Chapter 7
Dillon had known Hank Stephens had taken her stallion, but that didn’t make her feel any better about the situation. Violent, forceful fury surged through her like hot lead. She couldn’t remember ever being so livid in her entire life.
Her gaze slid to Cal. Shock and dread lined his face.
Was it a ruse? Frankly, Dillon didn’t know.
She liked him. He had a relaxed personality, and he was certainly easy on the eyes.
Too easy, in fact. If it had been any other situation, she wouldn’t have hesitated to .
. . she halted her thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to think about what might have been.
Not when she had a stolen stallion to get back.
She tugged on the reins, turning her mare in a tight circle. Before she could click the horse into a run, Cal shouted her name.
“Don’t do it.”
“Do what?” she demanded, knowing full well what he meant.
Cal walked his horse to her. “Let me talk to Hank.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“I’m not working with him,” Cal stated firmly.
She raised her brows. “I just met you this morning. Drunk. Remember? The same morning my stallion went missing. And you want me to take your word?”
“Shit,” he murmured as he removed his hat and hooked it on the saddle horn before raking his hands through his dark blond locks. “All I have is my word. And that means nothing to you.”
“That’s right.”
“I promised I’d track the stallion.”
“You could be in on it with them.”
He blew out a breath. “I’m not. Let me prove myself. Let’s go see Hank together.”
She was about to nix that idea. Yet the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she might be able to see some kind of signal or gesture that could verify her suspicions.
Of course, there was always the chance that she wouldn’t see anything.
Regardless, she would rather have Cal with her so she could keep an eye on him.
“Fine,” she replied.
Cal nodded once and put his hat back on his head.
There was a determined look in his gray eyes.
Dillon squeezed her knees twice, and her mare set off in a gallop.
Normally, she enjoyed riding along the rolling hills, enthralled by the ranch that was now hers.
She’d always felt connected to the land, which was why she had visited Dolly so often.
She loved her aunt, but they had bonded over the land, allowing them to become even closer throughout the years.
It had been Dolly and the Bar 4 that Dillon had retreated to after her five-month marriage crumbled.
Between bouts of tears, Dillon would take one of the horses and ride the fence line, stopping to repair it wherever needed.
The time alone did wonders for her—mentally and emotionally.
To this day, Dillon knew that Dolly and the ranch had helped her dust herself off and continue with her life.
Now that the Bar 4 was hers, Dillon was determined to make it work. Dolly had struggled in life, coming up against men who thought they could do things better. Dillon believed that things had changed, but perhaps not. Maybe ranching was still very much a men’s club.
But they were about to learn that she was prepared to fight back.
Her shirt flapped against her as the mare quickened her pace. The horse wanted to run, and Dillon loosened her grip on the reins to allow the animal its head. Dillon didn’t look behind her to see if Cal was there. She didn’t care at this point.
By the time the homestead came into view, she slowed the mare into a gallop, then a trot, and finally a walk before stopping at the rear of the barn. Dillon dismounted at the same time Emmett walked around the building.
“I know that face,” he said.
Cal had his gelding by the reins when he said, “We tracked the stallion to Hank’s.”
“Sonofabitch,” Emmett swore, shock clouding his aged face.
Dillon usually got a kick out of Emmett making one word out of the phrase, but she wasn’t in the mood.
She hooked the left stirrup on the horn and released the cinch straps at the mare’s belly.
Dillon hoisted the saddle, with the blanket beneath, and stalked to the tack room to return it to its rack.
As she walked out, Cal met her at the door with his saddle.
Their gazes met, but she quickly looked away.
She wanted to believe him. His willingness to help was a blessing.
Maybe. But the fact that he knew Hank made her suspicious—even when she wanted to believe him.
Worse, being near him confused her because her body felt one thing while her head felt another.
And it was playing havoc with her emotions.
Dillon grabbed the halter and lead rope as she returned to the mare, furious that she was attracted to Cal.
That muddied the waters when she needed them clear.
Once the bridle was off and the halter in place, Dillon clipped the lead rope beneath the mare’s throat and tied her to the hitching post. She then brushed her down.
When Cal walked out, she told herself not to look his way, but damn if her gaze didn’t go right to his cute ass.
She’d gotten many looks earlier. But, apparently, she needed one more.
Why did he have to be so handsome? And why now, of all times, had someone come into her life that she was attracted to?
Emmett leaned against the side of the stables, remaining in the shade. “You heading to the Ivy Ridge?”
“Yep,” she answered as Cal glanced at her over his horse’s back.
Emmett grunted. “Is that a wise decision?”
“It is.” Her ire rankled even more when she saw Emmett and Cal exchange a look. “What?” she demanded of them.
Cal threw up his hands and went back to brushing his horse.
It was Emmett who pushed away from the building and walked to her. “All Hank will do is deny it.”
“He can’t refute the tracks.”
“He’ll say you put them there and cut his fence.”
Dillon turned from the mare and glared at him. “What do you want me to do? Stand back and let him take my horse?”
“Of course, not,” Emmett hastened to say.
“Call the sheriff.”
Dillon and Emmett swung their heads to Cal. She had been too angry to think of that. Once more, Cal had come to the rescue. If she weren’t so irritated, she might grin. “It is a crime.”
Cal rested his arms on the horse’s back and grinned. “Yes, ma’am, it is. They’ll send someone over and see the proof.”
Dillon handed Emmett the brush and pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She had noted Cal’s cool head when she first met him, and she was thankful for it now. She would tell him later. Once she knew that she wouldn’t do something stupid like flirt.
It didn’t take long to connect with the sheriff’s department and report the crime. Within fifteen minutes, a deputy named Bobby Jo Smith arrived. As much as Dillon wanted to confront Hank, she wanted the crime documented.
She, along with Cal and Emmett, drove the deputy in the UTV from the paddock where Legacy had been let out to where he had been taken onto Hank’s property.
Cal pointed out the tracks he’d found, making sure the deputy noted the deeper imprints of a horse with a rider.
The deputy took lots of notes as well as pictures.
Dillon felt better having everything documented.
She found herself staring at Cal, hoping he was on her side.
Because in the short time he had been on the ranch, he had proven how capable he was.
She was now glad that she had been the one to find him that morning.
Without him, not only would she not have found what’d happened to Legacy, but she likely would’ve been shot and would possibly be dead. Maybe she needed to go easier on him.
His gaze slid to her, causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. She hastily looked away. Cal worked for her. She needed to remember that. Getting involved with the help would be a foolish move—regardless of how sexy he was.
On the drive back to the ranch, she asked Deputy Smith, “What happens now?”
“This will be a case for the TSCRA.”
Dillon frowned, not having heard the acronym. “The what?”
“The Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association,” Cal told her. “They’re special rangers commissioned through the Texas Department of Public Safety, and the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation to investigate agricultural crimes in both states.”
The deputy nodded in agreement. “I’ll forward everything I’ve documented today to the TSCRA. They’ll get in contact with you. Probably by phone first, but I’m sure they’ll want to head out here and see things for themselves.”
“I know where my stallion is,” she insisted.
The deputy shifted in his seat. “You don’t have proof. For all we know, the horse was taken through the Ivy Ridge Ranch and onto someone else’s land.”
It was bullshit. All of it. But Dillon didn’t say any more. When they reached the stables, she shook the deputy’s hand in thanks. He handed her a card for the TSCRA before getting into his patrol vehicle and driving away.
Dillon turned on her heel and strode toward the house where she grabbed her keys. When she came out onto the porch, Emmett and Cal stood there, waiting for her. “What?” she asked.
Cal shook his head. “Just waiting on you to head out.”
“I don’t like this,” Emmett told her.
Dillon jerked her chin to Cal. “I’m not going alone.”
She walked past Emmett and climbed into her truck. Before she had closed her door, Cal was in the passenger side and his seatbelt buckled. Why did a little thrill go through her at being alone with Cal again? She started the engine and waved to Emmett as she drove away.
Neither she nor Cal said anything on the ride to Ivy Ridge. Dillon wasn’t sure what she would do if Cal were working with Hank. What could she do, really? If there was even the tiniest suspicion, she would fire him—and report him to the sheriff as well as the TSCRA.
It annoyed her that she needed Cal to work.
If her two ranch hands hadn’t quit, she wouldn’t have had to hire him.
And if she hadn’t, there was a real possibility that she never would’ve found the tracks leading to Hank’s.
The entire situation gave her a headache.
The future of the ranch lay with the stallion.
If she couldn’t get him back, then it would only be a matter of time before she had no choice but to sell.
She had worked herself into quite a fit by the time she pulled up in front of Hank’s sprawling house. It was beautiful, though a bit on the pretentious side for her tastes. She turned off the engine and unbuckled her seat belt.
Her gaze met Cal’s. “Remember, I’m doing the talking.”
“Of course,” he replied.
They exited in unison. Dillon didn’t make it to the porch before one of the twenty-foot wooden double doors opened, and none other than Hank Stephens stepped out.
For a man in his mid-fifties, he was still handsome.
He had a head full of black hair just beginning to gray at the temples.
His clean-shaven face showed an impressive jawline, and he had a smile that always captivated people.
Hank’s blue eyes were dark like the ocean, and those attributes, along with a toned body, caused women and men alike to fall all over themselves to get his attention.
His money didn’t hurt, either.
“Dillon,” Hank said with a smile. “What brings you to my door?” His gaze moved to Cal before she could answer.
She saw the surprise and the genuine happiness that spread over Hank’s face at the sight of Cal.
“Damn, son. You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Hank said as he embraced Cal.
Dillon watched them closely. She could see Cal’s face, but not Hank’s, so she couldn’t be sure that Hank hadn’t passed a message on to Cal.
“How’ve you been?” Cal asked when he stepped back, a smile curving his lips.
Hank shook his head and put his hands on his waist. “The same. I didn’t know you were in town. When did you get in?”
“The other night.”
“Why didn’t you come see me?”
Cal glanced at her. “I was otherwise occupied.”
Hank’s black brows shot up as his blue eyes landed on her before returning to Cal. “I see.”
Cal shrugged. “These things happen.”
“Don’t I know it,” Hank said with a chuckle. “Come inside, you two.”
Dillon narrowed her eyes on Cal after Hank had turned his back to them.
“Trust me,” Cal mouthed.
If he said those words one more time, Dillon might just scream.