The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [67]
The other’s voice was calm and reasonable. And things were precarious on the ranch right now. There was no way they could afford a lawyer. And the fact was, Travis’s behavior was strange. He started to open his mouth.
The click of a revolver’s barrel stopped him. Davis had leveled his gun at the two men; the hammer was cocked.
“Here’s a little lesson in the law,” Davis said. “You two are trespassing.”
Mitchell nodded. He had been about to give himself to these wolves, but whatever power their smooth words had on him evaporated. He pumped the rifle and sighted along its length.
“On the count of three, Davis.”
“One,” Davis said.
The dark-haired man held out a hand. “Davis, Mitchell—you must listen to me.”
Mitchell adjusted his grip on the rifle. “That’s Mr. and Mr. Burke-Favor to you.”
“Two,” Davis said.
“It is not wise to—”
“Three.”
In perfect unison, two fingers pulled, two peals of thunder sounded. The men in dark suits ducked as bullets flew scant inches above their heads.
“Just in case you’re wondering,” Davis said, his grin back at full strength, “we weren’t really trying to hit you. That time. Mitchell?”
They lowered the aim of their guns.
The men in black started to back away. The pale one clenched a fist, his mouth twisting in a knot of rage. “You are both going to regret this.”
Despite the tightness in his gut, Mitchell found himself grinning as madly as Davis.
“Bullshit I will,” he said.
This time the gunshots sent the two men running. They heaved open the doors of their SUVs and scrambled inside. Engines roared, and the two vehicles bounced off down the rutted road, columns of dust rising into the sky behind them.
Mitchell lowered his rifle. Davis was watching him, eyes clear and bright as the new morning sky.
“I’ll get breakfast started,” Davis said, and headed inside.
By the time the sun had fully risen, the hired hands had shown up, gathering in the ranch house’s rambling kitchen. There were just three today—although during calving, or when they were tagging and branding, there could be as many as a dozen. Davis served ham and eggs while Mitchell brewed several pots of hot, strong coffee. Occasionally, some of the men joked that real cowboy coffee was made from mud and water, not French roast. Then again, every one of them took a minimum of three refills.
While they ate, Davis flicked on a small television on the counter to catch the weather report on the Denver morning news. Mitchell would rather have listened to KCCR, the low-power Castle County radio station. He volunteered there one night a week, reading news and local advertisements just to keep his voice in practice. However, the hired men seemed to have formed a cult of worship around Anna Ferraro, the doe-eyed Channel 4 morning news anchor, so TV it was. They drooled into their eggs while they watched.
“It’s my turn to clean up,” Davis said when Mitchell started to wash out the frying pan.
Mitchell knew better than to argue. “I’ll get the boys going on the north fence line.”
The hired hands had already wandered outside, finishing their coffee. Mitchell helped them load the fence-mending equipment in the pickup, described what part of the fence to get started on, then told them he’d meet them later. There was room enough in the truck for him, but Mitchell felt like riding out to the fence line. Sometimes it was nice to forget cars, power tools, mortgages, and stock reports. When Mitchell rode across the ranch, letting the power lines slip out of view behind him, it wasn’t hard to imagine this was Colorado a hundred years ago. The wind and the sagebrush hadn’t changed.
But the world had. While things might have been less complicated a hundred years ago, they had been harder as well. What place would the world have held for him and Davis? All the same, there was a peace in riding. He sent the boys on their way, then turned and headed back into the ranch house for some sunscreen. Davis wouldn’t let him outside without it these days. Another concession to modernity, but cancer wasn’t pleasant in any century.
Mitchell stepped