Cowboy Outcasts (2 page)

If no one would help him, he’d have to help
himself. He planned to set traps. Lots of them. He wouldn’t watch his crops go
to hell because of the unchecked hog population. It was difficult enough
running things without
Arden
,
so he didn’t need any added headaches.

The booming sound of bass neared as he walked
along the side of the road towards his truck. He didn’t bother to turn around.

“Hey, retard, stay out of town!” shouted one of
the men in the pickup as it passed. His blood boiled. Jeremy and his friends
had been a thorn in his side since grade school. Callum was twenty-nine now,
not twelve. He should be able to control his temper and ignore such ignorant pricks,
but he couldn’t let it go. His anger enhanced the twitch in his face, and
things would only get worse now that his anxiety levels spiked.

If
Arden
were in town, he’d have hunted them down and given them a taste of cowboy
justice. He struck out first and asked questions later. Callum only retreated
more into himself.

Three,
two, one. One, two, three. Three, two, one.
He’d
taught himself years ago to use number combinations to stay focused, to keep
his Tourette’s at bay. Sometimes it worked—if he was lucky. When it really
counted, nothing seemed to help him appear normal. Women often referred to him
as a pig wearing cologne because they’d be attracted to him only until they
found out about his problem. Older generations would quote the Bible, Mark 5:1-20,
saying he was demon possessed with all his crazy animal noises. If he never had
to come into town at all, he wouldn’t.

Jeremy didn’t realize he was playing with fire.
Some days were more difficult for Callum to rein in his temper than others.
Like the townsfolk frequently said, he was an animal, a freak of nature. He
made people uncomfortable so they didn’t want him around.
 

The truck revved its engine, burning rubber as
it peeled down the street, the music fading into silence. He sighed a breath of
relief.

Callum settled in the driver’s seat of his
truck. He drove the dusty back roads home, the rough surface doing a number on
his suspension. He had to haul the rusty bear traps out of the hay loft and get
them oiled up in addition to his usual work load. His mind processed so much at
once. He had plowing to get done, fences that needed mending, and wood to
split. Without
Arden
,
he was a one-man crew, everything falling on his shoulders. But unlike his
brother, he refused to abandon the family ranch. All their memories were
preserved within the walls of the house.

Every night when he’d sit alone in the living
room watching the flames dance in the fireplace, he’d reminisce about his
parents. His father used to tell them about
Ireland
in the evenings, using his
gift of storytelling to make the recounts fun and interesting. Whenever things
got tough on the ranch—drought, flooding, lack of resources—his father would
always compare their misfortune to life back in the homeland. After hearing the
tales of true famine and suffering, Callum and Arden learned to keep their
mouths shut and give thanks no matter what the circumstances.
 
They’d study the Bible as a family, something
Callum still did on his own.

Now he was alone—no parents, no brother, not
even a friend in the world. Maybe God was punishing him for taking his family
for granted when he had them. But blaming himself wouldn’t change the facts. He
had to carry on, one day at a time.

Callum kicked off his boots and tossed his
Stetson on the coffee table after arriving home. He was still pissed off
because of Jeremy and needed to clear his head for a while. He dropped down in
his favorite worn chair and massaged his temples. The only sounds in the lonely
house were the drip of the kitchen faucet and the grandfather clock’s rhythmic
ticking. He watched the pendulum, reminded of his mother. She’d brought the
family heirloom all the way from
Ireland
when she came to the
country. It was her pride and joy. No matter how rough times got, his father
would never consider selling it. And Callum never would, either.

Just as the throbbing in his head began to
subside, the telephone rang. It was such a rarity to hear that he jerked in his
seat, looking back and forth before realizing it was just the phone. He hoisted
himself up to answer it.

“Hello, is this Mr. O’Shea?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I saw the flyer you posted in the feed store,”
said the girl.

He frowned. “So you’re the one stealing ads.
You’re supposed to write down the number, not take the whole paper.”
 
He didn’t mask the irritation in his voice.
There was no one in the world left to impress.

“I may be able to help. With your hog problem,
that is.”

“Unless you have some magical elixir that’ll
wipe out the hog population for good, I don’t see how a little girl from the
university can possibly help me.”

“I’m not a student. I’m a specialist in animal
and human behavior.”

“Well that certainly sounds too fancy for me. I
can barely buy oats for the horses, never mind pay some overpriced scientist
who—”

“I won’t charge you,” she interrupted.

“Nothing’s free, sweetheart. What’s the catch?”

“I’d like the chance to study the animals
firsthand, in their natural environment. I need to learn more about them in
order to make sure they don’t pose a problem for humans.”

He really wanted to tell the girl to fuck off
and bother someone else. But if she could help him get rid of the hogs at no
cost, he’d be a fool to say no. “How long will this take? A day? Two?”

She chuckled as if he’d said something funny.
“Weeks. Possibly months. I need to monitor their habits, conduct tests, get
into their heads. I wouldn’t take up much room. I’m fine sleeping in the barn
if it’s livable. All I need is a cot.”

“Live here?” He hadn’t expected that gem.
“Nobody lives here but me. I’m not keen on hosting a National Geographic party,
and certainly don’t have time to babysit you.” With that he hung up the phone
and returned to his chair. The nerve of that girl, expecting a free ride for
Lord knows how long. He needed the hogs gone now, not in a week or month.
Tomorrow he’d clean up the bear traps and do things his way.

Chapter Two

Hailey had to find a better way to appeal to Mr.
O’Shea. Cowboys in the area were so set in their ways that it was difficult
teaching them anything new. The other ads she’d responded to had no interest in
preserving the hogs. They wanted them all wiped out and roasting on a spit.
Half the men were in the Stone Ages in the way they cared for their own
livestock. It could get inhumane, even barbaric—she’d witnessed it with her own
eyes during her training.

Her line of work gave her an intimate look into
the mind of an animal. They weren’t much different than people when stripped
down to the basics. It was her goal to ensure man and beast cohabitated
peacefully, but half the battle was getting pig-headed cowboys to listen.
 
Or universities to sponsor her research.

It was less than two weeks until her money ran
dry. She’d worked in the lab all winter, assisting the chemists with their
dirty work. Now the semester was coming to a close and she was no longer
needed. No money meant she had no way to pay her room and board. She couldn’t
ask her parents for a handout because they didn’t approve of her choice not to
follow tradition and practice medicine.

Hailey was going to try and get tutoring jobs
like Peter but even the students would be off for break soon. She had to get
herself set up on a ranch doing research or she’d been homeless. If she could
prove any of her theories in the field, she could write up a convincing
proposal for funding. With solid evidence to back her up, she was confident
they’d finally see the validity of her work.

The next day after she left the campus, she
drove out to the local diner. Carrie, the fulltime waitress, knew just about
every piece of juicy gossip ever to grace the small town. She’d know the
address to the O’Shea Ranch. Hailey knew she’d have a better chance of
convincing Mr. O’Shea of her offer if she could talk to him face to face. He’d
see firsthand that she wasn’t imposing, wouldn’t even take up much room.

It was lunch hour when she entered the diner.
Dirty and dusty cowboys lined the counter and several booths held university
students. It was an odd mix, one she’d never find in the city. But without her
parents to finance her education, she had to accept the scholarship to the much
lesser-known university right in the middle of the prairies.

“Mornin’, sweets. What can I get you?” asked
Carrie. She looked to be about forty, her long blonde hair gathered in a
ponytail.

“I was wondering if you could do me a favor…and
I’ll have an iced tea.”
 
She sat on the
furthest swiveling stool, out of earshot from the men.

Carrie set her drink down, the moisture on the
cup reminding Hailey that today was supposed to reach record highs.

“What do you need?”

“I need the address to the O’Shea Ranch. Not for
anything bad,” she assured. “I just wanted to talk with the owner about work.”

The woman shook her head, a concerned frown on
her face. “You don’t want to do that. Haven’t you ever heard of the O’Sheas?
They’re nothing but trouble, I tell you. Those boys are a menace, only looking
to pick a fight.”

“They posted about a hog problem.”

“Well, be smart and let them worry about it.
Arden
hasn’t even been
into town in ages. Rumor has it he’s a no-good, drunken drifter now. And
Callum…Good Lord, you want nothing to do with that animal.”

After listening to more of her complaints,
Carrie mentioned they lived just past the bridge off the east side of town.
Hailey stored the information to memory, finished her iced tea, and then made
her way to the O’Shea Ranch without a second thought.

Her truck droned loudly, scaring away flocks of
blackbirds in the fields as she past. Although she’d taken her bachelor’s
degree in the city, she’d spent the past four years at the university—two
studying and two working for less than minimum wage. In all that time, she
rarely ventured off the grounds. There was mostly farmland beyond the campus,
nothing to see, and everything worthwhile too far to drive to.

The O’Shea Ranch was the only house within
miles, so she knew she had the right one. The house itself looked unkempt. If
it weren’t for the clothes on the line, she’d assume it was abandoned. Grass
grew tall around the house, weeds reclaiming the walkway. A measure of
foreboding entered her heart as she stepped out of her truck. The waitress’s
words played in her head, making her wonder if it was a mistake coming here at
all.

“Hello?” She walked around the side of the
house, carefully watching her step. The screen door was slapping against the
frame, the main door open. She bent down and peered inside before knocking.
Beyond the entrance was a country-sized kitchen with a heavy oak table. She
expected a disaster after viewing the property, but there were only a few dirty
dishes on the counter. It was all very basic, lacking a woman’s touch.

The sound of a rifle being cocked made her gasp.
She nearly toppled over but found her balance at the last second.
“Trespassing?”

“I–I called…yesterday…about the hogs. Are you
Mr. O’Shea?”

The cowboy was not what she expected. He towered
over her 5’3” frame, all sinewy golden muscle. His Wranglers were too low on
his hips to be holy, his chest bare and sweat-glistened. After resting the
barrel of the rifle on his shoulder, he tilted his black Stetson back. “You’re
the student?”

“Scientist.” She felt completely intimidated.

“You’re lucky you weren’t shot. We don’t take
kindly to intruders around these parts. There hasn’t been anyone brave enough
to cross my property line in too many years to count.” His voice was deep and
gravely, his eyes narrowed in distrust.

“I just wanted to talk. I meant nothing
disrespectful.” Surely he had some decency. She couldn’t imagine any man being
as callous and crude as Cassie had described.

He started to walk away from her, towards the
large century barn. He spoke without turning around. “I thought I made myself
clear on the phone. I haven’t the time or money to have you underfoot. I’ll
kill the hogs with my traps and be done with it.”

“You can’t do that!” She ran up ahead of him and
walked backwards so he’d have to face her. “Killing isn’t the answer, Mr.
O’Shea. There are better, more humane ways of handling the problem.”

“Your ways take too long, little girl.” He
brushed past her. His accent was slight but undeniable. She’d always been a
sucker for an Irishman.

“There’s no harm in trying. I won’t be a
bother,” she said, trying to keep up with his long strides.

He reached the bay doors of the barn and
disappeared into the first stall. As he backed out a chestnut quarter horse, he
continued to talk. “And I suppose I’ll be expected to feed you as well?”