The Wrangler. Lindsay McKenna
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And I’ll be in town several times a week running errands. Gus gets her hay and feed at the Horse Emporium, too.”
“Damn, Griff, this is a real setback.”
Raising his brows, Griff said nothing for a moment. Did Josh expect money to fall from the heavens? The agent was being ridiculous. “I know I’m out of the mainstream because of my new job, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
“All right, good. Because I’m positive Downing is behind the movement of drugs through Wyoming. We have agents in Idaho, Montana and Colorado, and they’re picking up noise on the main hub that the drug dealer is located in Wyoming. It has to be Downing. We just can’t prove it yet. We also suspect a Guatemalan drug cartel called Los Lobos is moving into your area. They’re gunrunning from what we’ve been able to ascertain.”
“Is Downing mixed up in both?”
“Not that we know of,” Josh said. “Not yet, anyway. Guns and drugs don’t usually mix. But I want you to see if you hear anything on either of them.”
The exasperation was evident in the agent’s voice. “Well, if that’s so, then shouldn’t these two separate reasons be enough to bring an undercover ATF and FBI agent in here to get the goods on Downing? Or the Los Lobos cartel?”
“You don’t understand, Griff. Everyone’s budget has been slashed. My boss is turning down all kinds of requests from his field agents. Until we can get proof of some kind, my hands are tied.”
“I’ll do what I can, Josh, but I have to eat and pay my bills first.”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand. Okay, stay in touch.”
Griff hung up and made his way to the MacMurray house, a turn-of-the-century home painted a turquoise-blue. It was a haven for people like him. He could rent a room, have a small hot plate and a bed. Apartments in Jackson Hole were way out of his reach, as they were for most people who worked in the town. Even the sheriff’s deputies had to live in Star Valley fifty miles south of Jackson Hole because they couldn’t afford the high-priced housing in the “Palm Springs of the Rockies.” And the ranchers, only a small handful of whom were rich, continued to lead hardscrabble lives.
Getting out of his truck and remembering what good today had brought, his tension from the phone call dissipated. He’d pack up his room here, pay his last rent and drive back to the Bar H. A real home. Griff liked the idea of staying in the main ranch house. The kitchen reminded him of the Tetons Ranch kitchen. It was almost like being home. Not quite, but close.
Feeling like crowing to the world, Griff quickly made his way up the carpeted stairs.
In his room, he threw two pieces of luggage from the closet onto the bed. He was a champion pistol shot and all his weapons were in a special wooden case, under lock and key. His uncle had recognized his interest in shooting. Griff had risen quickly in the world of pistol shooting in his twenties. As he placed it next to the door and began to pack his clothes, his heart centered back on Val. The coverlet of freckles across her high cheeks. Her blue eyes the color of the deep Wyoming sky. As he packed, he couldn’t put his finger on why she appeared to feel so sad. Was it that she was unhappy Miss Gus had hired him? Or was it something else?
Griff made quick work of packing. Hefting both pieces of luggage and his weapons case to the downstairs door, he went in search of the owner so he could pay her. Getting free room and board at the Bar H was a huge leap in resolving Griff’s money problems.
What lay ahead for him? Above all, Griff didn’t want to disappoint or anger Miss Gus. She was clearly on his side. Val was another situation, however. Griff knew she’d be watching him critically for any mistake he made. And he knew that if he couldn’t do the work, she’d get him fired in an instant.
Losing this job was the last thing Griff wanted. Somehow, he had to understand Val and make her a team player and not his enemy. Even if she disliked his New York roots, Griff knew that his hard work and attention to detail would prove to her once and for all he was the right person to be hired. Above all, he had to make sure no one ever found out he was eyes and ears for the FBI. Not only would it turn the people of Jackson Hole against him, he’d been sworn to total secrecy. And you didn’t mess with the bureau. If he was going to find the goods on Downing, the FBI felt he was the perfect foil. After all, he had been born here and was now returning home. A lot of children came back to their parents’ nest these days. Downing would never suspect him. Nor would anyone else. And if Griff had any hope of keeping his dream of life as a wrangler alive, he had to keep his secret safe.
CHAPTER FOUR
SITTING DOWN TO a home-cooked dinner felt like going to a five-star restaurant to Griff. He’d come down from his room at the Bar H promptly at six, as Gus had ordered. Inhaling, he could smell apples and cinnamon in the air. The rectangular cedar table had six chairs, one of them placed at the head of it. Gus and Val were bringing the steaming plates of food to the table. Griff had had enough time to take a shower and throw on some clean clothes. He stood uncertainly at the opening to the kitchen.
“Would you ladies like some help?”
Gus poured applesauce from a pan into a bright green ceramic bowl. “No, you go ahead and sit down. Take that chair to the left of the one at the end of the table.”
“Yes, Miss Gus.” Griff couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Val looked. She’d put her thick red hair into a ponytail and tied it up with a bright green ribbon. She wore a faded apron of green and white checks across her slender waist, which reminded him more of the 1950s than present day. In fact, everything about the home shouted of that earlier era. Somehow, it was comforting to Griff.
As he sat at the table, Val brought over a bowl of mashed potatoes with a huge chunk of butter in the center. It was melting quickly, creating yellow rivers flowing down the mound of hand-whipped potatoes.
Gus hobbled over on her cane. “Now, young man, I hope you have an appreciation for organic, home-cooked food. These are apples off our trees out back. I have a root cellar and I store the potatoes, yams and apples down where it’s dark and cool. That way, they last a long time without rotting.”
Griff took the bowl of applesauce from her. “I have vague memories of doing something similar at our ranch when I was kid.”
“Good, then you’re not a complete loss.”
Chuckling, Griff saw the old woman crack a grin.
He watched as Val brought over a huge platter that contained the beef roast.
“Will you slice it up?” she asked, setting it down in front of him. She walked to the counter, grabbed a carving knife and fork, and brought them over to Griff. As Val handed him the utensils, she tried to ignore his looks. His hands were rough with many small, white scars across the backs of them. He was darkly tanned, which spoke of the time he spent outside. Why did he have to look like dessert to her?
“I’m not the world’s best at this,” he said, “but I’ll give it a go.”
“That’s the kind of attitude I like,” Gus praised, setting down a bowl of streaming carrots that had been drizzled with butter and wildflower honey.
Griff quickly stood and pulled out the elder’s chair for her.
“At least some of your Western protocols are still workin’, Mr. McPherson,” she teased, slowly sitting down. Hooking the cane over the edge of the table, Gus added, “Thank you.”
Val carried the gravy boat over to the table. Griff walked around the table and pulled out her chair. She gave him a pained look, set the gravy down in the center of the table and sat down.
Griff sliced into the thick, well-done roast beef. “Everything smells so good.”
Val smiled a little. Once he’d sliced the beef, she took Gus’s plate and added a dollop of mashed potatoes to it. “Home-cooked food is the best.” Avoiding Griff’s gaze, she smiled over at her grandmother.
“Better