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Stella muttered an unladylike curse under her breath.
“My guess is that something happened to the truck—might have been wrecked or stolen. Which means Lute’s out there somewhere, trying to work up the nerve to come in and tell you about it.”
“
Why, that little—” She broke off, then laughed and shook her head. “The poor kid is probably scared to death. But these things happen. Anyway, the truck had U.S. and Mexican insurance. If you find Lute, tell him it’s covered and he can come back to work. No hard feelings. I’ll just be happy to know he’s safe.”
This time Sky recognized the signs. The subtle narrowing of Stella’s absinthe eyes and the twitch of a jaw muscle told him she was fuming inside. Wherever Lute was, he was in big trouble.
Where would Lute go to hide out? Sky asked himself. Back to Oklahoma, maybe? If he had money, he could have headed for one of the big cities. But where would he get money unless he’d done something to double-cross Stella?
Stella could be asking herself the same questions. That might explain why she was furious. Sky would bet a month’s pay she’d had a lot more to lose than a truck.
What if Lute was close by, keeping out of sight to see what would happen? That sounded more like the sort of thing Lute would do. Hole up in the back country. Finding him wouldn’t be easy. Lute was coyote clever. He would know how to lie low and cover his tracks.
Lute felt the hunger gnawing at his gut. The snacks he’d bought on the road were long gone, and the jackrabbit he’d snared, skinned, and roasted yesterday hadn’t had enough meat on it to satisfy a cat. It wasn’t that he didn’t have money. Except for the seven hundred dollars he’d paid for the sputtering Vespa motor scooter in Eagle Pass, plus a few bills for meals, gas, and a cheap pistol he’d bought off the street, most of his cash from the Mexicans was intact. But he was going to need it later. And here in this abandoned line shack, deep in the escarpment on the western boundary of the Tylers’ ranch, there was nothing to buy.
No way was he going back to Stella. He knew exactly what she would do. She’d greet him with open arms, tell him all was forgiven; then soon after that, when he was somewhere alone, he would die. The way Slade had died. The way Jess had died. He would die because he knew too much and could no longer be trusted.
Not that Stella would pull the trigger. She was too smart for that. Someone else did her killing, someone with a dead aim and complete loyalty. Given a chance to bet, Lute’s money was on the bartender.
Maybe he’d made a mistake, coming back here to Blanco Springs and the ranch. It would’ve been safer to hit the road, put Texas and all he knew behind him. But the money he had wouldn’t last for long. And he had plans—big plans and big dreams.
Everything hinged on his getting the palomino foal to Don Ignacio in Mexico. With the money the rancher had offered him, Lute could live a comfortable life south of the border, get a cozy house in an out-of-the-way town, maybe find a pretty senorita for company. With his dark coloring he could pass for Mexican, and he knew enough Spanish to get by.
But getting the foal to the ranch would be complicated. First, he’d need a truck. His own pickup would do, but he’d left it in the Haskell Trucking lot. If it was still there, he’d have to find a way to get it, or steal another one. And he would need a two-horse trailer for the mare and foal. Then he remembered that the Tylers had several trailers lined up behind the machine shed. All he needed to do was hitch a trailer to the truck, load the mare and foal, and drive away.
Now he needed to figure out a way to get the truck and trailer to the border. If he remembered right, one time, while helping Sky round up some strays, they had crossed a dirt road. It was little more than a double-rut trail through the mesquite. At the time, Sky had mentioned that it was part of a network of old wagon roads that crossed the south boundary of the ranch and cut east across the rolling plains, skirting towns and eventually joining up with the highway to Eagle Pass. Taking that route, Lute knew he could cover a lot of distance without being spotted.
His best bet would be to reach the highway before daylight and mix with the border traffic. Once he crossed the bridge, getting the horses into Mexico shouldn’t be a problem. If the Mexican guards gave him any trouble, a few large bills should be enough to grease their palms. He’d be home free.
Around 11:30, Lute rode the Vespa into town. It was Saturday night, and the Blue Coyote was busy. Country music punctuated by raucous laughter drifted out the open windows. All to the good, Lute reasoned as he drove past. Anybody wandering the streets at this hour would likely be too drunk to pay him much attention.
Reaching the far end of Main Street, he parked the Vespa in an alley and walked the rest of the way to Haskell Trucking.
The lot was surrounded by a chain-link fence, but, as usual, the gate had been left unlocked. Slipping through the shadows, Lute had no trouble finding his pickup. He’d been required to leave the keys in the office, in case the vehicle needed to be moved. But the previous owner had left a spare set of keys in one of those little magnetic boxes on the frame under the driver’s side. Even in the dark it was easy enough to find.
The starter took some coaxing, but when the engine caught on the third try, Lute began to breathe again. The gas gauge read half a tank. He’d need more to get to the border, but he’d worry about that later.
Getting the trailer and the horses would be his biggest challenge. He knew Beau Tyler had updated the ranch’s security system. There could be alarms, even cameras. And if that mare decided to make a fuss, she could wake the whole ranch, or at least set off the dog. He needed to create a distraction—something spectacular.
Pulling out of the gate, he closed it behind him and headed around the block to pick up the Vespa. There was no turning back now. In the morning, when Stella learned his truck was missing, all hell would break loose. If he wasn’t long gone by then, Lute knew he was as good as dead.
It was almost one in the morning, but Natalie couldn’t sleep. She’d come home late, exhausted after an emergency procedure on an injured gelding. Calmed by a warm shower and a relaxing cup of chamomile tea, she’d expected to drift off as soon as she closed her eyes. But after an hour of trying, she was wide awake, the pillow smashed out of shape and the covers tangled around her legs.
Tori had called on Friday to warn her about the sheriff ’s ploy with Beau. At first Natalie hadn’t been surprised. Hoyt Axelrod would do anything to get his face in the media, and bringing a murderer to justice would cast him as a champion of law and order.
“How can I help him, Tori? There has to be something I can do.”
“Just keep a low profile,” Tori had advised her. “Don’t do anything that will draw attention to yourself. And if Clay Drummond offers you immunity to testify against Beau, for heaven’s sake, take it. If Beau knows he doesn’t have to protect you, he’ll be free to fight this.”
“But what can I say against Beau? I know he’s innocent.”
“You can tell the truth. Nothing that’s true can hurt him. Remember, if it comes to that, I’ll be cross-examining you for the defense. Meanwhile, don’t talk to anybody about this, especially Beau or the sheriff. And if the prosecutor calls you, I want to be there for any offer he makes. Call me if you have any questions.”
Trying to sleep was just frustrating her. Natalie rolled out of bed and reached for her robe. The house could use tidying and she had a week’s worth of laundry to do. Maybe burning up some nervous energy would leave her relaxed enough to sleep.
The sight of her purse on the dresser reminded Natalie that her phone battery was low. She would get the wash started, then put the phone on the charger for the night.
