*Reggie had done her homework. She already knew the answers. She wanted to keep this interaction going.
“Adam Hunter. I’m a roper — mostly tie-down, but I do some team, too. And—”
“And this is his first rodeo,” muttered Goose. “Or near enough.”
More color showed in Adam Hunter’s face, but he continued. “—I’m working for my WRC card.”
“Not working very well,” Goose said.
“Give it a rest,” grumbled one of the two women in the group, most likely barrel racers. Neither seemed attached to a particular cowboy the way a significant other would, nor did they seem the least bit awed by the cowboys as belt buckle bunnies were.
“Heck, even when he gets his card, it’ll just be in ropin’,” Tate said. “Should try bulls, then you’d know you’d gotten somewhere when you got your card. Biggest purses and the women all love bull riders.” He winked at her.
“That’s because they don’t know most of you bull riders are short and scrawny,” shot back the other barrel racer. “Can’t tell that watching TV. It’s only when they see you in person that it hits.”
She had a point. Most bull riders were shorter than average. Though scrawny was harsh since they needed tremendous strength.
“Then I’m the exception.” Tate smiled broadly with self-satisfaction. “In fact, look here — we’ve got a bull rider in me, a bronc rider in Bill, and a roper in Adam, and we’re all darned near the same size.”
Not only the same size, but the same build.
With their similar jeans, boots, and shirts, topped by hair-covering cowboy hats, it could be hard to tell them apart.
Except I’d know Chapin anywhere.
No. That was old feelings talking. They had no place in this investigation.
“Same size and same place in the rankings — nowhere,” contributed that sharp-voiced cowboy from the back. Goose. That’s what they’d called him.
“Bill’s moving up,” said the first barrel racer. “He’s going to break through any time now.”
“Thanks, Lindy, but the truth is until I’ve done it, it’s not done.”
“How about you, Adam Hunter,” Reggie asked him. How much of her motive was to draw him in to the conversation and how much to be able to turn her back on cozy Lindy and “Bill” she didn’t trouble herself to ask.
“Up and down. More down than up.” His handsome young face was long.
“Only need one go-round to get on the right track,” Chapin said.
Tate Lavenge spoke up. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, even if he starts finishing in the money, he won’t have much to brag about. Everybody knows the bulls are where the money are.”
“That’s true. Biggest purses, most attention, most glamorous,” said Goose, clearly another bull rider and he fit the common body type. “More of us makin’ a livin’ than any of you other guys.”
“That varies from year to year,” Chapin said. “If a few guys at the top rake in the bulk of the prize money there’s not much left for the rest, no matter which event.”
That started a discussion of the top earners in the various events — none of them present at the moment.
But Reggie also saw that it earned Chapin a long look from the barrel racer named Lindy.
Whether that was because she recognized both the authority in his voice and the evidence of experience in his words, which didn’t fit the “late-starter” persona of Bill, or because of something more personal, Reggie couldn’t say. And wouldn’t waste time considering. It wasn’t any concern to her if “Bill” and Lindy indulged in a rodeo romance.
Still, Chapin better watch his step if he wanted to keep this charade going.
*
Walker and Kalli Riley’s ranch house had a spectacular view from its mountainside perch, including pieces of the winding road Vicky and Reggie had driven to get here.
The Rileys and Chapin were standing on a porch that stretched across the front and wrapped around the sides of the two-story house.
“This is amazing, how on earth do you get out of here in the winter?” Reggie asked.
Walker chuckled. “You’ve been living back East too long. Four-wheel drive. If that doesn’t work, snowmobile down to a ranch truck we have in a shed at the bottom. If that doesn’t work, horseback. If that doesn’t work, we stay here till it melts.”
“You’ll never guess which is Walker’s favorite,” Kalli said with a warm smile at him.
“The last one, because I’ve gotten real fond of being snowbound with my wife,” he said promptly. “C’mon, let me give you the two-second tour. There’s the barn and corrals. There’s another barn around by some flat land past that rock. That log building was the original house, but—”
“That Walker built.” Kalli’s pride shone through the words.
“—when the kids started coming—”
“Anything to do with being snowbound?” Vicky asked.
Walker kept going over the laughter. “—we turned it in to a guesthouse and built this place.”
They entered a vaulted great room where a rock fireplace dominated the back wall and couches cozied up to it.
Chapin said, “I can see why you don’t mind being snowbound.”
Kalli invited them to be seated.
Looking at the long dining table near windows with more of that view of the valley below, Vicky said, “Aren’t the kids going to be here? I was looking forward to seeing them.”
“They’re with friends in town.” Walker carried in a platter of fried chicken.
“You will probably see more of them than you want this week,” their mother added.
In rodeo, last week, this week, next week had nothing to do with the days on the calendar.
Some folks consider a week starts Sunday, others say Monday. But for rodeo people the week begins with the arrival at the next rodeo and ends with its wrap-up. The days in between were travel. In other words, they didn’t matter.
Kalli brought a huge bowl of fresh fruit salad, joining other dishes already on the table. “They’ll be running in and out of the office every second they’re not in the stands or by the chutes, even though they’re not supposed to be there.”
“They’re pretty good, but if you see them getting under foot feel free to tell them to scat.” Walker started passing the chicken.
“Uh-huh. You can see why they don’t heed the rule about staying completely away from the chutes.”
The talk slowed as they all applied themselves to the delicious dinner.
But as they settled on the couches with coffee afterward, the conversation slid to updates on people the others all knew.
She didn’t. She recognized a few names and remembered even fewer. Just the Jeffries — Baldwin and Mary — who had run the Park Rodeo until he had a stroke and Walker and Kalli took over. It was good to hear they were doing remarkably well. It was also good to hear that Matt Halderman, one of the few rodeo cowboys she’d met, because he’d helped Chapin even before he went on the circuit, now ran a place for retired rodeo animals on the east side of the Big Horn Mountains.
“And it looks like he’s finally settling down. A doctor over in Knighton,” Kalli said.
Reggie felt the vibration of her phone in her pocket and peeked at the screen.
Michael Knight.
“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Kalli nodded and smiled as she continued, “A wonderful woman. She’s so good for Matt. Though at the start—”
Reggie pulled the heavy front door closed behind her as she answered the call.
Michael asked how it was going.
“Good. I’ve narrowed the possibilities down more from the records.”
“When do you think you’ll have gone through all the possibilities?”
If she told him soon — or if he found out she had it down to three — he’d see no reason for her to stay here in Park or to go to the other rodeos.
She’d also have to give him the names. Including William C. Johnson.
That would almost certainly end his incognito. Even if the Knight brothers went along — and why should they? — they’d surely feel the need to inform the WRC office. With so many people knowing, word was going to come out sooner rather than later.
Of course, if he was robbing banks, that would end it, too.
No way is he robbing banks.
The facts say he could be.
Either way, she needed to pursue this to the end. For herself. For the Knight brothers. For Betsy. For the WRC. Maybe even for Chapin.
Not that he’d take getting caught by her any better than he would by anybody else if he was doing this. Probably worse.
But if she could clear it up and he wasn’t guilty, Bill Johnson wouldn’t need to be connected to Chapin until he was ready.
All those thoughts zipped through her brain in a flash after Michael’s question. She’d been thinking them over and over all day, putting them on her mental fast track.
So there was hardly any pause before she said, “It’s taking longer than I hoped because Vicky keeps making me work.”
He chuckled at that. “Getting our money’s worth. That’s good.”
“You sure are. Something else, Michael. I went back to study all the reports I could find on the robberies so far. Only two list the vehicle the robber drove and they’re different — a silver Chevy truck and a green Ford Explorer.”
“That kind of goes against your theory of one robber, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe not. I’ve already spotted a couple of each of those in the competitors’ parking area. I’d like to know what vehicles were spotted at the other robberies. Can you get into the police reports?”
After a moment of silence, she prompted, “Michael?”
“Let me look into that. I’ll get back to you one way or the other soon.”
“Thanks. Getting those reports will help a lot.” She purposely worded it as if he’d agreed to deliver them.
Planting a seed never hurt.
As she returned to the table, Chapin was saying, “…and the Walker words of wisdom I remember best are ‘In poker and life, only show—” Kalli and Walker repeated with him. “—your cards to folks you’re sure are on your side and going to stay there.”
Walker, Kalli, and Vicky chuckled.
Chapin’s mouth formed a smile, but it wasn’t in his eyes as he looked directly at her, saying clear as day that he wasn’t sure she was on his side or would stay there.
*
After leaving the Rileys’ home about ten-thirty, Vicky had been happily chatting about how nice the Rileys were and other positive elements of the evening, while Reggie’s mind turned over different aspects.
So it took her longer than usual to notice that Vicky had gone silent.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Somebody’s following us.”
“It’s just Chapin being overprotective.”
“He was behind us at the start, but not right up close like this.”
Reggie twisted around and saw only headlights piercing into Vicky’s four-wheel drive vehicle. Their height indicated the vehicle was a pickup. “What’s gotten in to him? He can wait. The road opens up not far along and then he can get by. He’s being a jerk.”
The narrow, twisting road to the Rileys’ house didn’t leave room for error.
Vicky slowed. “I’m going to let whoever it is pass.”
She pulled more to the right, leaving the driver behind them the maximum room to get around. She also rolled down her window and waved him to come around.
For a minute it seemed the driver was going to ignore the invitation. Then the vehicle swung out to start passing them.
Vicky slowed even more. “Go on, go around,” she muttered. But the vehicle remained at the left rear panel of Vicky’s vehicle.
Reggie twisted again, trying to see the driver or at least more detail of the other vehicle, without any luck. “What on earth is he doing?”
Abruptly the other vehicle sped up.
“Finally. It was starting to seem— Stop that.”
The other driver was returning to their lane before he’d cleared Vicky’s vehicle.
Vicky stomped on the brakes and swung the wheel to the right, avoiding the other vehicle, but sending them off the road and to the edge of the drainage ditch.
Vicky had been going so slow that they stopped fast and without deploying the airbags.
“Are you okay?” Reggie, held fast by the seat belt, leaned against it to check on her aunt.
“Fine. How about you?”
“Fine.”
“What on earth was he doing? It was like he was trying to run us off the road.”
The angle of the vehicle meant that looking past her aunt gave Reggie a view down the road. Just before it curved again, the other vehicle had stopped. Its headlights showed the beginning of the high rock face that the road curved around for a stretch before connecting with the highway.
Vicky turned her head to follow Reggie’s focus. “Oh. He’s backing up. He must have realized what he did and is coming back to check on us.”
Without taking her eyes off the progress of those lights reversing toward them, Reggie reached for her seat belt. “Get out, Vicky. Get out now.”
“But—”
“We don’t want to be sitting ducks.”
Reggie spoke as she pushed open her door. She turned and saw Vicky undoing her seat belt. “Do you have a gun?”
Her aunt didn’t waste any time in questions or exclamations. “In the back.”
They were at the back of the vehicle, with Vicky opening it to get her gun, while Reggie watched the vehicle cut the distance between them.
Lights from behind them swept around a curve.
Help? Or a confederate of the first vehicle?
“Got it.” Vicky came out with a serviceable rifle, handing Reggie a long-handled bag.
Reggie slung the bag diagonally across her, settling its significant weight. “Let’s go. Into that brush.”
They clambered down the ditch and up the other side.
“He’s stopping,” Vicky said.
Reggie saw the brake lights of the first vehicle were on. Then it started to move away from them at a good clip.
The newcomer, the one coming from behind them, was also stopping.
“We’ll stay here for now,” Reggie said quietly.
“Right.”
The newcomer’s hazard flashers came on, then the door swung open and a figure carrying a flashlight ran to Vicky’s vehicle.
When the figure opened the driver’s door, the interior light showed a man in a cowboy hat.
Then the figure straightened from the empty cab and shouted. “Reggie! Vicky! Are you here? Where are you? Are you okay?”
Chapin.
Not the driver in front of them. But here now, having scared off that other vehicle.
Her brain said it was still possible that he could be a confederate of that other driver. But what she’d heard in his voice overrode her brain.
“We’re here, Chapin,” she called. “We’re fine.”
“What the hell happened?” he demanded as he helped first Vicky, then Reggie back up the ditch to the road level.
“Rotten driver,” Reggie said.
“No way. That guy was trying to run us off the road. I kept slowing down and slowing down so he could get past and then he tried to—”
“Don’t dramatize, Aunt Vicky. Just a rotten driver.” Reggie gave her a sharp look, keeping her back to Chapin. “What on earth do you have in this bag? It weighs a ton.”
“Ammunition, knives, survival rations, and other stuff. And if you don’t have a kit like that in your vehicle you’ve been away from home far too long.”
*
For the rest of the trip in to town, Chapin’s headlights tracked Vicky’s vehicle in front of him from a safe distance.
After Reggie’s interruption there’d been no more talk of being run off the road on purpose.
With the practical capability that all the Morans possessed, Vicky had smoothly negotiated her vehicle away from the brink of the ditch and back on to the road. It ran fine and showed no sign of damage.
But when he came around the corner Chapin had seen that other vehicle backing up toward them.
He’d also seen it leave when it recognized that he’d come on the scene.
And, although nothing had been said about it, Reggie and Vicky getting themselves on the other side of the ditch with a weapon was a lot stronger reaction to an ordinary driving incident than he’d expect from either of them.
One more thing. If Vicky hadn’t been driving slowly, their venture off the road could have been a lot worse. Into the ditch for sure, with the potential for more.
In fact, if the encounter had been a little farther down the road, they would have had no road to get off of. They would have been caught between that mystery vehicle and the rock face that the road skirted.
Yeah, it all could have been very different.