So much for not making a scene. David could feel the angry stares boring into his back as he strode away, could see the gossip rippling across the rodeo grounds, expanding in rings from the humongous splash he’d made. But the more he thought about it, the more it twisted him up. Four years of Muddy’s prime wasted with a kid who roped like he’d never seen the inside of a practice pen.
David stumbled and ran square into the side of his own pickup. He braced both hands on the fender, dizzy with pent-up emotion. Exhaustion. Shock. He hadn’t really believed it. Not until he’d seen Muddy in the flesh, still ugly as a mud fence, untouched by the years that had aged David a decade.
Dear sweet God. He was alive.
David needed to touch him. Lay his hands on Muddy’s neck, feel the hard quiver of muscle, the warm pulse of blood. David had honestly believed he was dead. Otherwise, why hadn’t he surfaced? If the person who’d taken Muddy had had any idea of his true worth, he would’ve tried to sell him at some point. A horse that good would attract attention. Someone would recognize him.
But what if the guy who took Muddy didn’t know what he had? He could’ve stolen him just for the tack. David’s saddle and bridle were worth a couple thousand dollars, even at pawnshop prices. As for what he’d done with the horse—the thief might’ve figured he was disposable. Or realized how much he really was worth and panicked.
Either way, it would have ended badly for Muddy, a thought that had made David sick every time it had weaseled into his head over the past four years.
Well, Muddy was definitely not dead. David straightened, wiping the sheen of sweat from his face with a shirtsleeve and getting a whiff of body odor in the process. Yikes. He could use a shower. First, though, he had to round up the proof needed to repossess his horse. He started to dial his parents’ number and then stopped, remembering they were out of town. He dropped down to the next number in his speed-dial list.
“Hey, baby bro,” his sister said. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I can’t just call to say hello?” he asked, his announcement so huge he couldn’t push it off his tongue.
“Not that I’ve noticed. What do you want?”
“I need your help.”
“With?”
“I found Muddy.” He held the phone away from his ear while she shrieked, and then he tried to get a word in edgewise while she peppered him with questions, for which he was short on answers. He intended to have those, too, by the end of the day.
“You think they knew?” his sister asked.
“I’m not sure,” David said. “But that’s not my problem.”
“Tough deal for the kid, though.”
No tougher than the last four years had been for David.
Computer keys clicked as his sister searched the internet for information on Kalispell, Montana. “Guess I have to take back what I said about how you were an idiot for not cashing in your insurance policy.”
“Guess so.” And thank God. The temptation had been huge when David had found himself buried under that mountain of debt, but he’d hung tough.
“That would’ve seriously sucked,” his sister said, echoing his thoughts. “Finding Muddy and having to turn him over to the insurance company.”
As far as David was concerned, the decision had been a no-brainer. Accepting payment meant if Muddy was found, the insurance company took possession and could sell him to the highest bidder, like any other piece of stolen property. He wouldn’t have taken that deal even if he hadn’t had his horse so ridiculously underinsured.
He’d canceled the policy without filing a claim, gambling a $20,000 insurance check that Muddy might show up some day. Damned if he hadn’t won.
“Got it,” his sister said. “Flathead County Sheriff. I’ll call them, get an email address, and send a copy of Muddy’s registration papers and a couple of pictures of you roping on him. That ought to do the trick.”
“Thanks, Sis.”
“You’re welcome. Are you gonna call Mom and Dad?”
“Not until I’ve got Muddy tied to my trailer.”
“Probably best that way.” She hesitated the way she always did when she had something to say that he wouldn’t want to hear.
“What?” he asked.
“What if he’s not the same? You don’t know where he’s been, if he was hurt. Plus, it’s been four years…” And she was afraid David might get his hopes too high, fall off another emotional cliff.
“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Believe me, I know it’ll be a miracle if he’s the same horse he was when he disappeared. I’m just thrilled I found him and he looks okay. As for the rest…we’ll see when I get my hands on him.”
And the sooner, the better. He hung up and unhooked his horse trailer. Fifteen minutes later, he walked into the sheriff’s office. The woman behind the desk eyed him warily, standing back from the counter as he explained his situation, her expression skeptical. “Do you have any identification?”
“Uh, sure.” David pulled his wallet out and slid his Colorado driver’s license across the desk. She took her time studying it, then him. “Well, this may be a first. ’Cause I gotta say, you look a lot better in your picture.”
She tilted her head toward a mirror on the far wall. David turned and did a double take. Geez. No wonder she was acting like he was an escaped convict. He looked it, his eyes more red than gray, his hair standing on end from all the times he’d run his hands through it during the endless night behind the wheel, and his beard a day and half past a five-o’clock shadow.
“It was a rough trip,” he said.
“Looks like it.” Then she smiled. “But I bet you clean up pretty good. Let me go see if that email has come through.”
When he walked out, he had Muddy’s registration papers and crisp color copies of the photos from his sister, plus a promise that a deputy would be dispatched to assist him as soon as one was available, but the whole process had taken longer than David had expected. Back at the fairgrounds, he found the rodeo was over and the stage in front of the grandstand was set up for the awards, which appeared to be in progress. He made a beeline in that direction. When he reached the gate, he paused to search the crowd.
He spotted Kylan among a cluster of his friends. The kid shot David a murderous glance, then slouched to stare down at his hands. Kylan’s girlfriend was snuggled up beside him, petting him like an agitated dog, but David didn’t see the aunt. Mary. Such a soft name for a very prickly woman. He found a spot to lean against the fence while the awards ceremony wound up and the crowd began to shuffle out.
Obviously, word had spread. A large percentage of the people stared at David as they passed, openly curious. He avoided eye contact for fear of encouraging any of them to strike up a conversation. Kylan and crew remained seated until most of the others had left. Then the girlfriend got up and made her way down to where David was standing.
She was shaped like Humpty Dumpty—narrow shoulders, widening to her waist, then rounding off again—all perched on stick-skinny legs. David couldn’t fathom what kept her low-cut jeans from sliding off the bottom end of the egg. She marched straight up to him, dark eyes flicking side to side.
“No sheriff?” she asked.
“They were tied up with an accident out on Highway 2. They’ll send someone quick as they can.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip and then dug her fingers into the back pocket of her jeans to fish out a piece of paper and offer it to David, who unfolded it to find a roughly sketched map.
“What’s this?” he asked.
The girl lifted her chin and did a fair job of staring him down, her gaze sharp in an otherwise soft face. “Mary said to bring your papers and stuff. She’ll meet you at her attorney’s office in Browning in the morning. That’s the phone number and directions how to get there. You can put your horse up at the rodeo grounds.”
“Browning?” Panic spurted adrenaline into David’s system. “She doesn’t expect me to let her haul Muddy out of here?”
“She already did,” the girl said, then turned and fled.
David’s heart dropped like a stone to the pit of his stomach. This couldn’t be happening. He’d lost Muddy…again.