High-Caliber Cowboy

“He’s a McCall.” It had never dawned on Mason to tell Red never to hire a McCall. But more to the point, what the hell would a McCall be doing working on this ranch? Only one explanation presented itself. “No. Don’t fire him. Bring him to me. Now!”

He stormed back down the hall to the bathroom, stooping to pick up the iron cowgirl doorstop on the floor. As he lifted it, he saw the dried blood. “Get me McCall,” he yelled back at Red, feeling as if he still might have that seizure.

HEAD ACHING, Brandon set out to find the woman vandal. He started in Antelope Flats, cruising down Main Street, keeping his eye out for her. Antelope Flats was a tiny western town in the corner of southeastern Montana. Tiny and isolated, just the way he liked it.

He’d been born here and lived his whole life on the family ranch north of town. This was his stomping grounds and he knew this part of the country better than anyone. If the woman was still around, he’d find her.

Not that he expected to see her walking down the street. She was much too smart for that. But he thought he might see her car. He’d picked up an accent last night that he couldn’t place, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t from around here. That meant she was driving either a car with out-of-state plates or a rental car.

There were a few vehicles in front of his sister-in-law’s Longhorn Café, the only café in town. But he recognized all of them. Most were pickups, since Antelope Flats was born a ranching town. A few of the trucks were from the coal mine down the road, tall antennae with red flags on top so they could be seen in the open-pit mines.

Antelope Flats had only one motel on the edge of town, the Lariat. He drove out there, but wasn’t surprised to see that the parking lot was empty. Anyone who had stayed here last night was already gone.

He found Leticia Arnold in the apartment at the back of the office making what smelled like corncakes.

She saw him and motioned for him to come into the kitchen. “Want some pancakes?”

“No, thanks.” Leticia was his sister Dusty’s best friend. After high school graduation, while Dusty had opted to stay and work the ranch, Leticia had taken over running the motel so her elderly parents could move to Arizona. Leticia had been a late-in-life baby, the Arnolds’ only child.

“I’m looking for a woman,” he said, pulling up a chair as she sat down in front of a tall stack of corn-cakes. Leticia was thin as a stick with a wide toothy smile and all cowgirl.

She grinned up at him. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to say that?”

He laughed. He liked Leticia’s sense of humor. “I’m too old for you.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

He reached over and took a bite of her pancakes.

“Wow, you’re a pretty good cook. Maybe I’ll reconsider,” he joked.

“You wish. You’re right, you’re too old for me,” she said, trying to sound disappointed.

“You probably have some rodeo cowboy you’ve got your sights on anyway,” he said.

She looked surprised. “Did Dusty tell you that?”

He laughed and shook his head. His sister Dusty never told him anything, but he knew that the two friends had been hitting every rodeo within driving distance and he doubted they were going there for the fried bread.

He described the woman he’d seen last night as Leticia ate her pancakes and then got up to cook a few more.

“She didn’t stay here, but there are tons of motels down in Sheridan you could try. What happened to your head?”

“I thought I was smarter than I was.”

She laughed. “I could have told you that and saved you a lot of pain.” She put the last batch of corncakes onto a plate. “So this woman made a lasting impression on you and yet you don’t know where to find her?” She laughed. “A bad-boy McCall chasing a woman? She must really be something.”

If you considered a scar on the back of his head a lasting impression. “Let’s just say I’m looking forward to seeing her again.”

“Then you’re going to need your strength,” she said, sliding the plate of pancakes over to him. “Dusty told me that you had a woman in your life.”

“Did she now,” he said, seeing that Leticia was just dying to call his sister and tell her he’d been by asking about a woman. No way around that. Let Dusty think she was right and that he’d fallen in love. Better than the truth.

SHERIFF CASH MCCALL made a few calls to Sheridan about the private investigator. He’d just hung up when he got a call from the Wyoming Highway Patrol.

“We’ve got a body just over the state line a few feet,” the patrolman said. “Looks like she’s yours since she’s in Montana. Her car’s parked along the road. Appears to have fallen down the embankment. Ended up at the edge of the river in the rocks.”

“Have you called the coroner yet?” Cash asked.

“Raymond’s on his way. He said he would stay at the scene and wait for you. We’ve got a semi overturned in the southbound lane between here and Gillette.”

“Go ahead and respond. I’m on my way. You ID the body?” Cash asked. He hoped it wasn’t a local. This was the part of his job he hated. Before the day was out, he could be banging on a door somewhere in the county to inform a relative that their loved one was dead. He also hoped it wasn’t the missing Lenore Johnson.

“A woman. I’d say about sixty. The car is locked, keys in the ignition. Her purse is inside along with what looks like a half-empty fifth of vodka. I didn’t attempt to open the car—did run the plates, though. The car is registered to an Emma Ingles.”

Chapter Four

His head throbbing with pain, Brandon spent the better part of the day checking motels in and around the town of Sheridan, Wyoming, south of Antelope Flats, Montana.

Few of the clerks could recall a woman matching the description he gave. As luck would have it, he found where she’d been staying at the last motel he checked. Clearly, the woman he was chasing hadn’t wanted to be found.

The Shady Rest Motor Inn wasn’t an inn. It was barely a motel anymore. The place was on the old highway, too far off the Interstate to get much business other than overflow.

As Brandon walked into the office, though, he was delighted to see that he knew the clerk behind the desk. He’d met her at a party one of those times he’d come to Sheridan to get away and have some fun.

“Hannah, right?”

She grinned, obviously pleased he’d remembered.

They talked for a few minutes about everything but what he’d come for. When she mentioned that the motel owner had gone into town and wouldn’t be back for a while, Brandon told her about the woman he’d been looking for.

“Yep, she was here. But she left before I came on this morning.”

“I need to find her.”

“You know I’m not supposed to do this,” Hannah said.

“I wouldn’t ask you, but it really is important,” he told her. “She’s in trouble and I’m trying to help her.”

Hannah looked a little skeptical but called up the information on the computer. “She didn’t check out, it looks like. She was registered as Anna Austin.” Address? A post-office box in Richmond, Virginia. Virginia. That could account for the slight accent he’d picked up. No phone number. Nothing under a business.

“What’s with you McCalls? Your brother called here this morning, too, looking for a woman,” Hannah said.

“Cash?”

She nodded. “He was looking for another guest from Virginia. Lenore Johnson?”

The name didn’t ring any bells. “They weren’t in the same room, were they?”