Chapter Seven #3
“Yes, he does,” Sydney laughed. “Please get going.” She looked at the other employees bundled up like colorful marshmallows in their winter gear.
“Be careful and don’t worry if you can’t make it tomorrow, you’ll still be paid.
It’s not your fault the weather is bad. Come on, I’ll lock the door after you all leave. ”
They shuffled out into the swirling white.
Sydney locked the glass door behind them.
She flipped off the lights, plunging the store into a gray twilight broken only by the lamp behind the counter.
Walking around the counter to the cash register, she counted everything, making sure the drawer matched, then secured the money in the safe in her office.
When she walked back out to the front, she stopped dead in her tracks. The snow was so thick now, it had erased the world outside, she couldn’t even make out the silhouettes of buildings across the street, just a wall of white.
“Get your ass home, Sydney. Now,” she muttered to herself.
After walking out, she pulled the door closed and locked it, the wind immediately slapped her face with icy snow.
She hurried to her SUV, now just a snow-covered lump in the parking lot.
She brushed off enough snow to see through the windshield, started the engine and carefully navigated onto the road.
The tires crunched through fresh powder that was already several more inches deep, the wipers fighting a losing battle against the relentless snowfall.
All she could think about was getting home, building a crackling fire in the stone hearth, and wrapping her frozen hands around a steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with those tiny marshmallows she’d been saving.
As her SUV crawled through the white-out conditions, she found herself hoping Caysen was careful going home after work.
****
Case pulled up to the barn, the truck’s tires crunching through the fresh layer of snow.
Icy flakes stung his face as he stepped out into the biting Montana wind.
Inside the barn, the sweet scent of hay and horses enveloped him, a welcome respite from the frigid air.
A stocky man in a worn jacket approached, his boots echoing on the concrete floor.
“Do you need some help?” the man asked, his breath visible in the chilly air.
“Yes, sir. Is Brent Tillman working today?” Case brushed melting snowflakes from his shoulders.
“Yes, do you need him?” The man’s weathered face creased with curiosity.
“Yes, sir, I do. I’m Agent Anderson with MDOL.” Case flipped open his ID, then opened his coat to show the man his badge hooked on his belt. “If you could have him come here, I’d appreciate it.”
“Right away. I believe he’s in the bunkhouse.” The man pulled out a flip phone, its screen casting a blue glow on his face. “I’ll call him.”
Case nodded, listening as the man summoned Tillman. The barn creaked against the rising wind outside.
“He’ll be right here,” the man said, tucking the phone away.
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing. As much as I hate it, I need to head out. Have a good evening, Agent Anderson.” He zipped his jacket up to his chin.
“Yes, sir. You do the same and be careful. The roads are getting treacherous.”
After the man departed, Case leaned against the rough wooden wall, the cold seeping through his coat. Minutes later, the side door banged open, and Tillman entered, snowflakes clinging to his cowboy hat.
“Agent Anderson, what can I do for you?” His voice echoed in the cavernous space.
“You can tell me where the Paint is.” Case savored the flash of panic that crossed Tillman’s face.
“I—” Tillman shook his head, his confidence crumbling. “Hell. Did Bobby tell you I was in on it?”
“He hasn’t said a word. He asked for his lawyer.” Case’s voice was flat.
Tillman retreated to a stack of golden hay bales and sank down. Case followed, towering over him with arms folded across his chest and boots planted firmly on the concrete floor. Tillman’s sigh hung in the cold air between them.
“He threatened me,” Tillman finally said, looking up with desperate eyes. “If I didn’t help him take the horse, he’d fire me and blackball me. I need to work.”
“How did you even know where the horse was?” Case’s voice echoed against the rough-hewn barn walls, as snow whispered against the roof.
“On the MERAS adoption website,” Tillman admitted.
He removed his hat, ran a nervous hand through his wind-whipped hair and resettled the hat.
“They list adoptive owners by name. A quick search and her ranch and that little bookstore she runs came right up. Finding her address was as simple as doing a search.”
Case’s eyes narrowed. “Do you realize how much trouble you’re in? Horse theft is a felony.”
Tillman’s shoulders slumped beneath his heavy jacket. “Will I go to jail?” His voice cracked in the silent barn, horses shifting in their stalls, their breaths clouding in the frosty air.
“That’s not entirely my call,” Case said, “but I can tell the judge you cooperated fully.”
Tillman’s jaw clenched. “I’ll lose this job for sure. Bobby’s old man won’t hesitate to fire me. I’m not a criminal. Bobby made it sound like he was just reclaiming what was rightfully Rachel’s.”
Case shook his head. “It didn’t belong to Rachel once it was surrendered.”
“Damn. The last thing I want is to go to jail. It will break my mother’s heart.”
Case leaned forward, his breath misting in the barn light. “Why did you return to Clifton after moving to Butte?”
Tillman’s eyes softened at a memory. “My dad passed away. My mom couldn’t stay in Butte without him. She was born and raised here and wanted to be closer to home.”
“Gibbs didn’t convince you?”
“No. We bumped into each other at The Feed Store. He offered me a job in his stables. Now I see it was a ploy. He knew I’d be the only one desperate enough to risk this because he knew I could use the money. With his threats, I felt trapped. I regret every single moment.”
“So, he paid you to help him?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the horse now?”
“On a property his mother’s family owns, about ten miles out. There’s a barn, but Bobby planned to surprise Rachel with the horse on her birthday. Now he won’t get the chance.”
Case’s hand tightened around his pen. “He won’t. We matched his boot to a track in the snow.”
“You didn’t match mine?”
“Most cowboy boots have a smooth sole, so trying to match yours wasn’t possible, but Bobby’s bootheel had a chunk missing. It showed up in the cast perfectly. We’ve got him dead to rights.”
“I’m sure his father will get him out of it. ”
“Don’t bet on it. Tell me everything from the start, and I’ll push for a plea. Maybe probation, but I can’t promise. How old are you, Brent?”
“Twenty.” Tears glistened in Tillman’s eyes. “I knew better.”
“You should have. But now we move forward. Come into the office next week and tell me all of it. Best you do it before Bobby pins it entirely on you.”
“He would.”
Case slid a business card across a bale of hay. “Here’s my card. Call me day or night. And don’t mention this to anyone, especially not Gibbs.”
Tillman pocketed the card. “Thank you.”
Case extended a hand; they shook firmly. “Don’t let me down. Call me with a time.”
“Where is your office?”
“Inside the courthouse, third floor. As soon as you step from the elevator, the door is straight ahead.”
“Alright, Agent Anderson. I’ll be there.”
Case nodded. “Good. I’m heading out before the storm gets worse.”
“Be safe,” Tillman said.
Case nodded. He climbed into his truck, the headlights cutting through sheets of wind-driven snow.
The rig wobbled, tires sliding in the drifts, but he fought the skid and pressed on.
He had to get home to his dogs, couldn’t leave them alone.
His heart pounded with every fishtail of the truck, but he gripped the wheel, determined. He’d make it, he had to.