darkened. “You aren’t plannin’ another long trip anytime soon, are you?” he demanded.
“Good heavens, no!” she said forcefully. “I’ve traveled all I want for a long time. Like I said, I haven’t
even gotten over my jet lag yet. ” She tried an laugh. This time it was more successful.
His scowl lessened, but Rafe still watched her. Jodie gave’ parting wave and turned to go t house. As she did, she slipped the booklet from back pocket to the front. She didn’t think Rare not
HALFWAY THROUGH the afternoon Jodie fell against the rear cushion of the couch. She’d st with the nearest ranches, disguising her voice those who might recognize her—from Jim Cle particular—then worked her way down the alphabetized list.
Not one claimed a ranch hand by the name of Bob. Not even when she hinted that the “cash p, he’d been awarded and she was calling about was sider able
Her head throbbed and her throat felt scratchy talking. She had a few calls yet to make and recalls to those who hadn’t answered previousl) so far no luck.
What if it continued? What should she do What could she do?
She had to talk to Rio. If he was afraid of the sl in Colorado, maybe he’d talk to Tate. Tate would far more resources to find this Joe-Bob than she He’d have access to all the ranches in the area, bil small, whether or not they were members of the I ing association. Also, when questions were put sheriff, they held greater weight.
She made herself dial the next number, and as
as the ring was answered, she started again on her practiced spiel.
JACK DEN TON was sitting in a rocker on his front porch when Tate pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway. At his approach Jack slowly unfolded his bull He’d always been a substantial man, impressive both in character and in size. A good six feet, he tipped the scale at over two hundred pounds. Pounds that had been solid muscle in his younger years, but at sixty-two had softened.
“Well, would ya look at what the cat just dragged in!” he exclaimed as Tare approached the porch.
“It hasn’t been that long, Jack.” Tate smiled ruefully as his old friend came to greet him.
“It has, but who’s countin’?” Jack looked him up and down as he thumped him soundly on the shoulder. “They been rennin’ you off your feet lately?”
“Same as always,” Tare said. “You know how it is.”
“Sure … yeah. Sit down … sit down. Would you like something’ cold to drink?”
Tate took a slat-back chair. “Somethin’ cold sounds real good.”
Jack went to rummage around in his kitchen and came back with two bottles of diet soda. “Diet’s all I got. I been tryin’ to take a few pounds off lately, not that it’s doin’ much good.” He handed a bottle to Tate before dropping back into the old rocker.
The two men sat in companionable silence, and as he took several long satisfying swallows Tate’s gaze moved over his old friend’s property. When Jack had
first bought the place, it had needed a lot of work. Now the modest house was in tip-top shape, as were the outbuildings and the fences. In comparison to some of the neighboriag ranches, the spread was quite small. But the thirty or so head of cattle that Jack ran on his hundred acres were just as important to him— possibly more so—than the bigger herds of the large ranchers.
Tate’s gaze moved to the man himself. Besides having the reputation as one of the fairest, most ethical and toughest sheriffs the county had ever known, Jack was also one of the most reticent. As Tate’s mother had said, Jack played his cards very close to his vest. He always had. It was hard to know whether it was because he was the county’s first African-American sheriff and, as such, felt the need to be cautious, or because it was just his nature.
“Place is lookin’ better every time I see it,” Tate said to Jack finally. “You’ve just about got it the way you want it, haven’t you?”
“Almost. Barn
“Good heavens, no!” she said forcefully. “I’ve traveled all I want for a long time. Like I said, I haven’t
even gotten over my jet lag yet. ” She tried an laugh. This time it was more successful.
His scowl lessened, but Rafe still watched her. Jodie gave’ parting wave and turned to go t house. As she did, she slipped the booklet from back pocket to the front. She didn’t think Rare not
HALFWAY THROUGH the afternoon Jodie fell against the rear cushion of the couch. She’d st with the nearest ranches, disguising her voice those who might recognize her—from Jim Cle particular—then worked her way down the alphabetized list.
Not one claimed a ranch hand by the name of Bob. Not even when she hinted that the “cash p, he’d been awarded and she was calling about was sider able
Her head throbbed and her throat felt scratchy talking. She had a few calls yet to make and recalls to those who hadn’t answered previousl) so far no luck.
What if it continued? What should she do What could she do?
She had to talk to Rio. If he was afraid of the sl in Colorado, maybe he’d talk to Tate. Tate would far more resources to find this Joe-Bob than she He’d have access to all the ranches in the area, bil small, whether or not they were members of the I ing association. Also, when questions were put sheriff, they held greater weight.
She made herself dial the next number, and as
as the ring was answered, she started again on her practiced spiel.
JACK DEN TON was sitting in a rocker on his front porch when Tate pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway. At his approach Jack slowly unfolded his bull He’d always been a substantial man, impressive both in character and in size. A good six feet, he tipped the scale at over two hundred pounds. Pounds that had been solid muscle in his younger years, but at sixty-two had softened.
“Well, would ya look at what the cat just dragged in!” he exclaimed as Tare approached the porch.
“It hasn’t been that long, Jack.” Tate smiled ruefully as his old friend came to greet him.
“It has, but who’s countin’?” Jack looked him up and down as he thumped him soundly on the shoulder. “They been rennin’ you off your feet lately?”
“Same as always,” Tare said. “You know how it is.”
“Sure … yeah. Sit down … sit down. Would you like something’ cold to drink?”
Tate took a slat-back chair. “Somethin’ cold sounds real good.”
Jack went to rummage around in his kitchen and came back with two bottles of diet soda. “Diet’s all I got. I been tryin’ to take a few pounds off lately, not that it’s doin’ much good.” He handed a bottle to Tate before dropping back into the old rocker.
The two men sat in companionable silence, and as he took several long satisfying swallows Tate’s gaze moved over his old friend’s property. When Jack had
first bought the place, it had needed a lot of work. Now the modest house was in tip-top shape, as were the outbuildings and the fences. In comparison to some of the neighboriag ranches, the spread was quite small. But the thirty or so head of cattle that Jack ran on his hundred acres were just as important to him— possibly more so—than the bigger herds of the large ranchers.
Tate’s gaze moved to the man himself. Besides having the reputation as one of the fairest, most ethical and toughest sheriffs the county had ever known, Jack was also one of the most reticent. As Tate’s mother had said, Jack played his cards very close to his vest. He always had. It was hard to know whether it was because he was the county’s first African-American sheriff and, as such, felt the need to be cautious, or because it was just his nature.
“Place is lookin’ better every time I see it,” Tate said to Jack finally. “You’ve just about got it the way you want it, haven’t you?”
“Almost. Barn
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