in baseball caps as the car sped by, and he wondered how the hell they could have missed seeing his official vehicle with its rack of lights on top, as noticeable as an elephant wearing a diamond tiara.
Damn it. He was supposed to be off-duty. Slapping the steering wheel with the flat of his hand as he glanced both ways, Charlie hit the lights and siren. He rounded the corner and stomped on the gas in hot pursuit, laying a nice patch of rubber as he radioed his location to dispatch.
Robin had already walked outside to deal with her flat tire when she heard the police siren slice through the early evening peace like a cleaver through a cube of butter.
“Hotshot show-off,” she muttered under her breath. No doubt Sheriff Winchester enjoyed flashing that tin star, throwing his weight around and playing with guns.
The last thought made her shiver. She didn’t like guns. They made her nervous. She’d grown up in Chicago and she respected the police, but Sheriff Tex was almost too handsome, with matching dimples and an ah-shucks drawl meant to melt women like overheated candle wax.
Good thing Robin was immune to that type of macho charm, or concern for his safety might distract her. The sound of the siren had faded by the time she’d managed to confirm that her spare actually had air. She was trying to make sense of the diagram she found with it when Ed Simms walked up.
“Let me do that for you,” he said, extending his hand for the jack.
With a sigh of mingled defeat and relief, Robin handed it over.
“I want you to come with me out to Winchesters’ spread,” Doc Harmon told her the next morning after he’d ended his phone call.
Since Robin had arrived at the clinic, coffee in hand, she’d met Erline, found out where the supplies were kept and learned how to write up a bill for her time.
“Have they found more dead cattle?” she asked.
“Not as far as I know, but one of Adam’s Appaloosa colts took a spill. He’s like an overprotective mama with his Appies, and he wants the colt’s leg checked out.”
Robin glanced at Erline, who was sitting behind the desk filing her nails. She appeared to be fond of bubble gum and low-cut blouses, but she’d introduced herself with a friendly grin and she seemed competent, even though she’d admitted to a phobia toward reptiles.
“I couldn’t work for a vet who treated snakes,” she’d confided after she’d shown Robin how to write up an invoice for prescription pet food. “I’d quit on the spot.”
“Guess that answers my question on how to get rid of you if the need arises,” Doc Harmon had interjected dryly.
From the way Erline stuck out her tongue, Robin figured her co-workers enjoyed taunting each other.
“I wouldn’t go anywhere with him if I were you,” Erline said now as she put away her nail file. “Not since they came out with those little blue pills.”
Robin’s cheeks went hot with embarrassment, but the doc merely gave his receptionist a pained look. “I should sue you for sexual harassment.”
Erline huffed loudly. “Save yourself the attorney fee and just give me a raise, instead.”
The phone on her desk rang before he could reply. With a wink at Robin, Erline pushed the flashing button and picked up the receiver.
“Harmon Veterinary Clinic. How can I help you?”
Doc Harmon’s expression turned serious. “On occasion you and I will be working closely together,” he told Robin in a low voice. “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.”
She could feel her blush deepen. “Of course not. I came here to get experience treating livestock. I’ll do my best to keep my hands off you.”
For a moment his weathered face went blank with surprise, making her afraid she’d gone too far. Then he began to laugh.
“What did I miss?” Erline demanded after she’d written down an appointment in her book and ended her call. “What, what?”
“Nothing,” Robin and the doc answered in unison.
“You’ll do fine,” he told her, still grinning. “Let’s get going.”
Charlie had spent the better part of the morning driving out past his brothers’ ranch to check out a complaint about graffiti sprayed on the side of John Keller’s barn. Ten minutes spent talking to the oldest son had solved the crime, saved Charlie a mound of paperwork and earned the boy a week’s house arrest—and that was after he painted over his artwork.
The day was hot and still, the temperature high even for the end of July, and a cold soda sounded like a heck of a great idea. As he drove through the open gate to the ranch, barely glancing at the neatly painted wood sign, he chuckled at the thought of the Keller boy’s expression when Charlie had confronted him with the spray can hidden in his room. The boy had gone pale, his freckles standing out like rust spots on his guilty face.
Charlie slowed the Cherokee as he drove past the two-story ranch house where Travis lived with his red-haired wife and their four children. As usual, the wide front porch was hung with baskets of brightly-colored flowers, but today the backyard swings and wading pool were empty. Rory’s van was gone, too. No point in stopping.
Young Keller’s misdeed reminded Charlie of some of the stunts he and his brothers had pulled as kids, but his grin faded at the memory of their father’s wrath and the punishments he gave. Jason had gotten off easy today, apparently unaware of worse consequences than repainting and restriction for childish pranks. Garth Winchester hadn’t believed in sparing the rod, the belt or his fists.
The sight of Adam’s black pickup parked by the door to the stable was a welcome distraction, as was the idea of a cold soda from the tack room fridge. That and asking if any more dead cattle had been found were reasons enough to stop by, if Charlie had needed a reason.
When he walked into the cool, dim interior of the broodmare barn, he spotted Adam and his stepson, David, home on summer break from college. Both men were watching an Appaloosa dam and her offspring in one of the roomy stalls.
“Don’t you two have any real work to do?” Char lie asked as he joined them. “I thought the Appies were supposed to be a hobby.”
“Not for several years now.” Adam hadn’t taken his attention from the leopard-spotted colt in the stall with his mother. “Can’t get rich raising cattle in this market.”
Charlie knew the industry had been depressed for years. Only careful management kept many of the lo cal ranches from going under. Even an operation as large as theirs felt the pinch.
“What’s new?” he asked David as a greeting. “Still seeing that Parker girl?”
David shrugged. His lean frame had filled out some in the last year. When he’d first come to Colorado with his mother from L.A. half a decade ago, his hair was orange, his clothes were bizarre and he’d sported a chip on his shoulder the size of a cow pie. Now he looked more like a local to Charlie than some of the kids who’d been born here.
“Joey and I aren’t serious,” David replied, tugging on the brim of his ball
