Page 24 of The Soldier and the Cowboy

“For a hot minute, I was thinking of competing this year at the fair. And then I thought, ‘I was Miss America. Is this what my life has become now? Racing barrels at the county fair?’” She huffed a disdainful, humorless laugh and Bailey felt a moment of pity for her. Not because she had fallen so far but because she had perfection at her fingertips and hadn’t realized.

Isabel, an astute observer of people and especially other women, read the look for what it was and hated her even more for it. “Let me give you some advice, little girl. You go back to where you came from while you still can, before this place latches onto you and kills that little spark that keeps you young and vibrant. This is no place for a fresh, innocent thing like you. And my husband is not up for grabs.” For emphasis, shereached out and gave Bailey a hard shove in the chest.

Jinx stepped forward, “Miss Isabel, enough,” he said in a warning tone.

“Shut up, you old fool. You know Cal keeps you around out of pity because he’s too soft to let you go. That’s going to change when I’m in control of the ranch.”

“You’ll get control of this ranch over Cal’s dead body,” Jinx said.

“That can be arranged much easier than you think,” Isabel said.

Bailey reached for her horse and began to unsaddle it. They watched as she then unlaced her boots and took off her socks. “I think I will go for a ride, Jinx. Thank you for getting my horse for me.” To Isabel she added. “I’m in charge of security on the ranch now. Threaten my boss again, and I’ll bury you so deep they’ll never find the body. Now watch how we do it in Africa.” She swung up onto her horse, barefoot and bareback, threading her fingers through its mane. She kneed it gently, and it took off at top speed. She raced easily through the barrels, jumped the fence at the other side, and kept going.

“She sure can ride,” Jinx said, knowing it was the exact thing that would rile Isabel the most.

“Take my horse and bring the car,” Isabel demanded.

“I’ll take the horse ‘cause you don’t treat him right, but you get your own car. I don’t work for you.” He took the horses and turned away, leaving her fuming in frustration and anger.

The next morningBailey patrolled the south pasture in a truck. It was the first morning after the new road construction, and she wanted to see if it had any effect.

It was early morning, the sun barely up, so she had to squintto make sure she was seeing what she was seeing. Another truck sat on the gravel path the smugglers used, apparently disabled. Two men stood outside it, staring at it in obvious frustration. Bailey stepped from the truck and peered at them through binoculars. Judging by the men’s arm and face tattoos, they appeared to be part of the local gang she had studied and read up on. They were known to be a brutal, ruthless regime, killing anyone who crossed them. Bailey’s attention turned to their truck and she couldn’t hold back a chuckle of amusement. They had hit one of the new speed bumps, probably at top speed, and broken their front axle.

“Take that, and now go away,” she whispered.

Of course they were too far away to hear her, but they could clearly see her truck, see her standing beside it with binoculars. One of them raised a gun and shot in her direction. He went far wide of where she stood, but Bailey dove behind the truck anyway. The type of gun he was using could easily chew through the metal of the truck’s doors. She positioned herself behind the engine, the only thing that could stop a bullet of that caliber.

The next shot blew out the driver’s side window. Bailey raised her rifle, trained it on the first man’s head, and then dropped it, systematically shooting out all four of their tires. When their guns remained lowered, she knew they’d been testing her, seeing how she would respond.

She opened the passenger side door, slid inside, started the car and drove backwards away from them. When she was a safe enough distance away, she turned the truck around and drove back toward the ranch.

What next?she wondered. It would be something, she knew, but what she couldn’t say. She would need to be prepared for anything; they all would.

It was her bad luck Cal was outside when she got back to the ranch. “What happened?” he asked, coming to stand beside the missing window of his truck.

“Our smuggler friends and I exchanged some gunfire,” she said.

“What?” He opened the door, put up a hand, and pulled her out to stand in front of him. “Are you okay?” His eyes scanned her for any possible signs of injury.

“They’re not good shots,” she informed him. “This was a fluke.” She tapped the door. “They were aiming for the tires. So I returned the favor and shot out their tires.”

“You shot out their tires?” he said.

“Yes, but that’s nothing compared to their broken axle. I’d say they’re going to need a new truck.”

He leaned on the truck as the air whooshed out of him. “Bailey this is bad.”

“It’s not so bad,” she said, mimicking his pose and leaning beside him.

“No, it’s bad. They don’t quit. There is no such thing as de-escalation with them. It’s going to grow and grow until someone is hurt or killed.”

“It’s going to grow until someone ends it, once and for all,” she said.

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“I’m saying at some point they’re going to become more than an annoyance. At some point they’re going to need to be stopped.”

“Border patrol won’t do it,” he said.

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