ShotgunRelations (10 page)

True, he’d been concentrating on building
his practice, making sure the clients he’d inherited from the disbarred lawyer
whose practice he’d bought didn’t dump him for attorneys they knew in nearby
towns. He’d found plenty of time to play at the Neon Lasso, though, so that
excuse didn’t wash.

Thinking back on past vanilla girlfriends,
Jack realized he’d gone for flashy chicks, women who drew envious gazes from
other men. Liz wasn’t flashy and there had been nothing about her outward
demeanor that had given him a hint that she’d be a submissive dynamo in the
sack. She’d struck him as the girl next door, a tomboy more comfortable lifting
a beer with some of the wranglers who worked for her than dolling herself up
and socializing with the local landed gentry.

The light from a new moon outside the
window bathed them in soft, golden glow that caught in loose strands of Liz’s
hair and made it look like burnished silk against the black linens on his bed.
He’d never noticed before how long her lashes were, or how she had slender
fingers with neat, no-nonsense nails. For a long time he lay propped up on one
elbow just looking his fill at her, watching the changing expressions on her
face and wondering if she was dreaming of him. Of them.

He wondered if she’d keep on wanting him as
her master when he told her Four was his biological father. One thing about Liz
that made him want her in and out of his bed was her intelligence. He didn’t
kid himself that she wouldn’t add two and two and figure out that he’d started
showing interest in her only after he’d heard that his old man was scheming to
marry Mavis and annex the Laughing Wolf.

He had to tell her. Not yet though. Not
until after he’d bound her to him so securely it would be almost impossible for
her to break the chains of their commitment to one another. He lay back against
the sheets and laid his arm over her waist but sleep eluded him.

* * * * *

The sun shone through the window behind the
bed, bathing Jack’s bedroom in a haze of pink and orange. Liz stretched, then
rose and headed for the bathroom, before she felt Jack’s arms come around her.
What a welcome way to start a new day!

“I’d love to spend all day like this,
Master, but I need to get back out to the ranch. The man from the Rangers’ task
force will be coming by this morning,” she told him when he made no move to let
her go.

“We’ll shower first. Then I’ll drive you
out there. If you want I’ll stick around until after the meeting is over.”

Liz knew Jack suspected Frank of being
behind the rustling. He’d made no bones about that. He’d even mentioned
yesterday that Four had his suspicions as well. She dreaded facing her mother
even more than she hated the idea of having to confront the man who’d held the
Laughing Wolf together during the years since her father’s death. “I’d like for
you to stay if you have time.” Something about Jack’s presence gave her
confidence, not to mention that she loved being with him any time, any place.

“I’ve got time. Because I wasn’t sure that
trial would wind down yesterday, I didn’t schedule any appointments for today.
I can always work on the motion I’d planned to draft later on.” He herded her
into the bathroom. “Go on, do what you need to do and step on in the shower.
I’ll be right behind you.”

Like the rest of the house, the master bath
reflected Jack’s preference for simplicity. White tile marbled with black,
black fixtures and mirrors in chrome frames carried out a neutral color scheme
brightened only by a large red towel draped over the shower door. As she
stepped inside the shower stall and turned on the water, Liz imagined how that
towel would look wrapped around her master’s narrow waist.

“Move over, honey.”

The shower seemed to shrink when Jack
joined her. Hot water sluiced over them, droplets sparkling like crystals in
the short stubble on his head when he bent and took her nipple between his
teeth.

“What time is this meeting?” he asked as he
slipped his hands down to cup her butt.

“Ten o’clock.”

“We’ve got time then.” He lifted her and
ordered, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She hurried to do as he said. “Like this?”

“Oh yeah. Exactly like that.” He turned so
her back was braced against the shower wall and sank into her cunt with a long,
smooth thrust. “Squeeze my cock. God but you’re good to wake up to.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I love this—love… Oh fuck.” At the
unfamiliar ringtone of a cell phone he stopped mid-stroke, set her down and
stepped out of the shower. She watched him pick up a phone off the vanity and
put it to his ear. “Duval here. Do you realize it’s not quite seven in the
morning?” he snarled into the receiver.

Liz turned off the water and dried off a
little before using the towel to blot up some of the water that was dripping
off Jack, who had the phone in a white-knuckled grip.

“Okay, I apologize for snapping at you.
Tell me what the hell is going on,” he said to whoever was on the other end.

She’d like to know that too. She’d never
seen Jack so obviously disturbed.

“Fuck. I’ll bring Liz and we’ll meet you
there.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to her. “Get dressed.
We’ve got to hurry. I’ll tell you what’s going on while I’m driving.”

Then he said a few words to the person on
the other end, tossed the phone onto the bed and tugged on the same black jeans
and T-shirt he’d worn last night over his still-damp body. “Are you ready?”

“Almost.” What was going on that had Jack
in such a rush? Liz buttoned the western shirt she’d packed and tucked it into
her jeans, then followed Jack outside to his car barefoot, carrying her socks
and boots in her hand.

Whatever was happening, it had to be
important to get her usually impeccably groomed master out in clothes that had
spent the night crumpled on the bedroom floor. He hadn’t even taken time to
shave. The dark stubble on his cheeks gave him a dangerous, roguish look.

* * * * *

“What’s wrong, Master?”

The tires squealed a loud protest when Jack
turned onto the farm road that led to the Laughing Wolf without slowing down.
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know exactly what they’d find when they got
to the ranch. And he hated like hell to upset Liz, which he was doing by
driving like a madman and not telling her anything at all. “I don’t know. That
was Four who called me.”

“I didn’t realize he had your number.”

“My office number forwards itself to that
cell phone when the office is closed. Sometimes lawyers have to be accessible
to their clients 24/7, but this morning was the first time I’ve ever heard it
ring. Four wanted to tell me there’d been a shooting sometime last night along
the property line between the Bar C and your ranch, close to the spot where the
rustlers cut your fences.”

“Oh my God.” When he glanced over at her he
saw her shock in the tight set of her delectable mouth. “Who got shot? He’s not
dead, is he?”

“I don’t know any more than what I just
told you. Four said he’d called Sheriff Atkins and that he’s going to meet us
along the fence line we were checking on Sunday.”

“This has something to do with the
rustling, doesn’t it?” Liz’s face had turned chalky white, as though all the
blood had drained out of her.

“That’s what Four thinks. It’s early for us
to start drawing conclusions but I tend to believe he may be right.” Though his
guts were tied in knots, Jack tried to maintain at least an illusion of calm.
“It’ll be okay, honey. I’m here with you no matter what.”

When Jack rounded the corner he saw a Bar C
pickup, several county patrol cars and Sheriff Atkins’ SUV already parked
carelessly half on and half off the road. A helicopter with the department’s
logo on its cab circled overhead and at least a dozen deputies were searching
the pasture, walking shoulder to shoulder in a grid pattern with what looked
like metal detectors. He slid to a stop behind the sheriff’s vehicle and turned
to Liz. “Stay here. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

When he got out and started toward the
sheriff and Four, who were a few yards from the fence, he saw her open the door
and slide her legs out of the car. “I’m coming with you,” she said when he
turned back to her.

“Stay in the car. There’s no need. I don’t
want you seeing a body if that’s what’s out there.”

“Jack, it’s my ranch. I’m not squeamish if
that’s what you’re afraid of. Please.”

What he was afraid of was that she’d see
the body of somebody she knew and cared about, but she was right. It was her
ranch. Her decision. “Okay, but I want you to stay back. Let me see what’s
going on first.”

He started to go through a new cut in the
fence, then figured they might disturb evidence if they did, so he stretched
two strands of barbed wire apart and waited for Liz to step through the gap
before following her. Desperate to protect her from seeing what he feared might
be a dead employee, he caught his T-shirt on a barb in his hurry, ripping it
halfway down his back as he went through the fence wire.

When he caught up with her they were almost
to the spot where Four and the sheriff were talking. “Liz, wait.”

The two men were looking down at a spot on
the ground, right along the fence that had been cut the other day to let
rustlers onto the Bar C. When Jack got closer he saw blood spattered on the
weeds around what looked like the faint outline of a body—but thankfully there
was no body. He turned to Four. “Want to tell us what happened?”

Four looked over at Jack, an ashen tone to
his usually sun-baked cheeks. “Around five this morning, my foreman Diego
reported that Manuel, one of our stockmen, had just shot a man who’d been
trying to come onto the Bar C. I called the sheriff and you and then drove up
here as fast as I could. This is what I found.” He gestured toward the bloodied
grass along the fence line.

“Whoever fell down here had to have
hightailed it before we could get here,” Atkins said. “Apparently the cowboy
just winged him when he was trying to cross over onto the Bar C.”

Four looked over at Jack and Liz. “It was
still pretty dark and Manuel wasn’t close enough to identify the guy, other
than that he had on jeans, a denim shirt and a hat that pretty much hid his
face. That could describe just about any cowboy within a thousand miles. What
Manuel did notice was that the man was riding a paint gelding with your brand.
He was sure of the brand because it stood out against the horse’s white left
flank.”

Liz squeezed Jack’s hand so hard it hurt.
“What is it, honey?”

When she spoke Jack laced his fingers
through hers, hoping to lend her some courage. “Your stockman, Four. How well
does he know horses?” She sounded more worried than the situation justified—at
least on the surface.

Four met her gaze. “Manuel knows his
horseflesh. He described a
tobiano
patterned paint—the white flank and
leg, four white stockings and a black tail. He said the body of the horse was
predominantly bay, with regular white splotches. I doubt that he’d know the
technical term for a
tobiano
, but he described the horse in detail. That
boy loves horses.”

“The Laughing Wolf only has two
tobiano
paints, and one of them’s a mare that’s about to foal.” Liz’s hand shook when
she spoke, as though Four’s description disturbed her greatly. “Jack?”

“What’s the matter, honey?”

“Do I need to hire you as my lawyer?”

Jack didn’t understand. He pulled her
aside, just out of the others’ hearing. “What are you worried about? You aren’t
in any trouble. You were with me all day yesterday and all last night.”

“Not me. The Laughing Wolf. Jack, Four just
described Patches. He’s my mother’s horse. She’s the only one who ever rides
him.” Liz shook her head. “I can’t imagine her being up and riding at five in
the morning, but…”

Jack considered what Liz had said. He couldn’t
imagine her mother getting up that early either. “Is there any reason some
other cowhand couldn’t decide to saddle Patches and take him for an early ride
with nobody being the wiser?”

“I guess not, if he got Patches back in the
paddock before all the hands started working around the stable. That would be
around seven o’clock, maybe a little earlier.”

“That’s probably what happened then. Unless
your mom decided to make an early morning visit over to the Bar C.” Jack
doubted that but it was a possibility. If true, then Manuel had made a big
mistake when he’d opened fire.

“I’m sure it wasn’t Mom. She doesn’t even
own a pair of jeans. She insists the suede culottes she always wears to ride
look much more ladylike. Besides, I don’t think even a stranger would mistake
her for a man.”

Jack agreed. Unlike Liz, Mavis Wolfe was
busty and no more than five feet three or four inches tall. “Go ahead and tell
Four and the sheriff. Do you have any ideas about who might want the Laughing
Wolf blamed for the rustling epidemic that’s come on recently?”

Liz shook her head. “What are the sheriff’s
men doing now?”

Jack glanced past Sheriff Atkins, who was
on his knees taking cuttings of the bloodstained grass toward the deputies who
seemed to be combing every square inch of the pasture. “Gathering evidence.” He
had his own idea about who a likely culprit might be but no proof to back up
his suspicion. “You do know they’ll be coming to your ranch, looking for
anybody who’s sporting a gunshot wound, don’t you? You’re going to have to
account for everybody on the property, even your mother and the household
help.”

“I know. Jack, I’m scared.”

He pulled her close and locked his arms
around her waist. “It’ll be all right, I promise. We both know you’ve done
nothing wrong. They’ll find the people who’re rustling cattle around here and
throw the book at whoever’s behind it.”