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“No.” The hard line of his mouth softened. “Getting answers from people who don’t want to give them is my job, Cat. I happen to be very good at it.”
“Indeed,” she said in a tight voice, half-irritated by the realization she had been tricked into telling him.
“It’s better that I know, Cat. This way we can take steps to make sure you’re never at any man’s mercy again.” But Logan knew it would be a test of his control to be in such close proximity to her.
When she made no reply to that, he continued outside. O’Rourke was on the porch, a keen, knowing look in his eyes. “I figured you could get the story out of her,” he said. “Deep down, I think she wanted you to know. She was just shamed by being so helpless.” He paused a beat. “Can you really teach her how to fight back?”
“No. In an actual fight, she would lose. But I can show her how to break loose and run like hell if anything like this should happen again.” Assuming no weapon was involved. But Logan kept that thought to himself for now.
From the barn area came the clang and clatter of a tailgate on a stock trailer being lowered. Logan turned in that direction as a horse nickered.
“Whatcha gonna do about Anderson?” O’Rourke wanted to know.
“I plan on having a little talk with him. Unofficially, of course.” He stepped off the porch and headed for the barn area.
Logan stopped by the old Simpson place the next morning on his way into town, but no one answered his knock. He listened for the sounds of anyone stirring inside the house trailer, but it was impossible to hear above the obstreperous racket of the guinea fowl.
The result was the same that evening and the next day. He didn’t believe for a moment that no one was home, a suspicion that was confirmed when he saw the twitching aside of a curtain.
Finally, on the third day, Logan waited near the entrance to the Dy-Corp coal mine and followed Rollie when he left at the end of his shift. The guineas didn’t distinguish between friend and foe and set up their gabbling clamor, announcing Rollie’s arrival before he drove into the yard. Their din, muted by distance, brought a cool smile of satisfaction to Logan’s lips.
He pulled into the old ranch yard seconds behind Rollie. His strategy was rewarded by the sight of Rollie halfway to the trailer steps and his mother at the door. Logan parked close to Rollie’s truck and took the time to lock his gun and badge in the glove compartment before stepping out of the vehicle.
“You ain’t welcome here. You get back in that car and get out.” Bitterness and hate twisted the old woman’s age-lined face.
Logan dragged his glance from her to Rollie. “Where’s your brother?”
“How should I know? I just got here.” Rollie wore the sullen closed-up look of a convict talking to The Man. Logan suspected it had more to do with Lath’s influence than the time Rollie had spent in prison.
“Would you find him? I need to talk to him.” The old woman slammed into the trailer. Logan kept half an eye on the door.
“That’s your problem.”
“That’s not a good attitude, Rollie. Where is he?”
Rollie’s smile was close to a sneer as he lifted his broad, muscled shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “You want him; you find him.”
“Is that an invitation to look around?”
The flicker of alarm in Rollie’s eyes was brief but unmistakable. “No, it isn’t,” he snapped, turning surly.
The trailer door sprang open and Emma Anderson charged out of it carrying a shotgun. She leveled it at Logan. “We got us a sign posted that says trespassers will be shot. You’re trespassing and I’m tellin’ you to git.”
“You’re making a mistake, Mrs. Anderson. I only want to talk to your son.”
“The only thing around here that’s gonna do any talkin’ to you is this shotgun,” she warned. “You’ve caused enough trouble for my boys. You ain’t gonna cause them any more.”
Logan pushed his hat to the back of his head. “You act like you know how to use that shotgun, Mrs. Anderson, so I’m assuming you also know that it throws a pretty wide pattern at close range like this—which means you can’t shoot me without hitting Rollie. I don’t think you want to do that.”
The shotgun’s double barrel wavered for the first time. At almost the same instant the door opened behind her and Lath stepped out of the house trailer.
“Now, Ma, you ain’t behavin’ very neighborly.” His hand slid along the barrel, tilting it up before he gently took it from her, broke it open and removed the shells, then handed it back to her. “The sheriff’s gonna think he ain’t welcome here.”
“He ain’t,” she stated.
Chuckling, Lath shook his head in amusement, his watchful gaze never leaving Logan. “My ma has always been one to speak her mind.” He made a leisurely descent of the steps, knees locking on each tread. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” A steely coldness marked Logan’s voice and his expression.
