“What can I do for you?” Brandy asked Betty later that afternoon, after a lunch hour spent casing Gator Hallsey’s most recent hangout. The man hadn’t come in again and the bartender had no information, and so Brandy was no better off. The only thing keeping her spirits ups was her plan to keep seeing Tyler.
Crazy, but there it was.
“Muffin?” she added, motioning to the freshly baked goodies on the top shelf.
“That would be delightful, sugar.” The old woman rummaged in her purse for her wallet. “And give me some of that Earl Grey tea you mixed up the other day. It did wonders for my stomach. ’Course, a shot of something a little stronger would be better, but then I’m not as young as I used to be, am I?” Betty smiled, her face breaking into a mass of wrinkles. “That’s what you ought to start working on instead of another cake. You ought to whip up some shine that don’t tear up my stomach. Told my grandson that just the other day, bragged about how good your granddaddy’s stuff used to be and how you were a chip off the old block.”
“Moonshine isn’t my specialty.” Not anymore. Not now that her shine was missing and the chances of her finding it in time to run it and come up with a viable product before her meeting on Friday with Mark, were slim to none.
Maybe Tyler was right.
The notion was too depressing and so she tried for a smile. “Honey butter to go with the muffin?”
“Told Mitchell I ought to try my hand at making my own moonshine,” Betty went on. “But he waved me off like he always does. Don’t get old, sugar. Nobody takes you seriously anymore.”
“You thinking about brewing up some shine?”
“Why not? It ain’t like I ain’t tasted my fair share. I bet I could come up with something. Then again, I’m too old to go to the pokey. Hear tell, Sheriff DeMassi’s closing in on all the moonshiners in this area. Did you hear about that big arrest out at the Sawyer place? The one where they took down Big Jimmy? Heard about it from my Mitchell, who said he saw with his own two eyes when they hauled the guy in. It was ugly. Pure ugly. And just for a little cooking.”
“That’s because it’s illegal.”
“Horse shit. It’s the government, I tell you. Always trying to tell us what to do. Why, I’m of a mind to run some shine just to show them there are still some red-blooded Americans left who ain’t afraid to exercise their God-given rights.”
“I don’t think running shine is mentioned in the Constitution.”
“Me, either.” The deep voice sounded and Brandy’s head snapped up to see Sheriff DeMassi standing at the counter.
“Sheriff,” Betty said, her spine instantly straighter. “I was just talking here about God and country.”
“I heard, but I doubt the big guy would condone breaking the law. Contrary to what a lot of folks think, running shine is illegal and any parties caught participating will be tried according to the law.”
“Law schmaw,” Betty snapped. “Why, it’s a shame what this world’s come to where an old woman can’t say what she wants without an officer of the law stalking her.”
“I’m not stalking you.”
“You were just at the Quick Stop and so was I.”
“That’s because I was picking up a newspaper and you were buying panty hose.”
“Ah, hah. You were stalking me. Otherwise you would never know that I was buying panty hose.”
“You were standing in front of me in line, Miss Betty. You argued with the clerk about a different brand. I couldn’t help but notice.”
“Right.” She slid a glance to Brandy. “I’d watch my step around him if I were you. He’s liable to haul you in.”
“I only do that with criminals, ma’am.”
“My point exactly.” She gave Brandy another glance before grabbing her muffin and heading for a nearby table.
“So what can I do you for, Sheriff? I’ve got fresh apple bread.”
“I’m afraid I’m not here on break.”
Anxiety rushed through her and she thought of the missing mash. Had the sheriff gotten wind of it and confiscated it? And now he was here to arrest her?
“Big Jimmy is being transferred to Huntsville Prison on eight counts of making illegal alcohol and tax evasion.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it? Because I just keeping thinking he knows something and now that they’re transferring him out, I’m not going to get another chance to find out what that is.”
“Maybe it’s just what the Feds say. Grandpa paid Jimmy a visit. Threatened him. It could be that simple.”
He nodded, but the affirmation didn’t touch the taut line of his mouth. “Even so, can I stop by your place again and take a look in your granddad’s room? There’s something still bothering me from the other night.”
“I didn’t think you found anything.”
“I didn’t. That’s the problem. I keep feeling as if there’s something there.” He scratched his temple. “Something I’m missing.”
“I usually stay late to prep for the next day, but I was actually going to cut out early tonight.” Thanks to Tyler. They were going to ask around some more about Gator and then head back to his place.
But first she needed to swing by home.
“I should be home around seven.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
Tyler slid off the mechanical bull and wiped his hands on his jeans. His phone beeped from his pocket and he slid it free to see the latest stats from the rodeo going on in Blackwater, South Dakota. It was a small-time venue with little in the way of prize money, but it did feed the national standings. Not enough to knock Tyler out of his spot, but enough to shake things up and make him think twice about crawling back on the mechanical bull.
He needed a real bull. A mean sonofabitch.
He needed Junkyard Dog.
He eyed the sleek black animal in the nearby pen, the familiar Sawyer emblem blazing on the sign mounted just outside the railing. While Brett had issued a press release stating that he was going to retire to work his family’s cattle ranch, he’d decided to put some of his effort into bulls.
Grade A, prizewinning bulls like the one only a few feet away.
Junkyard Dog was just one of a handful penned at the rodeo arena in anticipation of the weekly Saturday-night event that the venue hosted. A small-time show that didn’t feed into national standings, but certainly afforded some really good practice.
If Brett had been inclined to share with Tyler.
The thought struck as he watched his second cousin in the nearby arena, talking to one of the cowboys who’d just hit the dust after an unsettling ride. Tyler couldn’t help but wonder what words of wisdom the reigning champ was passing on. If any. Maybe they were smack-talking the way he and Brett used to do.
Too much smack for Tyler to turn around and ask for help now.
That’s your pride talking, a voice whispered.
But Tyler had gone without so much for most of his life that pride had been all he’d had. And while things had changed, old habits died hard.
He checked the rest of his texts, his heart pounding ever so slightly when he saw Brandy’s name and the message that she would be a little late tonight.
Cold feet?
That was his first thought, but then she hadn’t called things off between them, so it could very well mean just what she said—she had to take care of something at home. The notion filled him with hope, a rare commodity for him these days, and eased the tension in his shoulders just enough so he could take a deep, easy breath.
He checked Coop’s number yet again and listened to the familiar voice mail. He didn’t even bother to leave a message this time. Maybe Cooper was still out of town. And maybe he was just hiding. Either way, Tyler intended to find out. They might be hunting for Brandy’s mash tonight, but he fully intended to find out as much as he could about his brother’s new line of work at the same time.
Cooper hauling moonshine.
It didn’t make a bit of sense since his brother had barely gotten his driver’s license the last time Tyler had been home. He’d been so timid, so determined to walk the straight and narrow—unlike their father—that he’d been fearful of even getting a parking ticket.
And now he was running with the fastest in the county.
It didn’t add up.
No, it just started the throbbing in his temples that said he had a major migraine coming on.
So much for hope.
He slid the phone into his pocket and walked around to another nearby pen and a bull by the name of Grenade. He wasn’t fast, but he was brutal and so Tyler spent the next few seconds prepping his hands before climbing over the edge of the stall. His ass hit the bull and the animal jumped and jerked. He dug in, wrapping his fingers under the rope and tilting his head forward for a long moment.
He gave the signal and just like that, the bull shot forward, bucking and bolting this way and that while Tyler held tight. The seconds ticked by … three … four … five—
Whumph!
He hit the ground. The air bolted from his lungs and pain jolted him.
But he moved anyway, springing to his feet and moving out of the way as the cowboys fought the bull back into its pen.
He stopped and drew a deep, shaky breath, his backside screaming, his shoulder throbbing. Okay, so he’d gotten faster in addition to being mean.
“Good ride,” a cowboy called out.
Half-ass came the text message a split second later when Tyler’s phone beeped and he hauled the iPhone out to stare at the screen.
He glanced at the familiar number before his head snapped up to catch the stare of the man who stood clear across the rodeo arena. Brett Sawyer shook his head before turning back to his own phone.
When you ride, you have to do it like you mean it. Pull your head out of your ass came the next message.
Tyler’s fingers flew over the keys. If you know so much, get over here and show me how it’s done.
I might came the blinking reply. I just might. But first you need to get your head in the game. Whatever’s bugging you, deal with it and then get back to work.
Tyler stared at the screen long and hard, the unanswered questions about his brother beating at his senses. That, and he was still thinking about Brandy, about the fact that she’d come so close to putting the brakes on and that while she’d agreed to more sex, she’d been almost reluctant. As if she wasn’t half as anxious to spend time with him as he was to spend time with her.
That, or she just didn’t want to admit it.
Deal with it, came the next text.
Tyler stuffed his phone into his pocket, dusted off his jeans, and headed for the small apartment on the second floor. A quick shower and he intended to do just that.