Linda Lael - McKettricks of Texas - Austin

Austin nodded, scratching lightly behind Molly’s ears and speaking to her in a soothing tone while Doc administered the shots, one right after the other.

The mare flinched, but that must have been all the resistance she had in her, because she lapsed into a noisy sleep right away.

Doc used some hand sanitizer from a bottle in his bag and began pulling away the half-rotted remains of Molly’s halter. Now and then, some hair and hide came away with it, and there were places where scabs had grown right over the strips of nylon.

Austin felt sick to his stomach.

“There are sterile wipes in my bag,” Doc told him quietly in a tone that indicated both understanding and stern competence. “Disinfect your hands, boy, then start cleaning the wounds as I uncover them. We’ll apply some ointment after that, and hope to God an infection doesn’t set in.”

Austin did as he was told, working quickly.

Maybe forty-five minutes had gone by when they’d finished. Molly came to right away, shook off the sedative and even scrambled to her feet.

Doc finished cleaning her up and dabbed on more ointment.

“She’s a good strong girl, then,” the old man proclaimed, patting Molly’s flank. “What she needs now is some supper and some rest and a whole lot of TLC.”

Austin fetched an armload of grass hay and dropped it into Molly’s feeder, then made sure the automatic waterer in her stall was working. Doc tarried long enough to watch her eat for a few moments, then picked up his bag and left the stall.

Austin shut and latched Molly’s door.

The other horses snorted and nickered, calling for room service.

“Thanks,” Austin told Doc.

Doc merely nodded. He wasn’t much for idle conversation.

While Austin fed the rest of the critters, Doc washed up at the sink in the tack room. Austin finished the chow chores pretty fast and washed up, too.

For some reason, Doc lingered in the tack room, rolling down the sleeves of his shirt, carefully buttoning the cuffs.

He and Austin left the barn at the same time, while Tate and Garrett came out of the main house by way of the kitchen door. Clifton was with them.

Austin looked for Paige, but there was no sign of her.

Probably for the best, he thought.

But he wasn’t quite convinced.

Libby hooked her arm through his and smiled up at him. “Paige went to town to fetch Calvin,” she said.

Austin chuckled, shook his head. He liked Libby, liked Julie, too—they were the sisters he’d never had. Paige was harder to categorize.

“Did I ask where Paige got to?” he challenged, grinning a little.

Libby just made a face at him, then walked over to speak to Tate.

Doc and Clifton said their goodbyes, got into Doc’s old truck and drove off at a good clip, stirring up a dry swirl of dust behind them. Libby stood on tiptoe to kiss Tate’s cheek, then she got into the red Corvette and made for the main road.

That left Tate, Garrett and Austin standing in a loose circle in front of the barn, strangely quiet now that the crowd had thinned out a little.

Tate rubbed the back of his neck, looked as though he might be nursing a tension headache.

“How long’s it been since Clifton Pomeroy paid his ole daddy a visit?” Garrett mused, his gaze following the departing rigs.

“Long time,” Tate remarked. He seemed distracted.

Austin wondered if his oldest brother had more on his mind than the sick horse he and Garrett had rescued at Libby’s request.

Just two months before, they’d had some trouble with rustlers, and one of the thieves turned out to be Charlie Bates, a longtime employee on the Silver Spur. Charlie and a few other crooks were in jail now, unable to make bail, but nobody figured the bad guys were all in custody. Charlie didn’t have the mental capacity to run an operation that big and complicated, but he wasn’t naming any names and neither were any of his partners in crime.

“How are things in the cattle business?” Austin asked, keeping his tone light.

Tate frowned, and his jawline hardened. Evidently, he’d used up his daily allotment of good cheer saving the horse. “As if you gave a damn,” he retorted, peevish as hell, just before he turned to walk away, vanishing into the barn.

Austin watched him go, didn’t look at Garrett when he spoke. “What’s chewing on him? ”

“We’re still losing livestock,” Garrett replied after a long time and with significant reluctance.

Austin faced Garrett straight on. “Stolen?” Before Charlie and his gang had been rounded up, they’d raided the McKettrick herd a number of times, carted off a lot of living beef in semitrucks. Another half-dozen cattle had been gunned down and left to rot.

“About a hundred head, as far as we can tell,” Garrett replied. “A few more were shot, too.”

Austin swore. “You and Tate were planning on mentioning this to me—when...?”

Garrett sighed, folded his arms. Scuffed at the ground with the toe of one boot. “We figured you had enough to worry about, what with your back being messed up and everything.”

“I get a little sore once in a while,” Austin bit out, stung to a cold, hard fury, “but I’m not a cripple, Garrett. And what happens on this ranch is as much my concern as it is yours and Tate’s—whatever you think to the contrary.”

Tate came out of the barn again. Because of the angle of his hat brim, his face was in shadow, and there was no reading his mood, but Austin figured it was still bad.

As if you gave a damn, Tate had said.

Where the hell had that come from?

Garrett thrust out a sigh. “Tate’s pretty worried,” he said, keeping his voice down. “And I can’t say I blame him. Rustling is one thing, and killing cattle for the hell of it is another. It’s hard not to conclude that somebody out there has worked up a pretty good grudge against us, for whatever reason, and we figure it’s bound to escalate.”

Tate waved but headed for his truck instead of joining the conversation between Austin and Garrett.

At the moment, that was fine with Austin, because he was pissed off at being left out of the loop. Okay, so he had a herniated disc. He couldn’t ride bulls anymore, and for the time being, he wouldn’t be doing any heavy-duty ranch work, either. But one-third of the Silver Spur was his, and he had a right to know what went on within its boundaries, whether it was good or bad.

He watched as Tate got into the truck and drove off.

Garrett started toward the house and, after a moment’s hesitation, Austin fell into step beside him, but there was no more talk.

Once they were inside, Garrett headed for his part of the house, and Austin went to his, glad to find Shep there waiting for him. It made him feel a little less lonely.

A little, not a lot.

He fed the dog, then made for the bathroom, kicking off his boots and stripping down for a hot shower.

The spray eased some of the residual knots in his back, and he felt damn near human by the time he toweled off and pulled on fresh clothes. He ran a comb through his hair, put his boots back on and then went downstairs.

Shep, having finished his nightly kibble ration, went along, too, curious and companionable.

Austin searched the large storage room adjoining the garage until he found the camping gear. He took a rolled-up sleeping bag out of a cabinet—it smelled a little musty—and returned to the kitchen.

There he ate two frankfurters straight from the package, drank what was left of the milk and called it supper. If he got hungry later, he could always raid the kitchen again. Before going off to El Paso to take care of her niece and the new baby, Esperanza had cooked up and frozen enough grub to last for weeks.