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  “You have BLM grazing allotments.” Arrow Creek ran a good-sized herd of cattle, partly as a money-making operation, partly because they needed calves and young steers to train horses for cutting and roping.

  Sounding puzzled, the other man said, “Well, sure. More than we use, actually. Between state and BLM, about twenty-five hundred acres.”

  “You pay the grazing fees?”

  He nodded. “We wouldn’t risk losing our allotment.”

  “Travis ever said anything to make you think he had any sympathy for the rebels like Curt Steagall, who refused to pay his fees?”

  “Not to me. No, I can’t believe that. You know how little we pay per head of cattle?”

  He did. Grant switched gears. “Travis get into it with anybody lately?”

  “Not that I know of.” Alex made a pained sound. “I mean, if I hadn’t seen him play football, I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him to hit anybody.”

  “He could’ve had words with somebody.”

  Alex shook his head. “Not Travis.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt.

  “He have a girlfriend right now?”

  “Nah, he’s between. I think he might’ve had an overnight, or maybe a couple of nights, last week with a woman who came up from California to buy a horse. Until then, he’d been whining about a dry spell. Just this morning—” A nerve in his cheek twitched.

  Grant had heard about the dry spell from Travis, last time they talked, but not about the woman. Now, he didn’t know if he’d feel better or worse if they’d spoken more recently.

  “You know anything about her? She wasn’t married, was she?”

  “I don’t think so. I can get her name for you.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  They talked about money, how things were going here at the ranch. Any hands quit lately? Had anybody complained about their pay? Alex kept shaking his head. Things were real good; most of their people had been with them for years. About six months ago Dad had gotten around to officially handing over a third ownership of the ranch to each of his sons.

  His face twisted. “I doubt Travis had even made out a will. I know I haven’t.”

  “Just out of curiosity, how did you two divide up your responsibilities?” Grant suspected that Alex wouldn’t even hear the subtext: did you two butt heads?

  Alex looked past him, his gaze fixed on the window looking out at paddocks. It was the stare of a man bewildered by a new reality. “Uh…mostly I handle the cattle side of our operation. Travis was only interested in the horses. Any overall decisions—” he shrugged “—we made those together. Maybe call Dad if we had any doubt. You know.” After a minute, he nodded at Grant’s cup. “Refill?”

  Grant shook his head. “I need to talk to everyone who was here today.”

  At his request, Alex disappeared briefly and returned with a print-out that had the names and phone numbers of all employees, including the cook and a housekeeper who took care of both houses. The two of them were working today, but about half the ranch hands happened to be off.

  Grant pushed himself to his feet, briefly laid a hand on Alex’s shoulder again, and said, “Call your father.”

  If he’d wanted to dodge Cassie, he could have gone out the back, but he had to talk to her sooner or later, and he didn’t like to think of her shivering in wait any longer than she already had. She hadn’t gotten into her car; she still half-sat on the bumper, her eyes on him as he walked across the frozen grass toward her. He stopped when he was a couple of feet away, and she stood.

  “Was it your friend?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She stepped close enough to touch his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  He couldn’t feel her hand through the layers worn for warmth, and wished he could. At another place and time, he’d have pulled her into his arms and soaked in some comfort from holding her. As it was, all he did was nod acknowledgement.

  “Was it the same?”

  “Yeah,” he said again.

  “Balloon?”

  “Yes. Please keep that to yourself.”

  She didn’t argue. The ‘please’ must have done the job. “Is there…anything else you can tell me?”

  He made a snap decision. “Unlike Curt, Travis wasn’t ambushed while he was following his daily routine. He didn’t have reason to go out to one of the far pastures at a predictable time of day, the way Curt did. He probably didn’t go out often. It’s likely that ranch hands kept an eye on the pregnant mares. Travis probably spent most of his day training and working horses in the arena, or in his office or one of the barns if a mare had problems in labor or there was an injury he had to keep an eye on. The killer had to either set up close to the ranch buildings and watch for him, or lure him. First, he put a dent in the fender of Alex’s shiny, new truck. Because of it, Alex went to town today to take his truck to the body shop. My best guess is, the shooter wanted to be sure he got the right guy. Alex and Travis look too much alike. This morning, a neighbor called because an Arrow Creek mare had appeared in his pasture. That’s the kind of thing Travis would want to check on himself. He rode out there and found a section of fence that had obviously been taken down. That’s where he was shot.”

  She absorbed all that, every fleeting thought showing on her expressive face. “What would have happened if Travis had sent one of the ranch hands out to check the fence?”

  “I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. If any death would have done the trick, why bother making sure Alex wasn’t home? Or could that hit-and-run ding have been coincidental? Finding out who knew about the appointment was at the top of Grant’s to-do list once he made it back to town, along with searching for a witness who might have seen the incident.

  “Your friend doesn’t own the ranch, does he?”

  “He, his father and Alex each have a third.” That information, she could find in public records.

  “Alex said his dad is in Florida?”

  “He’s been wintering there for the past couple of years. Anyone who knew the Burkes would know that.”

  “Then…” She paused, studied his face...and said what he didn’t want to. “He set out to kill Travis. No one else.”

  His teeth ground together. “That’s my take.”

  “Um…I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where he stood on the public land issue.”

  All she had to do was ask around to find this out, too.

  “According to Alex, Travis thought the fees were fair. They paid without argument. Besides which, Alex runs the cattle side of the operation.”

  He watched as she thought it over. Like him, she was probably regretting the wasted hours interviewing Curt’s would-be rebel friends.

  But what she said was, “I don’t suppose he was, well, a secret sympathizer. I mean, for the militia idea. Do you know how he voted?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t like giving up on a theory, do you?”

  That earned him a scrunched nose. “Do you?”

  Of course he didn’t. Who wanted to run a mile and find himself right back where he started? “If we have to look a different direction, sooner is better than later.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No more speculating. I have a job to do, and I’ve told you as much as I can when this is an ongoing investigation. More than I should have, probably.” He looked sternly at her. “I need you to keep what you know about the balloon to yourself.”

  “Surely someone will talk.”

  “The only people who’ve seen it, except for you and Karen, are in law enforcement. When I said something to Karen, she didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.”

  Cassie’s eyes closed briefly. “All she saw was Curt.”

  “Probably.”

  “Is…were Curt and Travis friends?”

  Grant frowned. “Not as far as I know. That’s a question I’ll be asking.”

  “Well, I have a story to write.” She said that with some bitterness, which he fully understood. Travis Burke might hav
e been murdered for no other reason than to give her that story – to get her attention.

  But Grant didn’t think so. The killer seemed increasingly interested in Cassie, but Grant still thought this piece of shit would be murdering the same men for a reason that had nothing to do with her. She was his mouthpiece, that’s all. A mouthpiece, he thought uneasily, who wasn’t following the instructions she’d been given.

  My fault.

  “You’ll call me if...if...” She stopped.

  “I make an arrest? Count on it.”

  He nodded and walked toward the stable, pausing just inside to glance back. Cassie was already in her car, buckled in and looking in her rearview mirror.

  Grant rolled his shoulders to loosen tight muscles. What if...?

  No what ifs, he told himself harshly. She was a reporter. He was the lead investigator. Full stop.

  He faced hours of interviewing ranch employees, digging for dirt and doing his damndest to find out whether they knew anyone with the sniper skills it took to shoot a man from two or three hundred yards out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You’re in time to eat with your dad!” Susan beamed at Cassie, who had just walked in the door. “I’ll go grab another place setting.”

  “I can do it...” Too late. Cassie was left to face her father’s crooked glower.

  Oh, joy, she thought, wishing she hadn’t decided she needed a break before working into what might end up the wee hours to write the new front page article and finish the layout, too.

  Susan had already whisked to the kitchen, reappearing moments later with silverware, plate and napkin. “Would you like a glass of milk?”

  “No, I think I’ll have a pop. And I’ll get it,” Cassie added firmly, prevailing this time.

  Topped with broken tortilla chips and melted cheese, the spicy-smelling casserole in the center of the table made Cassie’s mouth water.

  Before returning to the dining room, she repeated her daily thanks to Susan and said, “I don’t know what we’d do without you,” while her father’s caretaker zipped up her parka and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. Someone dropped a package off for you. It’s on the table by the front door.”

  “Really?” Right now, Cassie wasn’t inclined to be enthusiastic about any surprise. “Who?”

  “You know, I don’t have any idea. He was bundled up and I didn’t get a look at his face.” Susan shrugged without concern. “If we’d known each other, he’d have surely said.”

  “Any chance you saw what he was driving?”

  She looked surprised. “No, he must have parked over by the garage.” Which was detached, and set back farther on the property than the house. Cassie, her father and his visitors – and now his caretakers – all came and went through the back door that led through a mudroom to the kitchen. The front door was for strangers.

  Cassie managed a smile. “It probably doesn’t matter. I’m just curious, since I’m not expecting anything.”

  After the door closed behind the other woman, Cassie went to fetch what turned out to be a large, padded envelope sitting on the hall table. She both wanted and didn’t want to find out what was inside. But an inarticulate bellow from her father decided her. She left it where it was and hurried to the dining room to take her seat kitty-corner from his, where she could help him if he needed it.

  That would be when hell froze over. The first two days after she came home in early November, before she had lined up almost round-the-clock aides, he’d had no choice but to let her feed him, button his shirt, unbutton and zip his trousers when he needed to take a piss, but he’d glared at her as she did it with something perilously close to hate in his eyes. Now that he’d improved enough to wield a fork and knife and pick up his own glass - and zip his own fly - she allowed him his clumsiness and occasional buttons that didn’t make it through the buttonhole - and they both pretended he was nearly his former capable, ill-tempered self.

  “Newspaper ready?”

  “Mostly. I have a lot left to do tonight,” she admitted. Hesitated. “There was another murder today.”

  He demanded details. She told him only what would appear in her article. She had no idea how he’d feel about her withholding details at the sheriff’s request. “After dinner, you can read it.”

  He nodded. He’d make corrections and reword sentences to assert his rights. His newspaper. In his opinion, she needed constant reminders that she was only a fill-in.

  “Do you know the Burkes?” she asked.

  “Yeh.” His tongue refused to make an S sound. She mentally filled them in. “Father. Not sons. ’Cept both played football. And baseball.”

  “Sheriff Holcomb did say that Travis and he had been good friends.”

  “Same team. State championship.”

  “Oh.” Well, that made sense. “Didn’t someone say Curt Steagall played football, too?”

  “Yeh.”

  “Wait. Was he on the team the year they went all the way?”

  His frowns had scared her for too many years, but they’d achieved new venom on a face that lacked symmetry with one side stiff. Lucky she’d gotten over hoping for his approval or fearing his disapproval. “Younger,” he decided. “But on team.”

  Both victims on the football team at the same time. Which – duh – meant they had gone to high school together. Could that be relevant? Yeah, they knew each other – but most people in a county so unpopulated knew each other. Even so, the victims were unlikely to be random. Curt and Travis were male, close to the same age, both ranchers who had grown up in Hayes County.

  Classmates and teammates of Sheriff Holcomb, too, she thought uneasily.

  After cookies and coffee, her father laboriously pushed himself to his feet and shuffled away, leaning heavily on his cane. Mentally bracing for a crashing sound when he went down, she cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and put the leftover casserole in the refrigerator. There was plenty left for Dad and Susan to eat for lunch tomorrow.

  Silence. He must have made it safely to his chair. Cassie peeked into the living room to see that he’d even managed to pull the lever to raise the footrest, and he had the TV remote control in his good hand.

  Reluctantly, she went to the front entry for the mysterious envelope. After finding scissors and donning a pair of yellow plastic kitchen gloves – as if the giver would have left fingerprints – she pulled the tab that tore the envelope open at the top. Inside was…something soft enclosed in clear plastic. She pulled out…a chocolate brown T-shirt with white and blue lettering.

  Headlines & Deadlines Are My Life.

  Size small.

  Cassie dropped it as if it had a tail that rattled. Jaw clenched, she peered inside the padded envelope. There was nothing else tucked inside. After a moment, she slid the T-shirt back into the envelope to get it out of sight, in case her father should come to the kitchen for any reason. And finally, she reached for her phone.

  *****

  “He came to your door,” Grant said in disbelief. He tossed back a single shot of whiskey, needing the burn.

  “Well, someone came to Dad’s front door.” Cassie didn’t sound any happier than he felt, but for whatever reason, she still felt compelled to remind him that her stay in Fort Halleck was temporary.

  Thank you very much.

  “Did you touch it?”

  “No, I used the TV remote control to beam it onto the counter.” Tart, and typical Cassie. “I did carry it into the kitchen without thinking, but Susan had already touched it, too. I put on plastic gloves before I ripped it open.”

  Her sassy rejoinder offered enough contrast to her voice at the beginning of the call, Grant wondered if she realized how vulnerable she’d sounded. He’d met plenty of confident women before, but none who were so determined never to reveal a weakness. She had wounds inside he suspected were as deep and searing as any battle-weary veteran’s.

  “I shouldn’t have bothered you tonight,” she said su
ddenly. “It could have waited. Are you even home yet?”

  “Just got here.” And had a bad feeling he wouldn’t find anything very appealing in his freezer. He should have stopped for a meal in town. Unfortunately, if he’d actually sat down in a restaurant, half the town would have detoured by his table to ask what the to-do had been out at Arrow Creek Ranch. Fast food would have been safer, but he was sick of burgers and fries.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’ll come pick the damn thing up right now, get it out of your house. You’re not that far away. I can grab a bite to eat on the way home.”

  “We, um, have plenty of leftovers if you’d like to eat here. You don’t even have to worry about me poisoning you, since Susan was the cook.”

  He should stay away from her, but didn’t even hesitate before saying, “You sure?”

  “I am, but if you’d rather stay home, this stupid shirt really can wait.”

  Stupid? It was actually rather clever, as threats went, but not subtle. Both victims had been shot in the head. Both were dead. And my life clearly referred to Cassie’s life.

  Shit.

  “On my way,” he said, shrugging back into his parka.

  Curiosity had compelled him to look up her address – her father’s address – last week. He’d never admit as much to her, of course, but as tired as he was, Grant was glad to be able to drive straight there, and quickly.

  The small ranch wasn’t much outside the city limits. If his geography was right, the acreage might back on Desperation Creek. His headlights picked out sagging barbed wire fences and shaggy grass. A tumbleweed clung to the fence not far from the driveway that was two dirt tracks, extending nearly a quarter mile. Cassie had turned the porchlight on for him – or left it on after the caregiver’s departure.

  He could make out the bulk of a good-size barn and a couple of other outbuildings, but parked as close to the house as he could get. If he’d known Cassie’s father well, he’d have gone to the back door, but as it was he went to the probably little-used front door.

  Standing on the bare concrete pad and ringing the doorbell, he realized he was literally standing in the footprints of a vicious killer.