While Tyler was out riding along the ranches perimeter road thinking about the fence he wanted to build, his grandmother awoke from a light sleep when the emergency lights in her bedroom kicked on with a loud click. It was two in the morning. The emergency lights came on when the house lost electrical power, something that happened occasionally, even with their own power supply.
Isabel sat up in her bed in confusion, then grabbed the phone off her nightstand when she heard a distant crash. She dropped the phone when she didn't hear a dial tone. She realized immediately that someone had cut the power and phone lines, and they were now in the house. Isabel calmly pushed the wireless panic button on the wall next to her bed. The panic button activated an alarm in the nine-one-one emergency center at the El Paso County Sheriff's Office, and also set off a siren at the home of the ranch manager. After activating the alarm she pulled open the drawer of her night stand, took out the antique Colt Peacemaker 45 caliber pistol that had once belonged to Ty Ringo, propped herself up against the headboard, and prepared to defend herself.
The elderly woman only had to wait a couple of minutes before the handle of her bedroom door started to move. She cocked the 45, steadied her wrist on her pulled up knees, and took aim at the door. The door eased open and an intruder wearing a ski mask pushed through it. The man grunted in surprise when he saw the frail looking old woman with the big pistol. It was the last sound he ever made as Isabel blasted a large hole in the center of his chest. Even though her bedroom was a large room, the noise of the Colt's report was deafening. Isabel ignored the ringing in her ears and pulled back the hammer again, just as two more men sprang through the door firing wildly with small MAC-10 full automatic pistols. She managed to squeeze off one more round before the world turned black.
Reuben Graves, the ranch manager, and his family lived in a house about a half mile from the hacienda. Graves had worked on the ranch for thirty-seven years and ran the business side of the operation. He'd started work there right out of high school as a ranch hand. Isabel had seen something in the young cowboy, so she made him the assistant of the previous ranch manager, and paid for him to attend business classes at the local junior college. Isabel McGuinn was like a mother to him.
When the alarm from the hacienda went off, Reuben had immediately tried to call Isabel on the land line telephone. The phone went unanswered, so he jumped out of bed, flung on his clothes and ran out to his truck. He arrived at the hacienda just as a black Chevy Suburban roared away, spewing gravel in its wake. Reuben quickly forgot about the truck speeding down the drive, when he noticed the flames flickering through the flung open front door of the hacienda. Reuben burst through the open doorway just as the fire protection sprinklers activated and quickly doused the fire. Reuben dashed through the spray from the sprinklers and skidded to a stop at the door of Isabel's room. What he saw staggered him. He sagged against the door frame and grabbed his cell phone.
Tyler was near pump jack twenty-three on the southeastern corner of his property eight or nine miles from the hacienda, when his Nextel alerted. He pulled the phone off of its clip and answered it. The caller was Reuben Graves, his manager and the last person Ty would expect to call this early in the morning.
"Boss, you need to get back to the house right now, it's Miss Isabel and it's bad, very, very bad," Reuben sobbed.
Tyler put his radio away and spurred Lola to a gallop towards the hacienda. He flipped down his night vision goggles and concentrated on keeping Lola and him out of trouble while she effortlessly burned up the miles back to the house. Reuben's short message, delivered with such emotion, had Tyler very worried. Worse, Reuben signed off to call the sheriff and now Tyler was unable to raise him on the two-way or cell phone.
It took him forty agonizingly long minutes to reach the house. Ty gaped in alarm at the circus occurring around his home. The circular driveway in front of the hacienda was jammed with every description of emergency vehicle. Some of his ranch hands were angrily milling around beyond the edge of the drive, being kept at bay by a couple of deputies. He slid Lola to a stop near his cowboys and sprang from her back. He handed the reins to one of his men.
"What's going on, Petey?" he asked one of the cowboys.
Pete Colon was the ranch foreman, the man who supervised the twenty or so cowboys who worked the ranch. He was a tall rangy man the same age as Ty. The two men were very distantly related and had grown up together. Pete was the fifth generation of Colons to work on the ranch, his great-great grandfather Jose had been the ranch's very first foreman back in the late 1800s. Isabel had hired Pete fifteen years ago, right out of prison, a place in which he'd spent eight of his first twenty-five years. Isabel waved off her oldest grandson's warning that Pete was a bad egg. Hard work and tough love turned out to be exactly what Pete had needed, and he quickly worked his way to lead drover, then foreman.
"Don't know, Ty, Barney Fife and sugar-britches here ain't telling us squat. Reuben is sitting over there on the back of an ambulance, wearing an oxygen mask, but they won't let us near him. I ain't seen Abuela either, and that worries the shit out of me," Pete replied.
Ty nodded and started towards the house for his answers. The pretty female deputy that Pete referred to as 'sugar-britches', held up her hand and stopped him.
"You can't go in there, cowboy, this is a crime scene."
Tyler took a calming breath and identified himself.
"My name is Tyler McGuinn, Deputy, this is my house and my family is in it. Call your supervisor out here, because in about a minute, you are going to have to shoot me to keep me out."
The deputy looked chagrined at the man, knowing what he was about to face. She nodded curtly and radioed into the house for her sergeant.
"Sergeant Steadman, I have a Mister McGuinn out here, he claims to be the owner of the house."
Detective Sergeant Ernie Steadman heaved a tired sigh and acknowledged the call. This was the part of the job that really sucked. He hated being the person stuck with relaying bad news. To make matters worse, he'd known Ty McGuinn since the eighth grade, and had served with him in the National Guard.
"I'll be right there, Mendez, ask him to stay with you on the porch until I arrive, please."
Megan Mendez surreptitiously checked out McGuinn while they waited for the detective. She had to admit that she liked what she saw. McGuinn was well over six feet tall, slim but broad shouldered. He had short dark brown hair and amazing light brown eyes the same color as Smokey Topaz. He wasn't Hollywood handsome, but his facial features were attractively strong and masculine. Megan had a weakness for strong quiet cowboys. She guessed that had something to do with always being surrounded by overly loud and macho cops at work. She noticed he was wearing a wedding ring and wondered if one of the Vics was his wife.
Mendez cleared her throat and apologized for the manner in which she stopped him from entering the house. He gave her a wan smile.
"You were just doing your job, Deputy Mendez; I can't fault you for that."
Before Mendez could reply, Detective Steadman walked out onto the porch. Ty knew by the man's grim expression that the news wasn't good. The two men shook hands and exchanged greetings, then Steadman delivered his devastating report.
"Ty, I hate like a son-of-a-bitch to be the one to have to tell you this. Someone broke into your house and Miss Isabel apparently challenged them when they came into her room. She defended herself with an antique pistol and they killed her. It appears, though, that she shot at least one of her assailants. The intruders also sexually assaulted and killed a woman your foreman identified as Lupe Martinez, then they attempted to set the house on fire. Mister Graves passed out when he was providing the positive ID for Missus McGuinn and Miss Lopez. The paramedics are treating him for shock right now."
Every word out of Steadman's mouth caused Ty to wince; the words were like punches in the stomach. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry, but he steeled himself and asked a question instead.
"What kind of savages could have done a thing like this, Ernie? Abuela and Lupe didn't have an enemy in the world."
Steadman shrugged and framed a cautious reply.
"Who knows? You will need to conduct an inventory to see if anything is missing, particularly guns and jewelry. The way it went down is suspiciously like the home invasions we normally associate with the barrios over in South El Paso."
Steadman frowned and asked a question of his own.
"Where were you tonight, anyway?"
"Riding my fence line, trying to keep the illegals from destroying my ranch," Ty replied.
Tyler's declaration jogged Steadman's memory, and he recalled that Ty was the rancher who detained some drug smugglers a few months ago. Steadman hadn't worked the case, because the feds quickly claimed jurisdiction. That recollection changed Detective Steadman's perspective of the crimes committed that night. He debated with himself about sharing his new theory with Ty, and decided that the man needed to know, so he would take steps to protect himself if the theory had any validity.
"I think I see why this crime scene looks gang related. Ty, it could be that the drug smugglers you busted a couple of months ago came here tonight, looking to extract some revenge. You were probably the intended target tonight, but when you weren't here, your grandmother and Miss Lopez were probably killed as a message to you."
Ty stood there looking blankly at Steadman as his mind processed what the detective had conjectured. Steadman's theory had the feel of being correct to Ty, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
Steadman backed up a step and held up a placating hand when he saw Ty's jaw muscles knot up.
"Whoa, I'm just tossing out guesses right now, Ty. We need to collect evidence and do some investigation before I'm willing to go on record with that motive. I mentioned that so you would know to protect your self," Steadman explained.
Ty McGuinn knew Ernie was right, so he clamped down on his anger. Just as he brought himself under control, Deputy Mendez's radio crackled to life. She stepped a few feet from the detective and McGuinn, and spoke briefly into the microphone clipped to her left epaulet. Then she stuck her head inside the door and called over one of the paramedics that had responded to the nine-one-one call. After a brief whispered conversation, the medic nodded, snatched up her aid bag and bolted out the door.
Ty looked at the paramedic as she curiously hustled by him.
"What now?" he asked Mendez.
"Deputy Patton found a big dog around the side of the house by the electric panel. It's been shot, but is still alive."
Ty nodded grimly. The dog was Ringo, a Catahoula Leopard Dog bred on the family's other ranch up in Wyoming. Whoever shot Ringo had done it out of meanness, because the big goofy hound was the friendliest animal in the world.
It took the emergency created by the shot dog to get Ty moving. He suddenly realized he had a hundred things to do and he needed help doing them. He flipped open his phone and called the private number of the first person he thought of, the family's trusted lawyer and friend, Nick Owens.
Nick groggily answered the phone, but snapped wide awake when Ty identified himself and broke the news of his grandmother's death. Nick sat up in bed in stunned disbelief as Ty filled in the details. By then, Nick's wife Charlotte was awake, looking at him inquisitively. Nick coved the mouth-piece of the phone and answered her unvoiced question.
"Isabel McGuinn and her assistant were murdered during a break in. Ty is going to need our help."
Charlotte slipped out of bed and shrugged on her robe.
"I'll wake up Amanda and put on a pot of coffee," she said.
Nick bobbed his head in agreement and turned his full attention back to the phone.
"I'll have someone there within the hour to give you a hand, Ty. Meanwhile, secure your ranch the best you can. I doubt those cretins will try anything else so soon but those gang-bangers are crazy, so you can't be too careful."
Ty agreed with Nick, so as soon as he hung up, he walked back over to Pete.
The news of Isabel's murder angered Pete as much as it did Ty.
"I'll kill the sorry bastards what done this, Tyler," he vowed, tears flowing unashamedly down his ruddy cheeks.
Ty's next phone call was to his brother. RJ was in Monaco where it was nine in the morning, negotiating with members of OPEC who were interested in leasing patented McGuinn refining technology.
At fifty-four, Raymond Lopez McGuinn, Junior, was the prototypical, bigger than life, Texas oilman. He was a shrewd business man and a flamboyant showman. Traveling with RJ was his second wife, Tiffany. Tiffany was a former Miss Texas, twenty years his junior. Everything about Tiffany McGuinn was as perfect as a team of the best plastic surgeons in America could make them. Rumor had it that RJ happily invested a quarter of a million dollars in upgrades for his stunning wife.
RJ was shocked and saddened by Isabel's demise. RJ wasn't as close to his grandmother as Ty, but he had loved the old woman very much.
"I'll contact the pilots and have them fuel up the Gulf Stream, we should be back home in about twelve hours. We'll go to the house first to drop off our bags, then drive over to see you. You hang tough until I get there my brother, understand?"
Pete walked away from Ty and scrubbed the tears off his cheeks with his big callused hands. He stopped in front of the six curious cowboys with whom he'd been standing, and gave them the news. There were only six people at the ranch that night, because it was payday Friday, and this bunch had drawn weekend duty while everyone else in the bunkhouse scattered to the four winds. Pete would call in some of the married hands who lived off the ranch first thing in the morning.
"Fellas, it breaks my heart to tell you this, but some son-of-a-bitch shot and killed Miss Isabel and Miss Lupe tonight. The lawmen think it had something to do with them illegals Mister McGuinn caught who were carrying all that cocaine. The law also figures that they might come back for another crack at the boss. So here's what we are going to do..."
Peter Joseph Colon, like his employer Ty McGuinn, was sixth generation Tex-Mex. As such, his family tree was a crazy quilt of Spanish and Anglo, with a dash of Buffalo Soldier thrown in for good measure. As foreman of the ranch, Pete was in charge of all aspects of the ranching operation. He worked closely with Reuben Graves who managed the business side of things, including the truck stop and oil wells.
Pete was proud of the autonomy the McGuinns gave him in doing his job. Not once had Ty or Miss Isabel ever usurped his authority, even though they owned the ranch. Of course, a big reason for that was because Pete lived and breathed for the huge Rancho de Los Angeles, he loved the ranch as much if not more than his employers loved it.
One of Pete's responsibilities was hiring drovers and other ranch hands, and Pete had a knack for that. His time in prison had helped him hone an insight into people. That skill let him know within minutes of starting the interview if the person was right for the job Pete had to fill. Pete was not a traditionalist when it came to who he hired; his only consideration was how that person could help the ranch. Consequently, he had an eclectic mish-mash of race and gender.
For instance, his best 'cowboy' was actually a woman named Stella Woodson, although everyone called her Woody. Woody was six-two and weighed about one sixty, with short, curly, dirty blond hair and wide spaced emerald green eyes. Woody was attractive, despite her best efforts, but the men on the ranch would never let on that they thought so, lest she lose her temper and kicked their ass. She could out work, out cuss, and out fight any man on the ranch.
Woody also had a permit to carry a concealed firearm, although she opted to wear a big-assed 357 magnum Colt Python on her large, but shapely, hip. Stella had been a police officer over in New Mexico once, but had resigned after cold-cocking her sergeant when the man tried to get frisky with her. So it was only natural that Pete looked to her first.
"Woody, I want you to keep an eye on the boss so trouble don't find him unawares. Stick to him like flypaper, and if he moans about it, tell him you're following my orders."
Stella grinned and flipped him a little salute off the brim of her straw Stetson as she strode off to find Ty. Even under these awful circumstances, Stella was pleased with the assignment. That's because she had secretly been in love with Tyler McGuinn for the year and a half she'd worked here. Stella was tough and independent, but certain men drew her like bears to honey. Ty was all those men in one sweet, sad package.
Pete sent two of the men who had been asleep in the bunk house down to the main entrance to the ranch.
"Slim, you and Dusty come over to my office and draw a couple of shotguns. Then I want you to drive the dually down to the gate and secure it. Don't let anyone in unless me or the boss okays it."
He then sent the two men who had been on night wrangler duty to the gate by the truck stop. That gate was much sturdier than the fancy wrought iron main entrance, so he told them to chain it up and turn in for the night.
Pete gave the remaining cowboy, a fresh-faced kid right out of high school, the job of taking Ringo over to the emergency vet's office on Lee Trevino Boulevard. The paramedics had Ringo stabilized and said the old boy would probably pull thru. Pete sincerely wanted just that to happen, because there had been enough sadness already.
When all his cowboys took off to perform their tasks, Pete drove his pickup back to his office. His office had a small bedroom attached to it, but he seriously doubted he'd get much sleep any time soon.
Amanda Owens Martin pulled up to the ornate main entrance to the McGuinn ranch just before five in the morning. It had taken her a little longer than the hour her father promised Ty, but she needed to pack a bag so she could stay at the ranch for a few days if necessary. She also had to swing by the office and pull Isabel and Lupe's folders.
She was actually happy to see the two ranch hands manning the entry, a big white pickup truck with the ranch's logo on the front doors pulled across the road behind the closed gates. She was glad Ty had taken her father's advice. A quick radio call to the ranch foreman, and she was on her way. She followed the curvy paved road as it weaved its way towards the house. Amanda remembered when the road was straight as an arrow and boring to boot until Cora Leigh had it reconfigured. Cora Leigh had an artistic eye and the energy of three normal people. No wonder her death had so devastated Ty.
A big woman in faded Levi's, checkered shirt and well worn cowboy boots met her at the door of the hacienda. The woman professionally eyed Amanda up and down before stepping out of the doorway and allowing her to enter the house. As Amanda squeezed past her, she couldn't help but notice the big pistol in a small holster hanging from the leather belt threaded through her jeans. Without a word, the big woman ushered her into the large airy kitchen. Ty was sitting at the breakfast bar, staring unfocusedly at a pad of paper in front of him. He looked up and gave her a wan smile.
"Thanks for coming over Mandy, I know I have a ton to do, but I can't think well enough to figure out where to start."
Amanda gave him a hug and swung her briefcase up onto the bar.
"It's no problem Ty; I'll be here as long as you need me. I'm so sorry about Isabel, my parents and I loved her very much."
Ty gulped and nodded his head, his eyes tearing up again at the mention of Abuela's name. Then he remembered his manners.
"Thanks Mandy. Have you met Stella yet? Stella is my guardian angel. Stella, this is Amanda, my attorney and the little sister I never had."
Stella's cheeks colored slightly when her boss called her his guardian angel, but she liked that idea very much. She took another look up and down the woman before her, this time her gaze was more private than professional. Stella sensed she wasn't the only woman in the room with feeling for the Boss.
Ty's lawyer was, for sure, easy on the eye. She was cute rather than beautiful, with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, shiny blue eyes and a turned up nose. Stella guessed the woman was about five-three; she was slender, but all the girly parts were in the right spots. She was wearing a denim skirt that ended a few inches above her knees, and a pink blouse with a white cardigan over it to ward off the desert night chill. Her legs were bare and tanned with sensible loafers adorning her small feet.
Stella pushed away from the counter she was leaning against and in two long strides, closed the gap between them. She stopped an intimate foot in front of the woman, stuck out her hand and looked down at the attorney.
"Nice to meet you," she said.
Amanda's eyebrows arched up slightly at the soft, silky quality of the big woman's voice. The voice and easy smile eased the intimidation caused by Stella's imposing physique. She lightly shook the big proffered hand.
"Likewise," Amanda replied.
After the introductions, Amanda helped herself to a mug of coffee and sat down next to Ty, as Stella resumed her post leaning against the center island countertop. Amanda listened sympathetically as he reminisced about his grandmother and Lupe. She agreed with him when he railed about the injustice of their deaths. Amanda didn't grow uncomfortable, until Tyler started to angrily vow his revenge. Before he became too agitated and emotional, she took a couple of Alprazolam caplets out of her purse and sat them on the breakfast bar next to his coffee cup.
"Take these, Tyler," she said gently, "they'll help you relax. You need to catch a few hours sleep before your family starts arriving."
To her relief, Ty took the pills uncomplainingly.
Ty swallowed the pills, grateful that Amanda had broken his revenge rant. He realized that in his current emotional state, he was liable to say something in front of the women that might come back to bite him on the ass.
"What do we do next?" he asked.
Amanda opened her briefcase and pulled out a couple of folders.
"Isabel and Lupe both left detailed instructions for their internment with their wills. At a decent hour later today, I will start executing their wishes. I will need you to take care of a few details regarding notifying Lupe's family, but that is about it."
A visibly more relaxed Ty nodded and covered his mouth to stifle a yawn, the alprazolam already kicking in. It only took a little urging from Amanda and Stella to get him up and headed towards his bedroom. Ty obediently waited outside the door as Stella gave the room a final check before letting him in. The sheriff's deputies had already searched the place once, but Stella needed to confirm the room's safety for herself.
The sun was just starting to peek over the Guadeloupe Mountains when a suddenly exhausted Ty crawled into his bed. He was bone weary, but it took a few minutes for his brain to wind down enough for him to fall asleep. He used those minutes to start formulating his revenge against the drug dealers responsible for Isabel and Lupe's deaths. Ty's days of listless lethargy after Cora Leigh passed away were over. He had a focus now and a purpose in life. He would, he vowed to his grandmother's spirit, hunt down and bring to justice everyone involved in her death. He'd clean them out, top to bottom, regardless of the danger or cost.