out and opened it. A twenty and two singles. She pressed her lips together, pulled the twenty out with a sigh and slid out of the booth. Just as she did so, she looked up to see which direction Steve and his friend went, and saw Steve walking toward her.
Damn it!
She pivoted and hurried toward the restrooms, hoping and praying he hadn’t seen her. When she reached the door to the restroom, she chanced a glance over her shoulder. He stood in the middle section of the truck stop, looking at a display of radio headsets. She debated. Go into the restroom and be safe, or hurry out of the restaurant and follow them?
If she lost sight of them, there were three ways they could go. To the left out the front door to the parking lot, straight ahead to the convenience store, or right to the trucker restrooms and back lot.
No, she had come this far. She wasn’t turning back now. She turned and headed for the cashier. As she paid her tab, she saw her ex and the pig-tailed woman stride through the convenience store. Gina broke her twenty, hesitated for a moment, then returned to the table to drop a single bill for the waitress.
She walked through the convenience store, pausing for a moment on her way to the door to act as if she was browsing. She didn’t want to get to the door too quickly.
"Ma'am! Excuse me, ma'am!"
Gina’s heart jumped up to her throat. She swiveled toward the voice and saw the harried waitress hurrying toward her. The woman held up a white Styrofoam container.
Toby’s chicken fingers.
Gina returned for them, then was on her way out when she realized she was about where the odd woman had been when she stopped to look at something. She glanced down at the metal boxes that contained newspapers – the USA Today, the Kansas City Star, but the most prominent was the local paper with a headline that blared, “Rustlers Strike Again” over a bleak photo of a farmer with a tear rolling down his cheek. Gina leaned down and squinted at the caption under the photo. She recognized the man. His wife was one of her croppers. He occasionally came in with her, sometimes helped carry her supplies into the store, and bought Christmas gifts for her from the store.
She blinked, stunned at how close the crime hit to home.
She’d heard some of her customers talking about the recent spate of cattle rustling. It sounded almost funny to her at first, like something out of an old western, but it seriously affected people’s livelihood. Cattle were a major economic endeavor in Missouri and Kansas. Even worse, a farmer in a neighboring county had been shot dead when he tried to stop the crooks in the middle of their crime. The thieves were getting bolder and more dangerous with each passing day.
She’d imagined outlaws on horseback riding away with a herd of cattle like the old westerns on MeTV, but as she looked out the window, she saw Steve and his new friend standing between two cattle haulers.
She pointed her little car home and drove, wondering how on earth her ex managed to get involved with cattle rustlers.
Was he really, or was her imagination running away with her?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cats & Dogs
Beau swung the truck around so that it was pointed out toward the road, then shifted into park. They both climbed out, slamming their doors with a double bang that sounded sharp in the relative quiet of the night. A pair of bats swooped through the air, catching bugs drawn by the dusk to dawn light attached to the front of the pole barn. A set of headlights swept across the front of the house. The two turned to watch as another pickup rolled down the driveway and swung around in the gravel to point out to the road, just as they had. A short block of a man hopped down from the driver’s seat and landed with a soft puff of gravel dust.
“Hey, there, Stump!” Beau called. Aidan raised a hand in greeting. They waited for the short man to catch up with them, then they all three strode up
Damn it!
She pivoted and hurried toward the restrooms, hoping and praying he hadn’t seen her. When she reached the door to the restroom, she chanced a glance over her shoulder. He stood in the middle section of the truck stop, looking at a display of radio headsets. She debated. Go into the restroom and be safe, or hurry out of the restaurant and follow them?
If she lost sight of them, there were three ways they could go. To the left out the front door to the parking lot, straight ahead to the convenience store, or right to the trucker restrooms and back lot.
No, she had come this far. She wasn’t turning back now. She turned and headed for the cashier. As she paid her tab, she saw her ex and the pig-tailed woman stride through the convenience store. Gina broke her twenty, hesitated for a moment, then returned to the table to drop a single bill for the waitress.
She walked through the convenience store, pausing for a moment on her way to the door to act as if she was browsing. She didn’t want to get to the door too quickly.
"Ma'am! Excuse me, ma'am!"
Gina’s heart jumped up to her throat. She swiveled toward the voice and saw the harried waitress hurrying toward her. The woman held up a white Styrofoam container.
Toby’s chicken fingers.
Gina returned for them, then was on her way out when she realized she was about where the odd woman had been when she stopped to look at something. She glanced down at the metal boxes that contained newspapers – the USA Today, the Kansas City Star, but the most prominent was the local paper with a headline that blared, “Rustlers Strike Again” over a bleak photo of a farmer with a tear rolling down his cheek. Gina leaned down and squinted at the caption under the photo. She recognized the man. His wife was one of her croppers. He occasionally came in with her, sometimes helped carry her supplies into the store, and bought Christmas gifts for her from the store.
She blinked, stunned at how close the crime hit to home.
She’d heard some of her customers talking about the recent spate of cattle rustling. It sounded almost funny to her at first, like something out of an old western, but it seriously affected people’s livelihood. Cattle were a major economic endeavor in Missouri and Kansas. Even worse, a farmer in a neighboring county had been shot dead when he tried to stop the crooks in the middle of their crime. The thieves were getting bolder and more dangerous with each passing day.
She’d imagined outlaws on horseback riding away with a herd of cattle like the old westerns on MeTV, but as she looked out the window, she saw Steve and his new friend standing between two cattle haulers.
She pointed her little car home and drove, wondering how on earth her ex managed to get involved with cattle rustlers.
Was he really, or was her imagination running away with her?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cats & Dogs
Beau swung the truck around so that it was pointed out toward the road, then shifted into park. They both climbed out, slamming their doors with a double bang that sounded sharp in the relative quiet of the night. A pair of bats swooped through the air, catching bugs drawn by the dusk to dawn light attached to the front of the pole barn. A set of headlights swept across the front of the house. The two turned to watch as another pickup rolled down the driveway and swung around in the gravel to point out to the road, just as they had. A short block of a man hopped down from the driver’s seat and landed with a soft puff of gravel dust.
“Hey, there, Stump!” Beau called. Aidan raised a hand in greeting. They waited for the short man to catch up with them, then they all three strode up
Similar Books
