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“You never know,” Tess said. “A really great bull could start his own bloodline.”
Val shook her head. “Dream on, sister. Right now, our job is just to get that bull making money.”
* * *
Brock had spent the morning at the Cave Creek Arena, talking to anybody who might have been nearby when his bull was killed. He’d checked with security first. The man on duty had confirmed that the camera covering Cannonball’s pen hadn’t been working for several days—which meant it had been out of order well before his bulls had been herded into the pen—a lucky coincidence for the criminal. The arena workers had been busy that morning. None of them had noticed anything unusual. The stock contractors and cowhands taking care of their bulls were no longer here. This whole damned trip had been a waste.
By now it was noon. The midway was opening up before the early events—mutton busting for little kids, mini-bull riding, and the junior rodeo competitions. The speakers were blaring old cowboy songs, and the air smelled of popcorn, fried pastries, and barbecue.
Brock treated himself to a beer and a hot dog dripping mustard. Sitting at an outdoor table, he watched families and clutches of wholesome-looking teens parade past on their way to the arena. All the while, his mind was mulling over one vital question.
Of all the people he knew—and all the people who might have access to the stock pens—who would hate him enough to murder an innocent animal?
Jim and Rusty, his two hired hands, had been here to drive the truck and take care of the bulls. But they had no reason to hate him. And they weren’t educated men. It was unlikely that either of them would have the knowledge and skill to administer the deadly shots.
There was a friendly rivalry, of course, among the stock contractors who raised the bulls and brought them to events. They and their workers had access to the bulls. But if Brock had enemies among them, he wasn’t aware of it. And it wouldn’t be like any of them to kill a bull in such a manner. They loved and respected the animals too much for that.
His original idea that the person who’d sent the clipping had hired someone to inject the drugs still made the most sense—in which case, the guilty party could be anyone.
He was gathering the remains of his lunch for the trash when one more possibility struck him. Brock’s breath jerked. His hands clenched into tight fists.
There was someone else who knew his bulls, someone with the intelligence and skill to deliver the shots, someone who had been at the arena the whole time—and who had reason to resent him for past wrongs.
Tess.
* * *
Tess had talked Val into riding to Ajo with her to pick up party supplies and deliver the hayfield documents to the lawyer. She’d hoped her sister might open up about her problems with Casey. But Val, true to her nature, was hard to crack. Tuning the car radio to an ’80s rock station, she cranked the volume up loud.
Tess let it play until the gravel road joined the asphalt highway. Then she reached over and turned the music down. “It’s all right, Val,” she said. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t feel like it.”
“Thanks. I don’t.” Val folded her arms and turned away to gaze out the window. A few miles later, Tess glanced over to see a tear trickling from under the frame of her sister’s sunglasses.
“What is it?” she ventured. “Is it Casey? Is he being a jerk?”
Val shook her head, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Tess waited, giving her time.
“I could handle Casey’s being a jerk,” Val said. “But he’s not a jerk. He’s just being Casey, following his stubborn heart like he always does. If anybody’s being a jerk, it’s me. But I can’t help it.” Her voice broke. “I can’t do what he wants.”
Tess kept her eyes on the road ahead, knowing better than to interrupt. There’d been some tension between them when Val had first come home, but now that Lexie was married and living a separate life, the two older sisters had grown closer.
“It’s our baby—the little boy I gave up.” Val struggled to keep from breaking down. “Casey’s hired a private detective to get the adoption records and find him.”
“But it was a closed adoption.” Tess was familiar with Val’s story. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Probably. But Casey doesn’t care. He swears that he won’t have any contact with the boy or his family. He just wants to know where his son is and that he’s all right. But you know that won’t be enough. He’ll want to see the boy. And then what? Where will that lead? I’m scared, Tess. He could go too far and end up getting arrested, or ruining lives.”
“Let me guess. He wants you to get involved.”
“That’s right. I told him that I didn’t want any part of it. My heart broke when I gave up my baby. I can’t stand the thought of finding him and then giving him up again.”
“So that’s why he decided to leave.” Tess slowed the car to let a family of quail cross the road, the babies like tiny balls of thistledown.
“This morning, when I pressed him, he admitted that he had a chance to get the adoption records. I gave him an ultimatum—either give up on the whole idea or go back to Tucson and pursue it without me. He didn’t even hesitate, just got up and packed his duffel.”
Val took off her sunglasses and wiped them clean on the hem of her shirt. “I know you want him to stay, Tess. I know you want us to work things out. But letting him go right now is our only chance. Please don’t try to stop him.”
“All right, I understand.” Tess slowed to the reduced speed limit as the long white line of tailings, left from Ajo’s copper mining days, came into view. She did understand, but she was worried about Val. Her sister had been emotionally fragile since her return from rehab in California last summer. Casey’s actions, or even the happy arrival of Lexie’s baby, could be enough to push her into the danger zone.
