Melissa Cutler - Cowboy Justice

“I’ll send Molina to the state pen to interview those gun runners. Maybe we can get a better handle on El Diente’s business plan and how it involves Wallace Meyer Jr. and his associates.”

“That was my thought, but both squealers got themselves killed in a prison yard fight,” Stratis said.

“Well, hell. That was fast.”

“You could say that again. Border Patrol’s e-mailing me a copy of their interview notes. Did Dale Erskine have anything interesting to share with you?”

Vaughn dropped into the chair facing Stratis’s desk. “As a matter of fact, he did. Which is why I need you at the Sorentino Farm in an hour to process evidence.”

Stratis picked up a pen with both hands and rolled it between his fingers, avoiding Vaughn’s eyes. “I’m sure Rachel Sorentino would rather see you than me.”

Vaughn ran his tongue over his teeth. They were back to that, were they? Tired of Stratis’s passive aggressive bullshit, he had half a mind to drag Stratis into his office to hash it out, but now wasn’t the time.

He stood, glancing behind him, to where Irene was pretending to read her Bible while she listened in. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be there too. In the meantime, get on the horn with other departments across the state. El Diente just became the most wanted man in New Mexico.” He leaned over Stratis’s desk and added in a low voice, “Consider this fair warning that if you ever again talk to a victim of a crime like you did to Rachel Sorentino yesterday, be prepared to look for work elsewhere. Are we clear?”

Stratis’s jaw rippled. His eyes glinted with disgust. “Then you can consider this fair warning that I’m putting my name in the hat for sheriff come the November elections.”

As pissed as he’d been at Stratis, he hadn’t seen that curveball coming. Between Stratis and Meyer both gunning for his departure, the odds weren’t looking good for Vaughn to keep his job, but there were a lot of months between May and November, and Vaughn was smack in the middle of the biggest case of his career. His legacy.

He stood to his full height. “You’d make a top-notch sheriff. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to fight like hell to beat you, but if you win, you’ll be great at it. Until that time comes, though, you’re still my employee, and you’ll follow my rules. Understood?”

Staring at the wall behind Vaughn, Stratis sniffed. “Sir.”

“Good. See you in an hour.”

Rachel gave new meaning to the term breakneck as she barreled over the dirt road leading to her family’s homestead. She was only going thirty, but with her truck’s negligible shocks and the uneven road surface, she was surprised her head didn’t pop clean off her body. It felt good, driving recklessly, beating herself and her truck up. What had she been thinking, saying what she had to Kate Parrish?

Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? Or smiled and offered a “Bless your heart”? But sloppy seconds?Where had she come up with such a nasty barb?

There it was, though. No doubt Kate was already down the street at the beauty salon, sharing the story with her friends. If word got back to Vaughn about what she said, she would die. She would lie down in a dusty field and let the buzzards have her.

If damage control were possible, only one person in Rachel’s life would know how to go about it. Which was why she was heading straight to Catcher Creek’s number one gossip maven. She spied Amy at the chicken coop, along with Mr. Dixon and Kellan’s mom, Tina, helping the two guest families gather eggs and feed the hens. Mr. Dixon and Tina looked cozy, cuddling and whispering off to the side of the coop. Funny how Rachel hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten over the past few months since Tina came to live with them until Amy brought it to her attention the day before.

When her truck got close, she slowed to a stop and stuck her head out the window. “Morning, y’all,” she called, lapsing into her cowgirl act without even meaning to. “Finding many eggs to gather this morning?”

She really didn’t give a flying pig if they had, but after putting her boot in her mouth with Kate, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in a minute of polite conversation.

The teenage girl in the bunch rushed to the truck, showing off a basketful of eggs.

“Wow. Neat! What are you going to do with all those?” she asked, pulling off a smile she hoped looked genuine.

“This afternoon, Amy’s giving us a cooking lesson. We’re going to learn how to make a real cowboy supper.”

“With eggs, huh?” Rachel’s idea of a real cowboy supper involved beef and potatoes, but it looked like tonight she’d be making do with eggs. She’d have to give Rudy, Damon, and Ben a heads-up so they could skedaddle to town before they got roped into the meal. “Sounds yummy. I can’t wait to try it.” As the girl returned to the coop, Rachel got her sister’s attention. “Amy, may I have a word real quick?”

Amy wiped her hands on her jeans as she walked. She pulled Rachel’s sleeve up and inspected her bandage, frowning.

“It’s fine, Ames. Geez. It’s been four days since I got hurt.”

Amy tsked judgmentally. “True, but you’re doing a terrible job taking care of yourself. The scab’s already torn once. And you’re looking pale.” She set the back of her hand against Rachel’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay? I’ve got a nice list going of available bachelors in the area, so we’ve got to get you well. You’re going to be on the arm of a good man for my wedding if it’s the last thing I do.”

What a pain in the ass sisters were. “God blast it, Amy. I don’t want your help.”

“Too bad. You’re getting it.”

She swatted Amy’s hand away. “I’ve got enough stuff going on in my life without worrying about what schemes you’re cooking up.”

“Chef humor, that’s cute. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to attend to our guests.”

“Wait. Do you know where Jenna is?”

Amy hooked her thumb over her shoulder as she walked back toward the chicken coop. “She’s at her house, last I heard.”

A quarter mile and a foothill separated Jenna’s house from the main house, which had been originally constructed for the farm’s foreman. Seeing as how they hadn’t been able to afford a foreman since Rachel was a child, the house became Jenna’s as soon as Tommy got old enough that he made their mom anxious with his little-boy energy. Better for all parties involved, Rachel and Jenna decided, that they put a couple acres of buffer between Tommy and his grandma.

In an ongoing project that took nearly a year to complete, the two of them had spruced up the exterior of the house, transforming it into a neat little cottage with a garden of succulents out front, along with a smattering of kid toys and a metal A-frame swing set. Rachel was proud of the work they did. Even as completely opposite personalities as she and Jenna were, they worked well together and rarely argued, which was more than she could say about her perpetually prickly relationship with Amy.

She parked her truck behind Jenna’s white sedan. The door and all the windows of the cottage were open. Rachel checked her watch. Ten-thirty. Jenna had another two hours before she met the school bus bringing Tommy home from the pre-kindergarten class he’d started attending in January. Plenty of time for Rachel to grill her for information.

Figuring Jenna had heard Rachel’s truck, she didn’t bother to knock before walking into the comfortably cluttered living room. Jenna sat at her desk in the corner, typing on her laptop. Books were scattered and stacked everywhere. Some novels, but mostly manuals and how-to books, along with too many kids’ picture books to count. Seemed that Jenna was always reading about how something mechanical worked, or studying up on the history of one invention or another. Door stoppers, Rachel jokingly called the thick books. But Jenna loved that kind of thing almost as much as she loved her computer.

“Hey, Jenna. What’cha up to?” She sidestepped an especially tall stack of books and sat on the long yellow sofa she’d helped Jenna haul home a few years back from an estate sale in Tucumcari.

Jenna glanced away from the screen with a smile. “Hi. I’m adding a testimonial page to Matt’s Web site with quotes from satisfied clients.”

Matt was Matt Roenick. He’d been Kellan’s good buddy long before Rachel and her sisters hired him as their oil rights attorney after the oil was discovered on their property. When he’d taken a peek at the sisters’ new Heritage Farm Web site, he’d asked for a referral to the Web design company to spruce up his law practice’s site. Rachel had been there when he’d asked that question, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen Jenna look prouder than when she admitted it was her handiwork.

In no time flat, Jenna and Matt had worked out a barter system. In exchange for a reduced fee on legal services rendered to the farm, Jenna signed on as his . . . “What do they call the person who designs and runs a Web site?” Rachel asked.

“A Web mistress.”

Rachel snickered. “You’re his Web mistress? That sounds . . .”

Jenna swiveled her desk chair to face Rachel. “Dirty, right? Trust me—I wish it wasn’t as innocent a relationship as it actually is.”

Jenna had a huge crush on the man, which Rachel didn’t understand in the least. He was a nice enough guy, and supersmart, but his hands were callous free, and he was too white-collar to be useful around the ranch.

Rachel picked at a crust of mud in the seam of her jeans. “I have to ask you something random.”

Jenna cupped her knee in her joined hands. “Random works for me. What’s up?”