Chapter Six #3
Case sat at his oak desk in his home office, the leather of his chair creaking as he leaned forward and opened the MDOL site.
The blue glow of the screen illuminated as he signed in, then entered the name Wilbur Cummings and hit search.
If the man had a record of abusing animals, he’d make damn sure those horses never felt the sting of that man’s whip again, but if he didn’t have a record, Case was going to feel like a first-class ass for taking them.
The screen loaded, pixel by pixel, until the truth stared back at him in stark black and white; nothing came up on the man.
“You shouldn’t have taken them after you found out what he’d been through,” he muttered, his voice rough as sandpaper in the quiet room. “But how could you know?”
He couldn’t have. All he saw was a man’s arm raised high, leather whip slicing through the air, and a chestnut gelding with wild, white-rimmed eyes, his coat slick with sweat as he reared in panic.
He knew in his gut he did the right thing.
Hell, any other agent with a badge and a conscience would have done the same.
Closing the computer with a definitive click, he pushed his chair back, the wheels rolling across the hardwood floor.
He stood, stretched until his spine popped, then headed for a hot shower, steam already beckoning him from down the hall.
It had been a long damn day, the kind that settled into your bones.
He’d spent hours on the phone, his ear practically numb, talking to auction houses from Billings to Bozeman, telling them to keep an eagle eye out for the horse.
They assured him they would, voices firm with professional courtesy, and he knew they would.
They worked hand-in-glove with MDOL and kept watch for stolen livestock like hawks circling a field.
Anytime a stolen animal appeared in the auction, they immediately called MDOL, the phone lines humming with urgency.
Most times, they’d try to keep the person who brought the horse occupied with paperwork and small talk until agents could arrive in their government-issue trucks.
It didn’t always play out neat and tidy because once they knew the animals were scanned, they disappeared faster than morning dew under the July sun.
Sometimes they slipped through the cracks like water, other times they found themselves in handcuffs.
Case had put plenty of rustlers behind bars, watched their faces fall as the cell doors clanged shut, and he was hoping to add Bobby Gibbs to that list. It didn’t matter that he stole it because it had belonged to his girlfriend, it was the principle of theft that stuck in Case’s craw.
The judge might go easy, probation, community service, a fine that would sting but not cripple.
Case would just have to wait and see, patience being both his virtue and his curse.
After his shower, he navigated his way to the kitchen in search of some much-needed sustenance, Case’s mind lingered on the brief message he’d hastily sent back to Sydney.
He wished he’d written more, for the conversation had left a bitter taste.
He had hoped she would offer solace and help him come to terms with the difficult task of taking Mr. Cummings’ horses.
Instead, it seemed her sole concern was the retrieval of her own horse.
He was on it, diligently working to resolve the matter, yet the incident with the older man weighed heavily on his conscience, filling him with regret.
As a livestock agent, he wasn’t supposed to feel remorse for merely executing his duties, but the thought of the older man who had endured the loss of his wife of fifty years added a layer of guilt to Case’s actions.
He felt as though he had inadvertently compounded the man’s sorrow, and it gnawed at him.
Deep down, he hoped Mr. Cummings would want the horses back, for he was ready to assist in any way to alleviate the man’s burden.
With a deep sigh of resignation, he acknowledged he owed Sydney an apology for abruptly leaving. Perhaps she hadn’t intended her words to carry the sting they did .
“She did say that, you jackass,” he muttered to himself, chastising his own reactions.
He knew a conversation with her was inevitable, whether by phone or in person, and the prospect of it loomed over him like a heavy cloud. Monday, after work, he’d have to face the task, though the thought brought him no comfort.
As he opened the fridge door, the pet door flap opened, and his two dogs ran in… covered in snow.
“Way to go, guys. Do not—” The dogs shook, making snow fly everywhere. “shake,” Case said, then shook his head. He entered the laundry room, grabbed two towels then reentered the kitchen to see them sitting there.
“You just do it so you can get rubbed with the towel,” he said, then chuckled when they both lay down and rolled onto their backs. “You’re too damn spoiled.”
He rubbed them with the towels then hung them up in the laundry room. He also closed the pet door.
“You’re staying in tonight.” He chuckled when the dogs ran off toward the living room, then he fixed himself something to eat.