silent as if waiting to see what happened next. Finally he decided he was alone, and resumed his progress to the spot where the animals had been fighting, the scrub brush pulling at his pant leg. If he’d been a fanciful man he might have thought it was trying to hold him back. If he’d still been a drunk, he might have thought it really was.
He stopped beside the coyotes’ prize and bent down to take a closer look. Rips up and down the fabric bore the animals’ tooth marks, but it was easy to tell it had been the sleeve of a dark green shirt. Black plastic buttons gleamed in the waning moonlight, and part of a cuff was still visible. A tattered scrap of fabric above the buttons flapped gently in the wind. The edge looked as though it’d been dipped in something dark and tacky. It could have been wood glue or maybe even honey, but he knew it wasn’t.
It was blood.
Leaving a dark trail behind them, the pups had dragged the material over the rocky soil from a place a dozen yards away. The path they’d taken was clear in the dim light, their paw prints muddying the way. He straightened and followed their trail. Behind him, he could hear the horse restlessly pawing at the ground, still nervous. His steps took him up the ridge and over a rocky stretch of barren desert. A low snarl brought him up short.
The pair of pups he’d seen had been routed from the real treasure and reduced to dragging away the leftovers. The true winner stood before him. Bristling with defensiveness, his snout still dripping, a much larger coyote glared at him with snapping eyes, the fur bristling along his back as he guarded his acquisition. A low growl started somewhere deep inside its chest and worked its way out, the animal baring its teeth as the sound escaped its throat.
He could have shot the animal and put an end to the confrontation, but he didn’t believe in that sort of thing. The coyotes had been in these parts a helluva lot longer than humans, and besides, they were generally harmless. At least toward people.
Holstering his weapon, King threw his hands into the air and flapped them at the coyote, stomping in the dirt and yelling “scat” half a dozen times before the animal followed the younger ones into the dark. When he was sure the coyote was really gone, he took a closer step and squatted in the dirt.
The head’s dead eyes stared back.
The rest of the body was nowhere in sight.
To be continued…
November, 2013 Follow the Cowboy by Kay David
About the Author
Kay David is the author of over thirty romantic suspense novels and holds degrees in behavioral psychology, computer science, and English literature. She has lived extensively overseas in exotic locales, including the Middle East and Latin America, but currently splits her time between Houston and Florida with her husband Pieter and her two Bengals, Jake and Elwood. Reading is her passion, and when she isn’t remodeling homes, running her business, or traveling, you’ll find her hidden in her sunroom with a stack of books and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Follow the Cowboy
About the Author