Marrying The Rancher. Roz Fox Denny
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Much to his surprise, there was one with great photographs. Heading to check out, he spotted an endcap of posters. One jumped out: three wolves lying under a tree. Two adults and a pup. From their coloring and the high mountains rising in the background, they could be Mexican grays from the Arizona project or New Mexico. Hoping Tandy would let Scotty hang the poster, he added it to the book. While in line, he saw a new mystery by an author he liked and grabbed it.
As his work was so solitary, most evenings he read. Usually he had agency material or wildlife magazines. But he did like intrigue mixed with adventure.
As he paid for his purchases, Wyatt wondered if Tandy liked to read, and if so, what she preferred? He hadn’t met any women who’d been in the military. And according to Curt, she’d commanded a combat support team. What made her choose that life? It seemed harsher than most careers.
He knew quite a few women who worked with wildlife. That could be hard, too. He’d dated a park ranger until she’d transferred to a job in the Northwest.
After pocketing his credit card, he collected his package and left the store. He hadn’t thought about Kylie Porter in a while. Their relationship hadn’t stood up under long distance. His job came first. Still, it bothered him when Kylie accused him of being like his parents who’d never owned a home and were always off on wilderness digs. During his younger years, he’d lived in Las Cruces, New Mexico, with his maternal grandmother.
Now the closest thing he had to a permanent residence was the cabin he often stayed in on a cattle ranch near Silver City. His best friend, Loki Branchwater, owned the ranch. Wyatt was so steeped in thought he drove straight past the general store. When it dawned on him, he made a U-turn and went back. He breezed through the store, loading his cart with items Tandy and Manny had requested. Then he added things from his list.
He didn’t pass anyone in the aisles he knew, which was fine since Tandy had said he wasn’t popular. He checked out quickly with his mind on picking up the pizzas.
The minute he unlocked his vehicle he noticed a series of deep gouges through the paint on his front and back doors. The strips tore jaggedly through the Game and Fish logo.
For a moment he only gaped at the vandalism. Then he glanced around to see if the person or persons responsible lurked nearby. He’d heard of automobiles being keyed, but until now he’d never seen what damage it could do. There were a few cars in the lot, but no one visible.
It could’ve been kids. A check of his watch showed it wasn’t quite three, so the high school and junior high wouldn’t be out.
As he unloaded the cart, he had little doubt that he’d been deliberately targeted. Possibly by an irate rancher.
After returning the cart to the front of the store, he drove to the sheriff’s office. In the past, local authorities partnered with Game and Fish to back teams if anyone instigated mischief of the type that had just occurred.
Sheriff Doug Anderson manned the office alone. He looked up from his computer when Wyatt walked in. The silver-haired man immediately stood and extended a hand. “Say there, Hunt, I heard you were going to spend time with us again. I’ll tell you what I told a contingent of ranchers—my deputies and I have enough to do. We don’t need a hullabaloo blowing up over you wildlife guys.”
Wyatt disengaged his hand. “I’ve only been back one day. I stopped at the general store for supplies. While I was inside, someone raked a key to hell and gone across the driver’s side of my government SUV. I came straight here, so I’m guessing it happened between half an hour and forty-five minutes ago.”
The sheriff sank back in his swivel chair. “Dammit all. Were there any eyewitnesses?”
“There were maybe four cars and a couple of pickups in the lot. That pretty much matches the number of shoppers I saw in the store. No one I knew or who acted as if they knew me. The parking lot itself was empty of people except for me.”
Anderson yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pad of preprinted pages. He tore one off and passed it to Wyatt. “This is an official complaint form. While you fill it out, I’ll go take pictures of the damage. Are you parked in front of my office?”
Wyatt nodded. “I’ll fill it out, for all the good it’ll do. No witnesses and probably no fingerprints. That’s the thing about key damage, hard to identify who held the key.” His face turned sour. “If you want my best guess, it’d be Preston Hicks or Jim Haskell.”
The sheriff paused. “Why them? Both have been pillars of this community for decades.”
“Yeah, well, they and a few others deviled my team last year. If you recall, we never were sure who left a dead wolf on the hood of my SUV.”
“We exhausted all our leads on that one.” The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “You working with your team this time?”
“I’m alone this trip. Came to check on our packs—count pups, install radio collars and vaccinate them. I’m renting again at Spiritridge Ranch. This time from Curt Marsh’s daughter. She mentioned taking heat at a cattle and sheep rancher’s meeting. Hicks apparently led a rant against me.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of issues at the meeting. I’ve seen Curt’s daughter and her son around town. If Pres gave her grief, why didn’t she report it to me?”
Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t know. She is ex-army. I don’t think she’s easily intimidated.”
“I remember as a teenager she was a tough competitor in a couple of sports.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. What did she play?”
“Hmm. Maybe softball, and track and field events.”
Wyatt could tell the sheriff was combing his memory. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want guys who are PO’d at me picking on her or the boy. He’s sort of fearless, too.” It’s remarkable, really, for as young as Scotty is.
The sheriff waved his phone. “I’ll go take those photos while you complete the form as best you can. I know you didn’t see the incident, but an approximate time and place is important if my deputies are out asking casual questions.”
“Speaking of casual questions,” Wyatt called to the man about ready to walk out the door, “have you heard of any wolf dogs in the vicinity?”
“Wolf dogs? What are they?”
“Mostly a shepherd-type dog bred with a wolf. They carry features of both, but the ones I’ve seen in our lecture films are larger and meaner than a domestic dog.”
“Huh. I haven’t heard of anything like that around. I doubt they’d survive long with all our cattle and sheep ranchers. They’d be trapped or shot.”
“Trapped?” Wyatt looked up sharply from the paper he’d started to read. “What kind? Claw traps are outlawed and others require a license.”
“Don’t get all riled up.” Scowling, the sheriff crossed his arms. “I don’t know if anybody’s using traps. Used to be some ranches had trouble with mountain cats. I know someone built and set a box trap near their chicken coop. Caught the cat and called Game and Fish to take him away. That was probably four years ago. If your boss has been over this area that long, he’d likely remember the case.”
“He covers this project and a few others. I have to call him about the SUV. I’ll ask about traps.”
The sheriff went on outside and Wyatt filled out the form.
Sheriff Anderson returned, printed the photo off and clipped it to the report he had Wyatt sign and date. They shook hands and Wyatt left to go order pizzas. He’d spent longer than anticipated with the sheriff. He hoped the side trip wouldn’t make him so late that Tandy would give up on him and cook supper.
The owner of the pizza shop recognized him but didn’t really know who he was. The man mentioned he hadn’t seen Wyatt in a while, when he used to be a regular.
“I’ve