The open sky stretched for miles overhead. Dusk was starting to settle over the hundreds of acres that made up Gold Creek Ranch. The sinking sun turned the bright greens and warm ambers of the prairie to indigo as the shadows began to lengthen. The sun sank westward over the heart of Texas, streaming clouds of bright fuchsia and fiery red in its wake, as Elsie McLaurel rode her horse across the sea of grass.
A loose fitting old button-down shirt hung half untucked at her waist, and her blonde hair—usually worn long and wavy down her back—was pinned up underneath the wide brimmed hat that did its best to protect her fair skin from the harsh Texas sun. If you’d spotted her from the highway, you’d never have guessed that she was the heiress to a multi-million-dollar ranching business—one of the biggest in the entire state.
Her riding boots and sun-bleached jeans were covered in mud from riding across the recently rained-on ground, chasing after each head of cattle that slowly churned the once green grass into sucking muck under their trampling hooves.
Gold Creek was made up of several hundred thousand acres of open grassy fields that had long since fallen under hard times, until her father Mark McLaurel had started buying up every minor ranch in the area. In the matter of a few years, Gold Creek went from nothing more than a few acres and a title on a paper to one of the biggest corporate ranches in all of West Texas—land that would one day all belong to her.
Elsie shook her head at the stray thought. The last thing she wanted was to take over her father’s corporation. She knew Mark McLaurel had a reputation as a ruthless, heartless corporate rancher and she wanted no part in it. Soon enough I’ll be able to get out of here, Elsie mused to herself. Out of this small town, away from Daddy’s reputation. Then, I’ll be able to make my own life.
The sound of gentle mooing off to her right had her sliding down from the back of Goat, her chestnut gelding. Elsie patted Goat softly on the nose and he snorted in response. He’d been just a foal when Elsie had taken him in. His mother died birthing him and Elsie had felt an instant kinship. He didn’t have a mother, and neither did she. Against her father’s wishes, Elsie had taken him in and nursed him back to health.
It had been a long fight to bring the tiny foal back from the brink of death, but he’d held on and fought like hell. ‘Stubborn as a goat,’ her father had said about him once, and the name had stuck.
That mooing rose up again and Elsie cast a look over her shoulder at the heifer standing a few yards behind her.
“Don’t worry, Bluebell, I didn’t forget about you.” With a small chuckle, Elsie reached into the canvas saddlebag she had strung over the pommel and found a handful of apple slices, a favorite among the cattle.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Elsie walked up to the massive heifer and held out her hand. The cow dwarfed Elsie’s own petite five-foot one frame, but she’d spent her entire life around them. She knew they could be dangerous if she got in the way of a panicked stampede, but she also saw the gentleness in them, the sweetness in the big, brown eyes that rolled towards the apple slices that were held just out of reach.
“Oh, here ya go, Bluebell,” Elsie said as she brought her hand closer. Bluebell munched happily at the treat.
Elsie looked around as she petted the soft fuzz on the cow’s muzzle, surveying the milling cattle nearby. None seemed disturbed by her presence, although occasionally some would roll their big, heavily lashed eyes in her direction in hope of the special treatment Bluebell was getting. She recognized most of the animals and took a deep breath, staring up a sky that had now turned to a darkling purple.
“It’s time we got going, Bluebell,” Elsie whispered softly. But she wasn’t talking about the cattle. She was talking about herself. About her future and what she would do next. A sudden thrill shot through her at the thought of the envelopes she’s snuck into the post just a week before. Her applications for Veterinary school.
For as long as she could remember, Elsie had loved animals, whether she was working with them or treating them. It was her passion, the one thing in her life that she’d always known she wanted to do. But when she had brought up going away to school to her father at the end of last summer, he had told her in no uncertain terms that she would be staying on at the ranch to learn the ins and outs of the business. He wanted her to take over the ranch one day and there was nothing that could change his mind.
But she just couldn’t. She’s heard the rumors. She’d heard what people said about how her daddy ran his business. With a hard fist and an even harder heart. She didn’t know everything that he did, but she knew enough to know that she didn’t agree with all of it. She also knew that she wasn’t cut out to be a business person. She loved being outside, being with the animals. The thought of being trapped behind a desk for the rest of her life made her sick to her stomach.
She was still idly stroking Bluebell’s cheek when she remembered the night the cow had been born. She’d been in the barn for hours, helping bring the little calf into the world. She was much younger then and the biggest problem in her life at the time had been figuring out a way to get out of wearing the old-timey dresses her daddy kept buying her. She’d lived in ripped jeans and hand-me-down buttoned shirts for as long as she’d known, and dresses weren’t something that she ever felt comfortable in. Elsie looked down at herself with a smirk. Well, that at least hasn’t changed.
“Els! Elsie!” a strong voice called out from over a ridge.
She grinned at the middle-aged man who trotted up on the back of an impressive black and white stallion.
“Hey, Lorenzo,” Elsie greeted the familiar man with a wave. Lorenzo had been a farm hand at Gold Creek Ranch for years, since long before her father had taken over. He was one of the only employees who had been kept on after the McLaurel Corporation purchased the ranch from its owner.
He was deeply tanned from his time out in the sun, despite the cowboy hat tilted low over his dark, kind eyes. It made the wrinkles in his weathered face even more visible. The only other part of him that was exposed were the rough calloused hands that masterfully handled his horse’s reins. The rest of him was covered head to toe in denim and worn-out leather boots.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Elsie. I was startin’ to get worried,” he said, his deep tenor as warm as the sun that was just now starting to dip below the tree line.
“Sorry, Lorenzo. I just wanted to come out and check on Bluebell. I wanted to make sure she was still doing alright.” Elsie patted the cow’s neck and got a heartfelt moo in return. “You know she’s been getting those infections over the past few weeks.”
“Well, whatever you’ve been giving her has worked like a charm. Practically magic.” Lorenzo took his hat off and brushed at the sweat dotting his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt before placing it back on his head. “Got a couple of other cattle you can take a look at when we get back to the barn. If we ever do get back that is. At this rate, we’ll be out here chasing them around all night.”
Elsie ignored Lorenzo’s gruff tone. She was more than used to the straight-forward talk from the man and didn’t take any offense at it. She knew he didn’t mean any more or any less than just what he said, even if he did have a tendency to sound like a grouch while he was saying it.
“Alright,” she sighed as she gave the last of the apple slices to Bluebell, chuckling as the fuzz around her mouth tickled her palm. “That’s all I got, girl. You’ll just have to wait until next time.”
The heifer rolled her eyes in dissatisfaction, making Elsie laugh again and Lorenzo shake his head.
“You know they’re not pets, right?”
“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?