Dave laughed. “Blonde of the week, huh? You’re hopeless.”
“Come on,” Rawley shot back with a grin, “I’m not that bad.”
“Go eat your lunch. Let me know if you need anything.”
Rawley nodded, stepped from the office, and sauntered to his desk. He eased his swivel chair back and sank into its cracked vinyl. The sharp hiss of springs greeted him as he leaned forward. He plunged a hand into the bag, pulled out the foil-wrapped burger, peeled back the shiny wrapper, and let the steam–scented warmth wash over him. He tipped the paper boat of fries onto the foil wrapper, grease-slicked, golden sticks piled casually against the burger. He glanced at the glowing monitor and took a bite, the beefy juices mingling with mustard and melted cheese.
He opened the email, then the attachment and frowned at the screen, photos of cattle that had come up missing in the past six months, the images blurring before his eyes. Damn, he thought, the last look Skylar gave him still lingered. He hated doing that to her. He tapped a finger on the desk and closed his eyes, picturing her laugh in the diner. He hoped they could salvage a dinner date this Friday.
He lifted the burger again, the foil crackling, and bit in. The rich flavor nearly made him groan. If only he’d had more time with Skylar. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then extracted his phone from his pocket. Scrolling through contacts, he found the restaurant’s number and dialed.
No vacancies this Friday. Damn. Then he called Grant.
“Rawley?”
“Grant, can you get me in Friday at six, for two. Any chance?”
Pause. The distant sound of dishes clinking. “Friday? One sec.” The line went silent.
Rawley frowned at schematics of tire treads lined up on his desk. He considered reaching for the desk phone when his friend came back on the line.
“Rawley?”
“Yeah?”
“Friday at six. You’re in.”
“Thanks, man. Really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.” The line clicked off.
Rawley set the phone down, picked up the landline receiver, and punched in the Montana Department of Livestock in Autumn Falls. A courteous female voice answered, cool and professional.
“Yes, ma’am, Agent Laramie Saunders, please.”
“He’s out at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Agent Rawley Bowman, Clifton office. Please have him ring me back.” He recited his direct line and his cellphone number.
“Certainly, Agent Bowman.” The line clicked again.
Rawley hung up the receiver, rose, and placed his hat atop his head. The late-afternoon sun filtered in through dusty blinds, striping the office floor. He strode out, determination setting his shoulders. He wanted to revisit those tracks at the Mitchell ranch. Once he climbed into his truck, he fired off a quick text to Skylar; to let her know he made the reservation.
Friday evening at six.
Okay. I’ll see you then. I’ll send my address.
Sounds good. I’ll see you then.
Looking forward to it.
Rawley grinned.Not as much as I am. I’ll talk to you soon.
****
Skylar strolled along the sidewalk, pausing before each storefront to admire the window displays. A vintage typewriter surrounded by yellowed manuscripts caught her eye, making her smile. She pushed open the glass door of Timeless Treasures, a small brass bell announcing her arrival. The rich aroma of beeswax polish, old leather, and cedar enveloped her, and she inhaled deeply, savoring it. Her thoughts drifted to her upcoming date with Rawley on Friday night. She picturedherself in her blue dress that hugged her curves just right, she hoped to see the appreciative glint in Rawley’s eyes. But the more she thought about it, the more she wanted something new.
“Hello there, would you like some help finding anything special today?” A woman with auburn hair approached, her turquoise beaded necklace catching the light from the antique chandelier overhead.
