“They can’t just steal them, can they?” Astrid bent and picked up Chase. “They’ll get in trouble if they do.”
“Let’s pray that’s the case.”
As Judd limped into the barn after Wyatt, Greta’s muscles tightened with dread. A moment later, Wyatt emerged atop his horse with Judd following on his mount, both carrying their rifles.
They weren’t thinking of riding out to the north pasture and fighting Brawley over the cattle, were they? Brawley’s parting words echoed in her head: “Maybe I oughta do what I’ve been aiming to do all along. Run you out of here.”
Wyatt reined in his horse near them. “Take Astrid and stay in the cabin.” His eyes flashed with anger, and his jaw was set with determination.
She wanted to tell Wyatt not to go, that it was too dangerous, that she was afraid of what might happen to him. But she bit back the words that weren’t hers to say anymore. Even if such a warning had been within her rights, he wouldn’t listen anyway. He was the kind of man who did hard things, who didn’t shrink from danger, and who wasn’t afraid to protect what was his.
As much as she admired those qualities about him, she didn’t want him to go out and fight Brawley, not with the angry threats still ringing in the air.
“Don’t come out until we get back!” Wyatt called, and then without another glance, he slapped his horse into a gallop.
Chapter 20
Wyatt’s pulse pounded with fury. Riding low, he nudged his heels into his horse and urged it faster. Behind him, Judd’s steed kicked up grass too.
He wasn’t about to let Brawley drive his cattle off his land. No how, no way. He’d paid for each of the steers, branded them, and invested hours into fattening and watching over them. Brawley couldn’t get away with this. And he had to know it. Anyone with eyes in his head would see Wyatt’s brand, the block Mc seared into the hide, and sort out which cattle belonged to him in no time.
Wyatt just prayed his pesky neighbor was doing nothing more than riling up the cattle and driving them into the foothills.
The setting sun cast shades of pink and purple all across the mountain peaks. Daylight was fast fading, and he and Judd wouldn’t have much time to round up the spooked herd before darkness fell.
“There!” Judd pointed to the northeast.
Wyatt squinted where Judd indicated, but he couldn’t make out anything but grassland, brush, and boulders. Doggone it all. He should have figured with the way Brawley was all-fired up that he’d find a way to make trouble.
When Judd pulled ahead and veered toward one of the boulders, Wyatt followed, only to have his heart plummet when he realized it wasn’t a boulder.
It was one of the steers. Down. On its side.
With growing horror, he glanced around to the other forms that at a distance had looked like large stones. Now up close he recognized them for what they were. His cattle.
Judd reached the nearest steer first and was already hopping to the ground by the time Wyatt stopped next to him. Judd knelt and placed a hand on the steer’s flank. But Wyatt didn’t need to dismount and examine the animal. The blood trickling out of the bullet hole in its head told Wyatt everything he needed to know.
Brawley and his cowpokes had killed his cattle. Every single one.
The prostrate bodies were scattered over the grassland. None of them moved, not even to twitch. The rage that had been rampaging through Wyatt’s veins faded away to nothing, leaving him strangely empty, except for the haunting chant: You were a failure, and you’ll always be a failure.
Ever since Greta’s arrival, he hadn’t been setting store by his past mistakes. He wasn’t exactly sure what about her caused the chant to disappear. Maybe her confidence in him and her confidence in herself made him believe everything would end up alright. Or maybe it was their partnership and the way they worked so well together in running the ranch.
But he’d gone and lost Greta and had only himself to blame. He should have done the right thing and made sure she knew from the start exactly what kind of deal he’d made with Steele. Instead, he’d walked a mile around the issue, hoping it would go away on its own. Now she was the one going away.
And the voice was back, yelling at him louder than ever that he didn’t have what it takes to be a rancher. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and down his bristly chin.
Maybe all this time he’d been fooling himself into believing he’d be able to build a livelihood on the land that could eventually become self-supporting. But this place was too untamed. His enemies were too unyielding. And his luck was all used up—if he’d ever had any to begin with.
Judd stood, removed his hat, and peered around at the needless carnage. His leathery face was grave.
The despair inside Wyatt burrowed deeper. On top of all his other shortcomings, he’d also let down Judd. When he’d asked Judd to stay and help him build the ranch, he promised him a new and exciting opportunity along with the chance to put down roots here in this land of beauty. But now, what was the point in staying? Their herd was dead. And his deal with Steele was dead too.
All along, a part of him had known the deal wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t have bargained over a woman’s life. He should have called things off and figured out another way to build the herd.
A gust of cold wind whistled low against the earth and rustled the dry grass, as though calling him to mourn. The coldness reminded him of winter’s approach and the bleakness of the months ahead. Wasn’t much he could do now. But come spring, he could claim a homestead on the plains and give farming a try. At least he had the know-how.
Judd held his hat over his heart and bowed his head, no doubt praying.
Wyatt expelled a tight breath. He wasn’t sure he wanted to pray any more. Not when God didn’t seem to care a lick about helping anything in his life to go right.
After several more moments of silence, Judd replaced his hat and then stood back to take in the scene again.
Another gust of cold air buffeted Wyatt, taunting him about everything he’d lost. “Not every day a man loses both his wife and his livelihood.”
Judd turned to his mount and retrieved the rope from the saddle. “You ain’t lost either yet.”
Wyatt snorted. “I know you ain’t deaf or blind. You heard Greta and you see this.” He waved toward the dead cattle. “I’m done.”
Judd knelt and wrapped the rope around the hind legs of the steer. “You can walk away every time the flies start bitin’. Or you can swat ’em until they’re gone.”
“Huh?” Wyatt was used to Judd’s adages and respected him for his experience and wisdom. But sometimes, he wished his friend would just come out and say what he meant.
Judd knotted the rope and then sat back on his boot heels. “Problem with you young pups is that you expect things to be easy, and then the minute they’re not, you pack up and hightail it out.”
“I ain’t expecting nothin’ to be easy. You’ve seen how hard I’ve been working for months.” Wyatt couldn’t keep the frustration from rising with his voice. “Poured my heart and life into this ranch. And for what? What do I have to show for it? A herd of dead steers, that’s what.”
“Quit your blubbering,” Judd muttered, standing up.