Chapter Three #3
Rawley let out a short laugh, glancing at the barn doors where two horses stamped and nickered in greeting. “Fair enough. But you didn’t work for me; you had no choice.”
Bobby leaned against the truck’s fender, dust puffing around his boots. “I still worked though. I’m glad you gave me a chance,” he said softly, eyes on the rough boards of the barn.
Rawley joined him at the fender, picking up Bobby’s posture. “Hell, you worked your ass off. Todd said you busted it every single day.” He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Not that you had much ass to begin with.”
Bobby laughed. “Man, I hated you.”
“I know, and it didn’t bother me a bit. You stole a horse. You’re damn lucky that you’re not in prison.”
“I know. I was shocked when Ms. Wright said she didn’t want that.”
“It was nice of her, but it’s not always like that. We deal with some real pricks most times.”
“I was scared; I won’t lie.”
“You needed to be. I honestly believe you’ll never do something that stupid again.”
“I swear I won’t.” Bobby sighed, then grinned. “When you made fun of my boots, I wanted to punch you.”
Rawley chuckled. “That wouldn’t have ended well for you. One punch and you’d go flying. Put some meat on those bones, son.”
“How old were you before you filled out?”
“I started working at this ranch when I was twelve. I was firm and solid, but I didn’t fill out until I was about twenty-five,” Rawley admitted, casting his gaze over the rolling fields that stretched beyond the pasture.
“By the time I inherited this place, I’d been a livestock agent for a while.
You have to be in shape for that, then this place.
” Rawley shook his head. “This place will work you twenty-four seven. Get up when it’s dark, work until it’s dark, then go to bed, get up and do it all over again. ”
“I don’t know how you manage it and a job.”
Rawley clapped him on the shoulder. “I have good men working for me here.”
The wind rustled the leaves of an old oak at the property’s edge, and a hawk cried overhead.
“So, what brings you here?” Rawley asked.
Bobby shifted his weight and looked at Rawley. “I was telling Rachel, my girlfriend—”
“I know who Rachel is,” Rawley interrupted with a grin.
“Just making sure you remembered. You know because of your age,” Bobby shot back, and they both laughed.
“Fuck you.”
“I told her how beautiful this spread was. We’re looking for a new place to ride, and I figured—”
“—you’d ask permission,” Rawley finished. “Sure. Just park the hauler behind the tool shed so it’s out of the way.”
“Yes, sir. Got it.”
“Just keep clear of the cattle. There are riding trails all around the ranch. If you start by the east fence, you’ll see a nice trail.”
“Alright. Any days you’d rather we stayed away?”
“During the week. Weekends are best, my crew’s lighter then.” Rawley folded his arms. “No need to check in. Just ride when you want.”
“I appreciate it, Agent.”
Rawley shook his head, the morning sun warm on his back. “When are you gonna drop the formalities and call me Rawley?”
“When you stop calling me Stringbean.”
Rawley laughed. “Never mind, Agent is fine.”
Bobby chuckled as he shook his hand. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
“You bet.” Rawley watched as Bobby climbed into the cab, the engine’s rumble fading as the truck rolled back down the dusty drive. He exhaled a slow breath, half amused, half proud. Sometimes, community service does work, and Bobby Gibbs was proof enough.
Monday morning, he entered the courthouse building, carrying his cup of coffee, and strode toward the elevator. He pushed the button to wait. When the doors slid open, he stepped into the elevator and put his hand on the door to keep them open, when someone yelled out to hold the elevator.
When the man stepped in, Rawley almost groaned. Of all the judges to be in an elevator with…
“Good morning, Agent Bowman,” the judge said.
“Good morning, Your Honor.”
“How was your weekend?”
“It was nice. How was yours, sir?” Rawley looked at him to see him staring at him.
“It would have been nice if my son would have come for a visit.”
“Maybe your son was busy.”
“Agent Bowman, no one should be too busy to see family. One day, I won’t be here.”
“You going on vacation?” Rawley bit his lip to hold back a grin.
“You are a smartass. You know that?”
“Yes, sir.” Rawley chuckled as the elevator stopped on his floor. As the doors slid open, he stepped out, then looked at the judge. “I’ll see you Sunday, Dad.”
His father laughed as the doors closed and Rawley entered the office, the smell of stale coffee and printer toner hanging in the air.
He strode to his desk, removed his Stetson, and after hanging it on the coat rack, he pulled the squeaky chair out from under the desk, set his coffee down, and fired up the computer.
The screen cast a blue glow across his face as he scrolled through more tire track photos from the crime scene.
The shoe prints weren’t going to be easy since most of them looked like they were smooth soles, probably cowboy boots.
As he sat there watching the screen, his eyes burning slightly from lack of sleep, the database flashed a match on a set of tires.
He was right, it had been an eighteen-wheeler with distinctive treads.
If they had done this in the mud, that truck would be stuck like a pig in quicksand, but since the ground was hard as concrete that night, they’d have been able to slip in and out without being seen.
“Morning, Rawley,” a familiar voice said.
He glanced up to see Case Anderson standing in front of his desk, his tall frame casting a shadow over Rawley’s keyboard.
“Hey, Case. Did you have a good weekend?” Rawley asked, rubbing his stiff neck.
“Yeah, we didn’t do much of anything. You?”
Rawley leaned back in his chair until it creaked in protest and grinned. “I met a beautiful woman. Blonde, blue eyes.”
“Oh, boy. Here we go.” Case shook his head.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rawley feigned offense, but he had trouble suppressing a grin.
“You always meet a beautiful woman,” Case said with a knowing grin. “Last month it was the redhead at The Feed Store, before that the brunette in the clerk’s office downstairs.”
“Like you don’t have one.” Rawley shook his head, thinking of Case’s fiancée, Sydney.
Case chuckled, then strode to his desk across the aisle, removed his tan cowboy hat, hung it up, then sat down and turned on his computer, the machine whirring to life.
As Rawley looked deeper into what the tires fit, his brow furrowed when the screen showed the make and model of the semi; a Peterbilt.
Then he ran the serial numbers through the database, his fingers flying over the keyboard, to see where they’d been purchased.
The closest to Clifton was Maple Ridge, just two months ago at Big Sky Tires and More.
He hit print, pushed his chair back with a scrape against the floor, walked to the printer in the corner and removed the warm paper once it settled into the tray with a final mechanical sigh.
Then he headed for Dave’s office, his boots clicking against the floor.
He knocked on the glass door, and when Dave waved him in, he opened the door and strode to the desk cluttered with case files and family photos.
“I found a match on the tires for the truck from Preston’s place,” Rawley announced.
“Good, let me see those.” Dave put his hand out, and Rawley handed him the paper.
He waited while Dave looked over it, watching the older man’s bushy eyebrows rise slightly.
“Damn, Maple Ridge. Let me see if they have an agent available in Autumn Falls, who can look into the place where the tires were bought from. Save us some legwork.”
“Okay. Beats me driving there in this heat,” Rawley said, thinking about having to go to Autumn Falls.
“I’ll get back to you in a little while. Should hear something by lunch.”
“Alright. I’ll be here, digging through the rest of this evidence.”
Dave nodded, and Rawley left the office, returned to his desk and got to work, the clock on the wall ticking away the morning hours.