There were days he asked himself why he kept at it. Tracking stolen livestock across a state this size,following faint hoofprints through thorned brush on cold nights, wondering if the trail would ever lead anywhere worth following. The job wore on a man. But then he’d hand a relieved rancher the reins of a recovered mare, or watch a worried homesteader cradle a reunited lamb, and the hard miles and bruised pride fell away. That was enough.
Pulling open the door to Dewey’s, he was greeted by the low murmur of conversation and the warm glow of lanterns swinging from rough-hewn beams. Aged oak and spilled whiskey drifted around him. His stool was taken so he settled onto the next one over and gave Dixie a nod. Her red hair caught the lantern light as she tilted a brass spigot over a frosted mug, steady and sure, not a drop escaping the brim.
She set it before him with a gentle clink. “Here you go, Hud. Cold enough for you?” Her eyes sparkled with teasing warmth.
He tipped the mug in salute and let the frothy head brush his upper lip. “Perfect. How’s Logan?”
“Busy as ever, but he’ll be here soon.”
“Can’t stay away from you, huh?”
She folded her arms on the bar and leaned in. “I think it’s the other way around.”
Hud chuckled. “I wouldn’t argue.”
She tapped the bar. “Shout if you need anything.” With a final grin she moved on down the line, her laughter weaving through the crowd.
He swiveled on his stool and took in the room. Ranch hands, drifters, townsfolk gossiping in tight clusters. The place was packed for a Friday.
He was glad he’d come in tonight. Blair had been a surprise. Dark hair like silk over her shoulders, eyes so dark they looked bottomless. Her sky-blue blouse had stood out against the deep mahogany ofthe bar. His heart gave a sudden lurch at the memory. He didn’t do attachments, never had, but something about her quiet confidence and the thoughtful way she’d watched the room had gotten under his skin. He’d never felt the pull to settle down. Yet sitting here under Dewey’s amber lights, he wanted to know more about her.
He lifted his mug and took another slow sip when the trio drifted toward him, boots squeaking on the worn floor. Their collars were starched, jeans too neat. Hud doubted any of them had ever cracked a saddle. They stopped in front of him, shifting from foot to foot, sizing him up.
The tallest crossed his arms. “Evening.”
Hud raised an eyebrow, mug half lifted. “What can I do for you boys?”
The shortest huffed. “We’re not boys.”
Hud set his beer down deliberately, the glass leaving a pale ring on the bar. “Oh? What would you call yourselves?”
“We’re twenty-one. We’re men.” The word came out like a challenge.
He bit back a grin. “Age doesn’t make you a man. A real man knows when a lady isn’t interested and takes the hint. He doesn’t prance around acting the fool.”
The tallest scowled. “You calling us fools?”
“You said it, friend.” Hud’s voice was calm but carried steel.
Another snickered. “Old man—”
Hud was on his feet before the kid finished. Bar stools scraped and conversations dipped to silence around them. “Be very careful. I may be older, but I’m plenty capable of teaching you all some manners. You don’t want to go down that road with me.”
Their bravado crumbled into uneasy laughter. “So, she didn’t go home with you? What’s that say about you?”
Hud folded his arms. “That I behaved like a gentleman and walked her to her car.” He let that sit for a moment and picked up his mug and finished the last of his beer. “Next time, be a little less cocky. Women can see right through it.”
He paid and walked out into the cool night air. The temperature had dropped in just the past hour. He climbed into his Silverado, started it up and pulled onto Main Street, his thoughts already drifting back to Blair.
Monday morning, Hud strode into the office, nodded at the other agents and hung his hat on the coatrack behind his chair. He pulled out his seat, sat down, and turned on his computer. The case files were exactly where he’d left them Friday, which meant the weekend hadn’t brought any new leads.
Rawley deserved better than that.
Hud opened the Harold White Sr. file and stared at it, turning his pen over in his hand. Somewhere out there this man was sitting on information that could unravel the whole operation. Finding him wasn’t optional.
“Morning, Hud.”
He looked up. “Hey, Dave.”
