Conard County Conspiracy Page 3

  “Let’s go, Grace. I need to go to the feed store.”

  She nodded. “ Livestock must be fed.”

  He headed for the feed store first because he needed horse feed. Several hundred pounds of it, in fact. He wasn’t the only person riding horseback around his ranch. After the feed, there was still enough room in the truck bed for some heavy-duty provisioning. He had to care for his employees.

  He needed a flat cart to load all the provisions on, and this grocery provided those carts for the people who came in from outlying ranches with big shopping lists.

  Grace needed only a standard-size cart and went her own way in the store. She walked with her eyes straight ahead, as if she didn’t want anyone to speak with her.

  This was getting out of hand, but he didn’t know what to do.

  He was glad to see her pausing to speak with the minister. It had kind of shaken the Conard County when a woman was sent to head up Good Shepherd Church, but they’d gotten used to Molly Canton over the last couple of years. A pleasant middle-aged woman who wore black dresses or slacks, with a white collar around her neck. She usually presented a cheery or sympathetic face, and right now she was engaging Grace in a conversation Grace probably didn’t want to have.

  Molly was stubborn, though, maybe as stubborn as Grace. It was the only way she had survived her initial introduction to this county, which was still trying to live the way it had a century ago. Change didn’t come easily.

  He moved closer and heard Reverend Molly telling Grace about some social opportunities at the church. Trying to draw Grace back into life. Everything from a quilting group to a Bible study group, with a few things thrown in between.

  Grace’s answers were polite but noncommittal.

  Finally Molly shook her head, saying bluntly, “You know, Grace, building a shell around yourself isn’t helpful. Shells can be cracked, and the results can be dangerous. At least think about joining us, even if only for Sunday services. Whether you believe it or not, there are plenty of people around here who still care about you and haven’t forgotten you.”

  Then Molly moved away and began to pick out some produce for her handbasket.

  Mitch came up beside Grace. “She’s right, you know. Baby steps, Grace. Just baby steps. Betty and I aren’t enough.”

  She looked at him, her blue eyes swimming a bit. “I know,” she said hoarsely. “But I still can’t.”

  If she kept telling herself that, she never would. He resisted shaking his head even a little bit and put on a smile. “I think I’ve got almost enough for my small army.”

  She looked at his cart. “Where do you put it all?”

  “Well, I’ve got an unheated porch that does pretty well as a refrigerator for dry goods, and a couple of refrigerators and large-chest freezers. You need to come over some time and see how we manage to put it all together.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  If so, it would be the first time since John’s death. Maybe it was a first baby step.

  On the way home, before he could press her about taking the satellite phone, she spoke, saying something that chilled him a bit.

  “Mitch, what if it wasn’t just some thrill seekers last night?”

  It wasn’t a possibility he wanted to consider, but it had been stalking the edges of his mind anyway.

  Such a brutal, unnecessarily brutal, thing to do. Maybe some drunks or it might be something much more.

  * * *

  When they reached Grace’s home, he insisted on carrying her reusable bags inside for her. He suspected she had purchased more than she had originally intended, maybe to postpone another trip.

  Unfortunately, because he had cold and frozen items in his own truck bed, insulated bags or not, he couldn’t stay long.

  But he could address the issue of the satellite phone.

  “Grace?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  She smiled. “I think I owe you more than one.”

  “I don’t count them, but I’d like this one anyway.” He’d brought a spare phone in with her groceries and handed her the brick and charger. “Take this, please. I have a few extra at home, so you won’t be depriving me, but you’ll give me peace of mind.”

  She looked at the heavy phone. “Mitch...”

  “I know, you want to be independent. I get it. But this morning you could have saved yourself a run to the house to call me and the cops. It’s more than that, though. I worry about the rest of the time.”

  “Meaning? My life is uncomplicated.”

  Far from it, Mitch thought, but he persisted. “You like to go for walks out there. What if you fall and get hurt, and can’t get back to the house? If you think I want to be hunting you three days later, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  She’d been avoiding his gaze, as if she hated to be pressed about anything, but now she looked at him. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Most of the time that’s true. It’s the one time I’m seriously worried about. Take the damn thing and don’t be a fool.”

  He was always so careful about what he said to her that she appeared taken aback. He’d called her a fool. Well, it was time she stopped being one about something so simple.

  But she still didn’t take the phone, and irritation surged in him. “Damn it, woman, you don’t have to be so stubborn about everything. Most of the time I understand it, but not this time. All I ask is that you keep it charged and take it whenever you go out. Even to the mailbox, judging by this morning.”

  She looked down and he figured she was thinking about it. Well, that was a step forward, well past the few times she’d flat-out refused. Maybe this morning had shaken her enough to at least consider it.

  Then, to his great relief, she reached out and took it. “You’ll have to show me how to use it.”

  “These modern ones are simple. Hell, if I can use it, anyone can. But I’ll be happy to show you.”

  * * *

  Grace doubted he’d have found it difficult to use the phone, even a more complex one. Over the years she’d seen how handy he could be with darn near everything. He’d taught her and John a whole lot when they’d been neophyte sheep ranchers trying to get their operation up and going.

  An endless font of knowledge about the land, the weather, the running of a large operation. Heck, even when they’d been small, with a tiny flock, he’d showed them a great deal that had made life easier. Come lambing season, he’d been on hand, or had sent someone over.

  He especially had helped to protect against coyotes who constantly prowled and in larger numbers during lambing. She and John had spent a lot of chilly spring nights out there with shotguns. Not that that was the only time they needed to worry. Eventually when they could afford it, like Mitch, they’d hired some help. With John’s passing the work had become more than she could manage without hiring an additional person, and the flock had begun shrinking until she had to let the help go.

  Doing it alone proved impossible. Mitch had solved the problem, explaining that he wanted to diversify because cattle were showing less of a profit as the years went by. Like her and John, he wanted the wool, which was still in high demand.

  Seemed fair enough to her. She knew the value of that flock, but they had to be cared for. It was impossible for her to do it alone and kept her from having to sell the vestige of big dreams.

  She was sure Betty had her best interests at heart, but so did Mitch, and he’d never once pressed her to sell. Instead he’d made it possible for her to stay.

  Stifling one of her endless sighs, she began to put her groceries away. She’d bought too much, she supposed, but now she wouldn’t need to go to the market for weeks.

  That was okay by her.

  * * *

  Mitch had plenty to do once he arrived back at his ranch. Jeff, another of his hired hands, came to help unload. They trucked the feed over to the barn after dropping off the groceries with Mitch’s housekeeper, Lila, leaving her eyeing a pork roast with pleasure.

  Mitch nearly chuckled. Usually Lila did the shopping herself, but she tended to be too careful with his money. He appreciated that, but he also understood the appetites of six hardworking men better than she did. For a while she had kept trying to serve normal-size portions and complex recipes. No more.

  Jeff had taken care of the horses who appeared to be content to munch on their feed after spending most of the day on the range or in the corral. Mitch owned six good mares, durable and well-behaved. Believing that none of them should have to work every day, he kept at least two corralled at any given time, rotating them.

  Before heading back into the house, he paused to pat each of them and murmur pleasant words. Ears pricked forward, listening, a couple of them gave him a horse hug, pressing their necks to his head.

  He decided he’d try again to invite Grace to go riding. Maybe this time she’d accept the invitation. He worried about her, maybe more than he should. At some point the desire to live had to kick in. Didn’t it?

  Bill picked up the two large dinner buckets Lila had made for the shepherds and jumped onto the ATV to deliver them. Lila at last seemed to understand that two men living on the range couldn’t pop in for a snack or raid the fridge. She was always generous.

  Greeted by the aroma of roasting pork, Mitch walked through his log home. When he’d inherited it from his dad, it had been little more than a small cabin. The cabin had expanded a bit at a time, always keeping the rustic logs, and now he had a few extra bedrooms and an office for his business affairs, while the mud porch had been enlarged for food storage.

  Not a bad
accomplishment over fifteen years.

  Neither was his herd, which he’d managed to grow considerably despite selling off steers. And the sheep. He was discovering that not only were they profitable, but they appealed to him in a different way than his cattle.

  But the house, despite Lila’s presence, and the comings and goings of his hired hands, felt empty.

  As he stood in his bedroom that night in front of an open window, he looked out over his life’s work. The bunkhouse out back glistened with light pouring from its windows.

  Not too many windows, just a few. Just enough of them to give a view of the outside world so this wouldn’t feel like a cave. Windows were an expensive luxury in a place with long and cold winters. Maybe someday he’d have more, when he could afford triple-paned glass.

  In the meantime he relied on woodstoves and fireplaces when necessary.

  Oh, cut it out, he told himself. Taking inventory of his house was a diversion to keep him from thinking about Grace.

  His growing attraction to Grace made him question his loyalty to John. An attraction that surprised him considering how thin she’d become and how prickly she could be.

  And stubborn. My God, the stubbornness. Part of him admired it but it frustrated another part of him.

  Grace. Over there alone tonight. Again. But tonight held new fears, fears she was probably determined to dismiss.

  Someone had shot up that ewe. In a very visible place. And while Guy Redwing had appeared to treat it like some hijinks gone bad, Mitch suspected Guy wondered, too.

  The more Mitch thought about it, the more it struck him like a message rather than a drunken spree.

  Who was trying to say what?

  His worry for Grace increased.

  Chapter 3

  Grace had always enjoyed the longer late-spring evenings, especially when she was able to sit on a wooden rocker on her porch.

  But this evening felt a little creepy. She had to force herself to go outside, with a blue Sherpa wrap around her shoulders, and rock gently, watching as night slowly stole the last color from the day.

  In the late spring there was still plenty of greenery, especially in front of the house, which had never been heavily grazed. It faded slowly into gray as the sky relinquished all but starlight. No moon because of the new moon.

  A very odd time for anyone, drunk or not, to be out shooting. The ewe, being fairly white in color, might have been easy enough to see, but what was she doing there in the first place?

  That was what worried her. Out of place. An unnecessarily grim event. How could anyone have any purpose in doing that?

  She wished John could be here, to share her thoughts, to discuss all this with. To reassure her and calm her increasingly agitated feelings.

  He’d been good at that. She’d sometimes told him that he’d smile into the teeth of a tornado. Hardworking and blessed with a cheerful nature. Nothing got John down.

  Well, except when she started wanting to plant flowers and bushes out front. Like they could afford it. Like the dang plants wouldn’t probably wither and die when August moved in with its hot, dry breath.

  John could read her like an open book and absolutely hated telling her she couldn’t have her wish.

  “I know it was ridiculous,” she said into a night springing alive with a breeze that blew down from the cold mountain heights to displace the warm air over the ranch land.

  A lot of things became ridiculous when you were trying to build a future out of nearly nothing. Her desire had been sheer self-indulgence and she wished she hadn’t made John feel bad. It had seemed like such a minor thing at the time, though.

  Too many things had, and it did no good to think about them now.

  Reverend Molly was correct. Grace needed to get out more, to step back into the world.

  Except she felt frozen in time, like a fly in amber.

  She turned her head and looked over toward Mitch’s place. She couldn’t see it from here, but she wondered what was happening over there. He might not have a family, but he was surrounded by people anyway.

  Maybe he’d gone to bed already. A rancher’s day started early. Maybe he sat in front of one of his fireplaces, his feet on a hassock, sipping the bourbon he occasionally liked.

  She still had a bottle in her cupboard from when his visits had been more frequent. He and John had liked to shoot the breeze in the front room during icy winter nights. She should remember to offer him some, the next time he came over.

  She wished he’d come again soon. She’d been pushing him away, trying to keep her grief to herself.

  Nurturing it, she supposed. Indulging. Cherishing.

  “Damn it,” she said aloud.

  There had to be a point when grief was no longer John’s due, and a point that life became hers.

  She just wished she could find it.

  * * *

  The morning brought another crisp, sunny day. Having so much help meant Mitch could sometimes take time when he wanted it. After a hearty breakfast, prepared by Lila, he stood, ready to go out.

  Lila spoke. “You ought to ask that widow lady over for dinner. Seems like she could use some company.”

  He smiled. “I’ve tried. I’ll try again.”

  “You do that.”

  Indeed, he headed straight for Grace’s place. Used to be he’d ride over, weather permitting, but this time he took his truck again. He needed to look some things over.

  And this time he didn’t drive overland. Instead he followed the road, giving himself a different view of ground he knew as well as the back of his hand.

  The image of the sheep was clear in his mind’s eye and he wanted to think about the perspective from the road, what would have been the best place for the rowdies to park.

  He knew Guy had searched around for some tire tracks but hadn’t found anything. Why would he? The county road was paved, however full of potholes. Grace’s drive was not.

  Why would it be? Miles of paving would cost dearly, a luxury neither of them could afford. Every spring they had a grader come out to level his and hers off, followed by trucks full of gravel.

  He never let Grace know he was paying for part of her costs. She’d have killed him.

  Would have had every right, too, he thought. She’d been refusing any kind of charity for a long time now. Woman had her pride.

  Each time he thought he might have a decent view of the spot where the ewe had been discovered, he pulled over and climbed into the bed of his truck to take a look.

  He’d even brought his rifle with its scope, because, to him, the sheep had appeared to be shot by a rifle, not by a shotgun. That would make sense, too, if you wanted to take more than one shot. Drunks fooling around. A shotgun would have been no fun at all.

  Better targeting ability with a night scope. It would allow the shot to be taken from a greater distance, requiring more skill.

  He pressed the rifle against his shoulder and targeted the area the ewe had died. Once he’d decided whether it was a good location, he moved on. By the time he had surveyed all the likely positions from the road, he’d covered about five hundred meters in either direction and had found more than a dozen places from which the shots could have been taken.

  Would any of them have had the skill to shoot over such distances? Or the desire to?

  Frustrated that he couldn’t pinpoint a good spot but satisfied he’d checked everything, he stowed his rifle and headed up to Grace’s house, hoping she wouldn’t think he was being overprotective.

  One thing now seemed clear: the shooters hadn’t been that drunk. A stable hand was necessary to sight through a scope.

  Hell. What did that mean?

  * * *

  Grace was glad to see Mitch. Her night had been restless, stalked by danger she could never see. So weird.

  “I haven’t had a nightmare in years,” she told Mitch as she offered him coffee and a wedge of pecan ring. “You see this? I was up at three kneading dough to let it rise and hunting in my cupboard for a bag of pecans I was sure I had.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Think about that. Then I had to warm the oven a bit to get the dough to rise because it was too chilly in here and it might have risen sometime this afternoon. Who does that?”