*** Holy cow! I'm back! It's been a rough week, but now we should return to our regularly scheduled program ;) ***

*** Mary discovers the interesting scenery on the ranch, but things are not as copacetic for other denizens. And another marshal? Do tell! ***

"Marshal... watch out for him, he's plum loco."

- Hang 'Em High

-o-o-

"Not a hard man to track. Leaves dead men where ever he goes."

- The Outlaw Josey Wales

"I think we have a problem." Carter's statement preceded him as he pushed into Brad's office, not bothering to knock. The large man hovered near the door, wiping sweat off his brow with a forearm as he pulled off his hat.

Brad didn't look up, continuing to squint at the screen on his laptop. Finally tapping a few keys, he rumbled a reply, "The last thing I want to hear from you right now is 'we have a problem.'" He quirked an eyebrow at Carter with an annoyed glance. "I'm assuming that since I can smell you, you aren't capable of handling it on your own?"

Carter flared his nostrils in anger at the dig. "There's nothing to handle…yet. And if you had your goddamn head in the game you might have heard about it sooner than I did."

The hum of the air conditioner barely concealed the sound of Brad sucking his teeth in annoyance as he slowly steepled his fingers over chest. He tapped his index fingers against pursed lips, seemingly considering Carter's criticism. Carter shifted his weight nervously as Brad's silence continued, feeling compelled to amend his statement.

"Christ, Brad," he began with a sigh, "you still haven't been out to the tunnel to finalize Sunday's drop, we've got fifteen new guests and I'm still short my summer staff, and I've been holding Garcia's boys at arm's length for as long as I can. They want to see you…yesterday. I told you expanding was a shitty idea. We need you out there, not in here checking your fucking stock options." He had begun to slowly pace in front of Brad's desk. The taller man stood and Carter halted; senses perked as if prey.

"Listen, DuBois." Brad leaned forward to rest his knuckles on the desk between them. "I pay you for a great number of things. Hell, I even pay you well for a few things. But I certainly don't pay you to come into my office stinking like a sow in heat and dare to tell me my fucking business!" His reddened face and aggressive feint towards the other man punctuated his words.

Carter took a step back and held his hands up in surrender. He could still feel the ache in his shoulder from the last time he incurred the taller man's anger. There would be time for them to have it out, man to man, but now…"Easy. It's stressful for everyone right now. The heat doesn't help. Just…I got it." He waited for Brad's face to fade to a shade less flammable before attempting to circle back to his original intent for this visit.

"Parker called today. He suspects the feds are back in town." Carter slowly slid his hands into his pockets and watched Brad's reaction.

Brad snorted as he opened a drawer to pull out a pack of cigarettes. "Parker's a fuck up. When he's not drunk he's stupid." He cracked the window before lighting up, resting a hip on the windowsill so the smoke was drawn out. "The only reason the Sheriff allows him to wear the badge is so Parker's sister will keep putting out."

Carter huffed a short chuckle in agreement, but shook his head anyway. "I don't know. Parker's been boffing that sweet young thing at the Circle K on 66 and 1st, and she told him a fella's been in a couple times this last week. She spotted a badge and a piece and doesn't recognize him. Tall guy with a hat and sunglasses." He shrugged and waited.

Brad stared out the window at the main barn as he took a long drag on his cigarette. "Fuck", he grumbled, lost in thought. He watched the heat waves ripple across the riding corral, turning the dusty ring into a virtual brown pond with docks of jumps and bales of straw. July heat in early May, and Brad wondered if the Indians would say it portended feast or famine; life or death…or an excuse to open the casino a few hours earlier. He sighed in irritation and mashed the now smoked butt into the window sill before flicking it out the window.

"Look," he said, stretching as he stood. "The feds don't have shit. They didn't have shit months ago, and they don't have shit now. We're not the only game this side of the Rio Grande, Garcia's crew is tighter than a trussed up virgin, and nothing's changed in our operation to…" he trailed off as his eyes shifted to focus on the wall behind Carter.

Carter narrowed his eyes as Brad stilled. "What?"

Shaking himself out of his brief reverie, Brad frowned and pointed a finger at Carter. "Tell Parker to run a check on everyone we've hired in the last thirty days. Plus any guests…including the current ones. And see if he can get some surveillance videos from that Circle K."

Grabbing his hat and settling it on his head, Carter pushed questions aside until he watched Brad step over to dig through one of the desk drawers for a ring of keys. "What are you doing?"

"I suddenly feel like I need some quality family time," Brad growled, an unfriendly smile sliding onto his face.

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Mary blew yet another damp piece of hair off her forehead as the group of wanna-be cowgirls ambled into the stables; a gingham clad flock enthusiastically following their slightly bowlegged leader with murmurs of appreciation and shared leers. Not that Mary was studying the physique of the wrangler assigned to the task of corralling the women into the main barn. The very broadly built wrangler with forearms seemingly sculpted in steel and a rough southern drawl that made her salivate. He moved in a way she recognized, but couldn't quite put her finger on; effortless, but hinting at strength and speed which could be called on at moment's notice. Contained. Potentially lethal. The way a man moved when he knew what he was capable of; what he could do with his body…his hands…As he stopped and turned in a doorway, resting on elbow on a low wall, her mind handed her the similarity with a wink and a nod: Marshall.

"I am not drooling over my partner," she reprimanded herself with a disgusted snort, followed by a cough as the group stopped, their collective dust cloud catching up with them.

"I hope I brought enough clothes," Diane said irritably next to her. "It's mid morning and I already need a shower. Jesus…" She elbowed Mary in the ribs as their guide jumped up onto a small crate to see them all. "Although, the view is worth every grimy minute."

Mary sidestepped with the contact, shooting a glare in Diane's direction. "Picked your Marlboro Man to mount, then?"

Diane looked over with a crooked grin and challenge. "Maybe. Why? You want a shot at him?"

Mary studied the woman next to her for moment. Almost as tall as herself, Diane sported a head of wild, spiky red hair and a face full of freckles. Full bodied, but toned, the other woman reminded Mary of pictures of farm families and milk maids. "I haven't seen him ride yet," she said, cocking an eyebrow in return volley.

Their fledgling duel was interrupted by the disputed man as he cleared his throat and raised his hand for their attention.

"I'd say, 'howdy,' but I tend to follow that with a 'y'all' and that just sounds stupid, so I'll stick with 'hi.'" He paused to allow the women the expected chuckle, confident in his spiel. "My name is Eliot, and I'm one of the senior ranch hands here at the Circle R." Eliot continued to introduce his role, the expectations of his position and what he was going to do for the women during the rest of the morning. Mary kept ears tuned to the information, but her eyes darted around the interior of the large barn in order to assess and catalogue entrances, exits and positions of vulnerability.

One of three stables on ranch property, this was by far the largest, being the main facility for housing horses and all the myriad of equipment that accompanied them. She tried to mentally review the names and purposes of the variety of acoutrements she would use to decorate her beast, Marshall having attempted to educate her on the topic, but Eliot's husky voice and the attention of a barn cat scattered academic thoughts.

Mary squatted down to pet the demanding calico and studied the barn from its point of view. The high windows allowed the sun to stream into the building, producing a glittering layer of dust motes near the floor and giving one of the long, empty corridors a nearly ethereal look; its stalls possibly holding mythical creatures rather than the mundane brown horses you'd expect. The nickers and whinnies from the occupied stalls were punctuated by the echo of hooves on packed dirt, and Mary inhaled slowly to identify familiar scents; fresh hay, musk and manure. For a moment, she could understand the desire to immerse oneself this nearly timeless world. It seemed simpler, unhurried.

Her musings were cut short as the group began to shift and murmur, and Mary stood while shooing the cat away, refocusing on the here and now. Eliot was taking them to the main tack room and Mary smiled. It was time to find out if her cavalier partner really knew what he proclaimed to; 'an accomplished horseman when I was younger' indeed.

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Brad let himself into Sheryl's apartment, sure there was no one home. The kids were in school and his sister-in-law had another hour on her morning shift before she'd return to eat and sleep. Perfect. As appointed landlord to the on-site staff's duplex apartments, Brad knew his presence amongst the cluster of old soapstone buildings would barely register if a resident were to notice him. The hum of a dozen swamp coolers masked any noise he would make, and it would be presumed he was there to repair yet another leaky faucet or jammed garbage disposal.

A dark, cool interior greeting him as he slipped into the family room, and Brad squinted to adjust his eyes and formulate a plan of attack. He had been in the house often enough, birthdays and holidays demanding his presence at lackluster celebrations, but he had seldom paid enough attention to the personal lives of his brother's family to know if anything he saw now was out of the ordinary.

Plucking a framed picture off the entryway table, he studied the photo of the happy family with a frown. "Gary, you fool. Just had to go fuck things up, didn't you?" Brad muttered into the gloom, remembering his brother's misguided actions. A clock chimed the hour, startling him, and he returned the picture to get down to business.

Starting in the kitchen, he began to rummage through the pile of paid bills and magazines that Sheryl kept in trays next to the computer wedged into a small alcove between the pantry and the refrigerator. There were hints of an organized system, but Brad quickly grew frustrated with the random pieces of junk mail and community college brochures stuffed into the mix. Stupid bitch thinks she's going to get educated? Mesalands was on the far side of town and Sheryl didn't have a car. He be damned if she thought he'd let her rearrange her schedule for classes and travel.

He had never liked Sheryl Perez. Not only for the fact that her family was too few generations off the rez, but her presence had upset a burgeoning business plan which could've turned him into a millionaire. He and Gary would've owned this dump by now; be raising Arabians and Derby winners rather than trail horses and dried up cattle. There wouldn't have been any guests. No puling, needy city dwellers that didn't know the ass end of a horse when it shit on them. No. There would've been investors. Clients with deep pockets and thick wallets. He would've been respected…kowtowed to. A king of his own domain. Instead, he was a jester. Playing cowboy and butler to Whitehorse's idea of a dream. All because Gary didn't want to sully his wife and children with "risky" business deals. Had laid loyalty to blood aside for a piece of ass and a squalling kid.

Brad cursed under his breath as he stuffed the papers back into the bins, anger fueling anxiety and making him sloppy. Pawing at the computer, he turned it on and waited impatiently for it to boot up as he gazed around the small kitchen. Crayoned pictures stuck to the fridge, boxes of cereal lined up neatly on the counter, a little row of hand towels tucked into the handle of the oven. The domesticity of the scene turned his stomach as it only reminded him of his brother's stupidity…of his own downfall.

"God damned leeches," he hissed. The only reason they were still around was for appearances. Gary's vanishing act wasn't far enough into the past for community sympathy to have died down, and Brad certainly didn't need any curious eyes pointed his direction were more of his family to mysteriously disappear. But the time of grace was coming to an end, and his tightly clenched fist of hospitality would soon be withdrawn.

The computer sang a welcome and he pulled a chair over to begin his search. His gut had been in a quasi-knot since the day Sheryl had asked him about the girls she saw in the river by the cattle crossing two months ago. He was sure his explanations and threats had quelled any desire she might have to investigate further…or tell anyone, but she had been acting oddly the past few weeks. Distracted and unnervingly confident. Not the usual abasing behavior he was used to and it had been unsettling. He had ignored it for too long, it seemed, and now he was sickeningly certain there was a connection between Sheryl and the mystery man in town. He just needed to find it. Needed an excuse to rid himself of the parasites.

Twenty minutes later he was swearing at the screen as he threw the mouse down. Nothing. Benign emails and Word documents regarding school fund raisers and a few ridiculously worded short stories. All her favorited internet sites either expounded on the next great recipe or were gossipy journals where she would coo over celebrities, and she had erased all her search history. He hadn't expected that. Another tendril of unease meandered into his consciousness as he reached for the power button; she could be smart enough to cover her tracks. Shit.

Brad stood quickly, realizing he needed to do more than just poke into a few drawers and skulk about computer files. He needed a little help and knew just the man for the job. The chair legs had barely ceased to scrape against the floor when a small sound froze him in his tracks: keys in a lock.

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"All the horses are well acquainted with riders of all shapes and sizes…and temperament." Eliot's drawl kept the women's attention as he led them down the main corridor of the barn, strolling backwards to keep them all in view. He watched their reactions as the horses stuck their heads out of their stalls to investigate the interlopers; looked for nervous behaviors that would require extra TLC. "They're working horses and they truly enjoy their jobs, but they expect you to take the reins. Don't expect to sit in the saddle and just enjoy the scenery, ladies. You and your horse are going to have to work together, so you'll have to get to know each other. Communicate."

His gaze lingered on a tall blonde who eyed a nickering mare with a hint of fear. Made a mental note to spend a little one-on-one time with the lovely lady and her mount, and smiled at the prospect of potential overtime. By now, individuals in the group had noticed name tags on the stalls, and soon all the women were actively hunting for their new equine partners. Eliot turned his attention to wandering amidst the chattering guests, answering questions and offering advice as how to best meet and greet. The horses were excited; old hats at the game and curious.

Mary slowly approached the stall designated with her name. A dark gray head appeared over the door, and as she closed the distance between them the horse tossed its head with a snort and a stomp. Mary stopped and stared, chewing on her bottom lip and crossing her arms over her chest. It was a beautiful horse; dark charcoal gray with a generous dusting of white splotches on its chest and shoulders. Big. And it stared back at her with a glint of mischief in its eye, she was sure.

"You know I already have a partner who makes me crazy, right?" she asked the nodding animal. "I don't need any more shit. The back-up piece is loaded…just remember that."

"He won't bite." Eliot's voice startled her, and Mary worried for a moment he may have overheard.

"The hell he won't," she replied.

"Okay. He won't bite if you don't give him reason to," Eliot acquiesced. "But he's waiting for you to come over so he can smell you. Meet you. If you're afraid of him he'll be able to tell and it's going to make your week fairly miserable. So pretend you're not." He smiled at her and Mary glared.

"Something that large shouldn't be that skittish," she said on a sigh, "and every horse I've ever met has had the manners of a toddler."

Eliot narrowed his eyes with a grin. "And you came to a dude ranch because…"

Mary jutted her chin forward. "My therapist recommended it…and my boss oh so cheerfully agreed."

"Ah," he replied with a grimace. "Well, let's just make the best of it. You'll like Marshal. He's got some spirit, but he knows how to sit back and let someone else take charge."

Mary's stomach flipped slightly as she caught Eliot's words, slightly distracted by the horse's actions. Did he know?

"What did you say about marshals?" She squinted at him, on alert.

Eliot chuckled and gestured at the gray. "The horse…your horse. His name is Marshal."

Mary just stared at him for a minute in stunned silence before barking a laugh. "Of course it is."

*** Who wants Eliot to be their personal wrangler? ooo ooo...me! Somehow, I'm thinking Brad's not the wholesome, upstanding BIL he portrays himself to be. And now he's caught...but by whom? Now, you *know* Mary's going to use her horse's name to her best advantage don't you? Oh, yes you do! :D Please REVIEW! Let me know you're still here! ***