Free Roped (Gail McCarthy Mysteries) by Laura Crum Page A

vicious. We gathered cattle on his ranch once. Charles and I ended up riding this one field together, just by accident. There was a dog trotting across the field, a little dog, a beagle or something, and Charles pulled a pistol out of his saddlebag and shot him."
    I sighed. "Lisa, a lot of ranchers will shoot a dog that's in with their cattle. They have a legal right to do it."
    "Gail, I know that. I was raised in this country, remember? It wasn't like that. This little dog was just trotting across the field, minding his own business; there weren't any cattle in sight. When Charles got that pistol out of his saddlebag, I was shocked. Still, like you said, it was his legal right. Nobody else I know would have shot the dog; he was clearly somebody's pet on his way home, and not the type of dog who usually chases cattle. But Charles got the gun out and he had this grin on his face. The same grin he had tonight when he was trying to start a fight with Tim. I swear to God, Gail, I was afraid to say anything to him. Before I could get up my nerve, he shot the dog. Not to kill. He shot one of the dog's legs off."
    I could see the scene in my mind, the little dog crying, the blood spurting, Charles grinning. I felt sick.
    "He did it on purpose," Lisa said quietly. "He's a real good shot. He took a while to finish killing that dog. He was enjoying himself. That's what he looked like tonight when he was heckling Tim. He didn't act like a dumb drunk trying to pick a fight. He acted smug, happy, like he was enjoying it."
    We were both quiet. I tried to visualize Charles Domini digging holes in Glen's arena. It didn't seem likely. We were rolling down the mountain road now, nearing the town of Corralitos. "So where do you live?" Lisa asked.
    "In Soquel. Up Old San Jose Road."
    I could see her nod, in the faint light from the dashboard. Soquel was a half hour away. We made the drive in silence. Neither Lisa nor I seemed inclined to break it.
    When she pulled in my driveway, I felt a slight reluctance to get out of the truck. In one short day, Lisa and her problems had become a part of my life. Lisa seemed to feel the same way. The look she turned on me verged on pleading, "Come on up to the ranch tomorrow, Gail, please. We're going to gather. You can help us. That is, if you're not busy," she added belatedly.
    Busy. No, I wasn't busy that I knew of I had this whole weekend off. And, for all I was aware, by tomorrow Sara might be moved back in with Lonny. Great thought.
    "My horses are out at Lonny's," I told Lisa. "And he owns the rig that hauls them. I don't exactly want to ask him for a favor right now."
    "No problem. You can ride Chester."
    "Chester?"
    "He's the little bay I was heeling on today. You'll like him. He's a real sweetheart. Dad raised him. He's by Smoke and out of Dad's best mare. Say you'll come, Gail."
    Why not? It was better than sitting around waiting for Lonny to call.
    "All right," I said. "What time?"
    "Eight o'clock." Lisa gave me a brief young-Lisa smile. "See you then." And she pulled out of my driveway.
    I walked slowly to my front door. Time was, I would have heard the welcome jingle of Blue's collar on the other side as I put the key in the lock. No more. Blue was gone. I still couldn't get used to it. Without Blue, the house didn't feel like home.
    Unlocking the door, I let myself inside. Everything looked neat and clean-too neat and clean. I'd scrubbed my humble cabin to within an inch of its life yesterday. My friend Denise Hennessy, a realtor, was showing it to prospective buyers this weekend.
    It wasn't that I disliked the little house. It was just that the steep, shady quarter of an acre it was located on was no place to keep horses or have a garden-two things I was set on doing. It was my good luck that real estate prices in Santa Cruz County had risen so spectacularly during the four years I'd owned the house that the property was now worth double what I'd paid for it. My profit would be enough (I hoped)