Silos and Sabotage (Cowboy Brand of Justice #2)

Chapter 1 The Hitching Post

W hat am I doing out here?

Ella Lawton rubbed her fingers against her temples, feeling like she was fighting her way through a thick fog. Except she wasn’t. The sun was blasting down on the two-lane highway beside her. She was on the shoulder, shuffling one foot unsteadily in front of the other. Her feet felt heavy, and her legs were trembling. She doubted they would hold her up much longer.

Am I hitchhiking?

Every few steps, she glanced down at herself, wondering why the beige and white plaid shirt, frayed jeans, and scuffed cowgirl boots she had on didn’t look familiar. Scuffed was putting it mildly. The brown leather uppers were cracked pretty badly in places, and the soles of her boots were caked with mud — the thick, red clay kind of mud that stained everything it touched.

It was strange how she could remember that simple fact, but she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. Or exactly where there was. Or why she wasn’t carrying a purse or a suitcase.

Her head spun dizzily as she absorbed the details of her surroundings. The sun felt warm on her face and hands, which felt oddly comforting, but it was way too bright outside. She longed for the wide brim of a Stetson to protect her eyes from the glare.

Everywhere she looked were rocks, sand, and palm-sized prickly cactus leaves. Clumps of dried grass were wedged here and there among the rocks, and a gust of wind was driving a trio of tumbleweeds across the highway. One got snagged on a loose chunk of asphalt that had broken off the edge of a pothole and was lying loose on the road.

She watched the tumbleweed rock back and forth in the wind and finally break free of the jagged piece of asphalt. It finished rolling across the road and careened over the next stretch of rocks and dried grass. In the distance, craggy red and brown mountains rose. Little vegetation clung to their sides. It looked like the winding road she was on ran through one of the mountain passes ahead.

She could see a series of grain silos rising against the mountains on both sides of the road.

The rumble of a truck motor made her tense.

I need to hide!

She wasn’t sure where that thought came from. Or why it made her glance over her shoulder so fast that she lost her balance. She landed on her hands and knees, scraping her palms painfully on the gravel. She was going to have some colorful bruises to show for her clumsiness when she reached…

Her thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt at the confusing realization that she had no idea where she was going. She sensed she was nearing the end of her journey, though .

The sound of the truck rumbled closer, tempting her to stand up and stick out a thumb to flag down the driver. But what would she tell them? She didn’t know where she was, how she’d gotten there, or where she was headed next.

Before the truck rounded the curve and drove into sight, she gave in to her paranoia, dropped to her belly, and rolled into the ditch beside the road. For reasons she couldn’t even begin to explain, she wedged her body as tightly as she could against the wall of the ditch closest to the road, inwardly praying she wouldn’t be seen by whoever was driving past her.

The truck roared up to her hiding spot and slowed. Or stopped. She wasn’t sure until the driver revved his motor a few times.

“Ella,” a man called. “Are you out there?”

Though his voice sounded vaguely familiar, she couldn’t put a face or a name to it. He sounded so close that he must be parked directly above her hiding place, hanging out his truck window.

“I saw you get off the bus. I know you’re out there somewhere.”

Bus? I was on a bus? From the state of her boots, she must have exited the bus through a mile-long mud puddle.

“If you can hear me,” his tone grew wheedling, “I just want to talk.”

Don’t trust him. Memories shivered at the edges of the fog inside her head, propelling her to stay hidden. Since the man didn’t jump out of his truck and come lean over the ditch, she could only assume he hadn’t seen her yet.

She squeezed her eyelids shut, barely breathing, until she heard the truck roar away. Only then did she roll to her back and stare up at the sky. She was panting as if she’d run for miles. Every instinct in her was telling her to get up and start walking again, but her legs weren’t ready to cooperate.

Was it because of the surgery? Her hands crept beneath her shirt to her abdomen, expecting to find bandages there. All she felt was warm skin. That’s not right. There should be bandages. Thick ones. She’d had major, life-altering surgery, for crying out loud! Why wasn’t she still in the hospital?

Gage Hefner.

The name popped into her head, along with a man’s face. He had angular features with a squared-off jaw, a mouth that didn’t smile often, and short brown hair that was shaved on the sides like a soldier. Like my father’s hair. For some reason, the thought was accompanied by a gush of tears. Where are you, Dad?

The twist of anguish in her heart was followed by a bolt of sickening dread. Something had happened to him, something bad. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she did. Her sense of urgency increased with each memory that surfaced from the fog.

Gage Hefner.

She repeated his name inside her head, hanging on to it like a lifeline, since it was one of the few things she could remember at the moment with any clarity. That, and the fact that she needed to find him. Quickly.

She could hear the purr of another truck motor approaching, this time from the other direction. It had a smoother sound than the last one, and it was accompanied by the expulsion of air brakes and a squealing sound as it came to a complete stop.

Oh, no! She froze, knowing she must have been spotted since she’d failed to stay hidden. Though she was too weak to force her eyelids back open, she heard the slap of boots against pavement as the driver leaped to the ground, then the sound of running footsteps.

“Ma’am?” An unfamiliar male voice wafted through the breeze gusting above her head. “Are you alright?” He sounded concerned.

There was no answering slice of dread in her like there’d been with the last guy. Her shoulders slumped. “I, um…” She struggled to open her eyes, but was unsuccessful. What does it look like, mister? A hysterical laugh bubbled inside her, but it came out as a sob.

There was a scrambling sound and the tingle of gravel hitting the side of her left boot as the man climbed into the ditch beside her.

He mumbled something about calling an ambulance.

“No,” she gasped, unsure where her sudden burst of vehemence came from. Though she felt no fear around the man who was currently trying to help her, she knew she’d be a sitting duck at the hospital if the other man returned. Every instinct in her told her she needed to get moving again.

Strong hands gripped her upper arms, helping her sit up.

“Water,” she croaked, swaying a little. She pressed her hands to the ground on either side of her to regain her balance.

There was a rattling and hissing sound behind her. The strong hands immediately let go of her arms. A pop of gunfire ensued, making her jolt in surprise.

“Sorry about that,” the man said quickly. “Blasted rattlesnakes!” His hands closed around her upper arms again, lifting her swiftly to her feet. “We need to get you out of here before the next one slithers your way. ”

She sagged against him, sensing that she was safe with him.

He muttered something she couldn’t understand and hauled her the rest of the way into his arms.

As her head lolled against his shoulder, she could smell grease and dirt on his clothing, along with the familiar scent of grain. He walked a few steps before muttering, “Up you go.”

He deposited her on a cushioned seat, laying her on her side. The vinyl upholstery felt cool beneath her cheek. Seconds later, water trickled against her cracked lips. It was slightly warmer than room temperature. Though she would’ve preferred cold water, she opened her mouth wider and gulped it thirstily. It trickled past her parched throat.

After a few seconds of lapping water, she was finally able to open her eyes.

The concerned features of an old cowpoke stared back at her. His face was so lined from overexposure to the sun that he could’ve been anywhere between fifty-five and seventy-five. He was seated behind the wheel inside the cab of what appeared to be a semi-sized truck. An uncapped bottle of water was fisted in one hand. By now, the water was pooling on the the seat cushion beneath her cheek. She could feel it soaking into the collar of her shirt.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“My pleasure.” Though he tipped the brim of his dusty hat at her, the concern didn’t leave his heavily lined face. “I’m Jim, by the way, and you are?”

“Ella.” She wasn’t sure what prompted her to use her real name since it didn’t feel like she’d used it in a while. Though she watched him closely for his reaction, his scowl of concern remained intact .

“Are you one of the seasonal workers around here?” he prodded.

Now there’s an idea. It would certainly explain how she was dressed. “I, er…” She ultimately decided to tell him what she did know. “I’m looking for someone. A man by the name of Gage Hefner.”

“No kidding?” To her astonishment, Jim angled his head in the opposite direction his truck was facing. “I’ve run into him a time or two at The Hitching Post.”

“You have?” She nearly choked on the lump of elation rising in her throat. Though she still had no idea why she was looking for him or how long she’d been at it, her heart pounded in anticipation of seeing him for the first time. Finding him felt huge — the needle-in-a-haystack kind of huge. Hopefully, Gage Hefner would be able to answer her biggest, most burning questions — like where her father was and why it felt like the two of them were in danger.

“Yep! He’s usually with one of his coworkers. A guy named Johnny, I think.” Jim chattered companionably as he buckled his seatbelt and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

A coworker? Ella had no idea where Gage worked, but the image briefly flashing across her mind was that of a man in a military uniform. The fog inside her head was starting to wear off. Despite her exhaustion and dehydration, bits and pieces of her memories were rising to the surface. They started to form pictures and feelings — a hospital bed, pain, lots of pain, screams, figures in white lab coats converging on her, then utter darkness.

The old cowpoke watched her swiftly changing expressions with concern.

“If you’re not from around here, The Hitching Post is a diner,” he explained. “A new one that’s crowded wall-to-wall with youngsters like you. ”

Up to this point, she’d been too busy trying to figure out what she was doing on the side of the road to give any thought to her age. It came to her, anyway. I’m twenty-four. Another memory shivered to life and took shape inside her head — one where she was seated across from her father at an upscale restaurant. He was singing Happy Birthday off key to her, but the warmth and nostalgia fluttering through her was cruelly sliced away by the darker tang of fear and sadness. It was all she could do to hold back her tears.

“Tell you what,” Jim sighed, glancing at his watch. “How about I turn around, head back into town, and drop you off there?”

Ella blinked away the dampness, trying to bring his features back into focus. “At the diner?”

The cowpoke raised his eyebrows at her. “Is there somewhere else you’d rather go?”

“No, sir.” She shook her head weakly. “The diner would be great.” Anything would be better than lying in a scorching ditch filled with rocks, sand, and rattlesnakes.

He reached for her hand and hauled her upright in the seat beside him. She continued to sip on the water bottle he handed her as he started rolling the truck forward. He eventually found a large gravel pullout to turn around in.

They passed grain silos on both sides of the road, tall silver ones on her right and even taller stone and concrete ones on her left. Each of the silver ones had some sort of logo painted on their domed roofs. A black logo. She couldn’t read it from where she was sitting. The stone silos to her left had a red logo painted on the sides facing the road, which she could read. Radcliffe Industries. Something about the name felt vaguely familiar.

A half mile or so further down the road, they passed a city limit sign for Heart Lake. The silos disappeared in her side view mirror. Heart Lake. She repeated the name inside her head. It had a lovely ring to it that suited the gorgeous slice of countryside to perfection. All but the lake part. She didn’t note so much as the trickle of a creek nearby. The town was tucked into a set of rolling foothills. Craggy mountains rose in the distance.

The land soon leveled out and stretched into a mesa nestled between the mountains. Houses dotted the mesa on both sides of the road. Then an enormous lake drew into view, and the name of the town suddenly made more sense. Blue waters rippled and sparkled for as far as she could see. The spire of a white church cast an elongated reflection into the water, stirring a layer of deep-seated resentment.

Eh…great.

She slumped in her seat at the realization that she was angry with God. About what, she had no clue. It didn’t feel like a very solid plan, though, to be at odds with the Maker of the universe and everything in it. She would figure it out…eventually.

It might help to pinpoint exactly where on the map she was, but she didn’t dare ask her driver. She didn’t want to alert him to just how lost she was. Nor did she wish for him to reinstate his offer to call an ambulance.

About another mile or so down the road, the lake disappeared and a quaint downtown district appeared. They passed a red-brick police station and a few plaza strips of storefronts. Around the next bend, Jim turned into the parking lot of a cozy little diner. He rolled to a stop, taking up the entire row of painted parking spots closest to the road. Leaning her way, he stuffed a crinkled ten-dollar bill into her hand. “Get you somethin’ to eat and call home,” he urged kindly.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” Despite downing most of the bottle of water, she still felt weak as she pushed open the door and started to climb out of his truck. If she hadn’t been so dehydrated, she probably would’ve started blubbering crocodile tears of gratitude as he hopped down, jogged around the front of the truck, and helped her to the ground.

A glance at the trailer revealed that she’d been riding in a grain truck. No surprise there, considering all the silos they’d passed along the way. The grass green cab was hauling a white grain car. Since there was no cover on it, the breeze was kicking up grain dust and making it swirl around them. The lack of a cover probably also meant he’d recently acquired his load and wasn’t taking it far.

Jim gave her a friendly wave as he climbed back into his cab. He rolled down his window and repeated, “Call home.” Then he drove off.

Home. Ella swayed a little as she turned around and tottered toward the diner. Unfortunately, she had no idea where home was. It wasn’t in Heart Lake, that was for sure.

The Hitching Post looked new. The exterior was multi-colored stone in mostly brown and beige hues. Dark brown metal awnings slanted outward over its windows and glass entrance door.

It took more effort than it should have to push open the door. A flyer was taped to the inside of it, advertising an upcoming autumn festival. The date for the event was October. She blinked at the year listed. Five years from now? Surely, it was a typo!

Shaking her head, she moved through the empty L-shaped line that was roped off against the wall. At the end of it, she reached an unmanned hostess booth. Beside it was a white acrylic sign, mounted to a gold metal stand. It read in bold black letters, Seat Yourself .

I can do that. Her gaze briefly roved the room, taking in the collection of square wooden tables and chairs scattered across the room.

A long, brown button leather bench was built into the far wall, with more tables pushed up to it. Bar stools facing the food preparation counter provided yet more seating. Most of them were empty.

The walls were covered with a cozy shade of textured taupe paint and a collection of western decor — saddles, spurs, longhorns, and a mural of the lake that Jim had driven her past. The ceiling displayed open beams, and the cathedral roof above them was lined with cedar planks.

The atmosphere was so homey and inviting that a lump of longing formed in Ella’s throat. She still couldn’t remember where home was. She shuffled her feet further into the dining area and scanned the room for Gage Hefner. As she selected a seat as far from the entrance as possible, she didn’t see anyone who fit his description. Pressing her back against the brown leather cushion, she faced the door with a pounding heart, half expecting the guy who’d been trailing her on the road to burst into the diner.

There were only a few other customers present —three elderly farmers in overalls who gave her curious looks and nods, and a younger cowboy sitting in the middle of the room with his back to her. Though he hadn’t looked up from his cell phone when she’d walked past him, she’d sensed awareness radiating from him.

Or maybe she’d imagined it.

As she settled in to wait for Gage Hefner to make his appearance, a smiling young woman in a white shirt and brown apron tied over her jeans approached Ella’s table. Her honey-brown hair was piled on top of her head, and her smile was the kind that made a person want to smile back .

“Hey, there! I’m Casey, and you look thirsty.” There was no pad of paper in her hands. No pen, either. She might be young, but she was old-school when it came to taking orders. It appeared she intended to commit Ella’s requests to memory.

“I’d like a glass of water, please.” Ella felt a smile curve her lips. It was impossible to hold it back. “With lemon, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all.” Casey pointed a long, white-lacquered fingernail at a stack of menus wedged behind the condiments stand in the center of the table. “If you’re hungry, our daily special includes two eggs any way you like, a side of bacon or sausage, and a side of pancakes, hash browns, or grits. Our coffee is complimentary.”

“Oh, wow! That’s a lot of food.” Ella doubted her stomach could hold that much.

Casey made a sound of derision. “Not according to the locals. A few minutes ago, one of them actually insisted he would starve to death if I didn’t double his order. For free!” She jammed a thumb, half laughing and half irritated, in the direction of the man in question.

Ella didn’t see anyone on that side of the room.

Oh, wait. There he was. A lanky cowboy swaggered out of the men’s room. There was something about his size and the way he moved that made her shiver as he took a seat against the wall, facing her. Though she wasn’t sure when or where, she’d seen him before. He was half hidden in the shadows since the curtain was pulled closed over the window behind him.

“I’ll take two eggs, scrambled,” she murmured, averting her face from the man. “Hash browns and bacon. Turkey bacon if you have it.”

“We do.” Casey gave a trill of laughter and turned away to fill Ella’s order. “I’ll be right back with that water,” she assured merrily.

Ella winced at the volume of her voice. She had zero interest in attracting attention to herself. She watched from beneath her lashes as the man on the far side of the room glanced their way. His gaze flickered over Casey and landed on Ella. He grew still, and his nostrils flared.

He’d recognized her. The moment he shot to his feet, she wished she had the energy to do the same. And take off running.

“There you are!” His voice was that of the man she’d hidden from on the side of the road earlier.

Her stomach pitched sickeningly as he strode her way. She wished she knew why he looked so familiar. Had they met before?

More memories resurfaced, spun, and flashed through her head — a dim room, a hospital mattress beneath her, her father sitting in the chair beside her, a shadowy figure without a face rising behind the chair with something sharp in his hands, a woman screaming…

“Ella, Ella, Ella,” the cowboy drawled in a low voice. Without waiting for her permission, he slid onto the bench beside her. And kept sliding her way until their knees touched. Like Jim, he smelled like grain and dirt. He also smelled like stale smoke and something sickly sweet. One rope-like arm snaked around the seat back behind her, and his fingers bit into her upper arm.

He bent his head closer to hers to speak directly in her ear. “You sure are hard to track down.”

“What do you want?” She wiggled beneath his arm, trying to loosen his grasp.

“To talk.” He hitched her closer, making her want to gag at his stench .

Talk about what? Up close, he was older than she’d originally estimated,in his early to mid-fifties. His nose was red, his teeth were rotten, and he bore an inexplicable resemblance to her father, of all people. Did it mean they were related? Surely not! The thought made her cringe. She didn’t want to be related to such a creepy person.

Casey reappeared and delivered Ella’s glass of water to the table. She plopped a small white bowl of lemon wedges beside it. “You two know each other, huh?” She sounded disappointed.

“I…” The fingers digging into Ella’s arm made her draw in a sharp breath.

Casey walked away, shaking her head.

“I don’t want to talk,” Ella hissed, trying again to loosen the man’s grasp.

His arm tightened painfully around her, threatening to crunch her shoulder blades. “Listen,” he rasped in her ear, “I’m not the one who actually wants to talk to you. They make me do this.” His whole body twitched. “For the money.”

They? Who did he mean by they ? She momentarily closed her eyes, tasting panic. Then her better judgment kicked in. They were seated in a public place. He couldn’t hurt her here, could he?

He must have taken her silence for agreement, because his grip on her relaxed a few degrees. “I’ll take you to them.”

You most certainly will not! There was no way she was going anywhere with him. She dug deep inside herself and managed to resurrect a normal tone of voice. “Please leave me alone.” Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she found herself staring into the vacant, red-rimmed eyes of a junkie. They were blue, but not the fountain of crystal blue kindness like her father’s. This man was only the shell of what he’d once been. Sandy hair stubbled his jaw line, and there was an impatient curl to his upper lip. All he wanted was money for his next fix.

He looked taken aback for a moment. Then he recovered. “That ain’t a very friendly thing to say.”

“Walk away,” another voice interrupted coldly.

Ella’s startled gaze flicked up, up, upward to the indomitable brown gaze of one of the tallest men she’d ever encountered. And the broadest. And the most corded with muscle.

One hand was resting on the butt of the gun holstered against his side. His long fingers were curled around the grip, his trigger finger hovering suggestively in the air.

It took Ella all of a split second to recognize him. “Gage?” she panted out his name, close to hyperventilating with relief. “Is it really you?”

He looked surprised by the question, and there was no answering flash of recognition in him. Even so, there was no mistaking that he was the man she’d been searching for.

His features returned to the same chiseled, immobile lines he’d worn before. She sensed he was a force to be reckoned with.

Apparently, so did the man hounding her. His grip on her eased a little more.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Gage edged closer to them with his hand still resting on his gun. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Ella’s creepy visitor stood, snarling something she couldn’t make out as he attempted to get in Gage’s face. It wasn’t an easy task, since he was a good three to four inches shorter. “You have no idea who you’re talking to!”

Gage didn’t budge. “Someone who doesn’t understand it when a woman says she wants to be left alone.” His molten brown eyes flashed an angry warning.

“We were just talking.” Instead of returning to his table on the other side of the room, the blustering cowboy stomped toward the front door. He kicked it open, leaving a crack in the glass that Ella didn’t recall seeing there before.

“Whoa!” The three elderly farmers stood so quickly that one of them knocked over his cup of coffee. The one to his left tipped his chair backward.

Ella watched dazedly through the picture windows in the front of the diner as her tormentor leaped into a vintage blue-black Chevy pickup with oversized tires. A hard-looking truck for the bully who drove it.

Gage ran after him, whipping out his cell phone to take a picture of the truck’s license plate. The angry cowboy revved his motor a few times and rocked his truck forward, as if he was considering driving it straight through the windows of the diner. Then he abruptly backed away, skidding his tires and spraying dirt and pebbles everywhere.

Practically tasting the gravel dust he’d kicked up, Ella reached for her glass of water and took a sip. She immediately grew lightheaded.

Gage stalked back inside, barking into his cell phone while he moved in her direction. It sounded like he was talking to the police. “Got a partial plate. First few digits were covered in mud. It ended in 3A2H.”

Casey reappeared. “Just let it go,” she sighed, shaking her head at him. “My parents aren’t gonna press charges against Billy Bob Bolander, and you know it.”

Billy Bob Bolander. Ella repeated the name inside her head. It didn’t sound familiar.

“Hold on a sec,” Gage instructed the person he was talking to. Holding his phone away from his ear, he growled, “Why not? There are…” his angry gaze flicked to the frowning farmers and back to Casey again, “a good five witnesses, at least, to the damage he did to your front door.”

“Nah, that crack has been there a while.” Casey glanced guiltily away from him.

She was lying. Despite the fresh wave of brain fog Ella was battling, she was sure of it.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Looking royally incensed, Gage abruptly ended his phone call.

One of the elderly farmers picked up his overturned chair, turned it around, and straddled it. “That’s the problem. Ain’t nobody willing to stand up to them Bolanders.”

“Nope,” one of the other men grunted. “If you ask me, it’s a crying shame that punk made parole again. You’d think after the last time…” Whatever else he said faded into the background as Gage finished stalking back to Ella’s table.

He took a tentative seat on the bench beside her. “You okay?” Though he was a good three feet further away than Billy Bob Bolander had been, his hulking shoulders seemed to fill the room. She couldn’t see anything but him.

“I am.” She nodded dizzily and took another sip of water. “Thanks to you.” All the moments of clarity she’d experienced during the past half hour or so were fast disintegrating back into the fog.

Gage’s brown gaze narrowed with suspicion. “How’d you know my name?”

She wasn’t sure about that, so she skipped to the part she did know. “I’ve been looking for you.” She held on to that thought like an anchor, the same way she always did when the fog threatened to pull her under. Gage Hefner. Brown hair. Square jaw. Another wave of lightheadedness rocked through her. She instinctively reached for him.

He scooted closer, looking worried.

She wilted against his chest. “I’m so glad I found you.” Her words came out slurred. She was almost too weak to move, but she managed to curl one arm around his middle — his very solid middle. “So tired,” she muttered as the most profound exhaustion she’d ever experienced swept over her.

Then everything went black.