Oregon Outback (11 page)

Sheridan studied Carver, contemplating her answer. He’d bet she was thinking about the hurtful words he’d said in Harvey’s.

“I’ll leave that up to Carver,” she said.

He exhaled. “Bobby’s right. You’ve got more important things to do than haul a rancher around.”

Idiot. Was some crazy part of him hoping she’d argue his point?

“In that case, after I complete this accident report, I’ll be on my way. Take care of yourselves.” She climbed into the Yukon and, after a few minutes spent on her radio then writing in a notebook, she looked at Carver, nodded, then drove away.

Had she known he’d been watching from behind his shades?

A
week later, Carver hadn’t been able to get his mind off his encounter with Sheridan. A few long days spent in the saddle had been a good idea.

Though the isolated land and the brilliant night skies had given him clarity, he wasn’t any closer to solving his problem. Sitting in the saddle, he urged Kodiak through sagebrush and junipers along the rim to the secluded valley where they’d left four hundred head of his eight hundred cattle to graze. He hadn’t caught sight of them yet. The Circle L Ranch covered seventy-five thousand acres of range, divided between his property and the Bureau of Land Management allotment—plenty of room.

He’d decided to join his trusted friend and cowhand, Ray Bolton, along with several others to bring the cattle in early this year. It was June, and the cows would have dropped their calves by now, but Carver usually waited until the fall roundup, after the calves were weaned, to bring them close for corralling and branding.

The work was all done on horseback. Nothing much had changed over the last century in terms of managing cattle because the wide open region was inaccessible by car or truck.

Carver nudged Kodiak to the edge of a rocky drop and looked out over the valley. A pebble clattered over the rim. Ray came alongside him on his own horse, ropes hanging over the saddle.

“Sent the boys farther down to locate the herd.”

Carver nodded.

“Everything okay?” Ray asked.

“Why?” Great. He’d opened himself up for conversation.

“You’re distracted. Don’t tell me it’s related to the ranch or your brothers.”

“Okay. I won’t.” Beneath the brim of his hat, he could feel Ray’s stare.

“You’re never going to see eye to eye with her.”

Kodiak sneezed and shuffled, growing impatient. Carver said nothing.

“On the other hand, you’re not getting any younger.”

This time, Carver tilted his head. As far as he was concerned, he was in his prime.

“And right now, after a couple days of riding, you’re the definition of rank. A grungy cowboy. Neither of those attributes would appeal to the woman sheriff.” Ray leaned forward in his saddle, clearly pleased with his advice. “I know about three ladies in town who ask about you every time they see me. I bet one of them would be happy to spend time with you. Why don’t you fall for one of them?”

Carver eyed Ray. “Are you done now?”

Ray nodded. “I’m done.”

What was taking the men so long?

Soon enough, he spotted the herd coming across a rise on the other side of the valley. One of the cowhands rode ahead of the group. Carver and Ray steered the horses along the path into the valley to meet him.

Riding hard, Conroy slowed when he reached Carver. He took off his hat and wiped his brow. “We’re missing some.”

A full ten seconds passed before Carver processed what he’d said. “Come again?”

“We only counted three hundred fifty head. We’re missing cows and their calves.”

Fifty cows that had calved? That was a hundred head of cattle.

“They’re lost. Spread out and find them.”

Three days later, Carver stomped onto the wraparound porch of his ranch house, his body aching to the bone, and his heart and mind heavy with the loss of cattle.

After time spent in the saddle—he’d even called Lucas to help in the search, using ATVs—they’d come up empty-handed. Inside the mudroom, he tugged off his dirty boots. Behind him, the door opened and shut. He glanced up to see Ray.

“You call the sheriff yet?”

“I’ve hardly had a chance.”

“You’re not going to, are you?”

Carver stood to his full height and scratched his roughened jaw, measuring his response. “I’m responsible to take care of my own. A hundred head of cattle lost to rustlers? That makes me look like a failure in anybody’s book.”

“We’ve been friends too long. Friends are willing to speak the truth. You need to swallow your pride and tell her about the theft.”

Rage and defeat thrashed in his gut. Calling the sheriff counted double against his pride—he’d all but proclaimed to the county that he didn’t think she could do the job, and now he would ask her for help because he couldn’t do
his
?

Maybe he was an egotistical chauvinist, after all. On second thought, there was no maybe about it.

He sighed, hating the realization, and yearning to scrape the dirt from his body. “Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”

“She needs to know. We might not be the only victims here.”

“This has to be someone we know, Ray. They know our habits. Where the cattle will be. They know how to drive them for days while living in the saddle. They know the region well. Tell me. What can Sheriff Hall do about it? She’s only got a few deputies and a huge county.”

Besides, with the way she felt about Carver, he knew his problems wouldn’t exactly be a top priority for her.
No love lost between us
…

Ray exhaled then turned his back on Carver, throwing his hand up in an I-give-up wave. He stomped out the door.

Later that evening, after Carver had taken a long hot shower, he sat in his favorite recliner nursing his tired body and mental wounds.

He called the main number for the county sheriff’s office, expecting to get dispatch or the after-hours answering service. He’d leave a message.

“Sheriff Hall here.”

Carver sat forward in the recliner. “Uh … Sheriff. I didn’t expect to get you.”

“Carver? Is that you?”

The fact she recognized his voice made him smile. “If I answer yes, are you going to hang up?”

Carver’s dejected tone surprised Sheridan. She’d never heard him let his guard down like that. He was human after all.

“What’s this about?” she asked.

Carver released a long, pathetic sigh.

What in the world?
“What’s happened?”
You’re scaring me
. But then for an emergency he would have called 911. She’d just happened to answer the phone. Idiot.

“Nothing life or death. Some of my cattle are missing.”

“I can send one of my deputies out right away.” Rimrock County didn’t have the funds for livestock police or investigative officers. They did have two brand inspectors, one of them part-time.

“It’ll wait until morning. We made the discovery four days ago.”

“Why didn’t you call earlier?”

“I was searching the valley to make sure they weren’t lost. But like you said, I can give the details to your deputy when he gets here.” Carver hung up.

Sheridan stared at the phone. He called
her
and had the nerve to be short?

The man had a way of getting under her skin like a prickly-pear cactus. Why did he have to ruin the rest of her evening? Still, the fact that he’d stooped to call, had swallowed his pride, was as big as the Great Basin.

Dealing with this herself instead of sending one of her deputies might give her an opportunity to prove herself to Carver.

When Sheridan pulled around the circular drive at the Circle L Ranch house, her palms went slick. Ridiculous.

She climbed from the cab of the Yukon and straightened her slacks and shirt. Why hadn’t she sent Ronny or at least brought him with her? Standing tall, Sheridan made her way around the vehicle, shoving aside her crazy insecurity.

Before she took the first step to the expansive wraparound porch, her gaze roamed over the large ranch house. Sheridan had moved to town ten years ago at twenty-two, so hadn’t grown up with the Love brothers, but the way she understood it, they were troublemakers as boys, loving to live life on the edge. She’d never been to the Circle L Ranch, even during that time when she thought she and Carver had something between them—their brief romantic encounter.

She’d just moved to the area and spent an evening in his company during a county fund-raiser. He’d been kind and considerate then. A real charmer. A gentleman. He’d sparked something inside her. But it hadn’t taken long for the real Carver to show himself. A month later, Sheridan tried to stomp out anything that had been kindled between them. Why a few embers had remained, she wasn’t sure. The older he got, the more crotchety he became.

Still, people respected the family. Specifically, Carver Love.

With Carver holding the whole county’s respect, she wasn’t sure how she ever became sheriff. Now serving in that role she wanted—no, needed—a chance to prove herself to this man.

The front door swung open. Sheridan hadn’t taken her first step onto the porch. Carver stepped outside. Instead of a snug T-shirt like he’d worn the other day, he was dressed in a crisp button-down, long-sleeve shirt along with a newer pair of Levi’s. He cleaned up real nice.

“Having second thoughts?”

No. I always thought you looked good
. Sheridan berated herself and refocused her thoughts.

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen the house before.”

He closed the door behind him. Apparently, he’d decided she didn’t need a tour. Had he started antagonizing her already?

“Thought you were sending a deputy?” He gestured to the outdoor furniture, wicker chairs, a table, and a couple of rockers.

On the porch, Sheridan walked by him, catching a whiff of his cologne, and sat in the rocker. That was a mistake. She couldn’t help herself, she had to rock, and the chair had to creak.

“I decided this warranted my personal attention.” She pulled a notepad from her pocket. “Tell me what happened.”

Carver’s eyes were tired. “I wanted to bring the herd in early this year. The cows would have dropped their calves by now, and we planned to brand them. When we got to the valley, we discovered a good many missing. Cows and their calves.”

“And you’ve searched the whole region?”

Carver held up his hand. “I’m sure you mean well, but all the same, you’re not that familiar with how things are done.”

Sheridan bristled. She’d served in a law enforcement capacity here for the last eight years. As sheriff the last three. They’d not had any problems with rustlers until now. Measures were in place. Although not mandatory in Oregon, branding was the best defense. Transporting cattle to auction, for a change in ownership, or out of the state required paperwork. There was an aircraft up once a week somewhere in the county, watching the movement of cattle. The region was enormous. But she’d let Carver have his say.

“Out here, ranchers leave their cattle in the wide open range to graze for months on end. We expect to find a few missing, but that’s due to natural causes. Wolves. Disease. A few might wander off, but not far from the rest. We always find them alive, or we find their carcasses. That said, we’re missing a hundred head.”