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Life in the big, unruly Fletcher clan had been far from perfect. The mother was a descendant of Comancheros, Mexicans who’d traded with the Indians for white captives to sell south of the border. Drinking, drugs, fights, and petty crimes were so commonplace in the family that Sky had come to accept these things as normal. But he’d always sensed that he was different, and he’d held himself apart.
At fifteen, after his uncle had belt-whipped his back to a mass of bloody welts, he’d run away and found a new life. The Tylers had been good to him, and Sky was loyal to the marrow of his bones. But he knew better than to think he could ever be one of them.
“I need to ask you something, Sky.” Lute, who’d been trailing behind, had caught up with him. “What can you tell me about girls?”
The question almost made Sky laugh. He’d dated some attractive ladies over the years, but they’d all ended up moving on. Not that he blamed them. Much as he enjoyed a good roll in the hay, he’d never had the time to invest in a serious relationship. Maybe he never would.
“Do I look like the right man to ask about girls?” he responded to Lute’s query. “How many girls have you seen flocking around me, boy?”
“You’re family. There’s nobody else I can ask.”
Sky scanned the brush for any sign of a rusty-red coat. “So what exactly do you want me to tell you?”
“You know. How to make them like you. What to say. How you know when it’s time to make a move.”
“So you’ve met a girl, have you?”
“Her name’s Jess. She’s a waitress at the Blue Coyote. Wears these sexy little pink boots. Last week she let me take her out for pizza, but I’d like to . . . you know.”
Sky groaned inwardly. He’d never been with Jess, but he could name a dozen men who had. Lute’s naïve young heart was about to get stomped. The lesson would be bitter, but there was one only one way for him to learn it—on his own.
“Just be yourself,” Sky said. “If she likes you, fine. If not, there are plenty of other girls around. The most important thing to remember is, play it cool. Don’t push her. And don’t act like you care too much, even if you do. Make sense?”
“I . . . guess.” Lute seemed distracted. They were nearing the bog, a place Sky had never liked. It was rank with the odors of rotting vegetation and animals that had died trapped in the muck. Today the smell seemed unusually bad. Black vultures, their ugly red heads bare of feathers, flapped in and out of the reeds. A dozen of them roosted in the dead white cottonwood that stood at the edge of the swamp.
“Dammit!” Sky swore. “I?
?m betting we’ve lost a cow. But we’ve got to make sure. Come on, Lute. It won’t be pretty, but this is part of the job.”
Dismounting, they tethered their horses at a safe distance and walked down the slope toward the patch of tall brown reeds where the birds were flocking.
Lute was first to see what they were feeding on. Without a word, he doubled over and vomited in the grass.
Sky breathed an oath as he saw it, too. The body had been here for a few days, he calculated, long enough for the birds to make a mess of it. The head and torso were hidden by the reeds. Only the bare legs were clearly visible—legs that ended in a pair of waterlogged pink boots.
CHAPTER 6
Will was propped on pillows, his expression a thundercloud. “I saw the news last night,” he growled with an eyebrow lifted toward the small TV above his bed. “I hope you’re here to tell me what the hell’s going on.”
Beau took a moment to study his brother from the doorway. The antivenin was doing its work. His gaze was alert and the puffiness was gone in his face and hands. But the bitten leg remained swollen and inert beneath the sheet. According to the doctor, he was still on pain medication and would be in the hospital at least through the weekend.
“You’re looking right perky this afternoon.” Beau walked into the room and took a seat next to the bed. “Sounding perky, too.”
Will swore. “Lord, get me out of this place! Those blasted nurses won’t even let me up to piss!”
“So I see.” Beau glanced at the catheter bag that hung below the hem of the sheet. The teasing banter masked his genuine concern. His brother could have died from the fall off the horse, if not from the bite.
“So what did you hear on the news?” he asked Will.
“I heard somebody found a female body in the bog. And it turned out to be that poor kid from the Blue Coyote. What the hell happened out there?”
“Nobody knows for sure. But the ranch has been a damned circus. Cops and press all over the place. If I hadn’t been needed to deal with them, I’d have been here sooner.” Beau rose, walked to the sink, and filled a paper cup with water. Sitting again, he took a sip. “Sky and Lute found her when they were checking for cows. She’d been there long enough for the buzzards to get at her. Evidently she was shot through the side of the head.”
“You’ve had experience with this kind of thing. Was the girl killed on the ranch?”
“The sheriff doesn’t think so. Since they didn’t find any blood at the scene, I’d agree. Her body was more than likely dumped. But you’re talking fifteen miles from town. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to leave her in that bog—somebody who knew exactly where to take her. When we know why, we should be able to figure out who.”
Will fingered the stubble on his unshaven jaw. Beau could sense his brother’s thoughts, wandering the same paths his own had traveled. Only someone local, most likely someone who’d grown up here or worked on the ranch, would know about the bog. And the way the girl was killed, coldly, almost execution style, didn’t suggest an impulsive crime of passion. Somebody had wanted her dead for a reason—somebody who knew how to kill. But why leave the body where it would attract scavengers and be found?
