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As long as they didn’t mess with her or with Sawyer anymore, it wasn’t her problem, so she wasn’t going to worry about it.
* * *
Sawyer’s phone made a buzzing noise that said a text was coming through, but he ignored it. It was probably his sister, Martina. She and her family attended a church that started earlier and ended before the customary twelve o’clock.
He loved his family, even his bossy sister and overprotective brothers. He’d really like to take Jill to Comfort to meet them, but to drive that far and back in one day wouldn’t work. They had promised to visit Fiddle Creek over Easter, so he could look forward to that. They would bring their RVs and park behind the bunkhouse, and he could show his brothers the ranch while his sister, his mother, and his brothers’ wives got to know Jill better.
Youtakeyourwomanhometomeetthemamaonlyifthingsaregettingserious, that smart-ass voice in his head said. AnditmightbeagoodthingtotellJillthattheyarepla
Sawyer nodded when everyone around him was shaking their heads. Jill poked him on the thigh. “Are you listening to the preacher?”
He shook his head.
“It looked like you were disagreeing with the Bible, nodding like that,” she said.
“I was thinking about something else,” he admitted.
She blushed.
“Evidently you were too.”
The blush deepened, and his hand dropped from the back of the pew to her shoulder. He squeezed and leaned over to say softly, “After lunch with Fi
She didn’t nod, but then she didn’t shake her head, but the slight upturn to her full mouth was a yes in his books.
The preacher wound down, making his final plea in veiled words to both families that the feud would consume them if they didn’t make peace. Sawyer didn’t see either side softening up a bit.
Jill suddenly jerked her cell phone from her purse, which was sitting on the floor right beside her foot. She read the text message, tapped Sawyer on the shoulder, and said, “We’ve got to go right now.”
Sawyer’s blood turned to ice. The only reason a person left the church was if a catastrophe had occurred. “Is it Polly?”
“No, but it was Aunt Gladys. She’ll meet us at the store. There’s a problem on the ranch.”
The congregation stopped listening and stared at them as they left the church. When Sawyer opened the squeaky double doors, suddenly a whole sea of Gallaghers hurried outside behind them.
“Damned Bre
“Shit! I don’t want that breed mixed with our stock. They’ve messed with the wrong woman,” Jill declared.
If it was the truth that they’d involved her even more in this crappy pig-shit war, or if they used it as a ruse to try the kidnapping stunt again, she fully intended to join the war and wipe both families off the map. Now they’d spend the whole damned afternoon sorting out cattle, when she could be over on Salt Draw, having di
Gladys was fuming by the time they reached the ranch, cussing like a veteran sailor as she showed them the area where more than two hundred head of Wild Horse cattle roamed over a field of sprouting winter wheat. If it hadn’t been for the difference in the brands on the hips of the black cows, they wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart.
Betsy frowned and yelled at Tyrell. “Someone got it wrong. This isn’t our Blonde d’Aquitaine herd. This is just our regular Angus stock.”
“What are you doing with that breed?” Sawyer asked.
“It’s something Gra
Gladys checked the barbed wire. Yes, sir, it had been cut smooth right in the middle between the two metal fence posts. The Bre
It took a lot longer than they thought it would. When the job was done and the fence fixed, it was well past two o’clock. Gladys refused to go to Wild Horse but did offer to take Jill and Sawyer down to Gainesville to a little café that made the best chicken-fried steak in North Texas.
“What about Polly?” Jill asked.
“She and Verdie decided to watch movies all afternoon. She’ll be fine,” Gladys said.
Chapter 21
While the Gallaghers were busy herding cattle and fixing fence on the south side of Wild Horse, four Bre
The last cantankerous old heifer refused to get into the truck like her cohorts, so they shooed her back across the river and into the pasture before they shut the gate. Careful not to touch anything without gloves, they damn sure hoped the weatherman and the sky weren’t lying to them. They needed the driving, hard rain to wash away the hoofprints leading over into Oklahoma.
“Ready?” Russell Bre
“Across to the bridge crossing back into Texas, through Gainesville, and to our destination. We should be there in an hour,” he answered.
“Maybe they’ll think twice before they steal any more of Mama’s hogs. The new stock are arriving this week. She’s buying Herefords this time.” Russell fired up the engine and drove toward the dirt road leading to Highway 32, which would take him to Marietta where he’d catch I-35 south into the outskirts of Gainesville.
“Herefords?”
“Looks just like a Hereford cow. White face, white feet, red body. They’re supposed to grow off quick and produce quality meat. But the important thing is no one within a hundred miles of Burnt Boot has them. No one would dare steal them,” Russell explained.
They listened to the country music countdown. Russell kept time with his thumb on the steering wheel. It was about time they did some serious damage to the Bre
“What would you do, Uncle Russell, say if Leah got it in her head she wanted to get hitched to a Gallagher?” Quaid asked.
“There’d be one dead Gallagher. Do you know something I don’t?” Russell’s thumbs went still.
“No, sir. It’s just that it’s been all these years, and it’s going to happen someday.”
“Not on my watch, it’s not. And it damn sure won’t be my daughter,” Russell said.
An hour later he backed the first of two trucks up to the Salt Holler bridge. Wallace opened the gates, and cattle meandered out at a slow speed, wary of the old wooden bridge under their feet, eyes rolling at the deep ditch beneath them.
Wallace removed his hat and slapped a cow on the flank. She took off, and the rest followed her lead, bawling the whole way to the other side, where they split seven ways to Sunday. Some going to the left, some to the right, some in a hurry, some slowing down to taste what little grass they could find.