Chapter Five
What was that expression her father used to say when Alice was a little girl: He was busier than a one armed paper hanger.
That’s pretty much the way she’d felt this last week.
Extra runs into town, working side by side with the hands or her kids bringing the ranch back to life one step at a time.
The routine was both exhausting and invigorating.
Today, she felt especially old and tired.
Were grandmothers supposed to work this hard?
Carson came bouncing down the stairs, hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of juice from the table and guzzled it in one very long swallow. “No time to eat. There’s a problem at the new development and I need to get there ASAP.”
Instantly, she spun around and began slapping a breakfast sandwich together. “Hold your horses.”
“Mom, I don’t have time.”
“Two seconds isn’t going to kill you, but if you don’t get some protein in you, that sugar rush you just inhaled will have you crashing in no time.”
Carson knew better than to argue with his mother. All the kids knew when there was leeway and when Alice meant business, and right now, she meant business.
Wrapping the sandwich halfway in a paper towel, she handed it to her son. “Now, that didn’t take long.” She pushed up to her tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Go fix whatever’s wrong.”
Taking a bite from the warm egg sandwich, he bobbed his head and muttered Love you.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she hollered at his back. She loved having her grown children nearby. She’d gladly spend every minute of her day at the stove if it meant having a full table for meals. And most of the time, it was darn near bursting at the seams.
“Oh.” Carson doubled back. “Clint didn’t answer his cell. Let him know that I can’t check fence lines and I got a call from the doc, some of our cattle are on their side of that fence.”
She bobbed her head, wondering why their neighbor didn’t call her. “Will do.”
Once the door was shut and the kitchen cleaned up, she headed toward the barn. No surprise, she found Clint replacing worn leather on a bridle with the careful precision she’d come to expect from him.
The man lifted his head as she crossed through the open doors. “Mornin’”
“If you’re looking for Carson, he had to go put out some fires.”
Clint’s eyes narrowed, his brows buckling into a perfect V.
“Figurative ones.”
His expression easing, the man nodded and returned his attention to the work in front of him.
“So, looks like I’m your man for the day.”
She couldn’t swear to it, but she thought she noticed a tinge of a smile before his expression went blank and he raised his gaze to meet hers. “Horses are ready but if we’ve got fencing to fix, better take the four-wheeler.”
“It’ll make it easier to find the breach.” A small sack in each hand, she lifted them like the scales of justice. “And I brought lunch.”
Now his smile was wide and obvious. “Yes, ma’am.”
An hour later, they were riding the fence line, stopping to get out and check posts and testing wire tension.
Finally, up ahead, she spotted the problem.
A section of downed fence. Hopping out of the vehicle, the two of them walked over to assess the situation.
Shaking a loose post, she didn’t like the way Clint had stopped walking, his gaze suddenly shifting from the downed section to some spot in the distance.
“What is it?” She moved to stand beside him.
“Tracks.” His voice was tight, body suddenly alert in a way that put her on edge. He pointed to the ground. “No cow knocked this down. Someone’s ridden through here.”
Clear as day, right in front of them. Tire tracks, cutting across their land. Alice’s hands fisted at her side. “Damn it. Not again.”
“We’ll have to round up the misplaced cattle, secure the fence, and then…” his voice slowed as he stared after where the tracks might lead.
Alice shook her head. “No. The cattle aren’t going anywhere today. I want to see where these tracks are going.”
Tension coursing through Clint was almost palpable. For a minute she thought he was going to argue, maybe take her back to the house, call the sheriff, but finally he nodded. “We’ll ride alongside, far enough away not to disturb any evidence.”
“Good idea.” Climbing back into the four-wheeler, she was torn between wanting to catch the SOBs in action, and praying they were long gone by now.
The tracks seemed to go on forever. Eventually, they could see one of the old-line shacks ahead. Her mind ran through all the possible scenarios. Kids wanting a party place. Traveler looking for a cheap place to catch a good night’s sleep. Or trouble. Heaven knew they’d had plenty of that.
When Clint came to a stop, she saw what he saw. The door slightly ajar. Oh, how she hoped it was teenagers. She was so tired of trouble.
“You’d better wait here a minute.” Clint pulled a rifle from the back of the vehicle and handed it to her, then he grabbed another. “And whatever you do, don’t shoot me.”
Any other circumstance and she would have either laughed with him or reminded him that she could shoot an apple from a tree at twenty yards.
As it was, she simply nodded, took hold of the gun, and kept her finger away from the trigger.
She had no intention of shooting Clint, but if anyone else came out of that shed, she wasn’t making any promises.
With no other vehicle in sight, Clint was pretty sure whoever had come around was probably long gone, but all it would take for assumptions to kill him was for one man to be left behind—armed.
Quietly approaching the shack, he nudged the door open with his toe, thankful the hinges didn’t squeak.
His finger on the trigger, he eased inside, scanning the small area through the sight of the rifle.
No one to his left. Kicking the door fully open, he whirled about bringing the other side into view.
No one. He still wasn’t finished. His back to the wall, he eased over to the closet that housed the toilet and sink.
Taking in a deep breath, he slowly turned the knob and shoved the door open.
Lowering his weapon, he blew out a relieved sigh, disappointed he couldn’t catch the intruder red-handed, and equally relieved he didn’t have to kill anyone today. “Coast is clear, Ms. Sweet.”
Alice crossed the threshold, her gasp startling him out of his thoughts. “Oh, Lord.”
So intent on securing the shack from a human intruder, he’d barely taken note of the condition the shack was in. Several words came to mind, but the Lord’s name wasn’t one of them.
“Somebody was definitely looking for something.” Alice righted a knocked over chair, and then another.
Unable to avoid stepping on shards of broken glassware and dishes, he righted the turned over table. “What I can’t decide, is if they found it or not.”
Feathers flew as they moved around the small space.
Shaking her head, Alice hefted the slashed mattress back onto the metal framed cot.
“They certainly left no corner unturned.” She swiveled toward the wall of the narrow stove and sink that made for a kitchen, the oven door wide open.
“Did they really think someone would hide something in an oven?”
“I don’t know, but at least we know they weren’t looking for another hay baler.
” Clint kicked a pile of trash to the side with his boot.
These shacks were meant for emergencies like blizzards or injuries, only holding a military-style metal bunk bed, a table, two chairs, and non-perishable food items, including the required heaven’s brew—coffee.
Brooms and dust pans weren’t standard materials.
Shaking her head, Alice surveyed the mess, her gaze suddenly narrowing, one finger lifting to point in his direction. “Which shack was that hay baler found in?”
Dang, that woman was smart. He should have thought of that. “This one.”
“The cameras?” Her face lit up as if she’d found the leprechauns pot of gold.
Like he said, smart. Except for one thing. Looking up instead of around, there was no sign of any cameras. Hurrying outside, he quickly circled the small building. Nothing. Returning to where Alice stood staring at the doorway, he shook his head. “Gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
He shrugged. “They must have spotted them. Taken them down. Not wanting us to view the SD cards inside.”
“Don’t they alert you when someone approaches? You know, like those fancy doorbells?”
How he hated to keep shaking his head at her. “Feature would be turned off or every armadillo and cow that meanders by would be sounding it off.”
She heaved another sigh as she crossed the space, pulled her work gloves from her back pocket and retrieved a trash bag from a drawer by the sink.
“You don’t have to do that. Benny and I will come back.”
Raising one eyebrow, she glared at him as if he’d just kicked her puppy.
“Or we can do it now.” He crossed to where she’d grabbed a garbage bag.
“Wait.” She held her hand up. “What are the odds that something tossed around here has fingerprints? Maybe we should wait till the sheriff comes by to clean up.”
He should have thought of that. Stopping mid-step, his foot came down heavier than usual, a hollow sound catching his ear.
He stomped on the floor, then took a single step to the side and stomped again.
Both sounds hollow. Tilting his head, he listened carefully and moving to the next board, once again slammed the heel of his boot to the floor.
“Really, Clint. This is not the time for a jig.”
“No, listen.” He shook his head and stomped on the board he’d just hit, then moved several feet and stomped again. “Hear that?”
He had her attention. Squinting, she listened as he repeated the motions. “First one sounds hollow. The second one not so much. Like when Charlie would hammer at the wall listening for the hard sound of a stud instead of the hollow of sheetrock.”
“Exactly.” Would this woman ever cease to amaze him?
Pulling his knife from his pocket, he unfolded the blade, and worked it into the narrow space.
With a twist of his wrist, he applied pressure.
The board lifted slightly. He slipped his fingers under the edge and pulled it up, revealing a dark space beneath.
Alice moved closer, bending to see.
The second board pulled up more easily, and then a third. Turning on the flashlight feature of his phone, he shone it inside. All he could see was a single canvas bag.
“What in the world?” Alice leaned even closer.
Reaching into the cavity, he gripped the dirty bag, yanking it from its hiding place, surprised by the weight of it. Setting it down on the floor between them, he opened the bag.
“My God.” Alice’s eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her mouth.
He pulled out one bundle of tightly wrapped bills, secured with rubber bands. Not bundles of single dollars, but hundred dollar bills.
Alice reached for another bundle and fanned the bills. Setting it aside, she did the same with another and then another. “There has to be tens of thousands of dollars.”
“Or more,” he added. “We’d better not touch anything else. You call the sheriff. Tell him we need him here.”
She nodded. “I’m not moving until this shack is secure. I’m not losing this the way we lost the baler.”
He sat quietly as she reported the find to the sheriff who promised to get there as fast as he could.
Next she called Preston, then Garret. Each promised to phone the others and to meet her at the shack as soon as they could get to the ranch.
That was one of the things he truly loved about this family.
They had each other’s backs, no matter what, no matter when.
He had to wonder if Alice Sweet had any idea, despite the troubles brought on by his thieving predecessor, just how lucky she was.