Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,63

to French onion soup and croissant sandwiches. The food was tasty, but Lexie’s anxiety had stolen her appetite. She ate out of politeness, forcing every bite.

“I’ve heard some buzz about your bull.” Casey hadn’t asked about Val today. Maybe because he already knew what the answer would be.

“What have you heard about Whirlwind?” Lexie sipped her Diet Coke.

“After that ninety-point ride in Albuquerque, the question folks are asking is, was it a flash in the pan or has he really got what it takes? The riders I talked to were anxious to try him.”

“So who won?” Lexie asked. “Who drew him?”

“None other than Carlos Machado.”

Lexie gasped. The Brazilian was a former world champion, in close contention for another title this year. He was currently in position number three—and he was taking a big chance. In a high-stakes sport where ranking was everything, a single great ride—or a buck-off—could make all the difference.

What if Whirlwind didn’t measure up?

Lexie stopped eating and shook her head. “I’m sorry. My stomach’s in knots. I won’t relax till the ride’s over.”

“I understand.” Casey helped himself to a chip on her plate. “You’ve got a lot of hope riding on that bull.”

“More than you know,” Lexie said. “Did you happen to notice which bull Shane drew?”

“Sorry, I forgot to check,” Casey said. “Anyway, I thought you’d written the guy off.”

“We gave it a second chance—and it seems to be working.” Lexie’s face warmed.

“So I see. You’re glowing. If it’s the real thing, I wish you all the happiness—and all the luck—in the world.”

Lexie gave him a smile. “Happiness I can manage. Luck—I’m going to need all I can get.”

She dismissed the brief, unforeseen chill that passed through her as she spoke. Nothing was going to happen on this beautiful day. Everything in her small, happy world was going to be fine.

* * *

Early Sunday morning, when Tess went out to check on the bulls, she saw that old Thunderbolt had died. He lay on his side in the middle of the pasture, the other bulls keeping their distance, as if frightened by something they didn’t understand.

The death was sad but not unexpected. Tess had known that the old bull’s days were numbered. But with Ruben, Aaron, and Lexie gone, the timing wasn’t the best. She would have to depend on the two boys to get the backhoe running and dig a grave in the pasture. If they couldn’t start the cursed machine, which hadn’t worked in months, it would mean long hours of shoveling.

Entering the pasture through the gate, she walked over to the body. Only then did she notice the swollen belly and the froth of white foam around the bull’s mouth. Her heart slammed. Thunderbolt hadn’t just dropped from old age. It appeared that he’d been poisoned.

As the sky paled to dawn, she struggled to make sense of the situation. Cattle on the range sometimes ate poisonous plants. But there were no poisonous plants in the pasture, and the other bulls seemed fine. What would Thunderbolt have eaten that the others didn’t?

Steeling herself, she leaned close to the dead bull’s mouth and breathed in the smell of the white foam. She straightened, stifling the urge to gag. Was it her imagination, or had her nose detected a faint metallic odor?

It was some kind of chemical poison. It had to be.

Aside from the grass in the pasture, the only other thing the bulls ate was the Total Bull supplemental feed, which came in sealed twenty-pound bags. The most recent supply, which Tess had picked up a few days ago at the freight office, was stacked in the feed shed.

The bulls were fed in the fenced paddock, with the food in black rubber tubs that were set out ahead of time, one for each bull. But if the feed had been poisoned, even by accident, why had only one bull been affected?

The two boys had come out of the bunkhouse to start their chores, which included feeding the bulls. Tess could hear their groans of dismay even before she turned and left the pasture to meet them.

In a few words, she told them what had happened. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” she said. “But I need to know exactly what happened the last time you fed the bulls. Did you open a new bag of feed?”

“We did,” Ryder said. “But there was another bag that was almost empty. There was just enough feed in it for one tub. So we used that one first. Then