“I’m going to stop you right there, before someone gets hurt.” Hammer drew in a breath. But weirdly, something niggled inside him. Wait—“Lonely?”
Martinelli drew in a breath. “Thanks for coming in. If you’re still interested in a job, I could set you up an interview.”
One that would come with a background check, no doubt.
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Outside, he found Saxon leaning against the truck, studying a colorful poster taped to a lamppost. “Check this out. Fall Festival Rodeo, next weekend. Says here they’ve got junior competitions.”
Hammer glanced at the poster, noting the prize categories and entry fees. Twenty-five dollars for junior roping, fifty for adult divisions. But there was decent prize money. “Five hundred dollars for the overall junior champion. That’s big dough for a kid.”
“You should know,” Mack said, appearing from around the corner, holding two cups of coffee from the diner. “Hammer was the region roping champ for three years running.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long,” Mack said. “Muscle memory doesn’t disappear. Bet you could still nail a calf in under fifteen seconds.”
“Doubt it.” Hammer took one of the coffee cups. “Skills like that need constant practice.”
“Some things you never forget. Like riding a bike.”
“Roping’s not riding a bike, Mack.”
“Maybe not. But you were good enough to earn scholarship offers. Remember? Colorado State wanted you for their rodeo team.”
Hammer remembered. Full ride to study agricultural science and compete on the college circuit. A future that had evaporated the night he’d stood up to his stepfather and been forced to choose between that future and survival.
“That ship sailed a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate good form when you see it.” Saxon folded the poster and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll catch some of the competition while we’re here.”
“We’re not staying for any rodeo,” Hammer said. “But while Mack is out visiting his dad, I’m just going to nose around, see what I can find out about these cattle rustlers.”
Mack made a triumphant fist.
“I don’t know why you’re so keen on visiting a guy who threw you out of the house when you were eighteen,” said Saxon quietly.
Yeah, what he said.
Mack sighed. “It was a bad day. Dad and I got in a fight over Rowan’s flag…” He shook his head. “He apologized. Told me to come back anytime.”
“My flag?”
“Whatever. It’s over.”
Hammer’s mouth tightened. “I’m only a phone call away.”
“I can take care of myself.” Mack shot him a look.
Hammer raised his hands in surrender.
“I’ll help you nose around,” Saxon said as they got into the pickup truck. “But I guess this means we’ll also need a place to lay over for the night.”
They stopped by the Mountain View Motel on their way out of South Eagle, and he and Saxon rented a couple rooms. “Maybe they’ll air it out before we come back,” Hammer said as they dropped their duffels off on the hard beds.
Dusk settled over the valley, headlights cutting through shadows.
The Jenkins ranch sat five miles west of the suburb of South Eagle, on prime bottomland that had been in the family for three generations. Although, back then, it hadn’t been called Jenkins land, had it?
