Hunter Moon (Lupine Moon Series) (2 page)

 The motion light popped on when I ascended the few steps to the front door. It screeched like the witches in
Macbeth
and I added oiling the hinges to the mile long list of to-dos in my head.

I kicked off my shoes and whimpered at the feel of ice cold linoleum on my bare feet. I hopped down the hallway, dove into my bed, shoved my dog over and wished it was still warm like it was when I’d dragged myself out of it.

I scratched Reggie’s ears. “Some cow-dog you are.” I growled at him. Even though he was a pathetic guard dog, I still felt comforted snuggling up next to him. He blinked his blue eyes and went back to sleep.

 I snuggled down into the covers and glanced at my alarm clock. 2:47 am. Crap. I had a little over two hours of sleep before I had to be up and around. Like I said, I wasn’t a morning person. I thought about what sort of wolf would be in the foothills of California. It could’ve roamed over here from Nevada, but I doubted it.

My grandpa would have had something to say about it. He’d raised me since I was in kindergarten. I’d never known my dad; the rodeo circuit wasn’t very conducive to fatherhood. My mother had been a barfly before I was born. She stopped drinking and carousing long enough to give birth to me, then went right back at it again. Her father saw her leaving me home alone, or with her male callers and took it upon himself to try raising a girl again. He was hesitant at first, seeing how well his first try had gone.

He’d come to California from Oklahoma on route 66,
The Grapes of Wrath
style, in 1931 and picked peaches so he could send money home to his parents. He worked every day of his life so he could have the cattle ranch I lived on. He taught me how to ride, rope, shoot, and raise cattle.

Grandpa was tough with me. The phrase ‘get back on the horse that threw you’ wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t picked the surliest horses to put me on. It taught me to be tough, to suck it up, and I did. After sobbing that first night when my he took me away from another of my mother’s drunken binges I hadn’t cried again until his funeral.

I groaned when my alarm clock went off at five. I’d lain in bed with my thoughts going a million miles an hour and had only gotten about an hour of sleep. I slammed the clock with my fist, lay back against the pillows and ran down the checklist of my day. Today would be a busy one. I had to hook up my truck and trailer so I could pick up half a squeeze of alfalfa hay from Brad De’Silva. My cattle ran on 2500 acres of land so there was usually plenty grass enough for them, but I liked to have some hay set aside so I could call the cows in and look them over once in a while or when I branded. I also had an appointment with my lawyer today.
Yay...

Grandpa had died the year before and left me everything in his will. I held the deed to the entire ranch, cows, trucks, everything. I’d taking care of the herd for some time after his health declined in his late eighties, but he liked to think he was still ran the show.

My cousins weren’t happy about being left out of his will and made some noise about taking me to court. At the time I had pointed out that our mothers hadn’t gotten anything either, but that didn’t seem to make them feel much better. I didn’t understand why they were so upset, it wasn’t like they stuck around to help take care of him or help out at the ranch. In some ways I felt like the little red hen.

My cousin Harry owned a TV station in Bakersfield and had been living it up for years. He’d married some over-preserved trophy wife and had a huge house on a golf course. His children had all been enrolled in a private academy since they were preschoolers, and he had gone through so many fine specimens of German automotive engineering I had lost count.

His younger sister Trisha had gone and married a real estate mogul in Texas, and the first time I had seen her since her wedding was at Grandpa’s funeral. She looked like she’d fallen asleep in a tanning bed. The orange of her skin contrasted sharply with the platinum color of her hair. I couldn’t help visualizing the lady from
There’s Something About Mary
. All she needed was a velour track suit.

Neither of them needed the money like I did, but it seemed to me the more people had, the more they wanted. I’d seen far too many of my cows go to legal fees than I was comfortable with, but my lawyer, Vince, was an old friend of my Grandpa’s and wasn’t charging me what he charged everyone else, thankfully. Also, if I won I’d get reimbursed.
Here’s hoping!

I gulped down some coffee, pulled on my best pair of Wranglers, the ones without holes from barbed wire, tucked in my shirt and slid my feet into my Ariat boots. I hooked up my truck to the flatbed trailer and wound my way down road 400 toward Madera.

I tried to enjoy the drive as much as I could. The sun was just rising over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and the light was glinting off the clouds. It was those kinds of serene mornings that helped me imagine the land before any people were there.

Brad was outside waiting for me when I parked by his pole barn. He was short and balding and his gut popped over his large silver belt buckle. A smile of welcome was on his face. I gave him a little wave, hopped out of my truck and took a deep breath. The familiar, sweet scent of alfalfa mixed with the crisp fall air calmed my nerves a little as I watched the big forklift stack bale after bale on the trailer. It reminded me of Tetris.

“It’s a good thing you called me, Shelby. I just got in a big order from the North dairy that’s gonna wipe out the rest of my hay until next summer.” I smiled and shrugged off his accusatory tone. “Grant wouldn’t have cut it that close, you know.”

I glanced over at Brad and nodded. “Yeah, I know. But he wouldn’t have been paying legal fees to get his relatives off of his back either. So what if I’m a little later than usual? I’m here now.” A small frown crossed his face.

No one who knew my Grandpa was happy about the situation I was in. Caring for 150 head of cattle and 2,500 acres of land was hard enough, let alone a twenty-six year old woman fighting a legal battle against her own blood relatives.

“You’re here now.” He agreed. He thumped me on the back and turned to yell at the fork lift driver to throw on a few extra bales. I gave him a grateful look before he shook his head and walked back to his house.

My lawyer was in Madera, which was a blessing only because it was near my ranch, so Brad let me leave the trailer while they loaded it and take my truck into town. I still had about an hour to kill before the eight o’clock appointment, so I stopped by a cowboy café my Grandpa always loved and got another coffee. It was situated alongside Highway 99 and was a frequent stop for truckers and locals alike. The peeling red sign on the roof advertised the quality coffee in neon lights, and the windows were painted in quaint harvest scenes with scarecrows and pumpkins.

The door jingled as I walked in, and the friendly waitress had a piping hot cup of coffee on the counter before I had come to a complete stop. I cupped the steaming mug in one hand and sank down into an old, red vinyl booth. I took my phone out of my back pocket and turned it on, checking for messages. Cell service at the ranch was nonexistent, and not many people had my number. I bought the little pay as you go phone from WalMart for emergencies and to use when I made it into town. I learned early on what a luxury it was to have a phone handy when you had a flat tire with a trailer full of cattle.

When the phone finally came to life, I had zero missed calls and no messages; it was the story of my life. I only ever had a few friends growing up and still really only had Jesse and Jack now. Usually they were either next door neighbors or kids related to my Grandpa’s buddies. My life in high school had revolved around school work, FFA, and the ranch. After graduation, I stayed to help Grandpa with the ranch and my friends all migrated away, either to go to college or join the military.

I can’t say that I was unhappy not going to college. I figured most kids went to drink, party, or find their place in the world, and I had already found mine. Grandpa’s highest level of education was seventh grade, so I didn’t get any lectures from that front either. The only person who cared that I didn’t go was my high school English teacher, Mr. Mellar. He always lamented that I had too much potential to waste my life herding cows. I told him I’d read the cattle Shakespeare.

I hoisted myself out of the booth and left with a smile and a tip for Betty, my favorite waitress. The drive to Vince’s offices was quiet, letting me prepare myself for whatever he had in store for me. I had a dirty feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be nice. I found a spot right in front, squeezed the old rusty diesel in between two high-end vehicles. I felt a surge of pleasure imagining their owner’s dismay.
I’m bringing their property values down.

I shut my truck off, sat in silence for a moment and thought about the injustice. My stupid cousin’s barely had anything to do with my grandpa the entire time I’d lived with him and hadn’t even deigned to show up when his health declined. I’d seen them maybe once a year until they were old enough that the guilt trips my aunt laid on them were ineffective. And yet, there I was fighting them with money I didn’t have for a ranch they felt entitled to keep for themselves.
And it pissed me off.

I wished for a shot of whiskey to fortify myself with but settled for a deep breath and strode into the law office like I was walking into battle. Daureen, Vince’s eighty year old, purple-haired receptionist waived me through to his office with a smile, her reading glasses magnifying her watery blue eyes ten times their normal size.

Vince sat behind his large, simple oak desk hunting and pecking on a computer that looked older than I was. He was a dark, rugged man whose tan and lined face showed he had spent his fair share of days in the sun working instead of sitting in an office with his law books. His salt-and-pepper hair and warm, kind brown eyes hid the bulldog of a lawyer that he was.

He smiled sadly at me and shook my hand before waiving me to sit in front of his desk. “Mornin’ Shelby. How are you?”

“Honest? I’ll feel much better if you’ve got good news for me.”

He winced.

“Well, unfortunately talks between your cousins have stalled. They’re taking you to court.”

He looked genuinely sorry, even though, for him, there was more money to be made this way, money I couldn’t afford to give.
Shit.
I leaned forward and scrubbed my face roughly with my hands, trying to rub away the instant ache behind my eyes.

“What are my options, Vince?” I spoke into my hands.

“The best thing we can do for you at this point is to push for arbitration instead of taking this to court. It’s more relaxed than a trial and also less expensive for all parties.” He said this for my pride’s benefit, since he knew full well my cousin’s weren’t concerned about money, just me. “It also has the added advantage of getting this business over quicker than a trial.”

Something in his tone furthered my feelings of foreboding. “I don’t want to go to trial?”

He hesitated. “Well, I really don’t think you have anything to fear by going to trial, but let’s try to avoid that.”

His deadpan expression told me more than words.
Double shit.
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for my least favorite part of this visit.

“Vince? I was wondering if I could hold off paying you for a few weeks. I had to buy hay and I’m dipping down to critical levels as it is. I’ll be able to cover your fees after I sell my calves, though.”

He gave me a small smile. “Of course. I know you’re good for it. Don’t worry Shelby, I’m going to fight for you.” I knew he would, for my grandpa’s sake and mine.