Page 5 of In Honor’s Defense

Luke followed, taking his hat off as he crossed the threshold.

“Wilson told me he’d written Captain Hanger for assistance,” Grimes said as he closed the door and led Luke through the parlor to a small study at the back, “but I knew the Horsemen were retired. Didn’t really expect anythin’ to come of it. Yet here you are.”

Here he was. So eager to take a job, any job, that he hadn’t even wired ahead to notify the client of his plans. Just showed up on his doorstep like a stray dog in search of a bone.

Grimes grinned as he stepped aside and let Luke enter the office ahead of him. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the rancher’s demeanor sobered. It was as if the office served as the storage area for all his worry and stress. The heavy atmosphere pressed down on him, and Luke circled his shoulders in an effort to keep it from settling. Grimes waved him into a chair, then took a seat behind the large oak desk that dominated the room.

Grimes propped his forearms on the desktop and blew out a heavy breath. “By yesterday’s count, I’ve lost ten head so far, but this ain’t the usual grab-and-run operation. They’re bleeding me dry little by little. It’s like the rustlers are toying with me.”

Luke planted his boots solidly on the floor and pressed a palm against his knee as he leaned forward. “How so?”

“They’re taking my beeves one or two at a time. No evidence of horses churning up the soil. No disturbin’ the herd. They sneak in at night, find the outliers, and walk one of the beeves away. I’ve posted a night guard, but I run a small operation. I ain’t one of them big outfits with a thousand head of cattle and dozens of men on the payroll. I run about two hundred head and employ three hands, not including old Quincy. Ten missing longhorns means I’ve lost five percent of my stock. If I can’t find a way to stop the rustling, in a month I could be down by twenty-five percent. In three months, I could be out of business.”

It seemed risky for the rustlers to return to the scene of their crime over and over. Though maybe it wasn’t rustlers—plural—but a single thief.

“Have you found any cut wire?”

Grimes tapped the desktop with the side of his thumb, his mounting frustration adding force and volume to the percussion. “Nope. Been checkin’ the fence line every time a steer goes missin’. Ain’t found any cut wire or downed sections.” He snatched his hand away from the desk and balled his fingers into a fist. “I got no idea how they’re getting ’em out.”

“Sounds like they might be local if they keep returning. Maybe a poor family lookin’ to feed their young’uns?”

Grimes scowled. “I might think so if just one cow was taken. But ten? This ain’t about food. It’s personal.”

Luke straightened. “Someone got an ax to grind with you?” It made more sense that this was an act of spite or revenge. Rustlers were in it for the money, and the only way to make enough money to justify the risk was to grab as much as they could and move on to greener pastures. They’d have to change the brands and find a buyer willing not to look too close. But if the motive wasn’t money, that opened up new avenues of possibilities.

“That’s the problem.” Grimes jerked backward and slammed his palm against the chair arm. “I can’t think of anyone who’d want to ruin me. I had to let a hand go a couple of years back for havin’ a poor work ethic, but last I heard, he’d lit out for Colorado. And I ain’t got a beef with any of the folks in town.”

“What about your men?” Luke tapped his hat brim against his thigh. “Maybe one of them got liquored up and said or did something to cause offense?”

Grimes shook his head. “Buck and Randall are as steady as they come. They’re more into cards than liquor when seeking Saturday night entertainment. And before you ask, no, they don’t owe anyone money. Joe’s young, so he’s still got some stupid in him, but he can also charm the feathers off a goose, so no one stays mad at him longer’n a day.”

Luke made a noncommittal sound. A good boss knew his men, but no man knew another completely. Everyone had secrets. It was possible one of the Triple G hands was in on it. Who else would know the land well enough to be able to sneak a longhorn off the property without cutting fence wire?

“What about someone from your past? Any scorned business partners or women who might be seeking revenge?”

“Nah. I bought this land free and clear a decade ago. Earned my starter herd after five years of cattle drives. Left on good terms with my previous outfit.” Grimes blew out a breath and ran a hand down his face. “As for women, I ain’t been on friendly terms with more than a handful over the years, and none long enough for expectations to develop on either side.” He gripped the edge of the desk and met Luke’s gaze straight on. “I’m a cow man, Mr. Davenport. My ranch is my life. I ain’t got time for politics or courtship or sticking my nose in business that ain’t my own. Only man I had a disagreement with lately was Doug Baxter, but he’s dead, so it can’t be him.”

Luke’s instincts zinged. “What kind of disagreement did you and Baxter have?”

Grimes shrugged. “The usual.” He poked a thumb over his shoulder. “He owned the land next door. A real pretty section with grass for grazin’ and a creek that’d be perfect for stock. I wanted to buy. Baxter wouldn’t sell. But like I said, the man’s dead. Goin’ nigh on two months now.”

“He leave any family behind who might hold a grudge?” Grief often left folks looking for someone to blame, a place to direct their anger and hurt.

“Just a kid. Nate. You don’t think . . .” A thoughtful look crossed the rancher’s face before he shook it off. “Nah. The boy’s only thirteen or fourteen. He can be a hothead at times, but he’s harmless. Although . . . now that ya got me ponderin’ on the boy, that might explain . . .” His mouth tightened.

“What?”

“Missin’ cattle ain’t the only thing I been plagued with lately.”

Luke raised a brow, silently prodding Grimes to explain.

“There’s been vandalism, too.”

“Like what?”

“Half my vegetable garden hacked to bits. Probably lost at least a month of winter’s stores. Horses turned out of the corral. One ended up lame. Prob’ly stepped in a prairie dog hole when the vandal spooked ’em. Little things too, like a skunk turned loose in the bunkhouse and manure bombs on the front porch. All takin’ place at night, just like the rustlin’. Both started around the same time. I assumed they were related. Some kind of personal attack. None of the other ranchers in the area have lost any beeves, so I’m likely bein’ targeted. I just don’t know why. But if this is somehow tied to Baxter . . .”

“Let me dig around before you start jumpin’ to conclusions.” Luke stretched his legs out along the side of the desk. He’d pulled his share of pranks as a boy. Gotten in trouble more times than he could count. It could be the neighbor boy was responsible for those incidents. But rustling? That was a far cry from petty vandalism.