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This lightning bolt had struck from nowhere. And he was still reeling from the shock.
Entering the walnut-paneled room that served as his study and office, he closed the door and locked it behind him. Only then did he take the folded envelope out of his hip pocket and lay it on the desk. Sitting in his oversize leather chair, with his back to the window, he reopened the envelope and let the newspaper clipping flutter onto the polished surface of the desk.
For a moment he was tempted to touch a flame to the thin, yellowed column of paper and burn it out of existence. But that would accomplish nothing. Whatever the intent of this message from the past, he would have to deal with it.
Smoothing the paper flat on his desk, he focused his gaze on the small print and forced himself to begin reading.
Local girl dies in auto wreck. Driver charged.
Tess had planned to pass the turnoff to the ranch and drive into Ajo for groceries and mail. But she was tired and hadn’t eaten anything except the protein bar she’d wolfed down at the fuel stop in Sells. When she reached the place where the graveled ranch road met the asphalt, she gave in to temptation and swung the truck toward home. Ajo could wait.
The rutted road cut across the desert for several miles before making a slow climb to the top of a ridge. From there, the road descended to the ranch in a series of steep, sharp switchbacks that Tess had driven so many times she could almost have done it in her sleep—even pulling a trailer loaded with bulls.
At the top of the ridge, she idled the truck, taking a moment to look down on the ranch where she’d spent her entire life. She could see the rambling Spanish-style house, with its roof of red Mexican tiles, and the two mobile homes where Ruben, his married daughter, Maria, and her husband, Pedro, lived. Sprawling around it were the sheds and barn, the chutes and corrals, the bucking pen, and the pastures. The ranch was less than a quarter the size of Brock’s lavish spread. But it was home, and Tess loved every acre of it.
In the north end of the mountain valley lay a stretch of hayfields, sprouting green, watered by a sprinkling system hooked up to an artesian well. These fields, and the vacant house on the edge of them, were not part of the Alamo Canyon Ranch. The property was run by a management company. But Tess knew for a fact that the hayfields had been recently bought by Brock Tolman.
Driving down the switchback road, she pushed thoughts of Brock to the back of her mind. She was coming home.
Several vehicles were parked in the yard out front. She recognized the heavy-duty trucks used to pull the stock trailers, the beat-up Chevy sedan that the family used for light errands, the older pickup that Ruben and Pedro shared, and the specially equipped van designed to transport Shane in his wheelchair. The customized truck parked next to the loading chute was unfamiliar—until she remembered that the farrier had been scheduled to trim the bulls’ hooves. He was already at work. Tess shifted the truck into low gear and drove down the switchbacks to the ranch.
Several people stood outside the corral fence watching the farrier. The bull to be trimmed—Whirlwind now—was herded up a ramp into a cage-like device mounted on a trailer. Once the bull was in place, the cage’s side walls were cranked inward until he was held fast between them, unable to move. Then the whole device was turned onto its side, holding the bull like a sandwich ready for grilling, with his four feet sticking out of what had been the bottom.
For a massive animal, a bull had surprisingly delicate legs and hooves. Whirlwind bawled and complained, but it was more due to the indignity than any pain involved. The farrier—a bearded man with a flag tattoo on his left shoulder—used a clipper and an electric grinder to trim and smooth each hoof. The whole efficient process was done in minutes. Then the cage was righted and the front gate opened to let Whirlwind trot down the exit ramp to freedom.
Ruben stood next to the corral fence directing the operation, while Pedro, on horseback, herded the next bull into the chute and up the ramp.
A short, muscular man in his sixties, Ruben had been part of the ranch family since Tess was a child. In his youth, he’d been a bull rider on the small-town rodeo circuit. Broken bones, badly healed, had left him with crooked shoulders and a limp. But his kinship with bulls had grown even stronger over the years. If any man could be called a bull whisperer, it was Ruben Diego.
“So did you choose a new bull?” he asked as Tess joined him.
“Maybe. But I need time to think about it. The bull I like would be a challenge.” She gave him a brief description of the black one-horned bull. “He’s got handling problems. His first time at a rodeo, he refused to buck. Brock says I’d be a fool to take him.”
“But you saw him buck?”
“Yes, in the pen, with a dummy.”
“And how did he buck?” Ruben’s wise dark eyes narrowed.
“Like the devil with wings.”
A smile creased the foreman’s weathered face. “Then I think you have found your bull,hija. Your head may tell you different, but your heart will not change.”
“We’ll see.” Tess turned away. Ruben had known her since she was a baby. He was more of a father to her than the distant, driven Bert Champion had ever been—and he understood her, maybe even better than she understood herself. She would sleep on the question of the black bull, but in her heart, she had already made her choice.
* * *
After making herself a peanut butter sandwich and pouring a glass of milk, Tess joined her two sisters on the front porch. They sat in plastic lawn chairs, Lexie with her feet elevated and her hands resting on her swollen belly. The new dog, a year-old shepherd-collie mix, leaned against her chair, eyes closing as she scratched his ears.
Val sipped her Diet Coke. “So how did the morning go? Did you see Whiplash? Is he all right?”
“I didn’t see him, but I asked about him. Brock said he’s settled in and is doing fine.” Tess understood Val’s concern for the bull. Whiplash had saved her life when he’d killed the mobster who was stalking her. Only Brock’s intervention had saved the bull from being put down.
“I’m surprised to see you back so soon,” Val said. “I can’t believe Brock didn’t ask you to lunch, or even to drive into town for an early dinner. I know the man has a thing for you.”
“You’re way off base, Val. The only thing Brock wants from me is this ranch. Today was all business, and I left as soon as the business was over. He did invite me to have a bite in the kitchen, but I didn’t want to take the time.”
Lexie stared at her. “Heavens, you look like something attacked you. How did you get those awful scratches?”
