Sherryl Woods - Courting the Enemy

“What about your mother?” Karen asked Grady. “How did she take all of this?”

His expression turned grim. “She wasn’t as good at pretending. She turned to alcohol. I don’t think she had a sober minute for ten years before it finally caught up with her and she died.”

“How old were you when she died?”

“Nineteen.”

“Which means you were only nine when all of this happened?”

He nodded.

“And Caleb was thirteen?”

“An age when a boy is all caught up in his own raging hormones and doesn’t want to think about his parents as sexual beings. He certainly doesn’t want to think of his mother wanting to be with a man other than his father in that way.”

“But to blame you,” Karen said. “How could he?”

“It wasn’t logical, unless you believe the sins of the fathers live on in their sons, though I doubt any of that was on Caleb’s mind. I was just an easy target for all that pent-up rage he couldn’t express to the people involved.”

Pent-up rage, Karen thought, wondering if that had ultimately been the stress that had damaged Caleb’s heart. Was it possible that even years later, he had quite literally died of a broken heart?

As saddened as she was by that, she couldn’t help being glad that the secret was finally out. It helped her to see everything in a new light. It helped to know that Caleb’s judgment of Grady had been so terribly misdirected. Wasn’t that what Stella had hinted at so many weeks ago? Obviously she had known the whole story.

Perhaps if Caleb had ever gotten to know the man he considered an enemy, he would have seen that Grady was as much a victim as Caleb himself had been. And the fierce competitiveness and anger that only Caleb had felt might not have contributed to his death.

It was almost noon by the time Grady and Karen were able to drive over to see the Fletchers and Oldhams. They were about to leave when they heard a commotion outside. Grady opened the back door just in time to see Dooley thundering toward the house, his horse at a full gallop. The old man looked mad enough to break a few boards in two with his bare hands. He reined in his horse just a few feet from where Grady and Karen stood.

“Dooley, what is it?” Karen asked, regarding him with alarm. “Where’s Hank?”

“I left him in the pasture,” he said, casting a worried frown at Grady. “Could I have a word with you?”

“Hold it,” Karen commanded. “If you speak to anybody around here, Dooley Jenkins, it’ll be me. What’s happened? Is Hank okay?”

Dooley’s expression turned resigned. “He’s fine, but that prize bull you just bought, he’s not so good.”

Grady saw the color drain out of Karen’s face. He put an arm around her waist, but she seemed oblivious to it. He could feel her trembling. This was just one more blow to a woman who’d faced too many of them.

“What happened? Is he sick?” she asked.

“Not sick,” Dooley said. “Shot.”

Karen gasped. “Shot? By whom? Was it an accident?”

“Not unless you believe people are taking target practice in your pasture and that bull just got in the way,” Dooley said with disgust. “Looks to me like somebody took dead aim at him.”

“Is he alive?” Grady asked.

“Barely.”

“I’ll call the vet,” Karen said at once, and disappeared inside, her spine straight, her familiar resolve back in place.

When she’d gone, Grady regarded the old man intently. “Any chance he’ll make it?”

“Not much of one, if you ask me. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. He got him good. Calling the vet’s probably a waste of time and money.”

“Still, she has to try or she’ll never forgive herself,” Grady concluded. “I’ll saddle the horses and ride out with her. Can you wait and bring the vet out when he gets here?”

“Will do,” Dooley agreed. “Then I want to help you find the son of a bitch who did this. The missus was counting on that bull for breeding. Paid an arm and a leg for him.”

“Let’s not worry about that now,” Grady said grimly. “I can spare a couple of bulls. I imagine Frank Davis will offer to help out, too, once his son gets wind of this from Cassie.” He met Dooley’s gaze. “One more thing, from now on Karen doesn’t go anywhere on this ranch without one of us with her.”

“Got it,” Dooley said, his expression somber. “When you’re not around, me or Hank will stick close by, no matter how much she grumbles about it.”

Grady grinned. “I imagine she’ll grumble quite a lot.”

Dooley’s lips twitched. “Yes, indeed. The woman can’t stand to have anybody coddling her. She’s dead set on proving she can handle anything that’s thrown her way. Been that way ever since Caleb died.”

“I doubt she was counting on this, though,” Grady said. “From what you say, whoever took aim at that bull was up to no good. I don’t want to wait around to see what he has in mind next. I think it’s time to get the sheriff involved.”

“She won’t thank you for that,” Dooley said.

Grady figured that was probably an understatement, but he couldn’t afford to worry about Karen’s reaction. It was more important to keep her safe.

“Once we’re gone, can you call and fill him in?” Grady asked.

Dooley chuckled. “If you think having me do the deed will save your hide, you’re dead wrong, but I’ll do it. Now get those horses saddled before she comes out here and wants to know why the two of us are lollygagging when there’s a crisis.”

Dooley seemed to be taking to his role as co-conspirator and self-appointed protector even better than Grady had anticipated. He grinned at the old man.

“You’re a good person to have around, Dooley.”

The old man nodded as if the compliment were his due. “Had my doubts about you, when you first started hanging around here, but you ain’t so bad yourself.”

“What is this, some kind of mutual admiration society?” Karen demanded when she found them both right where she’d left them. Evidently she’d heard the tail end of their conversation, too. “The vet’s on the way. Come on, Grady. I want to get out to that field. Maybe there’s something we can do till he gets here.”

But there was nothing to be done. By the time they reached Hank, the bull was dead. The hand had tried to stanch the flow of blood with his own shirt, but the effort had been futile.

Her expression devastated, Karen fell to her knees beside the animal and ran her hand over his blood-soaked chest. “Damn whoever did this,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t care if it was an accident.”

The last was muttered as if she were clinging desperately to an explanation she could understand.

Grady glanced at Hank, who subtly shook his head, confirming Dooley’s opinion as well. Grady studied the massive beast and saw what the two men had seen, three distinct wounds. One shot might have been an accident, but three? Not a chance.

Grady glanced up at the sound of hooves pounding across the field. Looked as if Dooley had been successful in getting the sheriff out here in record time, right along with the veterinarian, whose services were no longer needed.

Karen rose stiffly from the ground, her complexion pale, bright patches of color in her cheeks and a flash of anger in her eyes. Surprise streaked across her face when she spotted the sheriff.

“Michael, what are you doing here?” she asked as if it weren’t perfectly obvious that someone had alerted him.

“Dooley called me. Said there was a problem.”

“Some fool accidentally shot my new bull,” she said.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Grady said quietly, ignoring the protest forming on Karen’s lips.