“Jack, I’m the new ranch manager.”
“Well, Jack Sutton—”
“Ah, see? You did know who I was when you rolled up. Let me guess, they’ve talked about me in the Lone Star rumor mill too?” Jack says and looks my way with a smirk. “At least I’m in good company.”
“I’m not sure exactly where you come from,” Rusty says, “but where I come from, we don’t threaten officers of the law.”
Jack’s chuckle is low and condescending and the purse of his lips as he stares at Rusty says you’re a piece of shit loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Not sure what I said could be construed as a threat, Sheriff, but in a small town like this, you have to be jonesing for something to do. So, instead of coming out here to bug Ms. Knox, why don’t you chase down the real problem?”
Rusty’s smirk holds no amusement. “And what might that be?”
“For starters, you should head over and see Jed at the Lone Star Feed. He’s been stealing from Tate here for over a year now, taking her money and selling her a cheaper and shittier quality product than what she paid for. I think his business practices warrant a check by the law.” Jack takes a step toward Rusty and lowers his voice. “But we both know you won’t do that since he’s your second cousin and all.”
“I heard about that yesterday, and I also heard you’ve come to an agreement about how to settle it,” Rusty says, donning his official voice for the first time since he showed up.
“It’s settled, all right, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t break the law.” Jack shakes his head as if Rusty is a joke. “And while we’re at it, you need to chase down Gary Bolton and see exactly how he ties into these complaints that keep being called in to your office.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Gary Bolton runs a side business with Harvey Hickman,” Jack says, referring to the son of the owner of Hickman Ranch, the very ranch we might be stealing business from. “I would bet that Gary and Harvey are talking about how we might possibly be stealing away their most lucrative client. Gary has drinks with Jed every Monday, and they talk because Jed hates Tate because he’s a fucking idiot. Then Jed turns around and sees the Destin twins on Wednesdays when they play their weekly poker game.”
“I’m not following you,” Rusty says with a little more snark than necessary.
But I’m not either.
“The Destin twins paid Tate and me a visit down at Axe’s the other night.” My eyes whip over to Jack’s. That explains why everyone in the bar was staring at me when I came out of the bathroom. “They warned me to leave things alone, demanded I let Tate fail, and told me to get the fuck out of here . . . so you want to know how this little circle jerk of pricks fits together? They all want something Tate has or poses a threat to.”
“You’re reaching there.”
“Am I, though?” He holds his hand up, and Rusty startles at the rebuke. “The Hickmans fear the business we might win fairly. The Destin twins want this land and think that because their great-granddaddy what’s his name’s family founded this town, they have a right to whatever land they choose. Their threats prove they’re more than willing to do what it takes so long as they get this place in the end. And Jed? Well, you fucking know about Jed. It’s a small town, sir. The goddamn gossip train is a million miles long, but it seems I laid out who it is you need to talk to in order to stop this nonsense bullshit. We aren’t going to be run off. Tate isn’t going to sell. And if horses don’t work out, we’re going to turn this place into a retreat for photographers. Make sure they know that because that will really piss them off. End of story. Understood? Now, I suggest you crawl back in that cruiser of yours and go deliver the news as if it’s an official mandate or I’ll be more than glad to do it myself.”
Jack stops short of poking Rusty in the chest to prove his point, but even though he doesn’t, I’m left dumbfounded as I stare at the two men and process all that Jack just delivered.
Rusty holds Jack’s glare for a beat. “If you want to say something to them, you should say it yourself. I don’t peddle rumors.”
Jack’s laugh rings out. “Seems to me that’s the only thing you do peddle.”
They glare at each other, testosterone ricocheting between them until it feels as if they are one step shy of a fistfight before Rusty steps back and turns to me.
“You okay here, Tate? Is there anything you need from me?” His eyes are kind and his concern seems genuine.
The irony isn’t lost on me. The one time he doesn’t need to be concerned, he is.
“For the first time, Rusty, I actually am.”
We’re silent as Rusty walks to his cruiser and climbs in, but the minute he turns out of the driveway, I face Jack and stare at him slack-jawed.
“What?” He laughs the word out. The hardass who confronted Rusty moments ago has been replaced with a self-satisfied man.
“Where in the hell did you get all of that from?”
“The bar has other attributes besides being a way to keep my distance from you.”
33
TATE
“What’s that?” I ask as Jack strides into the backyard with a dog that’s wagging its tail back and forth with every step.
“It’s a dog.” His smile is more than warm as he absently runs his hand over the dog’s head.
“I know it’s a dog,” I say as the ball of fur takes note of me and hobbles slowly toward me. “But what is she doing here?”
His smile is sheepish, and his eyes are full of hope as he watches the multi-colored mutt who is currently licking my hands to death. “She’s a rainbow dog.”
“What’s a rainbow dog?” I ask as I notice the peculiar scar in a ring around her snout.
“Someone used a metal can as a muzzle on her,” he says as I lean over and nuzzle my forehead against hers, unable to comprehend the level of cruelty to which some people are capable of. When her ears fall back and her tail tucks between her legs as I lift my hand to pet her, my heart breaks. “And a rainbow dog is an older dog that probably won’t get adopted because everyone wants puppies . . .”
“So she’ll be euthanized?” I know that is one of those harsh realities that no one likes to look too closely at, but with this sweet girl sitting in front of me, I can’t help but acknowledge how reprehensible the idea is.
“Not sure. Possibly.” He clicks his tongue, similar to the way he does with the horses, and the dog sits and looks up eagerly at him, as if she’s been doing this her whole life. “Good girl, Gracie,” he coos. “If not, she’ll live in the shelter. Maybe do some stints in foster homes, but she’s been there for a long time, and this town is so small that anyone who would’ve wanted her has already had a chance to see her.”
“And you brought her here, why?” I ask, but I know why, and my heart is already lost to her. With her misshapen head, the numerous scars I can feel dotting beneath her short fur, and her timid brown eyes that love me already solely because I have a soothing voice and gentle hands, I knew I was hers the minute she wagged her tail for me.