Never Trust a Cowboy

“Too old.” He stood up and tossed his discovery. “A piece of something hairy, but all dried up.”

“Why do I have a feeling you haven’t always been a cowboy?”

“I don’t know.” He used the horn as a fulcrum and swung back into the saddle without benefit of a stirrup. Grinning like the boy who’d taken a run and jumped all the way over the creek, he adjusted his hat. “Maybe I started out as a trick rider.”

She narrowed her eyes, considering, and shook her head. “What else you got?”

“I like to work my way up, one surprise at a time. Keeps ’em guessing.” He braced his forearm over the horn and took a turn studying her. “Where’d you go to college?”

“Minneapolis.” He’d started moving. She nudged her gelding to catch up. “Were you ever a cop?”

He gave her an incredulous look, caught himself and laughed. “How did you come up with that?”

“The way you examined the evidence.”

“Too many detective movies and not enough Westerns, college girl. What did you study?”

“Art history, music, British history, literature—”

He whistled appreciatively.

“—business, library science.”

“That’s a lot of studying.”

“I didn’t quite finish,” she said quietly.

A meadowlark answered Del’s whistle.

“I’m listening,” he prompted after a moment had passed.

“I had a bad car accident.”

He let the words have their due. The grass swished, crickets buzzed, the sun settled on the sharp point of a hill.

“Hurt bad?”

“I wasn’t. The person I hit... She was.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t drive anymore.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

More grass sound filled in.

“She okay now?”

“Were you ever a reporter?” she retorted stiffly.

He said nothing. He’d gone one step too far. Game over.

“Put it this way,” she amended. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who usually asks a lot of questions.”

“I’m not the kind who’d strike you at all. I’m the kind who’d do his job, tip his hat when you walk past him and keep his thoughts to himself.”

“Sounds like we’re two of a kind. Or were, until you took an interest in helping me find my dog.”

“You’d do the same, right? It’s all about the dog.”

“We were talking about ancient history before,” she reminded him. “Mummies and all like that. Been a while, you said. For me, too. And the passage of time helps. I know it does. It takes the edge off regrets, shuts down the what-ifs.” They were riding slowly now, the search all but set aside. “She recovered, but it took a long time, and it changed her life. Don’t ask me how it happened. It doesn’t matter.”

He nodded.

She knew she didn’t have to tell him not to discuss it with anyone. It wouldn’t kill her if he did, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t. They had things in common, spoken and unspoken things. What things they were didn’t matter as much as how they felt about them. They could move on without exchanging details.

“I have to find Bingo, no matter what. I have to bring him home.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

“You’ll know him when you see him. He’s the only little black terrier around. This isn’t exactly terrier country.”

“What’s the cell phone reception like around here?”

“Terrible. You have to go up on a hill, and even then it’s hit or miss. You’re welcome to use my old reliable landline anytime.”

“I was thinking if I find the dog and he won’t come to me...”

“He loves cheese.” She tucked her hand in her back pocket, pulled out a chunk of it wrapped in brown paper and reached between horses to hand it to him. “He won’t care if it’s a little squashed.”

“Funny dog.”

She smiled. “You two will hit it off just fine.”

* * *

At breakfast the next morning Del was assigned his first official chore. No surprise, he was to ride the fence and check for breaks.

“Neighbor called and told Dad there’s been cattle disappearing again. I’m gonna head down to the south pasture and start counting.”

“If I find anything, you want me to fix it right away?” Since he knew where to look, he was going to help himself to a second cup of coffee. He gestured with the pot, and Frank offered up his cup for a refill.

“Well, yeah,” Brad said. “That’s one job you can be sure gets delegated.”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

“If we’re missing cows and we don’t find them, we’ll let the sheriff in on all the details.”

Frank took no notice. Either he didn’t hear, didn’t want to hear or his agreement went without saying. In any case, nobody was too concerned about preserving a possible crime scene.