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“Boss?”
“I need a team and the medical examiner at the stockyard and send them with lights and sirens. Somebody needs to wake up that lazy ass guard in the guardhouse. He had probably thirty-four to forty horses stolen, and another man shot right under his nose.”
“Are the girls all right?” she asked.
Inappropriate as it was, Spence chuckled quietly. “The thought of calling any one of those hooligans a ‘girl’ seems ludicrous—amazing, daring, fierce, beautiful temptresses, perhaps, but never a ‘girl.’ But yes, they’re fine. I need you to call Brody Jensen of the Texas Rangers, Nate Shephard, who’s the police chief somewhere in the Outer Banks, and Ronin Gutherie outside of Toronto. Let them know I will personally see their ladies onto a plane bound for home.”
“Why do you need a medical examiner?”
“Pete Jenkins is dead. He didn’t give me a choice.”
“Suicide by cop?” Alice asked gently.
“Pretty much.”
“You okay? That’s a stupid question. Of course, you aren’t. Anything I can do?”
“I wouldn’t mind someone supervising the scene.”
“I’ll send Bill. He’s better at those kinds of things. You coming in?”
“No. I’m headed for home.”
“Are we talking your ranch or hers?”
“Hers. I want to be there when she gets back.”
“Do you know where she’s gone?”
“She and her buddies successfully rescued the mustangs and I suspect are headed for some place they can turn them loose. I don’t actually want to know where.”
“So, you can’t be forced to testify against them?”
“Technically, they haven’t broken the law, but I’d rather not push that point with the BLM. They’re going to have their panties all in a twist.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Only if you can’t get one of them to roll on the others. Focus on the pilot; I think he’s their weak link.”
“Agreed.”
* * *
Harper looked over her shoulder at the other women who had followed her into this flight of fancy. She knew there had to be more important things in their lives than saving a bunch of mustang mares, but they had come a long distance to help their friend. For Harper, it was about preserving a treasured piece of their past; acknowledging that without the horse, the Americas would never have been conquered. These mares had done nothing for which they deserved to lose their freedom. The Fantastic Four meant to see that they got it back.
They moved the mares at a steady pace, ensuring they kept out of sight as much as possible. As they began to close in on Yellowstone National Park, they could see tracks and droppings from other wild horses, and the mares they were herding became restless and on high alert. Just as they crossed the boundary into the park, a black and white pinto stallion from a small band of mares charged to warn them away, sliding to a stop, rearing and bugling.
“Well, that’s kind of rude,” quipped Morgan.
“We came all this way, and he just wants us to leave,” said Devon.
“But I don’t think he’d mind if we left our girls,” added Etta.
Harper pointed to the ridge above. “There’s two—no, three—more stallions. I recognize the big roan. He’s been a band leader for years but got pushed out last spring. It looks like he’s recruited a couple of lieutenants.”
Realizing his own mares were in danger of being stolen, the big pinto stallion who had first challenged them began to drive his mares away.
“Smart boy,” said Harper. “He’s not going to risk what he has to try and get these girls, and with three stallions to protect them, our mares should be in good hands.”
