Flash Flood (22 page)

Dinner was quiet. Dan wasn't sure he felt at ease with Jorge but chalked up any reservations that he had to the man's quiet manner. But in some ways that was a relief, nothing worse than getting caught with a non-stop talker when you're trying to concentrate on business and happen to be a captive audience.

There would be five ranch hands riding along. They would act as scouts, spot the cows, then the five of them would round them up, drive them to holding pens if there were any close enough and help with checking the ear tags. One of the men was a vet.

Dan expected to check over a thousand head in the next few days. Many would be mixed-breeds, Brangus, Braford; only a few Charolais and polled Hereford mixed in the herd that scrounged for food and congregated at one of a hundred stock tanks. These were range-fed beef cattle being prepared for a market later in the fall.

Jorge said he should be ready to ride at six and Dan turned in about nine after a shower, something he might not have for a while. The bed felt good. He had left a window open and a breeze played with the corner of the sheets. The moon was a perfect crescent, and he watched as its light cast dappled shadows across the quilt. And that's all he remembered before slipping into the sleep of the weary.

He dreamed of Elaine. The two of them together, running across a field, then tumbling down a hill to wrestle body against naked body in tall fragrant grass. Her hair was swept back from her face and she was teasing him, reaching between his legs, grabbing then releasing him to run a hand across his abdomen. He reached out and drew her to him murmuring her name as he pressed his head between her breasts.

“Shit.”

He sat up. He was awake and focused and pissed all at the same time. “Get out of this bed. Now.” He wasn't even worried about keeping his voice down.

“You weren't so all-fired anxious to get rid of me a minute ago.” Iris could pout like no one he'd ever seen before, full bottom lip slightly curving downward, eyes watery, imploring— no, begging—blond hair tousled spilling over her shoulders, down her back giving her a wayward urchin look. But then there were the breasts, nipples erect, thrust forward by the curve of her spine as she sat back on her knees at the foot of the bed but aware, very aware, of exactly how she looked, how provocative the pose.

Dan swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood with his back to her and wished he believed in pajamas or, at least, slept in shorts. He pulled on the pair of Levis thrown over the chair next to the window, then not knowing what else to do, sat down.

“What are you doing here?”

“Funny, you have to ask.” She swung a leg around to settle cross-legged, facing him.

“Damn it, Iris, get out.”

“No one's here to see us.”

“That's not the point. I'm not interested.”

“That's just real hard to believe.” She put extra emphasis on hard.

“I'm not into playing games.” She didn't seem to be in any hurry to move. Would he have to carry her to the door?

“Who's Elaine?”

It caught him off guard. This reference to someone he wished was sitting in the exact same place as Iris and in the exact same attire—nothing.

“Friend.”

“Sure. Close friend, maybe?” Giggles.

“Why do you want to go to bed with me?” Maybe, the direct approach.

She stared at him a moment, then, “Are you going to investigate me?”

“What do you mean?”

“As the owner of those cows that died.”

“Should I?”

“I don't know anything.”

“Then I'll find that out, won't I?”

“Will I get the money?” Now, the real reason for being here was coming out, Dan thought.

“If I don't find reason to suspect foul play.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When will I get the money?”

“One month. Maybe two. As soon as I wrap up the investigation.”

She sighed. “I need the money now.” And then he did something he'd been wanting to do, been curious about ever since the talk with Billy Roland; he took a step toward the bed and grabbed her by the arms. Pulled her arms out toward him and even in the pale light could see the infinitesimal dots in the creases of both forearms.

“I bet you do.”

She pulled away and flounced off the bed and left the room slamming the door behind her. Dan didn't lock it. He knew she wouldn't be back. But it was another hour before he got back to sleep.

It must have rained before dawn. Lawn and flowers glistened with a heavier than dew coating of moisture. And the smell of freshness enveloped him as he headed toward the barn. Great day for a roundup. When he thought of last night, he almost laughed. Shouldn't there be a medal for passing up sex with perfect bodies? But the sadness of it stopped him. A young life in trouble without a promising future.

“You be ready in five minutes?”

It was a question, not a command. Jorge stood in the breezeway of the barn talking to five men whose horses were already saddled. Must be the hands going with them. Dan nodded when he saw that someone had saddled Belle and brought her up front.

The pack horses were tied outside. One of the men handed around a thermos of coffee and sweet rolls, then Jorge swung lightly onto his horse, started down the drive, and waved them to follow. Belle sensed Dan's excitement and side-stepped the first fifty feet before he goosed her into going forward. The time together would be good for both of them.

***

The first half day netted a hundred and fifty steers found clustered around a stock tank about two miles from the house. All had ear tags and all were numbers in the computer. By late afternoon they had checked an additional hundred and seven. The chow wagon was already parked and waiting for them at the designated spot by the time they finished.

“The bulk of the herd is probably on the
Llano Estacado.
” Jorge trotted his horse alongside Belle. “This area is called the stockaded plains. If you look carefully, you can see the fortress-like appearance of escarpments, there…” Jorge pointed in a circular motion to the west, “and there.” He pointed back to the east. “We'll get over closer to those ridges tomorrow. Then the real work begins.”

There was a beauty in the sparseness of the land. The natural boundaries contained the herd in a basin stretching miles in every direction. A wooded area in the distance marked a stream, an oasis-green dot starkly outlined against the dusty sage of the prairie grass. One, maybe, two hundred years ago, buffalo roamed this same area in herds big enough to cover several acres.

They had passed a line of migrant worker shacks. All vacant, looking like they hadn't been inhabited for awhile. Dan thought they might stop there for the night but Jorge pushed on saying they were later than expected. At the next rise Dan saw the paneled truck waiting on them in the distance.

Dinner was already being served when Dan dismounted. He rubbed down Belle, gave her water and feed before he went to get a plate for himself. There was an iced keg of beer, fried chicken, more beans, and more potato salad. But everything tasted great, something about being outdoors. There was a hint of chill in the September night air. After the dinner wagon left, in this case a panel-backed Land Rover, someone built a fire.

Jorge sat with the men who worked the cattle, but Dan didn't feel left out. Jorge just seemed more comfortable speaking Spanish. Not that his English wasn't perfect, it was. Probably educated in the States, Dan surmised. The right qualifications for being a ranch foreman this close to the border.

Everyone turned in early. But Dan didn't know when that was; he had left his watch in one of his saddlebags. Time was the last thing that mattered out here. He unrolled his gear next to a clump of prairie grass—a sleeping bag on top of a two-inch-thick foam pad laid out on sun-hardened caleche clay and sand—and he'd never sleep better.

The second day was a repeat of the first. Only this time they found larger pockets of cattle milling around remote water tanks each marked by a windmill and easily seen from miles away.

As they approached a herd, Jorge would ride forward, push through them looking them over, sizing them up? Dan didn't know. But he could be looking for any that might be diseased or lame. The man was thorough.

It was late in the afternoon when they rode over the crest of a low rolling hill and spotted about fifty head moving single file toward a water tank in the distance. Their leader was a particularly large black steer. But he wasn't the one that caught Dan's attention. At the rear and about fifty feet back from the rest was a youngish looking heifer. A straggler not accepted by the others.

As Dan watched, she stopped and looked his way, more interested in the riders than following the group. Dan dismounted, pulled out the computer and walked toward her.

“Nice Brangus heifer,” Jorge offered. “Need some help with her?”

“I might be able to do this one all by myself.” The heifer still hadn't moved by the time Dan stood in front of her, even though Jorge hovered behind him on horseback as a precaution.

“I'll be over here if you need help.” Jorge seemed reluctant to leave.

“No problem. I'm okay.” Dan put the computer down and reached out to pet her. She was in poor condition, slack skin, her coat which should have been a shiny black was dull with loose hair and flakes of dander; there were signs she was suffering from diarrhea. Only her eyes were clear and warm. She even made a grunting noise as he patted her back and moved to check the ear tag.

Dan didn't know cattle but this one seemed different. Even in her condition, better than the rest. A certain look. He pulled an ear toward him; the tag had been mangled. It was barely readable. Whatever this heifer had been doing out here, she'd had a rough time of it. He punched in the number 5141 from the tag and saw that the Brangus-Charolais cross heifer was one of Billy Roland's, raised on the Double Horseshoe, and was three years old.

Absently, he scratched behind her ear just in front of the hump characteristic of Brahma and Black Angus mix cattle. The hump was less pronounced than in Charolais but still very much present. Only Charolais were completely silver or mottled white in color, like the hairs around this heifer's eyes. Maybe that's what caught his attention, the owl-like appearance of her eyes that leapt out at him against the jet black of her coat.

He patted her on the right shoulder and she moved sideways. Not to get away from him but to square up, better place her feet. Suddenly, Dan's mind was racing. He picked up a stick and tapped her flank just like he'd seen Hank do in the show ring. The heifer, keeping an eye on him, collected her mass and moved her left hind leg back to line up with her right hind leg, then pulled herself up and out over her front legs, showing chest and neck to the best advantage.

Dan stood back, praised the heifer, and took in the perfection of this badly treated animal whose good breeding came through in spite of condition and a lousy dye job. Then he followed a hunch—more than a hunch. He pressed in the number 5747. If someone had filed off the points on the sevens, the number would look like 5141. But he didn't need to wait for the records to come up on the screen. He knew without looking that standing in front of him was Grand Champion Taber's Shortcake Dream.

Chapter Eight

The men in the Land Rover had dropped off dinner and raced back to the house for the hospital truck, a well padded stock trailer with wide, woven canvas bands of support that criss-crossed beneath the animal, gently keeping it on its feet, aiding it in standing during the ride back over rough terrain.

Meanwhile, the vet who rode with them went over her. Of course, she'd been exposed to who knew what on the range, but he thought she'd be fine with good food and care. Lucky to have found her when they did because he didn't think she would have lasted much longer. Shortcake Dream needed little encouragement to hop into the trailer. It was almost like she knew she was going home, Dan thought.

They were met at the barns by Hank, who instantly took over backing the heifer gently out of the trailer and quickly moving her to the clinic. There were two other vets helping him as he began collecting blood samples and preparing injections of antibiotics. Another ranch hand tempted her with some kind of mash in a stainless steel bucket while he rubbed her nose and whispered encouragement. Dan thought Shortcake Dream looked content. Happy to have all the fussing. Life was back to normal for her.

But if Shortcake Dream looked happy, Billy Roland was ecstatic. Tears had rolled down his cheeks when he watched her being unloaded. He did a cursory check of the heifer himself, exclaiming over her condition, and then Hank ordered him back while his team took over.

“How can I thank you?” Dan and Billy Roland had walked back to the house.

“Just a little matter of everyone being in the right place at the right time.”

“More than luck, son. You recognized good breeding and thought to question a situation that didn't look right to you. I'll forever be in your debt.”

Billy Roland said it reverently but the excitement seemed to have left him spent. He slumped into a deep leather chair in the study and leaned against the high back.

“Suppose you could find a little something to put in a glass over there? I'd be much obliged.” He waved toward the bar but Dan was already moving in that direction. He figured they both had earned a scotch over.

“Spell it out for me, son.”

“What?”

“What you're thinking. About who's behind this. Who's trying to put one over on the insurance company.”

Dan didn't answer immediately. In all the excitement he hadn't necessarily tried real hard to decide who he thought was behind the switch, number 5141 for 5747. A little switch that would have grossed about three hundred and fifty thousand for Miss Iris. But who masterminded it? And what would have happened to Shortcake Dream? He found it difficult to believe that she would have been left to die on the plains. Not after someone had gone to all the trouble to disguise her.

“I could ask you the same question, couldn't I?” Dan handed Billy Roland the glass of scotch.

“Assuming you think I'm innocent.”

“Are you?” Dan hoped his directness wouldn't be misunderstood.

“In some ways I am, in some ways I'm not.”

“Care to explain that?”

The sigh was deep. Dan was almost afraid that Billy Roland wasn't going to continue when he pushed himself out of the chair, crossed to the bar and brought the bottle of scotch back and placed it between them.

“Might need a little refresher later on,” he said and sank back down and picked up his glass.

“When those first two heifers died unexpectedly, I had my suspicions. Like I explained, the money would come in handy for Miss Iris. But I didn't say anything. I just wanted to bury my head in the sand, not believe what was right in front of my nose.” Billy Roland took a long drink of scotch. “When Shortcake Dream was found mutilated, I'd liked to have died. My whole life was in that heifer. I'd never signed over my best if I hadn't thought the gesture was worth even more. Like some old fool, I thought I could buy a love that never would be there for me.” He paused to down three swallows of scotch.

“But I couldn't believe that Iris could have had that heifer killed. Couldn't let myself believe it. It would have meant that Iris never did love me or she couldn't have hurt me that way. Killed a beautiful living being. You don't know how hard I was hoping that alien theory would pay off.” A wan smile and another swallow of scotch.

“So now what am I left with? I got Shortcake Dream back, but now I know that Miss Iris was behind it. Miss Iris and some stud who also sucks up my hospitality and draws a paycheck, probably. But luckily someone who just didn't have the heart to kill a fine animal.”

The first crash of breaking glass startled both of them. Dan reached the door of the study first and headed toward the kitchen. Iris didn't see him standing in the doorway but heaved another piece of dinnerware in the direction of the man standing in front of the butcher block island in the center of the room. She was out of control. Her face was red and splotchy and distorted by screaming.

“You can't do anything right. Can't even kill a god-damned cow.” Another plate shattered into a hundred pieces after sailing over the head of the man and banging against the wall. Then a cup and saucer followed. Iris was hysterical and from the center of the room, Jorge's eyes never left her.

“I needed that money. You told me everything was taken care of. You and your god-damned promises. You didn't tell me you decided to spare that stupid piece of shit. What's a cow? I'm dying out here. I'm dying.” Iris sank to the floor sobbing uncontrollably, her head on her knees.

“I'll be out of here in the morning.” Jorge said it matter of factly to Billy Roland, who stood in the doorway behind Dan. “There's been no damage. Shortcake Dream will be fine. Glad you finally got around to doing the inventory. She wouldn't have lasted much longer.” This he addressed to Dan. Then he turned to go. “Oh yeah, Hank will back me up on this. The first two heifers really did die of virus. That's when Miss Greedy decided to go for a lump sum and then split. Take little old Shortcake Dream out and disappear.”

He left by the back door. Dan made a move to follow, but Billy Roland stopped him.

“Let him be.” He stood looking at Iris. “I want you out of here, too, come morning. You'll get what's yours from the first two heifers. Put it to good use. There won't be asking me for any more.”

Dan watched the old man go down the hall to his study, but he didn't follow. If he had to guess, he'd say that Billy Roland would probably kill the bottle of scotch and wouldn't want any company when he did it. Dan crossed to the back door. He'd go down to the barns to check on Shortcake Dream. He stepped over a subdued Miss Iris on the way. Tangled lives. Wouldn't be the first time an insurance investigation had turned into soap opera.

***

The kitchen table was covered with travel brochures but she wasn't kidding herself. She wasn't going anywhere. Not immediately, anyway. She switched off the overhead lamp and pushed bare toes into Simon's soft fur. Close to midnight according to the clock above the stove. This wasn't how she thought the sabbatical would be. Christ, this wasn't how she thought her life would be. In limbo. Decisions that had to be made were sliding away, just outside her reach.

She was feeling a need to get on with things. To take control. Stop waiting for Eric to dictate the next step. Was she even sympathetic anymore? Did she care that he felt he'd been cheated out of two million dollars? Couldn't she just go to someone, authorities maybe and tell them about Eric and then walk away?

But what if he was killed? Because of her, what if he really died? Or what if he turned on her? Threatened her life for double-crossing him? That was another possibility. Or maybe he would harm Dan. She didn't put that past him.

“Got any coffee?” She hadn't heard Eric get up. He slept most of the day on a bed in the spare room and would get up after dark to do whatever it was that he did; she didn't ask.

“I'll start some.”

“Maybe you should take that trip or whatever it is you have planned.” Eric sat at the table leafing through a booklet on Ireland.

“I'm not sure this is a good time.”

“Might not be a better one.”

“Eric.” She paused. “What are your plans? When will you be out of here?” She could feel him staring at her in the darkness illuminated only by the yard light next to the garage. “I'm tired of this. I want out.”

“No can do. You know that.”

“We're adults. You can't hold me against my will.”

“Is it against your will? Just because you don't want your house to burn down or your boyfriend to end up missing….”

Elaine willed herself not to say anything. Idle threats. She had to believe that they were meaningless. So, why didn't she take action? She filled the coffee maker with water and turned back to face the figure in the shadows.

“Do you mind telling me what you plan to do next?” Besides eat, sleep, and drink a six-pack a day around here, she added to herself.

“I'm sure as fuck not getting any help from your friend.”

The allusion was to Dan. He was always referred to as her friend. She knew Eric met with him occasionally. Funny, it was her only contact with Dan.

“Let me help.” Elaine paused. Did she mean it? She had been thinking of a plan, part of a plan, that might help.

“How?”

“Let me talk to Billy Roland. If you're not willing to confront him, I will. In a nice way, just to see what he knows.”

“I'll think about it.”

“I want an answer now.”

“Pushy, aren't we? What would you say to the old man?”

“That you told me about the money while in prison. I can say I've decided to look into finding out what happened to the two million that should have been mine.”

She could tell the idea appealed to him. He wasn't getting anywhere this way. She poured two cups of coffee and sat at the table.

“Okay, but I'm going with you. I'll be outside.”

Was this because of Dan? Probably. But she didn't care. She was taking action.

***

“Tom, come here.” Roger Jenkins was leaning over the tape equipment that recorded every phone call made by Dr. Elaine Linden and could barely contain his excitement. So far, the tape had proved worthless. Two phone calls from students concerning incomplete grades, one call to the hairdresser, several to a travel agent in Albuquerque, other miscellaneous small town business calls, and that was it. The sum total for all of last week. Nothing of any importance to the investigation of Billy Roland Eklund.

“This is it.” Roger pointed to the tape, rewound it and played it for Tom. The call was short. The formalities, then an invitation to supper that evening. Roger played it again for Tom.

“Sounds like she hasn't talked to him in a while.”

“Or making it sound good in case someone's listening.”

“I don't know. The wife seems to be exactly what she is, a college prof who just buried her shit of a husband.”

“Maybe. But one thing's for certain, we'll be there. This just might be what we've been waiting for.”

Roger could tell Tom didn't share his enthusiasm. The assignment was going stale for Tom. Sometimes he didn't think Tom had what it took to advance, that sort of bulldog tenacity and an uncanny sixth sense. No, Tom was wrong on this one. He could feel it. He didn't know when it would be but they were getting close to cracking this nut wide open. And, tonight could just very well be their lucky night.

***

She had called the Double Horseshoe in the morning. Billy Roland seemed happy to hear from her. She had to come to supper. He wouldn't take no for an answer. It had been far too long since he'd seen her. They'd make an evening of it. He had someone he wanted her to meet.

It wouldn't take three guesses to figure out who. She hung up looking forward to it. She wasn't exactly certain what she'd say, but felt confident that she'd think of something. And she'd see Dan. Spend time being in the same room with him. Decide without hormones getting in the way whether he was telling the truth about not using her, about wanting her.

She left Roswell about five and arrived at the ranch at seven. She hadn't pushed the Benz but took the time to formulate a plan. Eric slept most of the way, or at least kept quiet. He was in the back seat, covered with a blanket, and only roused when they turned into the curving drive leading to the house.

Eric told her to park on the south side of the house. Try to get everyone into the study after dinner. She'd see. She locked the car and walked across the porch to the front door. It had been years since she had visited. Five to be exact. She'd driven out with Eric's aunt the year before she died, but nothing had changed, not one petunia in one hanging pot.

“Elaine.” The door flew open before she reached it and Billy Roland wrapped her in a bear hug that almost took her breath away. The same enthusiasm that she remembered, but he looked so old. He felt thin through the western-cut jacket.

“It's been too long,” she said.

“Took the words right out of my mouth. And if it's possible, you're prettier than ever. How'd you get the old hands on the clock to move backward?” He held her at arm's length to admire her, then turned abruptly to the man standing in the shadow of the doorway. “Dan, you're the resident expert on heifers with good breeding. Wouldn't you say this one is pure blue ribbon all the way?”

Elaine smiled and held out her hand as Dan stepped forward. Thank God, it was dark enough to hide her blushing.

“Elaine.” It was all he said but his eyes filled in the blanks. And the touch of his skin. She withdrew her hand. Had Billy Roland noticed anything? Leaving her hand a moment longer than necessary in Dan's? She felt Billy Roland's arm go around her.

“Let's not dawdle out here over long. I can see you two would be seeing more of each other if I didn't keep Dan locked away. But, then, who am I to play Cupid, got a piss poor track record myself.”