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Chapter Seven
Generally,Gordon calmed me.
But as I cut the engine of my truck in front of the sprawling McCrary ranch house, even the soft refrains of “Rainy Day People” wasn’t working. You know you’re in a snit when Gordon Lightfoot fails to chill your ass out.
I got about four feet from the front door, a pumpkin orange thing, when it opened to expel Clayton, Morgan, and Shepherd. Kyle referred to the trio of brothers as Moe, Larry, and Curly but that cast them in the light of stooges. They were not. All three were astute businessmen and ranchers. And mean as a rattlesnake.
Morgan, the middle boy, had a cloth napkin in his hand.
“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” I announced, planting my feet on the smooth cement driveway and crossing my arms. “Just wanted to drop by to discuss the theft that occurred last night.”
Shep stood silently a foot or so to the left of Clayton, his brows tangled.
“If you’re here to toss around bullshit accusations about us taking your cattle…” Clayton started. I shook my head. “Good. I’m damn tired of being called a rustler.”
“This has nothing to do with cattle. It has to do with bones. Dinosaur bones to be precise.”
Morgan wiped his thin lips with his napkin then flung it to the drive. I cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Are you insinuating we took some fucking stupid bones?” Morgan snapped and took a step forward. Clayton’s big hand landed on his brother’s chest with a sound slap.
“Go back inside, Morgan. Take Shepherd with you.”
“But he said—”
Clayton glowered at his younger brother. Morgan bit back whatever he was going to say then stalked back into the house. Shep stayed for a moment longer, only leaving when Clayton waved him off like an unwanted dog. The youngest McCrary stalked off, the pumpkin door slamming in his wake.
“Morgan’s a bit of a hothead before he has a pot of coffee in him,” Clayton said, plastering on that artificial smile he wore.
Morgan was a hothead no matter how much coffee he had in him. The middle McCrary was a mean son-of-a-bitch and he didn’t care who or what felt his wrath. Dogs, horses, women, men, kids, cattle, ranch hands. He abused them all equally. And if those hands happened to be Native American, his cruelty was two-fold.
Morgan was the reason Kyle wasn’t permitted to step foot on the Hollow Wind land. Several years ago, Kyle had come upon a young Shoshone woman in tattered clothing wandering aimlessly on our land. She obviously had been assaulted, roughly so, and claimed it had been Morgan McCrary who had abused her. Kyle rode hell bent for leather to this very spot, drug Morgan out of the house, and beat on him unmercifully. We’d somehow managed to keep Clayton from pressing charges. The young woman, a maid for the McCrary’s, had been given a generous severance package after signing an NDA of some sort. The matter had faded away, but the cruelty of Morgan McCrary had continued on I was sure. Leopards didn’t change their spots.
“We all know his temper and hatred aren’t washed away with a cup of joe,” I replied, meeting his assessing glare with one of my own.
“Are you here to accuse me of sneaking onto your property and making off with a bunch of stupid bones?” He was a tall man, all of them were, and he liked to use that height to intimidate. Didn’t work on me though. I’d cut him down like firewood if he made a move, and he knew it. We’d been playing this game for years now. “I’m sure Mr. Reece and his wife would dislike any sort of erroneous accusations to be thrown around by one of his underlings.”
Smug bastard. He did like letting me know that I was only an employee. I let the slimy slam against Montrell go, but it took all I had not to throw a punch although I suspected Landon wouldn’t object to me decking his neighbor given the nasty comment.
“I’m sure he and his husband would. Which is why I’m not throwing anything around. I’m here as a courtesy to inform you that we had a robbery on our land last night. The sheriff has been called out and is investigating. If you happen to see any strangers lurking around or should hear or see anything that might lead us to apprehend these bone poachers, it would be a neighborly thing to call us or the sheriff.”
“We’re always willing to help local law enforcement. Is there anything else, Pearson?”
“No, sir, that was it.”
“Then I suggest you head back to your side of the river and allow me to finish my fucking eggs in peace.”
I tapped the brim of my Stetson and walked slowly back to my ride. Once I was seated in the old green Ford, I watched Clayton step over the napkin in the driveway and thunder into the house. The front door slammed shut. I started the truck then ran over the napkin on my way out.
* * *
After lunchand before a final check of the herd prior to moving them out tomorrow morning, I was out at the creek bed, about ten miles from the dig site. I’d stopped to help Perry and a few of the other hands pull my crinkled four-wheeler out of the creek. It took a chain and a heavy foot on a gas pedal, but the Polaris limped and leaked her way out of the bed. I pushed back my hat and made a circle around the poor old gal.
“Guess I know what I’ll be spending my Christmas bonus from last year on,” I muttered as the smell of antifreeze floated by on a warm wind. “Let’s get her into the back. Take her to the equipment barn. I’ll drain all the fluids that are left then start working on her in the evenings.”
“Will do, boss!” Perry shouted. With four men pushing and one steering, we slowly got the four-wheeler up the aluminum ramp and into the back of a ranch truck.
Once they were gone I climbed up onto the saddle, gave Tiberius a pat on the neck, and set off to meet up with Aaron and Kyle. I was sorely tempted to go downstream a bit to see Bishop but work first then pleasure. Maybe I could visit after chores. No, I had a four-wheeler to work on and paperwork to complete. This working for a living sucked.
