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Taking his hand in mine we made our way to my old green pickup with the Blue Ice Ranch logo on the doors. The interior of the cab was cold, but the chill seemed to fade quickly as we rode along, with Shep deep in his own thoughts and me humming along to the Eagles block on the radio. I knew him well enough by now to let him sort his mental shit when he needed to, and this was probably a huge well of slurry he had to wade through. I’d peek his way now and again as we went, crossing over a small bridge that carried us over the Jante and onto Hollow Wind land. His jaw grew tighter with each mile we got closer to his home. We came upon a small group of hands fixing a stretch of fence that a tree had fallen on. Seeing that it was Clint Sully, I slowed in case Shepherd wanted to converse with him. Clint raised a gloved hand, said something to his underlings, and sauntered over to where I’d pulled off the road some.
“Mr. McCrary,” Clint said as soon as Shep rolled down the window.
“Hello, Clint,” Shep replied. “I wasn’t sure you would speak to me.”
I gave the hands at the fence a long dark look. Most I knew. All were morons. The hatred they had for Shep was evident.
“Who you take to your bed ain’t my concern, son. I’m just glad to see that you’re safe.” His sight flickered to me, and I tapped the brim of my hat. “I’d heard you had taken up residence with this one.” I smiled as widely as I could. Clint didn’t quite know what to make of me or most of the queer cowboys on the other side of the river. At least he didn’t go out of his way to be a jerk. Shame that couldn’t be said about his bosses. “Thought you might have been with that other hand from the Blue Ice that raced past about an hour ago.”
Shep glanced at me. I shrugged. “Not a clue who that was, but if I see him, I’ll tell him to get his ass back on our side of the Jante.”
“Appreciate that,” Clint replied. “Take care, Mr. McCrary. I hope God leads you to a happier place. Lord knows you weren’t never happy here.”
With that, the Hollow Wind foreman gave us a nod, then returned to his laborers.
“I’ve always liked Clint,” Shep softly said as we drove past acres of fallow land awaiting the spring thaw and planting. Red cattle stood along the long stretches of fence, steam billowing from their nostrils, many with calves at their sides. Calving was wrapping up here just as it was at Blue Ice, it appeared. “How he’s stayed here for so long I’ll never know.”
“He loves the land. Like Nate probably. Like all of us.” I gave the Tetons an admiring glance. Snow-coated and majestic, they reigned over all of us with a loving yet sometimes brutal hand. It took a special sort of man to ranch these lands.
“So, who would be here from our side of the river?”
It sounded so good to hear him call it “our side of the river,” I nearly hooted in glee. Finally, he was starting to think of Blue Ice as his home, I hoped. If that were happening, perhaps he would stay. I’d give anything to keep him close. How was I to know if this was love I was feeling if he took off?
“Probably one of the temporary hands. We’ve told them to watch the boundary lines, but you know how you young bucks are,” I said and gave him a wink.
He rolled his eyes. “I feel considerably older than lots of the hands I work with.”
I was about to reply when we rounded a sharp bend and the main house appeared. It was a sprawling place that J.R. Ewing would have envied. We slowed and parked beside a nicely refurbished Ford Galaxy circa 1973 or thereabouts. It was in pretty good shape, and I could have sworn I had seen it before somewhere. I threw a questioning look at Shep as I cut the engine.
“That one of Clayton’s cars?” I enquired. Shep shook his head. Clayton had a garage full of classic and antique cars that were never driven. They just sat there and collected dust. Pity. “Where have I seen it before?”
“Not a clue.” He rolled his shoulders and then blew out a breath. “Let’s do this.”
I nodded and exited the truck, my sight on the orange and black Galaxy. It was pestering the shit out of me I couldn’t remember where I had seen this car before. I padded over to the driver’s side, bent down, and scoped out the interior. Then a flash of remembrance took place. Two years ago at the fall gathering, I’d been with Nate, and I’d commented on this car and how pristine the interior was. We’d had a long talk with its owner that day in the parking lot. That was when I’d met Roxie Baldwin for the first time. She’d explained that the car had been her father’s and when he’d died, he left it to her with the stipulation it only be taken out in good weather. “It’s my fair weather car,” she had joked, and Nate and I had chuckled along. That was when she was still working at the Copper Falls Diner after arriving in the area a month earlier. That was how we knew her and had passed along her name when Mona was looking for a cook for the big house. It had to be the same vehicle. No way was there two in this neck of the woods with such a distinct paint job.
“Hey, Shep, this is a fair weather car,” I called as I stared at the shiny beauty in confusion. “It’s far from fair weather. What the hell is it doing here?”
When he didn’t reply, I craned my head to look at the big orange front door. Shep was on the step and the door was cracked open. His blue eyes met mine, and I saw the concern in them. Shoving the stupid car question aside, I jogged over to him. “What is it?”
“The door’s not locked,” he whispered and gave it a gentle push. “The door is always locked. Clay and Morgan don’t trust the riffraff.”
It opened soundlessly. My hackles stood up as soon as we stepped into the grand foyer and saw drops of blood on the floor. Shepherd made a strangled sound and then took off down a long hallway, following the trail of scarlet. I fumbled in my coat pocket for my phone as I ran behind him. He skidded through a set of double doors that led into a massive library. I came up behind him, plowing into Shep’s back because he had stopped so quickly. I looked around the room, ignoring the walls of shelves filled with leather-bound books Perry would drool over if he ever saw them, and found myself staring at the barrel of a pistol held by Donnie Webb, one of our ranch hands. Pistol one was pointed at us. The other lined up with Clay McCrary kneeling on the floor, hands behind his head, eyes bugged out in terror. Morgan lay on a rich oriental rug in front of a roaring fireplace in a soggy puddle of blood, unmoving.
My brain was stuck in a boggy morass of shock. What the ever-loving hell was Donnie doing here, gaze mad as a march hare, threatening the life of one of the most powerful men in the county after, what appeared to be, shooting the other most powerful man in the county?! Donnie had always been a quiet kid who liked BMX bikes and pretty girls. Quiet, yes, and kept to himself, but lots of young Native men were shy when they signed on. Hell, Perry was still withdrawn, and he’d been with us for years. Donnie had been with us for about six months and we’d never had a bit of trouble. I just could not make the connection.
“Go back to the ranch, Kyle, this is between me and Morgan,” Donnie snarled, and I felt a shiver skip over my spine. His dark eyes were terrifying. They reminded me of an image of Charles Manson I’d seen on TV a few years ago. You could see the madness in his gaze. Now I was standing here and looking at someone who I’d shared a beer with, with a horrifying glaze to his eyes. “Take Shepherd with you. He gets a pass for having the good sense to leave this den of rapists and murderers.”
I opened my mouth to reply…maybe to beg Donnie not to do something stupid or stupider since it looked like he had already put a bullet into Morgan when it all happened. Donnie’s sight moved back to Clay and the intent to blow a hole in the man’s skull was obvious. Shepherd—the fucking asshole—lunged at Donnie as I shouted at him to stop, but when had the stubborn jackass ever listened to me? The next few seconds were a blur of sound, burnt gunpowder, and two men hitting the floor locked in mortal combat. Two rounds were fired almost at the same time. Instinct made me flinch and cover my head.
One shot hit the ceiling and sent plaster bits flying down into my hair. The other? I didn’t know, but it made Clay shoot to his feet in a big damn hurry. He shoved at me and for a moment I thought he was running off. It wouldn’t surprise me. But no, he fell over Morgan on the floor as Shep and Donnie struggled for possession of the guns. Me being me—someone with a head filled with concrete—I jumped into the fray and got shot. I’d not planned on that happening. And when the bullet ripped through my belly, it took my brain a second to latch onto the fact that I’d been shot. Then the pain and terror set in. Shep screamed something as I slipped to one knee, my hand over my navel, which was now a huge fucking innie.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Clayton charged into the madness with a fireplace poker raised over his head. He brought it down over Donnie’s skull and the boy collapsed beside me, blood streaming from his head, guns hitting the hardwood floor. I kind of teetered over, my cheek kissing the edge of another fancy Oriental rug, which was nice. My face would be resting on something upper class and pretty when I died. Speaking of something upper class and pretty, Shep appeared at my side, bellowing at his brother to call the ambulance as he pressed a throw pillow from one of the upholstered reading chairs into my belly.
“You’ll be fine. You will be fine. You’ll be fine.” He kept repeating that like a meditation mantra. I wanted to tell him to chill and that yes, of course, I’d be fine. God didn’t want me and the devil wouldn’t take me, but every time I tried to speak, all I could do was groan. Turned out that being shot in the belly hurts super fucking badly. “What the hell were you doing?!”
“Saving…you…asshole,” I ground out while Clay—who was somewhere in the murky depths of the now dimming library—was shouting at someone to call for help. I rolled my head to the side to stare into the fire. Warm blood seeped through the pillow. Shepherd shifted around to cradle my head in his lap. A new pillow was placed on my stomach. Shep’s broad chest blocked my view of the fire. It was a better view. A male voice yelled about the ambulance being forty minutes out. Could have told them that…
“I didn’t need saving, you moron,” Shep replied in a choked voice and wondered if he was worried I would die now. I didn’t think I would. My gut didn’t hurt as much as it had a minute ago, which was nice. I gazed at Shep and sighed. He was really the prettiest thing I had ever seen, and that included the Tetons. “Hey!” I smiled dopily. “No, don’t fall asleep. Help is on the way. Clay is going to fly us to Jackson Hole in his helicopter.”
