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Texas-Sized Secrets
Elle James
At five months pregnant, Mona Grainger was facing danger on all fronts.With cattle rustlers driving her ranch to ruin, she needed a man ready for long hours and hard work. Enter Reed Bryson, who could ride, rope, kiss…and certainly handle a gun. His new boss may have depended on him more than she'd liked, but Reed wasn't hired to do her dirty work. She could do that herself.He was there to defend her land and cool down the hot-headed sheriff, whose advances threatened everything Mona held dear. Now the lone cowboy had more than his honor to uphold–he had a petite, pregnant powerhouse running his senses wild.
Texas-Sized Secrets
Elle James
To Megan Kerans, thanks for sending me the article about
cattle rustling. Thanks to all my family and friends who
help feed my writing habit with great new ideas.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Wanted: Cowboy. Must be able to ride, rope and fence. Can’t be afraid of hard work and long hours. Most of all, must know how to handle a gun. Position considered dangerous. See M. Grainger at the Rancho Linda.
The want ad sounded more like something out of the Wild West, not the new millennium. Who the hell advertised for a hired gun in this day and age? And how many nutcases would come out of the hills in response?
Reed Bryson stared one last time at the crumpled paper before he stepped down from his truck. Jobs were scarce in Briscoe County. It wasn’t as if he had a lot of choices.
For the second time this year he was interviewing for work. Although he’d gone thirteen years without riding a horse, he knew he’d have no trouble riding. Roping would come back, and moving cattle was as natural as breathing to him despite the time lapse. He met all the requirements of the job notice he’d picked up at Dee’s Diner. Even the last one. Twelve years on the Chicago police force had honed his ability to fire a gun and to know when.
A shiny white dually stood next to his truck with Teague Oil & Gas printed on the doors. He’d seen the truck in Prairie Rock over the past couple months. Oil speculators were as thick as horseflies in the panhandle.
He settled his Stetson on his head and strode to the two-story, white, wood frame house. It probably dated back to the nineteenth century, with its wide wraparound porches, tall windows and doors designed to catch the breeze. A place built for air movement back when air conditioners weren’t yet invented.
The front door was open, with the screen door firmly in place to keep the pesky horseflies out.
When Reed raised his hand and knocked, two men in tailored business suits appeared in the doorway.
“We’ll be back tomorrow same time. Hopefully, Grainger can meet with us then.” They stepped through the screen, each running a narrow-eyed glance over Reed as they descended from the porch without so much as a howdy-do. They climbed into the pickup and drove off, leaving a trail of dust floating over the prairie grass.
Footsteps echoed in the foyer and a short, plump Hispanic woman smiled a greeting. “Buenos días, señor.”
“Habla inglés?”
“Sí. I speak very good English. What can I do for you?” Her English was excellent and laced with a charming hint of Mexican accent. She opened the door and held it with her hip while she dried wet hands on her apron.
“I’m here to see Mr. Grainger about the job.”
The woman’s gaze followed the dually as it left. When the oilmen disappeared out of sight, she switched her perusal to him, her glance traveling from hat to boots before she spoke again. “Check with my husband down by the barn. He’ll know where to find the boss.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“De nada.”
As Reed rounded the corner of the house, he could feel the woman’s gaze following him. He couldn’t blame her. After the oil speculators’ visit, he’d be cautious too, as he was with all salesmen.
The barn stood two hundred yards from the house. As Reed approached, a dark-haired, dark-skinned man led a bay mare out of the building. The man stopped as he cleared the doorway and turned to adjust the saddle girth beneath the horse’s belly.
“Excuse me.” Reed slowed as he approached.
The man looked up and nodded, but continued tightening the strap.
“I’m looking for Mr. Grainger. I’m here about the job.”
The man’s brows rose up his forehead. “I’m going there now. Saddle up, you can come along.” He led Reed into the dark interior of the barn and stopped in front of the second stall. A black horse with a white star on his forehead leaned over the stall door. “You ride Diablo.”
When Reed hesitated, the man smiled.
“Don’t worry. His name is worse than his reputation.” A chuckle echoed through the interior of the big barn.
“That’s good to know.”
The man held out a hand. “I’m Fernando Garcia, the foreman.” His words rolled off his tongue with the natural ease of one who’d grown up speaking Spanish as his first language.
“Reed Bryson.” He clasped the man’s hand in a firm handshake. Then he moved to the stall, holding out his fingers for the horse to sniff.
“Careful, amigo, he may not be a devil to ride, but he’s been known to have a helluva bite.”
Reed jerked his hand back and opened the stall door. He snagged the horse’s halter and led him out into the center aisle.
Fernando tossed a blanket over the gelding’s back and followed with a saddle. Reed quickly cinched the saddle in place and slid a bridle over the horse’s head, slipping the bit between stubbornly clamped teeth.
Fernando nodded. “I’ll wait outside. We need to hurry, it’s getting close to dark and I haven’t seen the boss in a couple hours.”
Reed braced a boot in a stirrup and swung his right leg over the saddle. When he emerged into the waning sunlight, he blinked at the brightness after being in the dark interior of the barn.
As soon as Reed exited the barn, Fernando took off.
Reed pressed his heels into Diablo’s flanks and the beast took off at a gallop. As if it hadn’t been thirteen years since Reed had been on the back of a horse, he settled into the smooth rhythm. He urged his mount forward until he rode side by side with Fernando.
Galloping wasn’t the best time to quiz the man, but Reed wanted to know more about the job before he committed to it—if the boss saw fit to hire him. “Has there been trouble on the ranch?”
“Sí.” The foreman either was in a big hurry or he wasn’t sharing what kind of trouble. The older man nudged his horse faster, racing across the low range grasses of the Texas panhandle.
Knowing he wasn’t getting any more information out of the man, Reed dropped back, content to follow. His questions would be answered soon enough by the ranch owner himself.
Fernando topped a rise and dropped down behind it.
When Reed reached the top of the slope, his heart leaped into his throat at the steep drop on the other side.
As if anxious to catch the other horse, Diablo danced to the side, straining against the reins.
“Okay, go for it.” Reed gave the horse his head and held on while the animal plunged downward into a small canyon tangled with a maze of ravines and fallen rocks.
He thought he heard someone’s shouts echoing off the canyon walls, but the sound of the horse’s hooves slipping and sliding down the rocky path could have been playing tricks on his hearing.
Fernando had eased his horse into a walk, picking his way through the rocks and bramble that spooked his mount. With the skill of one born to ride, the man held his seat and urged his mount to continue down the hill to the bottom of the canyon.
A riderless horse passed Reed and leaped over the top of the hill behind him. He assumed it was the boss’s horse and spurred his own forward at a lethal pace for the downhill slide.
When Reed reached the canyon floor, he just caught a glimpse of Fernando’s horse rounding the corner of a sheer bluff wall.
Without hesitation, Reed dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and raced after him, wondering, not for the first time, if this was some kind of test or trap. He reached beneath his denim jacket and flicked the safety strap off his Glock. Whether he was being led into an ambush or the boss of the Rancho Linda was really in trouble, he’d be ready.
When he rounded yet another corner of rocky wall, he pulled up sharply, narrowly avoiding a collision with Fernando and his mount.
Diablo reared and screamed.
Fernando’s bay mare danced to the side but refused to go forward.
Ahead a hundred yards was a cow, lying on her side, clearly in the midst of a birthing gone bad. In front of her was a herd of wild hogs. Between the downed cow and the canyon wall stood a small woman with flowing black hair and brown-black eyes. She waved her straw cowboy hat at the angry animals and yelled. As small as she was, she wasn’t making much of an impression on the three-hundred-pound swine circling her and the distressed cow.
Fernando pulled his rifle from the scabbard on the front of his saddle and aimed it in the air. A round exploded, the sound echoing off the canyon walls.
While most of the hogs jumped and scattered, a few of the larger, more aggressive males turned their attention from the girl to Fernando. Fearless, or too mad to care, two of the beasts charged.
The older man’s horse reared and spun. In order to stay in the saddle, Fernando had to drop the rifle and hold on. His horse lit out with several of the hogs in pursuit.
Reed’s horse danced to the side behind a stand of rocks. A scream ripped across the canyon walls, chilling his blood.
The largest of the boars rammed into the cow’s swollen belly. The cow bellowed and tried to roll to her feet. With a calf lodged in the birthing canal, she wasn’t going anywhere.
The woman behind the cow shouted and waved her hat. “Get the hell away from her. Get!”
What did she hope to accomplish? Her little bit of flapping served as a red cape waved in front of a bull. The boar lowered his tusks and rammed the cow again.
The woman leaned across the cow’s belly and beat at the boar’s snout.
“Move back!” Reed shouted. “Move back!” He leaped to the ground, yanking his pistol from the holster beneath his arm.
“No! Don’t hurt the cow!”
The boar rammed the cow again.
Since the woman still leaned over the downed bovine, the force of the boar’s impact catapulted her backward. She hit the rock wall behind her, sliding down to land hard on her butt.
When the boar backed away, preparing for another charge, Reed aimed at the hog’s head and fired.
The hog dropped where it stood.
Reed raced to where the woman sat, rubbing the back of her head, her eyes glazed.
“You all right?” He held out a hand.
She ignored him and scrambled to her feet. “Move!” Shoving him to the side, she ran a few steps along the base of the bluff before doubling over and throwing up in the dirt.
Reed hurried over to her and held her hair out of her face until she was done, hesitantly patting her back. He wasn’t sure what to do. Something inside him made him want to comfort this woman who’d gone through a particularly scary event.
When she straightened, her face was pale, but her lips were firm. She looked like a woman with a tentative grasp on her control and the determination to maintain it. “Can you give me a hand with the calf? It’s stillborn and stuck.”
Reed stared into her eyes until he was sure she was going to remain on her feet, then he turned to the laboring cow.
He’d seen this happen before when a cow tried to give birth to a calf too big for the birth canal. Half the time, they lost cow and calf. With the calf already dead, the best they could hope for was to save the cow.
He sat in the dirt behind the cow, braced his feet against the animal’s backside and grabbed hold of the dead calf’s legs.
Too tired and battered to help, the cow lay on her side, breathing hard. When the next contraction hit, she bellowed, and tried to push with what little strength she had left.
Reed pulled with all his might. The calf slid out a little farther.
