Free Cutter (Gail McCarthy Mystery series) by Laura Crum Page A

black brockle-face steer standing by itself, separated from the herd. Then Casey dropped the reins so they hung loosely on Shiloh's neck. It was up to the mare.
    Driven by the herd instinct, the black steer made a tentative stab at getting back to the group; he ran to the right, then darted back to the left. Shiloh stayed with him, blocking him, stopping when the steer stopped, turning when he turned, running when he ran. The reins swung loose; every judgment was Shiloh's own. The steer paused in the middle of the pen-fenced right and left, right and left again, leaping back and forth, head down. Shiloh mirrored him perfectly, dancing back and forth with him, nose inches from the ground, ears pricked forward. Her eyes were filled with what I could only call delight. This mare, like many good cowhorses, loved to work. Little shivers ran up and down my spine.
    The crowd started clapping. I clapped with them; even Bret gave a war whoop. Casey cut a second cow that was a runner, and Shiloh ran and stopped for all she was worth. Dirt clods rattled against the fence as she slid into the ground and jumped out again the other way. The cow kept driving hard, but the mare never weakened, and when the buzzer sounded to indicate the end of the two-and-a-half-minute cutting run, the whole crowd broke into loud applause and the judge marked a 74, easily the highest score all day. Casey was beaming as he rode out of the ring.
    I turned to go offer congratulations, and found Casey in the warmup pen, sitting on Shiloh and talking to two men, one of whom I recognized as Ken Resavich. The other I'd never seen before. Casey's expression looked stiff to me.
    I approached the group tentatively, not wanting to intrude, but Casey saw me and gave me a wide grin, waving me over.
    "Congratulations," I told him. "That was wonderful; I'm sure you won the class."
    "It's not over till the fat lady sings," Casey said, but he sounded confident. "Gail, you know Ken Resavich, right? Gail McCarthy; she's our vet."
    Ken and I nodded politely at each other, and he smiled a small, formal smile. He looked every inch a businessman in slacks and a lightweight sport jacket; he certainly didn't look like a farmer. I imagined that farming, at his level, involved sitting at a desk and making decisions on which millions of dollars rested. His formality seemed slightly ridiculous here at the cutting, where the uniform was jeans.
    The man next to Ken Resavich smiled widely and appraisingly at me, and I smiled politely back, but nobody made a move to introduce us.
    Casey was talking to Ken again, and the other man's eyes swung back to the conversation. In his mid-fifties, with a worn-out-looking face, he had red hair that was fading to gray and fair skin deeply lined and blotched by age and weather. The expression in his eyes was somewhere between aggressively friendly and aggressively belligerent.
    "Yeah, we need cattle," Casey was saying to Ken Resavich now. Casey's eyes were directed firmly away from the stranger.
    Ken's eyes moved over to him, though, and he asked, "Can you bring them this week?"
    "Sure, I can bring you cattle this week, buddy." The redheaded man spoke directly to Casey, with an underlying tone I couldn't place.
    Casey's eyes flashed at him, but he still didn't say a word.
    Ken Resavich, seeming to ignore or be oblivious to all of the undercurrents, said, "Fine. We'll expect twenty fresh head this week."
    "Sure thing." The stranger gave Casey a short, almost taunting smile, and turned away. "I'd better be going. Got to get those cattle rounded up for Casey."
    He walked off and got into a flashy, two-toned red dual-wheel pickup, one of the fanciest rigs in the field. Melissa strolled up to our little group just as he jockeyed it out of its parking place and drove away.
    "Who was that?" I asked her curiously, drawing her aside.
    She glanced at the departing pickup and frowned. "That's Dave Allison." Glancing quickly at Casey she whispered, "Casey doesn't