Chapter 10
O n Monday Bailey began implementing the new security changes around the ranch. The hands would vary their routines and keep a log of any suspicious vehicles. These she would report to law enforcement and hope something got done about them. She posted signs all over the problem areas, both in English and in Spanish, stating the area was under observation and air patrol and violators would be turned in. This she hoped might be enough to stem the flow of cow thefts by people looking to make a quick, easy buck.
In the south pasture, where the smugglers were wearing an even bigger path, she instituted a bit of road reconstruction, adding piles of gravel as speed bumps, along with some well-placed rocks and boulders. The hands who used the road would know about the new construction. The smugglers who used it in the dead of night would not, or so Bailey was hoping. While not ready to wage an all-out war with them, she wanted to make them feel as unwelcome as possible, sending a subtle signal to go away.
The other change that took place was the relationship between Bailey and Cal. It was as if they had both decided to withdraw from each other, albeit politely. They were still polite to each other, but there was a new and cool reserve between them when before they had been well on their way to becoming good friends. Each of them knew, but neither of them said, there was no way they could remain on their current trajectory without some sort of cataclysmic ending neither of them could handle.
For her part, her goal remained lowering her blood pressure enough to return to the marines. Having a romance with a married rancher did not figure into that plan. For his part, he was unwilling and unable to enter into any sort of dalliance while still married. And he was still very much married, a fact he was painfully reminded of when he cut a check to Isabel for ten thousand dollars. It was a worrisome amount of money, even for her, and he began to wonder why she needed or wanted so much. Was he also outfitting her boyfriend’s lifestyle? He told himself he wouldn’t stand for that, but really he had no idea what he would take anymore. A long time ago he said he would never stay with a woman who was unfaithful to him, and here he was, two years later and still in her clutches.
Isabel arrived to pick up her check as Bailey was returning from an air patrol. She exited the plane and saw the other woman on her horse, practicing her barrel races. It surprised her because Isabel looked like the kind of woman who would keep her distance from any animal, but horse love knew no boundaries. She paused, standing by Jinx to watch the other woman ride, winding her horse expertly through the course.
“Dang woman showed up in the middle of the workday and demanded I saddle her mount like she’s still queen of the castle,” Jinx muttered. His horse stood patiently by, as did the one Bailey had been using. “Thought you might want it when you got back,” he added.
“Thank you,” she said, linking her arm with his and giving it a squeeze. She had grown ridiculously fond of the old man in her short time on the ranch. They got each other in a way that didn’t need words. Sympathetic hearts, her mother would say. It was the same with…but, no, she wouldn’t allow herself to think of him. He wasn’t hers. He belonged to the woman in front of her, the one whose horse looked as weary of her as everyone else.
Isabel finished her ride and stopped short beside them, tossing her reins to Jinx. “Well, it’s cute little Bailey. How’s life with my husband? He treating you all right?”
Bailey swallowed a thousand replies, answering only with a cool stare. There was something off about the woman, something she couldn’t quite place, more than her nasty demeanor. Bailey was distrustful of her, almost leery. She was the sort you didn’t want to turn your back on, for certain.
“Do you ride?” Isabel tried again, her curled lip telling her no answer from Bailey would be satisfactory.
“Not as much as I’d like,” Bailey said.
“For a hot minute, I was thinking of competing this year at the fair. And then I thought, ‘I was Miss America. Is this what my life has become now? Racing barrels at the county fair?’” She huffed a disdainful, humorless laugh and Bailey felt a moment of pity for her. Not because she had fallen so far but because she had perfection at her fingertips and hadn’t realized.
Isabel, an astute observer of people and especially other women, read the look for what it was and hated her even more for it. “Let me give you some advice, little girl. You go back to where you came from while you still can, before this place latches onto you and kills that little spark that keeps you young and vibrant. This is no place for a fresh, innocent thing like you. And my husband is not up for grabs.” For emphasis, she reached out and gave Bailey a hard shove in the chest.
Jinx stepped forward, “Miss Isabel, enough,” he said in a warning tone.
“Shut up, you old fool. You know Cal keeps you around out of pity because he’s too soft to let you go. That’s going to change when I’m in control of the ranch.”
“You’ll get control of this ranch over Cal’s dead body,” Jinx said.
“That can be arranged much easier than you think,” Isabel said.
Bailey reached for her horse and began to unsaddle it. They watched as she then unlaced her boots and took off her socks. “I think I will go for a ride, Jinx. Thank you for getting my horse for me.” To Isabel she added. “I’m in charge of security on the ranch now. Threaten my boss again, and I’ll bury you so deep they’ll never find the body. Now watch how we do it in Africa.” She swung up onto her horse, barefoot and bareback, threading her fingers through its mane. She kneed it gently, and it took off at top speed. She raced easily through the barrels, jumped the fence at the other side, and kept going.
“She sure can ride,” Jinx said, knowing it was the exact thing that would rile Isabel the most.
“Take my horse and bring the car,” Isabel demanded.
“I’ll take the horse ‘cause you don’t treat him right, but you get your own car. I don’t work for you.” He took the horses and turned away, leaving her fuming in frustration and anger.
The next morning Bailey patrolled the south pasture in a truck. It was the first morning after the new road construction, and she wanted to see if it had any effect.
It was early morning, the sun barely up, so she had to squint to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing. Another truck sat on the gravel path the smugglers used, apparently disabled. Two men stood outside it, staring at it in obvious frustration. Bailey stepped from the truck and peered at them through binoculars. Judging by the men’s arm and face tattoos, they appeared to be part of the local gang she had studied and read up on. They were known to be a brutal, ruthless regime, killing anyone who crossed them. Bailey’s attention turned to their truck and she couldn’t hold back a chuckle of amusement. They had hit one of the new speed bumps, probably at top speed, and broken their front axle.
“Take that, and now go away,” she whispered.
Of course they were too far away to hear her, but they could clearly see her truck, see her standing beside it with binoculars. One of them raised a gun and shot in her direction. He went far wide of where she stood, but Bailey dove behind the truck anyway. The type of gun he was using could easily chew through the metal of the truck’s doors. She positioned herself behind the engine, the only thing that could stop a bullet of that caliber.
The next shot blew out the driver’s side window. Bailey raised her rifle, trained it on the first man’s head, and then dropped it, systematically shooting out all four of their tires. When their guns remained lowered, she knew they’d been testing her, seeing how she would respond.
She opened the passenger side door, slid inside, started the car and drove backwards away from them. When she was a safe enough distance away, she turned the truck around and drove back toward the ranch.
What next? she wondered. It would be something, she knew, but what she couldn’t say. She would need to be prepared for anything; they all would.
It was her bad luck Cal was outside when she got back to the ranch. “What happened?” he asked, coming to stand beside the missing window of his truck.
“Our smuggler friends and I exchanged some gunfire,” she said.
“What?” He opened the door, put up a hand, and pulled her out to stand in front of him. “Are you okay?” His eyes scanned her for any possible signs of injury.
“They’re not good shots,” she informed him. “This was a fluke.” She tapped the door. “They were aiming for the tires. So I returned the favor and shot out their tires.”
“You shot out their tires?” he said.
“Yes, but that’s nothing compared to their broken axle. I’d say they’re going to need a new truck.”
He leaned on the truck as the air whooshed out of him. “Bailey this is bad.”
“It’s not so bad,” she said, mimicking his pose and leaning beside him.
“No, it’s bad. They don’t quit. There is no such thing as de-escalation with them. It’s going to grow and grow until someone is hurt or killed.”
“It’s going to grow until someone ends it, once and for all,” she said.
“What are you saying?” he asked.
“I’m saying at some point they’re going to become more than an annoyance. At some point they’re going to need to be stopped.”
“Border patrol won’t do it,” he said.
“I wasn’t talking about them,” she said.
“What are you going to do, sneak over to Mexico and kill them all?”
She shrugged.
He faced her. “Bailey, you can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s illegal.”
“So is what they’re doing,” she said.
“But it’s murder.”
“It’s war, Cal. It’s not always black and white.”
“It’s not…” he swallowed hard. “I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“Then I’ll respect your wishes. For now. But it was inevitable someone was going to take the first shot. Let the record show it was them. Excuse me, I have to clean my gun.” She shouldered her rifle and turned to go.
He watched her walk away, dread and respect comingling inside him. What if something happened to her because he’d brought her here to help? How would he live with it if she was wounded or, worse, killed? He couldn’t live with that. But what could he do? She wouldn’t back away now that she’d gotten started. She would see things through to the end, whatever end that might be.
He closed his eyes and thought of her streaking across the ranch, bareback and barefoot. He had made himself scarce when Isabel arrived, not wanting another confrontation. But he had been nearby keeping a wary eye on her, never trusting her completely anymore. He had watched Bailey one up her on her horse before jumping the fence and taking off. And it had taken everything in his power not to swing onto his own horse and follow. He felt as if he were on a precipice, trying to keep watch on too many things that could spiral disastrously out of control—Bailey, Isabel, the ranch. He was weary and, worse, he was in charge so he pulled out his phone and called someone about the truck. It was one small thing, but he felt better after it was taken care of. Maybe that was the key, to take one small step at a time until the marathon was over.