Bear Pause (BBW / Bear Shifter Romance): A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance (Bear Fursuits Book 6) (6 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Two identical ATVs in the distinctive fluorescent orange paint of the Double B Ranch whined across a fenced section of pasture. The drivers expertly rounded up the cattle into a tight group. They moved them in a single mass out of the section and into the adjacent one.

Twice a cow decided she and her calf had other ideas, but the drivers were patient and skilled. They cut the wandering cows off and got all forty-four head moving through the gate as one. The animals balked a little at not being allowed to inspect the new section with its waist-high grass, but it wasn’t their final destination.

The guy on the left signaled to his companion by taking off his dirty red ball cap and waving it. His buddy closed the gate between the sections, latched it and returned to his ATV. He narrowed the distance between his vehicle and the outliers. The entire herd responded by streaming through the open gate on into the far section. Both ATVs blocked this gate while Red Cap secured it.

Red Cap was a guy of medium height and medium build. His blue jeans and checked western shirt were innocuous. His grubby jacket might once have been green but it was so old it was hard to tell. He tested the gate to make sure it was properly barred.

His companion was dressed much as he was, in faded blue jeans and an old canvas jacket, but wore a sweat-stained brown Stetson in place of a ball cap. They were both heavily gloved. Stetson drove his ATV around the watering hole at the edge of the section. It was spring fed and reeds flourished around its periphery. New green spears poked through last year’s bent and withered stalks. With grazing and water in good supply, the stock should be fine here for at least two weeks.

“You sure you latched it just like they always do?” Stetson asked Red Cap.

Red Cap turned and snarled. “It’s just a fucking gate. How many ways are there to close a fucking gate?”

Stetson grimaced and looked around nervously. “I know, I know. Keep your shorts on. Let’s go deal with the fence.

The cows were ignoring both the men and their ATVs. They were too busy eating. Red Cap and Stetson chugged over to the fence that ran beside the gravel road. No gate had been built to access this quiet country road. Here and there, tufts of black hair had caught on the barbed wire and been ignored by nest-building birds.

The two men examined the fence, looking for a weak spot. There wasn’t one. The six strands of barbed wire were as taut as the day they had been strung. The posts were sound and didn’t budge when they were shaken. Those cows were safe enough here until they were needed.

Stetson took a plastic bag out of his coat pocket with his gloved hand. He removed a bandanna like the one tied around his own neck. This one was little more than a rag. It had once been bright blue with some sort of design in white and black, but both print and background had faded to dirty gray. It was stiff with sweat and pocked with holes.

Stetson held it out and ran it along the fence until one of the prongs caught the rag and held it fast. He tugged slightly and the fabric gave soundlessly. Stetson dropped the piece left in his hand in the mud and trod heavily on it. Red Cap nodded his approval for this artistic touch.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said uneasily.

Both men remounted their ATVs and left by the north gate of the section. They opened it to go through and closed it carefully. It took a long time, and they crossed a lot of sections and opened and closed a lot of gates, but eventually they came to a gap that opened onto the county road.

An unmarked white delivery truck was parked on the shoulder with its rear door rolled up and its ramp lowered. The vehicles chugged up the ramp behind one another. The drivers pulled up the ramp and lowered the door. The truck pulled off slowly. It moved down the road and out to the highway.

* * *

“Yo, Holden,” yelled Lance from up by the barn rafters. He was standing on the bales of hay preparing to throw another one down Steve. The great round rolls had probably been stacked to the barn ceiling last fall, but now they were only two high and there was plenty of room for a man to stand erect.

The big bundles were nearly as tall as a man and tightly compressed. You had to concentrate when you slit the plastic wrapper to get at the hay, so that you did not go ass over teakettle when the hay was suddenly released. Steve bundled up the wrapper he had just slipped, stepped around the spread out hay, and swarmed up the stacked bundles to stand beside Prescott.

“What is it?” he asked.

Steve had learned a lot about Lance Prescott in the two weeks he’d been working in the stables. Prescott had been given a medical discharge from the Marines after an injury. He was Carlos’ de facto deputy and one of the trainers. Carlos Diego and Laura Bascom relied on him to organize the other hands and make sure things were done right. He and Steve had bonded over their work and become friends of a sort.

Lance waved a hand at the underside of the metal shingling. “You see daylight, Holden?” he asked.

Steve knew Lance was asking this question in all earnestness. The other veteran was legally blind in his left eye. To keep dust out, he wore a black patch over it when he was working in the stable or the barn. Now he squinted at Steve with his good eye. Steve tipped his head back. Several inch-long slits had been punched into the dimpled, dull silver undersides of the shingles. Dust motes floated gently in the daylight shining through.

“Someone’s been busy,” Steve said. “I think the damage will be easier to see from outside.”

“Get up on the roof, will you?” Lance ordered. “Take some photos.”

Without conscious thought, Steve moved into investigator mode. He took some pictures inside the barn, and climbed up onto the red metal roof. The red metal shingles had clearly been punched from below. The slits were jagged at all about the same length. A twenty-foot section of roof had been purposefully damaged and would have to be replaced before rain got in and wet the hay. He took his time taking pictures from several angles. It was pretty obvious that this was criminal mischief.

Lance was waiting for him when he climbed down. The other man looked worried and baffled. “Well?” He demanded.

“Sabotage.” Steve said. “Someone deliberated punctured the roof. Good thing we haven’t had rain lately.”

“Jesus,” said Lance.

“Don’t think he had anything to do with it,” Steve said. “This is the work of somebody with a grievance,” he said carefully. “You got any disgruntled employees?” he asked.

Lance shook his head firmly. “Nope,” he said. “We don’t have disgruntled employees on the Double B. Or in the stud. Miss Laura is a good employer. People tend to hang around for a long time. The closest thing we have to a disgruntled employee is that damn goldbrick Cory Saunders.”

“Saunders is lazy,” Steve agreed. He looked up at the slits in the roof. “Probably too lazy to put himself out doing this. What about that guy I replaced, Duane what’s his name?”

Lance shook his head. “Duane Petersen wasn’t a disgruntled employee. He didn’t so much quit as he left to get a better job. His uncle in Texas bought another truck, and he asked Duane to come drive it for him. Duane took off in a hurry only because his uncle has lots of nephews, and he figured the job wouldn’t stay open long.”

“Huh.”

* * *

Morning turnout was nearly over. The stalls had been mucked out and grooming had begun. Laura noted that Steve Holden was nowhere to be seen. Why was she always watching for him? The last thing she needed was a sexual harassment suit. Carlos intercepted her on her way to say hello to Dakota.

“You might want to see this,” he said handing her his phone.

Laura scrolled through the photographs in disbelief. Her new barn roof was pockmarked with ragged holes.

“When did this happen?” she asked him.

“I don’t know when, Miss Laura,” Carlos said. “Lance Prescott and Steve Holden found them when they were getting the hay this morning. Steve took those photographs. And he and Lance found the tools that were used to make the holes.”

“Oh,” said Laura. “Where?”

“On our very own tool rack,” said Carlos indignantly. “Someone took a mallet and a chisel and stood on the hay bales and punched seventeen holes in the roof.”

For a moment and Laura couldn’t speak. When she caught her breath she asked, “Who?” She didn’t ask why. Why was obvious. The intention had clearly been to get the hay wet. Damp hay got moldy. It could not be fed to horses. And worse than that, it presented a fire hazard. Fermenting hay had started many a fire, in many a hayloft.

Carlos shook his head. “I don’t have any more idea than you do, Miss Laura. But I’m damn well going to find out, if you’ll pardon my French.”

Laura looked at the foreman. Today he looked his age, as if this sabotage had made him feel his years. She gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

“I don’t know who did this,” she said softly. “But we’ll find out. I guess I’d better call the insurance company.”

I took care of that,” Carlos said gruffly. “And I called the Sheriff’s Department. They said they’d send a deputy out when they had one to spare. Frank Golden said that he could send a crew out to fix the roof first thing tomorrow. He is going to take out that entire section and replace it with matching shingles.”

“Okay. Thank you, Carlos. Anything else?” This seemed to be as mysterious as the missing stock. Who could be trying to sabotage both the ranch and the stud?

He hesitated. “I was going to show Holden how to train the horses on the lunge line this morning, but I don’t feel up to it.”

Laura mentally raised her eyebrows. Teaching new hires to train the horses was one of Carlos’s favorite jobs. And he liked Holden. But Carlos looked frail this morning. This had hit him hard. Rather than risk embarrassing her old friend, she just nodded.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Raking the paddock.” Carlos said.

Raking the paddock was a euphemism for cleaning up the horse apples from the training rings. After the dung had been removed they attached a harrow to the little earthmover and smoothed out the sandy soil. Steve was already circling the paddock on the little bobcat. She signaled and he drove over to meet her.

“Finish up here and come back out,” she told him. “I’m going to show you how to exercise a horse on a lunge line.”

Laura went to fetch Buddha. The yearling was being trained as a cow pony. She preferred to work young horses on a line rather than risk damaging their immature spines with a rider. Buddha knew what the saddle in her arms meant and stamped impatiently when she showed up. On the way to the paddock, she grabbed a long whip from the rack by the door.

Steve had put the bobcat away and was waiting for her. He was standing at ease, bareheaded in the sunshine, stocky and assured. He was erect, alert, with his powerful hands linked behind his back, waiting for orders. Just as the men in her family stood. She forbore to smile. She didn’t know if they knew that they adopted a military bearing in all situations, but she herself found it both endearing and reassuring.

She handed Steve the heavy lunge line. Their fingers brushed. Even through two pairs of leather gloves, she felt a jolt all the way to her heart. But she pretended she didn’t notice the juddering of that organ.

“The most important thing is that this whip isn’t for hitting the horse,” she explained. “We use it to guide. But not to punish. It’s only for telling the horse what direction we want him to go. We never, ever yank on the line, and we absolutely never hit the horse.” She stroked Buddha’s neck. “He loves this work because it’s fun. We use praise. Treats. We don’t raise our voices, and we don’t lose our tempers.”

Steve listened intently. He said, “Yes ma’am,” every time she gave him a new instruction. His voice was respectful but his eyes were warm on her face. He made her feel young and fluttery. And she had no doubt he knew what he was doing. Careful, girl, she warned herself. You’ve been down this road before.

Laura glanced down to make sure her arm wasn’t actually touching Steve’s. There was a good foot between them. Nevertheless, electricity sparked between them. Her whole body was tingling. Underneath her jacket she could feel her nipples peaking. Her reaction to Holden was so tacky that she felt her face flush.

It took a few tries before Steve got the hang of keeping the line loose while maintaining control. But Buddha was an expert at this. The horse trotted smoothly around in a circle, adjusting his weight effortlessly. As he would do when he had a rider on his back. He was enjoying this opportunity to practice and show off.

“Wouldn’t this be easier if you had a jockey?” Steve asked.

“He looks big and strong, doesn’t he?” Laura grinned. “But he’s really just a baby. His bones are still growing and quite soft. He has ten pounds of lead under his saddle, but I worked him up to that bit by bit. Next year we’ll put a rider up on him. Teach him his job as a cow pony. And if we don’t keep him, when he’s three he’ll go to auction as a Bascom-trained cow pony.”

Despite her unwelcome attraction to Steve, Laura tried to keep focused on the exercises. Like the horse, Holden was a natural athlete. His big hands made light work of managing the colt. His body adapted to Buddha’s movements. It was obvious he liked the colt. And that the horse reciprocated.

Laura could see that Holden was learning from Buddha as much as teaching him. He couldn’t be trusted with an untutored horse yet, but he would soon be able to manage those who already knew their paces. It wasn’t long before she was able to move away from the hand’s distracting presence and observe from the top railing of the fence.