Me too. I’ll let you go. I need to get back to the barn. Have a great day, Skylar McCoy.
You too, Rawley.
He hung up, put the phone back into his pocket, mounted the horse, then rode back to the barn. When he arrived, he cooled the horse, then entered the office to check on the headcount. It matched.
“Thank God,” he murmured.
Rawley strode out of the barn, his boots crunching on a mix of dried hay and sunbaked dirt. A low hum grew louder across the wide, rutted driveway, and he squinted against the glare of a clear morning sky to make out a white truck lumbering toward the red barn. The vehicle rattled over stray stones before coasting to a stop beside a stack of golden hay bales, dust dancing in its wake.
He knew who it was before the lanky figure climbed out of the cab and stretched. Bobby Gibbs, still lean as a rail, approached with deliberate slowness. Rawley shook his head, recalling how the kid had landed here, horse theft. Bobby thought it would be romantic to steal a horse that had once belonged to his girlfriend. He ended up getting community service instead of prison only because the mare’s owner had shown mercy.
Rawley planted his hands on his hips. A soft breeze stirred the high grass beyond the fences, carrying the tang of manure and the sweet undercurrent of fresh-cut hay.
Bobby halted a few feet away, pushed his cowboy hat back and offered a terse nod. “Agent Bowman.”
Rawley smirked. “Stringbean, what’s up?” He had christened Bobby that the first day, no thicker than a green bean, hence the nickname.
Bobby’s shoulders bobbed with a chuckle. “I don’t work for you anymore, Mr. Bowman.”
“That’sAgentBowman to you. And what does it matter?” Rawley shot back.
Bobby shrugged, folding his arms across his narrow chest. “Guess it doesn’t. You’re always going to be a dick.”
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 forme; 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—”
