Janey
“Is she okay to race?”
I tie off the last stitch and smile at the worried young woman.
“She should be fine. Keep it as clean and as dry as you can.”
The barrel horse probably got caught on a piece of fencing or something, and tore a four-inch gash along her shoulder. But it wasn’t that deep and I was able to clean and close the cut with a tidy row of stitches. The minor injury shouldn’t impact the horse’s performance.
I pet the pretty pinto’s neck. “You’re sure she’s up to date on her tetanus shot?”
The girl nods. “I’m pretty sure, but I’ll check. I brought her vaccination records. They’re in my trailer.”
I turn to Logan, who’s been observing, and give him a nod.
“Would you walk back with her and check the date? And then you may as well grab some lunch.”
My assistant appears to be quite pleased with my request as he flashes a grin in the pretty girl’s direction.
“Sure thing.”
Clearly his lanky good looks haven’t gone unnoticed by her either, as she shyly smiles back.
“You may not see him back for a while,” JD warns me.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I consider as I watch them walk off.
I tuck a few strands of my hair back under the ball cap I wore to cover my eyes from the sun. It’s a hot one today and we’ve been standing out in the baking sun without even a hint of shade, so I’m sweating buckets. Adding to my discomfort is the itching of my skin underneath the wires and the tape used to secure the minute microphone between my breasts. I’d almost forgotten I was wearing it while I had my hands full, but I’m annoyingly aware of it now.
When we got here this morning, Phil Jericho showed us to a small corral where he wanted me to set up clinic. I actually thought it was a good idea, being able to keep my gear in one spot rather than lugging it around the grounds. When possible, the animals were brought to me, which suited me just fine. Most of my patients this morning were horses with relatively minor issues, and one goat with a clogged teat.
The goat is part of this afternoon’s kids’ fair. All kinds of children’s activities like kids’ barrel racing, best-in-show farm animal contests, a petting zoo, greased pig wrangling, and a goat milking race, among other things. I’m personally not a fan of any of these events, other than perhaps the best-in-show contest—at least those animals are generally treated well—but I’m not here to make moral judgements.
What I didn’t realize, until the gates opened to the public earlier, was the corral Jericho assigned us to is actually right beside the petting zoo. Which means we’ve had a fair number of onlookers and curious kids asking all kinds of questions. To my surprise, JD ended up fielding a lot of those in his calm, steady voice that seemed to have the kids mesmerized. Some mothers too, and I discovered I actually do have a jealous bone in my body.
“You’re getting a sunburn. You need a proper cowboy hat,” JD suggests when I wipe the sweat off my forehead with a wad of gauze.
“I tried. They don’t stay on my head for long in this line of work.”
I did put on sunscreen this morning, but that was sweated off a while ago.
“What I need is some shade and a cool drink,” I declare, looking longingly at the fair, where some food vendors set up picnic tables under the cover of tents or large umbrellas.
“Let’s go. It’s quiet now,” he points out. “We’ll grab some lunch, and find a spot in the shade where we can keep an eye out.”
He’s right. There’s no one waiting, and once the auction starts later this afternoon, I’ll be stuck there.
“I’ll grab us some food, you find us a table,” JD suggests. “Fry bread tacos okay with you?”
“Sounds good. I’m just gonna hit the bathroom first.”
Of course there’s a line-up at the small building housing his and hers restrooms. There are also a number of Porta-potties, but I avoid those. I’d rather wait so I can have running water to wash up a bit. I feel gross, the dust and dirt are sticking to my damp skin.
When it’s my turn, I quickly pee before cleaning up at the small sink. Hand soap is probably not the best choice to wash my face and neck with, but I do feel a lot better when I step outside.
I manage to procure a picnic table under a large awning, and sigh in relief to be out of the sun. But the relief doesn’t last long.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
I look up to see Mackey stalking toward me, his face once again an unhealthy red and purple color. My entire body tenses up as he walks right up and into my space.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, getting to my feet so I take away his advantage of hovering over me.
“You took my cow.”
He jabs a finger at me and I have to hold back from grabbing on to it and hurting him. He’s creating enough of a spectacle without me adding onto it.
“What cow?”
For a moment I’m confused. Is he talking about the dead cow? Because I would’ve bet he was the one who took it and burned the carcass.
But then he clarifies, “A cow from that last trailer yesterday is missing. We’re getting them ready for auction and I’m told we’re missing one. My driver says he left you alone on that trailer when you sent him off to find water.”
I might’ve scoffed at him if I wasn’t so worried. Obviously, I didn’t take the cow, but I’m pretty sure what I did take is what really has him pissed off. There’s no way for him to know though. Is there?
“What would I do with a cow? Why would I take a cow? You’re not making any sense,” I tell him. “Besides, didn’t you count heads yesterday when they were unloaded?”
“Everything all right here?”
Phil Jericho walks up behind Mackey, who appears to stiffen at hearing his voice.
I take the opportunity to explain.
“Mackey seems to have lost a cow and is accusing me of taking it.”
Jericho drops a manicured hand on the other man’s shoulder.
“Now, John, what on earth would Doc Richards want with your cow? The animal probably just slipped in with another herd. Let’s go have a look, shall we?”
With a wink for me, and a benevolent smile for a few nosy onlookers, he firmly guides Mackey back to the stockyard.
“What was that all about?” JD asks when he joins me a few minutes later. “I was about to come check it out when Jericho showed up.”
I relay Mackey’s strange accusation as JD slides a bottle of water and the largest fry bread taco I’ve ever seen in front of me. His reaction surprises me.
“Hmm. I bet you I know which cow went missing.”
JD
I’m observant, so it doesn’t take me long to spot him.
He looks like just another middle-aged rancher; dusty Stetson, denim shirt, weathered face, toothpick in his mouth to compensate for the cigarettes he probably cut out for his health. But what makes him stand out is his keen focus on the interactions in the auction arena. He isn’t looking at his program, or chatting with the other ranchers in the stands, but his eyes track everything that goes on below.
He also places just a few bids, early on in the process—probably in an attempt to blend in—but only buys one small lot and doesn’t seem too interested in following through on the others. That is, until one of Mackey’s lots comes up for auction. Now, all of a sudden, he’s all business.
“Tan Stetson, fifties, denim shirt. Second to last row of the stands on the south side,” I mumble into my shirt. “Number three, eight, one,” I read off the placard he’s holding up.
I’ve been to my share of livestock auctions. Horses, not cattle, but the principle is the same. When I mentioned that this morning, when Janey and I were getting miked up, Agent Kramer suggested I take an observing role at this afternoon’s auction. Not only keeping an eye on Doc, who is currently in the arena below, standing near the gate where the animals are led in, but also on the stands. She asked me to report any irregularities or individuals who looked out of place.
This guy would fit that bill.
I watch as he waits out another interested bidder and swoops in at the last moment to drop his higher bid. As cautious as he was on his earlier bidding, he is clearly motivated to buy this load and willing to go as high as he needs to.
By the time the second of Mackey’s lots is led into the arena, a man sidles up to the railing beside me. I’m pretty sure he’s a fed; his attention is fixed on the bidder like mine.
“That him?” he mutters under his breath.
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, take a walk, I’ve got him from here.”
Probably smart. I was looking at him pretty hard.
I don’t want to venture too far, so I get a bottle of water from the concession stand and find a shady spot from where I can keep an eye on the auction arena, the cattle holding pens, and the numerous cattle trailers behind it.
Buyers tend to come prepared to an auction and bring their wallets and transportation. Once they win their bid on a lot, they can pay up, and receive their bill of sale. They need to show that when they drive their transport trailer to the loading chute at the back of the pens to collect their cattle.
I hope the FBI has eyes on that process as well, because sometimes buyers load their animals while the auction is still going on. They probably do—from what I can tell Agent Kramer is thorough—but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to have a look myself.
Natural curiosity combined with leftover professional instincts from my years as a game warden have me casually sauntering around to the rear of the arena. There are two guys leaning against the end of the loading chute, smoking and chatting. I can’t see anyone else near the pens.
There isn’t a ton of security on the grounds, other than a few sheriff’s deputies who are mostly concerned with crowd control, and a couple of guys I’ve seen around the past few days who looked like private hires. Still, with the increasing volume of trailers going in and out of the grounds these past few days, it probably wouldn’t have been too difficult to sneak out a cow with no one noticing.
I’m pretty sure the cow-napping was the FBI’s doing, if it was, in fact, the animal Janey retrieved those packages from. It’s a way to delay the discovery of those missing drugs, giving them more time to identify all the important players and get suspicion off Janey. It wouldn’t be the first time a cow ends up in the wrong pen, with the wrong herd.
Except, judging by Mackey’s reaction, he’s not buying into it, and the fact he went straight for Doc with his accusations is a bit concerning. Good thing the feds were listening in, I hope it’ll make them extra vigilant when it comes to her safety.
Nobody stops me when I wander over to the transport trailers parked at the back. There’s a group of guys sitting at a picnic table in the shade by the trees, but they’re not paying attention. Probably ranch hands hanging out while they wait for a signal from their bosses to meet them with the truck at the loading chute.
I’m not sure what it is I’m looking for as I wander between trailers of all sizes. Maybe the missing cow is in one of them. Also, I’d love to have a look at the trailer belonging to the buyer I pointed out to the agent, but there’s no way to know which one would be his. I know it’ll be one of the big transport trucks. It would have to be to haul the number of animals he’s bidding on.
I focus on the big ones, peeking in ventilation holes and checking any markings. Perhaps something will jump out at me.
No sooner has the thought formed, when I hear a footstep behind me. Whirling around, I see only a hint of movement before something hits me hard in the head, sending me face-first in the dirt. Disoriented, I catch a blurry glimpse of a boot as I try to push myself up on my arms.
Then I’m hit from behind again, knocking me right back down in the dirt.
The last thing I remember is a distant voice calling out, “Hey!” before the lights go out.