Chapter 20
Cal was up with the dawn. He quietly dressed in his clothes from the night before.
He hadn’t gotten any sleep between thinking of the shooter as well as Dillon above him.
In bed. The fear that had been in her eyes when she unlocked the door for him last night was something he hoped to never see again.
He silently left the house and stood outside the kitchen window, trying to get an idea of the trajectory of the bullets. The area the shooter could have hidden in was large. Cal would be searching for hours—if not days—for shell casings or trampled earth from someone lying in wait.
The sheriff’s department crime unit would return with the light and start looking for themselves. Cal knew if he went first, he could contaminate the area with his footprints, but if he waited, they might hide the tracks he needed to find.
Cal ran a hand over his jaw and turned to the bunkhouse.
He changed and returned to the house. He walked around the perimeter to see if anyone had come close.
To his shock and anger, he discovered plants in the flowerbeds with broken stems. Shoe impressions depressed the mulch—one by a living room window, and another at the office window.
“That’s a grim face,” Dillon said as she walked out onto the back porch with two cups of coffee. She handed one to him. “I didn’t know how you liked it, so I left it black.”
He smiled in thanks, happy to see her up and dressed, even if she still wore the bandages. Her hair was loose and uncovered. “It’s perfect.”
“What did you find?”
For a second, he debated lying to her, but if he were in her shoes, he’d want the truth. So, that’s what he gave her. “Footprints near the office and living room windows. Plants were stepped on in an attempt to get close.”
Dillon nodded and looked out over her land. “Do you think you can track whoever this is?”
“If I can find where they shot from, yes.”
Her gaze slid back to him. “But?”
“The cops took as much evidence as they could from the house. I know they had the spotlights on their cars on, as well as flashlights, to find where the shooter was. They’ll be back this morning and use the sunlight, just as I would.”
Dillon shrugged indifferently. “I still don’t understand.”
“There’s a chance they muddled things last night. Not that I blame them. I wanted to be out there looking, too. If they didn’t cover any tracks with theirs, then I can find what I’m looking for.”
“But then it goes back to . . . do we wait for them or not?” she concluded.
He sighed, nodding.
Dillon took a couple of sips of coffee as she contemplated his words. Finally, she looked at him. “This is my land. It is my life on the line. I don’t want to wait on the authorities because I don’t trust them.”
“I’m not sure you should trust anyone. Even me.”
A soft smile curved her lips. “And yet, I find myself trusting you.”
“We don’t have answers about the missing time I have.” He glanced at the ground. “A knot in my stomach says I’m involved somehow.”
The sound of a vehicle approaching interrupted their conversation. A black truck pulled to a stop, and Chet Thompson got out. He tipped his hat to Dillon and nodded at Cal.
“Good morning,” Dillon said as the ranger approached. “Would you like some coffee?”
Chet smiled and shook his head. “I’ve had my morning quota already, thanks. You’ve got color in your face this time, I see. Until we can get things sorted I th—”
“No,” Dillon spoke over him.
Chet blinked, taken aback. “You didn’t allow me to finish.”
“I don’t need to. You’re going to suggest that I remain indoors, huddled in a corner like a scared child.”
Cal drank his coffee and looked between the two. He might agree with the ranger, but in the time he’d been with Dillon, he’d come to understand that she was strong-willed. Chet glanced his way, silently seeking help, but Cal shrugged.
Finally, the ranger said, “I would call it being safe. If you don’t take precautions, you’re a moving target.”
“I was a target inside my home,” she replied.
Cal took pity on Chet. “I won’t leave her side.”
The ranger shook his head, his lips flattening in disapproval. “I don’t like this. You’re needlessly putting yourselves in danger.”
“We were just chatting about me tracking the shooter,” Cal said.
Chet’s aging brown eyes swung to him. “I’d better come with you.”
“What about Legacy?” Dillon asked.
Chet hesitated, a frown crossing his face for a moment. “It would be better for someone to be there who can document it if you two find anything. Don’t worry about the stallion. I’m still doing my investigation.”
“That involves Dillon?” Cal asked.
The ranger scratched his bushy eyebrow. “I’m investigating everyone. There’s too much going on with entirely too many coincidences involving the same people.”
“Let me get my hat,” Dillon said as she went back into the house.
Cal drank the rest of the coffee and lowered the mug to find Chet starting at him. “What’s on your mind?”
“What did you find this morning?”
“Footprints in the flower bed.”
“I’d like to take pictures of them.”
Dillon walked out of the house then. “I would, too.”
Cal took them to where he’d found the prints. All three of them took pictures with their phones. Chet studied the last impression for a long time. He laid a ruler beside it to measure the print and took more pictures. All the while, Cal tried to find any other tracks leading to or from the house.
“Anything?” Dillon asked.
He shook his head and pointed to the driveway and parking area. “My guess is he went through there.”
“The arrival of all the patrol cars and everyone walking around destroyed any prints,” Chet said.
Cal still took his time searching. There were so many tracks from the sheriff’s deputies that it was impossible to tell whose was whose.
Something urged Cal to hurry. He didn’t know why, but the feeling was persistent enough that he couldn’t ignore it.
He glanced up to see Dusty at the barn. A look over his shoulder showed Emmett with Chet and Dillon.
Cal had told Dillon not to trust anyone, and he’d meant it.
He knew in his heart that he would never have agreed to anything illegal, but he’d been so sloshed that he couldn’t remember anything about that night.
Had he inadvertently stepped into something?
If the bartender at Ike’s could be trusted, the men who had found him at the bar seemed to know him.
The only person he knew in the area was Hank—and he hadn’t told Hank where he was.
Little by little, Cal searched the ground, hoping to pick up the shooter’s trail.
His father had told him that tracking was invaluable for hunters, but Cal had never thought he would use his skills to pursue a shooter.
Hell, he’d never used them to find a stolen animal before, either.
Tracking had been his least favorite thing about hunting with his dad, but he was glad that he had taught Cal the skill.
He suddenly halted as he noticed an overturned piece of gravel in the parking area. The exposed side was darker than the others that had been bleached by the sun. He bent beside the rock and took a picture.
“Here,” Chet said as he touched his shoulder.
Cal looked over to find some small, yellow flags.
The ranger shrugged. “If we’re going to be doing someone else’s job, we at least want to make sure they don’t destroy any evidence.”
Cal grinned and accepted the flag. He stuck it in the ground next to the rock, then looked ahead, studying the area for any more overturned rocks.
He saw nothing until he reached the grass and spotted the bent and broken blades.
Chet was there to hand him more flags and measure the impression before snapping some photos.
When Cal stood, he glanced back and saw Dillon and Emmett in a heated discussion. Dillon shook her head as Emmet talked and waved his arms dramatically.
“Maybe he can convince her to stay in the house,” Chet said.
Cal snorted as he met the ranger’s gaze. “Not likely. She’s got a mind of her own.”
“My wife was an independent woman with an iron will. Couldn’t stand to have anyone tell her what to do.
I loved that about her. As strong-minded as she was, there was another side she only showed to me.
” Chet smiled fondly, a faraway look in his eyes.
“Some might have called it a weak side. I always thought of it as soft. Vulnerable, even.”
“How long were you married?”
“Forty-seven years,” the ranger answered with a grin. “Some were great, some were rough, but most were good.”
Cal parted his lips to answer when he spotted the first sheriff’s car pulling in. “Shit.”
“Ignore them. Keep going,” Chet told him.
Cal briefly met Dillon’s gaze. She gave him a nod, and he returned to business.
This kind of tracking wasn’t easy. There wasn’t an entire impression of a shoe print since there was no snow, mud, or soft sand.
He had to look at each small section as a whole, trying to determine if leaves had been overturned, branches on the ground broken, or blades of grass bent.
“Hot damn,” he murmured when he found a partial impression of the outside of the left front of a shoe.
He and Chet measured, marked, and photographed it before Chet made notes in his small notebook. Cal found the next two tracks, allowing them to measure the person’s stride.
“What’s going on?” Sheriff Felps asked as he walked up.
Chet raised his head from his notebook. “Tracking the shooter.”
“I have men for that.”
Cal calmly looked at the sheriff. “We’re helping.”
“You wouldn’t turn down aid now, would you, Sheriff?” Chet asked.
Felps’ cheeks burned red with rage. “Shouldn’t you be doing your job and looking for Ms. Young’s stolen stallion?”
“It’s possible they’re connected,” Chet replied. “Hence, why I’m here.”
The angrier the sheriff got, the more Cal fought to hide his smile.
But the more he thought about it, the more Cal wondered about the sheriff’s motives.
It could be something as simple as Felps not wanting anyone intruding on his turf.
But at the same time, why not accept the help the ranger was so freely giving?
“One of my deputies will be with you to ensure that all of this is on the up-and-up,” Felps stated.
Cal shrugged. “Fine by me.”