Raoul and Clarence stood next to a widebed, open-sided truck parked in the middle of the field, which had been brought over by the sheriff’s office an hour ago. The sheriff would be back soon to ask more questions and take the carcasses in for examination, extraction of the bullets and analysis. A sad waste of time on the part of the sheriff’s department. And for Raoul and Clarence when there was so much other work to do. Linc and Jimmy were completing the fence repairs at the opposite end of the ranch, which was where they should be, too.
And all Raoul could think about was Charmaine.
He needed to get laid, badly. It had been two long years since he’d been with a woman. That had to be the reason why his ex-wife—he still couldn’t think of Charmaine as his wife—lingered on his mind, like an erotic burr.
And it wasn’t just sex. She attracted him in the most idiotic ways. He loved watching her prepare a meal.
He loved the way she listened so intently to Jimmy’s rambling nonsense. He loved her love of music—all kinds, not just Cajun. He loved her smiles. Hell, he even loved her frowns. Everything she did, she did with passion.
Something had to give, or he would go bonkers. He shook his head like a wet dog to help him focus.
“Who do ya think done it?” Clarence asked him as they wrapped a rope around one of the steer.
Raoul patted it on the head. Poor animal! Mon Dieu! He should be healing animals, not dealing with their deaths. He sighed, then answered. “Got me. But it sure as hell wasn’t a teen prank, like cow tipping, as the sheriff implied.” Next they used a winch and a forklift attached to a tractor to swing the steer up and onto the truck. Raoul exhaled loudly with disgust. “I suspect it’s the same bunch of oil interests that kept pressuring my dad to sell the ranch. Or maybe the people responsible for framing me. Or maybe even the ones who killed my father.”
“Or mebbe they’re all the same person.”
“Could be,” Raoul concurred. What a mess!
“Hard to believe that oil people would go to these extremes, even killing a fella,” Clarence mused.
“Hey, look at that John Grisham book… and movie. Pelican Brief. They were pretty ruthless in there.”
“Guess so.” Clarence straightened and arched the kinks out of his back. This was really strenuous work for a man his age, though Raoul would never dare tell him that. One time he had dared, and Clarence told him it was better for a man to wear out than to rust out.
“You really think Charlie mighta been murdered?” Clarence asked.
Raoul shrugged. “I’m still investigating. Hell, we may never know for sure.”
“Well, the shootin’ of these animals,” Clarence said, waving a hand at the dead cattle, “I ‘spect it’s a warnin’ of sorts.”
“You’re probably right,” Raoul said with a shrug.
“On the other hand, mebbe it’s those Mafia hit men come to tweak Charmaine.” Clarence grinned as he spoke, then spit out a long stream of tobacco juice. Apparently, he didn’t consider the loan shark, which Raoul had explained to him, as big a deal as Charmaine did.
Raoul grinned back at him. “You mean, like The Godfather, where they put the horse’s head in the guy’s bed?”
“Yessirree. We better warn Charmaine to be on the lookout fer cow parts.” He caught Raoul’s frown, then added, ‘Then again, mebbe not.”
“This was a warning for me, not Charmaine,” Raoul insisted. Inside, though, adrenaline shot through his system at the mere prospect that Charmaine might be in real danger. He wouldn’t admit it to her, but he was glad, in a way, that she’d parked herself at the ranch where he could protect her.
“Yer one lucky fella,” Clarence said then.
“Huh?” Raoul couldn’t imagine anything about his life the past two years that would fit into the realm of lucky. Lucky to have been convicted of a felony? Lucky to have spent two friggin’ years in the slammer? Lucky to have lost my medical license? Lucky to have lost my father? Lucky to have inherited half of a run-down ranch? Lucky to be climbing the walls with lust?