Ranch Hideout. Sandra Robbins

am. I’ll go find him now and tell him I’ve decided to go.”

      She pushed back from the table and strode to the door. Before she walked through it, she glanced back over her shoulder. Gwen still sat at the table, her brow furrowed and her eyes dark. For some reason Gwen didn’t look too pleased with her decision. A flicker of apprehension stabbed at her stomach, and she swallowed. No. I will not let fear rule my life, she decided. Then she squared her shoulders and headed out the back door.

      * * *

      Gabriel glanced at his watch as he ambled up to the barn. It was still thirty minutes until the time he’d told Liz he’d meet her there, and he wondered if she’d come. Even though he’d made some progress in gaining her friendship this morning, she hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance to go riding with him. He usually didn’t have trouble relating to people, but then, witnessing a grisly murder could cause anyone to be wary of the people around her.

      They’d had a good time this morning even if they were cleaning out stalls. He’d found he really missed the physical labor that it took to do a job like that, and he’d felt a sense of accomplishment when they’d finished. Now the horses had clean stalls and fresh shavings on the floor...until tomorrow. Then the job would have to be done again.

      He walked into the barn and looked around in hopes that Liz had already gotten there, but he didn’t see her. A noise in the far end of the alleyway attracted his attention, and he moved toward it. Dean stood inside the tack room cleaning a saddle. Gabriel stopped at the door and studied him briefly before he spoke.

      “Hi, Dean. Need any help?”

      “No, I’m fine. Are you going for that ride you asked me about this morning?”

      Gabriel glanced at his watch. “Yeah. I’m hoping that Liz will go with me, but she hasn’t shown up yet.”

      Dean came toward him, and Gabriel moved back so that Dean could step into the alleyway. “Where did you say you wanted to ride to?” Dean asked.

      “Rattlesnake Creek. From what I saw on your brochure, it looks like a beautiful place.”

      “It is, and it’s a nice ride up there.”

      A voice from behind startled Gabriel. “Do you need help saddling Buttermilk?”

      He peered over his shoulder at the young man, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, standing there. In his worn jeans, a Western shirt unbuttoned at the neck and boots, he looked like any other ranch hand Gabriel had seen since arriving. Dean turned and stared at him. “Bart, I thought you had the day off.”

      “That’s right,” Bart said, his eyes never leaving Gabriel’s face. “Didn’t have nothing to do. Thought I’d hang around here.”

      Dean looked back to Gabriel. “This is Bart Foster, one of our hands.”

      Gabriel stuck out his hand. “Gabriel Decker, Bart. Good to meet you.

      Bart gave a curt nod as he shook Gabriel’s hand, his steely gaze giving no sign of friendliness.

      A strong vibe of suppressed anger radiated from the young man. His eyes held no sparkle, and the closed-off expression on his face indicated that he trusted no one. Gabriel had seen it on so many other faces of nameless prison inmates before. It was as if all hope had been sucked from their lives, to be replaced by despair. He wondered what this boy’s story was.

      “So should I get Buttermilk?” the ranch hand asked.

      Gabriel shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to impose on you on your day off.”

      The boy shrugged. “No problem. She’s in the corral. I’ll round her up and throw a saddle on her.”

      As Bart turned to leave, the collar of his shirt opened farther to reveal the tattoo of a small fish on the side of his neck. Gabriel recognized it right away as a piranha, the symbol of a well-known gang that populated juvenile facilities. In places where the gang had a foothold, they thrived on putting fear in the inmates with the same fierceness that the tiny fish with razor-sharp teeth did in its victims. Even guards were afraid to stand against them.

      Bart caught sight of Gabriel’s eyes on his tattoo, and he lifted his chin challengingly. When Gabriel said nothing, Bart headed out the door. Gabriel frowned as he watched him go. When Bart stepped out of the barn, Gabriel glanced at Dean. “How long has Bart been working here?”

      “A few weeks,” Dean answered.

      “What do you know about him?”

      “Nothing really. He showed up here, a hungry kid who’d been drifting around the country. We get a lot of those through here, and I always try to help them out when I can. He’s a hard worker. Keeps to himself. I can’t help but believe he’s carrying a lot of baggage. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile since he’s been here. Reminds me of how my life was at one time.”

      Gabriel hesitated for a moment before he said anything. Then he decided Dean had a right to know what he’d just discovered. “Dean, you need to keep a watch on him and make sure your family keeps their distance. That tattoo on his neck is the insignia of the Piranha Gang, who thrive in juvenile facilities. They’re vicious and ruthless. Only trusted members are allowed to have the tattoo. So that means that at the very least, Bart was heavy into the gang at one time. It’s possible he still is.”

      Dean’s eyebrows arched. “Thanks for telling me, Gabriel. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

      They stood there silently staring in the direction that Bart had gone. One thing Gabriel knew was that once a Piranha member was out of juvie, it didn’t take long for the larger gangs in town to approach him. That could mean that Bart had already graduated to the next level and become a member of another gang. He wondered if Bart could now be tied to Shaw’s organization. It seemed suspicious that he’d shown up right around the time of Liz’s arrival. Yet on the other hand, if he was intent on attacking Liz, he wasn’t acting very quickly. It was a puzzle.

      Bart Foster could bear watching in the future, and he intended to do just that.