“Close one,” Truett breathes.
Too close. We’re getting sloppy, taking too many risks. But we don’t have a choice, not if we want to keep our ranches.
The drive back is tense. Every set of headlights in the distance makes us both jump. Every siren in the far distance makes our blood run cold. We take back roads and farm tracks, staying off the main highways where possible.
We’re almost home when the red and blue lights appear in the rearview mirror.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my hands tightening on the steering wheel.
“Stay calm,” Truett says, but I can hear the panic in his voice. “We’re just two ranchers heading home after checking our property in the storm.”
The patrol car follows us for another mile before hitting the sirens. I pull over on a wide spot next to a pasture gate, my mind racing.
“The gun,” Truett whispers urgently.
Shit. The .38 we keep for protection is tucked under my seat. Having it while committing a felony turns this from simple rustling into armed robbery.
I reach down and grab the weapon, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide it. Finally, I shove it deep into the space between the seat and the door, praying it won’t fall out.
The officer approaches through the rain, flashlight beam dancing ahead of him. Even before he gets close enough for me to see his face, I know who it is. The way he walks, the set of his shoulders.
Noah Sanchez.
“Shit,” Truett mutters under his breath. “It’s Noah.”
Deputy Sanchez taps on my window with his flashlight. I roll it down, trying to look casual despite the fact that my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“Evening, Jesse. Truett.” Noah’s voice is carefully neutral, professional. “You boys are out late in this weather.”
“Hey, Noah,” I manage. “Just heading home after checking on some cattle. This storm’s got them spooked.”
His flashlight beam sweeps the interior of the truck, taking in our mud-caked boots, our soaked jackets. “Checking cattle where?”
“Our north pasture,” Truett lies smoothly. “Had some fence that needed repair after that wind earlier.”
Noah nods, but his eyes are sharp, suspicious. He’s known us both since we were kids, played football with us in high school, and dated some of the same girls. He knows when we’re lying.
“Mind if I take a look at your trailer?”
My blood turns to ice. “What for?”
“Routine check. You know how it is.”
He knows. Somehow, he knows what we’ve been up to. Maybe he’s been watching us, maybe someone tipped him off, but the way he’s looking at us tells me this isn’t a random traffic stop.
“Sure thing,” Truett says before I can object. “Nothing back there but some fence repair supplies.”
Noah walks around to the back of the trailer, and I catch Truett’s eye in the mirror. We both know we’re fucked. There’s evidence of what we’ve done back there if he looks hard enough.
But when Noah shines his light through the slats of the trailer, he stops. Frowns. Walks around to the other side.
He studies the trailer for another long moment, then walks back to my window. “Jesse, I’ve known you since we were kids. Your dad was a good man, and I know you’ve been struggling since he died.”
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.
“I also know that desperate men sometimes make bad choices.” His voice drops lower, more personal. “Whatever you boys are mixed up in, it’s not too late to get out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Truett says.
