“What way? You tell me, Jesse, because I’ve been racking my brain for years trying to find an honest solution.” His voice gets sharp, defensive. “You think I like this? You think I wanted to become a cattle thief?”
I know better than to push him when he gets like this. Truett carries the weight of responsibility heavily on his shoulders, always has. When his parents died, he became the man of the house overnight, had to take care of Aubree and keep the ranch running. Just like me, only I think I handled it better.
“She suspects something,” I say instead.
“Who? Aubree?”
“Yeah. Tonight in the barn, she was asking questions. Wanted to know where you’ve been going, why you’re never home.”
Truett rubs his face with both hands. “Shit. What did you tell her?”
“Nothing specific. But she’s not stupid, Truett. She’s going to figure it out eventually.”
“Then we need to be more careful. The last thing we need is for her to get involved in this mess.”
The thought of Aubree finding out what we’ve become makes my chest tight. Bad enough that I’ve turned into someone my father would be ashamed of, but for her to see it? To know that the man she once loved has become a criminal?
We drive in silence for the next thirty minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. The Morrison place comes into view as a cluster of lights in the distance, barely visible through the storm. I pull off the main road onto a dirt track that runs along the property line.
“This is it,” Truett says, pulling out a pair of binoculars. “Cut the lights.”
I kill the headlights and engine, and we sit in the darkness listening to the rain pound on the roof. Through the passenger window, I can make out the fence line and beyond it, the dark shapes of cattle huddled together under a stand of cottonwood trees.
“There they are,” Truett whispers, though there’s no one around for miles to hear us.
I take the binoculars and peer through them. Even in the dim light, I can see the cattle clearly. Black Angus, just like Truett said, quality stock that’ll bring good money at the sale barn in Rapid City.
“How do you want to do this?”
“We’re already here. Let’s get this done. Cut the fence, move the cattle through. We load them in the trailer and get the hell out of here.”
It sounds simple when he says it like that, but cattle rustling is anything but simple. You have to know which animals to take, the ones that won’t be missed immediately. You have to move fast but quietly, get them loaded and transported before anyone realizes they’re gone. And you have to have buyers lined up who don’t ask too many questions about where the cattle came from.
We’ve all gotten good at it over the years. Too good.
“Let’s make sure we’ve got all our bases covered. That they don’t have security we don’t know about,” I mutter, reaching into the back seat for our gear. We’ll take off on foot to check.
The rain soaks through my jacket within seconds of stepping out of the truck. We work quickly and silently, muscle memory guiding us through the familiar routine. Wire cutters slice through the fence, creating an opening just wide enough for cattle to pass through. Truett moves among the herd withpracticed ease, making sure there’s nothing that will let anyone know that someone is here who shouldn’t be.
When we’re done, we trek back to the truck. My clothes are soaked through, my boots caked with mud, and every muscle in my body aches from the constant tension of discovery.
“That’s good,” Truett calls out over the storm. “Let’s go.”
In the distance, headlights cut through the darkness. My blood turns to ice.
“Shit,” Truett hisses. “Someone’s coming.”
We both drop low, using the truck to shield us from the approaching vehicle. Through the rain, I can see it’s a pickup truck moving slowly along the road, spotlight sweeping the fence line like whoever’s driving is looking for something.
Or someone.
“You think Morrison’s boy is out checking cattle in this weather?” I whisper.
“In this storm? Not unless he’s stupider than I thought.”
The truck stops directly across from where we’re hidden. The spotlight beam swings back and forth, probing the darkness. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m sure whoever’s in that truck can hear it over the thunder.
After what feels like an eternity, the truck moves on, taillights disappearing into the storm.
