"I do."
"You shouldn't get so attached, Elsie."
"It's impossible not to." Elsie shook her head and gave Bluebell one last pet before she walked back towards Goat, who had been happily rooting around a nearby tree for fallen fruit. She put her booted foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up into the leather saddle. She'd been riding since she was a little girl and the motions felt like second nature.
"Come on then." Lorenzo swept his gaze over the rolling grass-covered hills as the sun finally made its final bow before disappearing altogether. "Let's get the rest of the cattle and bring 'em on in."
They worked in silence as they rounded up the last of the herd. It didn't take all night, but it did take a solid hour or two to get the stragglers moving in the right direction. It wasn't until they were nearly back to the ranch when Elsie noticed that some were missing.
"Hey, Lorenzo. I don't see Lily, Trixie, or Pearl," Elsie said.
Lorenzo looked at her with a quizzical gaze. "Who?"
"The cows, Lorenzo," Elsie sighed, shaking her head as she scanned the herd once more. But no, she hadn't been wrong. She didn't see them anywhere.
"Who names a cow Pearl?" Lorenzo muttered to himself. But a moment later he spoke up, shrugging as he did so. "Cattle wander off sometimes, you know that. They always show up a few days later."
"This feels different. Maybe we should head back out."
"I wouldn't worry about it, Elsie." Lorenzo was already sliding off the back of his horse, closing the gate behind the herd they had just rounded up. "Besides, you know each cow has a tracker on it. If you're still worried tomorrow, we can go out looking for them in daylight, alright?"
"Alright," Elsie reluctantly agreed.
"Now, you better get on home. I bet your daddy's waiting for you." Lorenzo threw a wave over his shoulder. "G'night, Elsie."
"Goodnight, Lorenzo."
***
Lincoln Shaw, better known as ‘Hatchet' to those who ran in the Roadburners crew, sat unmoving, drawing on the patience he'd learned from his years in the military. Oh, and is that where you picked up your cattle stealing skills as well? a snide inner voice asked. But Hatchet ignored it, pushed it to the back of his mind along with the guilt and the anger. The anger was the hardest to ignore. After years of dreaming up his revenge, he was finally here. Yeah, stealing a few of the man's cows. That's some real evil genius type shit right there.
Hatchet snorted softly to himself. It might not make a big dent in Mark McLaurel's wallet, but it was something. Not nearly enough, but something. He owed the man a debt. A big one. Hatchet had enlisted with the Marines straight out of high school. He'd served two combat tours in Afghanistan. And when he'd come back home, he'd spent nearly a year being jobless until he eventually found a job as a cowboy on a ranch.
He thought he'd finally found a little bit of peace, riding out in the open air, under the big open Texas sky. He had finally felt connected to something that wasn't warfare and bloodshed. And then along came Mark McLaurel. He'd bullied the previous owner into selling Gold Creek Ranch and had fired almost everyone that had relied on that place, including Hatchet.
Hatchet knew men like McLaurel. Arrogant men who thought the whole world revolved around them, who didn't blink twice at ruining someone's life just for a little extra profit. All he cared about was the bottom line, and Lincoln ‘Hatchet' Shaw had no place there as far as McLaurel had been concerned.
He'd been out of a job, out of a place to live, out of any way to make a steady income, just like that. It wasn't until a few months later that he'd run into a former squad mate. John Dawes-although everyone called him ‘Jackrabbit'-had given him a hand. He'd been the one to introduce Hatchet to the Roadburners, a motorcycle crew that made its money in illegal-though mostly harmless-ways. Most of the Roadburner's cash came from raiding other large corporate farms for livestock that they could turn around for a tidy profit. Whether he liked it or not, Hatchet had found himself adjusting extremely well to his new criminal lifestyle.
That was how he found himself waiting once more on Gold Creek's rolling grassy hills, fighting the rage that threatened to boil over inside at the thought of Mark McLaurel and everything that miserable son of a bitch had cost him.
Just keep it together, Hatchet. You're here for a job. That's it. Don't make it personal. He spoke the words to himself, but he didn't believe them. The man screwed you over. He didn't give a shit about ruining your life. Of course it's fucking personal.
Hatchet shook his head, trying once more to dispel the voice, trying to focus only on what was happening in front of him as he eyed the herd of cattle from a distance. Three of the animals were lagging behind. Easy picking. He sat crouched behind a tree that would keep him hidden if that ranch hand happened to look this way.
He watched as the ranch hand slid off the brown horse, quickly comparing the man's size to the horse. Maybe he was a boy, just starting out. It doesn't matter how old he is, it just matters that he doesn't see you. He minds his own business, and this will all end up just fine. Hatchet sank deeper into the shadows as the boy walked up to one of the cows, holding out his hand as the big animal mooed softly.
Out of the corner of his eye he could just make out the three cows he had his sights on. They were still far behind the rest of the herd, taking their time at a particularly tasty patch of clover, just out of view of the ranch hand. Hatchet looked from the cattle to the young man with his dirty jeans and straw hat, and back again, wondering if it was time to make his move. Evening was fast approaching, lengthening the shadows around him, and it was almost dark enough to move without drawing attention to himself.
But just as he was getting ready, another farm hand rode up. This one would see his face if he made any moves. It was a face Hatchet would recognize anywhere. Lorenzo Lopez, manager of the Gold Creek Ranch, one of the only employees kept on after McLaurel took over. If there was anyone on the ranch that would recognize Hatchet, it'd be Lorenzo. It was too risky to make a move right now, Hatchet decided. He'd just have to pull on a little more of his fabled patience and wait. Then he would round the stray cattle up with the heavy ropes he had knotted and waiting beside him, remove the GPS trackers he knew McLaurel used on his stock, and be well on his way with several thousand dollars' worth of livestock.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 2
Elsie's stomach tightened with dread as she turned her horse around and headed over the small rise. As she reached its crest, the large ranch house that she shared with her dad came into view. Elsie trotted Goat over to the barn by the house, taking her time to remove the saddle and brush him down.
"Goodnight, Goat," she whispered, petting the horse's soft nose as he whickered softly. She was stalling, she knew that. The last thing she wanted to do was go into the house. Because she knew Lorenzo was probably right. Her dad probably would be waiting for her. And the last thing she wanted to do was get into another argument with him about her future.
It's my future, damn it, she thought angrily to herself as she kicked at a stray pile of straw. Shouldn't I be the one who gets to decide it? But she knew her father didn't see it that way. She had already spent more hours than she'd liked trying to convince him that Veterinary School was what she truly wanted, but he just wouldn't listen.
Finally, after stalling for as long as she could, Elsie threw her shoulders back and walked towards the house as if she were marching off to war. In a way, she was. Mark McLaurel had an iron will and was stubborn as hell. For all their differences, Elsie could be just as stubborn if she needed to be.
She stopped for a moment as she reached the white-washed porch steps that led up to the large house. Her father had put almost a million dollars into renovating the old farmhouse when he'd first bought the ranch. She and her father had lived there ever since, although the six-bedroom home felt too large for just the two of them sometimes. At other times, it seemed far too small.
As frustrated as she was, she still had to stop a moment and appreciate the beauty of the land that surrounded her. Rolling hills covered with bright green grass and dotted with trees that rustled slightly in the soft breeze. Even after all the years she'd lived there, West Texas still found a way to awe her with its majestic beauty.
The stars were just starting to wink into life all around her. Elsie forced herself to take another deep breath of the sweet evening air before she opened the door and walked inside. The inside of the house was just as opulent in the outside, but Elsie hardly noticed.
She crept through the foyer and into the living room, sighing in relief when she didn't run into her father. She didn't stop as she tried to walk as quietly as she could to the large wooden staircase that led up to her own bedroom on the second floor. She made it as far as the fourth step before her daddy's terse, rough voice stopped her.