fox, huh? Maybe you’re the coyote.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

* * *

It bothered him all afternoon. He worked around the steers as quickly as he could, taking care not to disturb them too much while he took inventory, but he thought about that dog the whole time. Thought about Lila. Thought about the fact that her damn stepbrother had no respect for anything that mattered, and that her affection for her dog mattered in a way that not much else in Del’s own world did.

Except the job. His real job. Starting out, the job had meant freedom. It had meant reporting only to one person instead of a dozen. It had meant eating what he wanted, going to bed when he felt like it. It had meant out with the old and in with the new. He wasn’t going to miss any of the old, and the new was yet to be discovered. But affection hadn’t figured in anywhere. His father was gone, and Del couldn’t help but think he’d died of a broken heart, that his affection for his son had become such a heavy burden that his big heart had cracked. And with his father’s death a chunk of Del’s own life had been removed, like some kind of surgical amputation. What he had—what there was for him to build on—was a strange and unexpected job.

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