The Long Ride Home Read online

  “Just saying.”

  “I was nowhere near Billings at that time.”

  David raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say exactly when it was sold. Do you have an alibi for the entire year?”

  “Yeah, I do.” That pointed little chin lifted another notch. “I was riding shotgun on convoys from Kandahar airport into the Helmand province. That’s in Afghanistan, in case you’re not familiar.”

  David felt his jaw drop. “You were in the Army?”

  “The Montana National Guard. I was deployed two months before your horse disappeared, didn’t come home for ten months after. Is that a sufficient alibi?”

  David couldn’t muster an intelligent response, so he shut up. Yolanda smiled ever so slightly and then nodded at Galen to go on.

  “Two years ago in April, Otis gathered up his granddad’s herd,” Galen said. “Anything that rode decent he kept, the rest he hauled to the sale barn in Billings.”

  Where they were most likely sold for slaughter. David’s skin went cold at the thought of Muddy being loaded on that particular trailer.

  Galen checked his notes and continued. “When he saw how Muddy took to handlin’ cattle, Otis assumed Jinks had roped on him. He knew we were looking for somethin’ for Kylan, so he called me, and Mary bought the horse. He seemed to be a natural.”

  A natural. Yeah, after about a thousand runs beginning when David got him as a four-year-old.

  “I have the original bill of sale here, signed by Otis Yellowhawk,” Yolanda said, tapping a file folder with her finger. “Jinks did tell his girlfriend about picking up the horse. She’s willing to testify if she’s promised immunity from prosecution for selling the stolen saddle. We’re hoping that won’t be necessary.”

  David took a deep breath, let it out. What did it matter? He didn’t want a fight. He just wanted Muddy. “No. I’m good. So now what?”

  “That’s what we’re here to negotiate.” Yolanda took a deliberate pause, let her words sink in.

  “Negotiate?” David repeated. “He belongs to me.”

  “My client has invested a considerable sum of money in this horse, David. A purchase price of two thousand dollars plus two years of boarding, shoeing and veterinary expenses.”

  David felt his lip curl. “That’s a pretty small price to pay for the use of a horse like Muddy.”

  “Probably true,” Yolanda said. “But for Kylan, the horse is irreplaceable at any price.”

  David clenched his fists on the narrow wooden armrests of his chair. “What are you trying to say?”

  Yolanda pulled a piece of paper from her folder and held it up. David recognized it instantly and grunted like he’d been punched in the gut.

  “You expect me to pay the reward money in order to get Muddy back?” he sputtered, so furious he could barely speak. “That poster is four years old!”

  Yolanda glanced at the missing-horse poster she held, then at him. “There is no expiration date on the offer, and I wasn’t able to find any public record of a retraction on your part.”

  David swallowed, sucked in air, swallowed again. Five grand had seemed like nothing when he hadn’t even cashed the check from winning Cody. But now…

  “Your client has had use of my horse without my permission for two full years,” he said, leaning forward to bounce a glare from Galen to Mary. “Soon as Kylan started roping on him, you had to know he was a whole lot more than some stray, but you never wondered where he really came from?”

  They both stared straight ahead, stone-faced as the concrete tipi.

  Yolanda pulled out another sheet of paper. “This is a transcript of your 911 call, the night your horse disappeared. You told the dispatcher, and I quote directly, ‘It’s my own fault. I got distracted, forgot about the fireworks. I never should have left him tied there.’”

  Shame heated David’s face. “What’s that got to do—”

  “By your own admission, you are at least partially culpable for the loss of your animal,” Yolanda cut in. “Given the circumstances and the time that passed between when your horse was stolen and when Mary bought him, even if she had tried, the chances that she would have been able to identify him are minimal. She purchased him in good faith and took excellent care of him. I can’t think of any reason she shouldn’t be paid the full reward…but she is willing to consider another option.”

  “And that is?” David managed through clenched teeth.

  “She’ll settle for half if you’ll agree to leave him with Kylan until after the National High School Rodeo.”

  “That’s almost the end of July!”

  Yolanda inclined her head. “If that isn’t acceptable, she’s willing to take the reward in full and turn the horse over to you immediately.”

  David swiveled in his chair to glare at Mary, who still refused to glance in his direction. He met Galen’s implacable gaze instead, found no sign of the previous sympathy. Fury shot David straight up out of his chair. “You want to hold Muddy ransom? Fine. I’m more than willing to call in the state cops.”

  Yolanda leaned back with a pitying smile. “This isn’t the State of Montana, Mr. Parsons. This is the Blackfeet Nation. A dispute of this kind will have to be settled in tribal court. Unfortunately, that court has a large backlog and takes a recess for the first week of July, so I wouldn’t expect your case to be heard by the judge until at least August.”

  Wham! There it was. The reason Mary had run home to the reservation.

  David stared at Yolanda, mind flailing. This couldn’t possibly be right. They didn’t just get to opt out of the law of the land. But from the red haze inside his skull, he fished a memory from history class. Wounded Knee. The Pine Ridge Reservation. A stand-off with the FBI because they were the only outside law enforcement with jurisdiction on an Indian reservation.

  The Feds wouldn’t come blazing to David’s rescue. He was just some cowboy, and Muddy was just a horse. They were on their own.

  He whirled around, kicked his chair aside and slammed out of the office.

  Chapter Seven

  David slapped the flat of his hand down hard on the flatbed of Galen’s pickup, then cursed when a sliver from the wooden deck speared into his palm. He wanted to yell, kick something, but he was already drawing enough curious stares from the pair of old ladies hunkered on a bench outside the entry of the building.

  He took off down the sidewalk, needing to work off some steam before he exploded. A plastic grocery bag rolled in front of him, pushed by the wind. He stomped it flat, ground his heel for good measure, then relented and picked it up, though it didn’t make a whole lot of difference considering the drift of trash against the chain-link fence down the block.

  He wadded the plastic into a tight ball, jammed his fists into the bottom of his coat pockets and kicked an empty soda bottle down the sidewalk and into the street where the wind sent it skittering across the crumbling pavement.

  It wasn’t fair, dammit. Finding Muddy was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. The answer to his prayers. After all the months, all the heartache…now this?

  His phone rang and he fished it out, fully intending to let it go to voice mail if it was his dad. He couldn’t begin to pretend normal right now. He didn’t recognize the number. 406 prefix. Somewhere in Montana, and he couldn’t think of a soul in the state who knew his number. But when he answered, the voice was vaguely familiar.

  “Hey, David. It’s Rusty Chapman.”

  “Rusty.” David had to roust the memory from a back corner of his brain. “Hi. Been a while.”

  Almost four years. David’s first trip to the National Finals had been Rusty’s last. He’d retired from the road to concentrate on his growing family and their ranch. David knew Rusty the way he knew a lot of the other ropers…as members of the same fraternity. The road warriors—a relatively small group of cowboys who lived on and for the
pro tour, following the rodeos to every corner of the country. They went head-to-head in the arena but looked out for each other too. Rodeo competition was tough, but the travel was flat-out brutal. Everybody needed a hand somewhere along the way, whether it be a spare tire, an encouraging pat on the back, a ride to the next big show.

  Or in this case, a friendly voice on the end of the line when a man was feeling badly outnumbered.

  “I heard you were in the area,” Rusty said.

  “You live around Browning?”

  “Not too far off. I’m north of Cut Bank. Is the rumor I’m hearing true, about Muddy?”

  “What, did they send out smoke signals?” David asked, kicking at a flattened beer can.

  “Nah. Facebook. You’re all over my wife’s timeline.”

  Oh, great. Enough people knew Muddy’s story for it to spread like wildfire across the Internet. And that scene he’d made in Kalispell…

  “Are there pictures?”

  Rusty laughed. “Not your best look, buddy.”

  David groaned. His mother would tan his hide when she saw those.

  “I can’t believe he’s been right here under my nose,” Rusty said.

  David angled across the street to a park where he could lean on the railing of a wooden bridge. “You ever see Kylan rope on him?”

  “Not that I remember. Kylan doesn’t rope well enough to attract attention outside the high school rodeos. My wife teaches fourth grade over in Browning though. She works with Mary.”

  Whoa. Back up. “Mary’s a teacher?”

  “Special education. She’s amazing. The rest of the staff thinks the world of her.”

  Great. A soldier. A teacher. Practically a damn saint. What next? Was he gonna find out she knitted blankets for orphans in her spare time?

  “She’s trying to force me to leave Muddy here until after the high school finals,” David said, the anger spurting again.

  “How?”

  David explained.

  Rusty cursed softly. “I’m not surprised. Qualifying for nationals, that’s huge for a kid like Kylan. Damn sure more than anyone ever expected. I imagine Mary would do about anything to keep it from being ruined for him.”

  Too late.

  Guilt curdled in David’s gut, kicking his anger up another notch. “So I’m the bad guy here? Muddy is my horse.”

  “I wasn’t saying—” Rusty stopped, gave a pained sigh. “This whole thing just sucks. Mary and Galen and them—they’re good people. I guarantee they had no idea Muddy was stolen.”

  “They had to wonder, when they saw how good he was.”

  “Not necessarily. Jinks Yellowhawk could really rope. Went to the Montana circuit finals a few times, might’ve had a shot at the NFR if he could’ve kept his shit together, stayed off the drugs and all. I would’ve believed he’d have a decent horse.”

  Muddy was a hell of a lot more than decent. And Mary and Galen might normally be great people, but as far as David was concerned, this was nothing but pure extortion. If they thought he’d walk away and leave Muddy here for another month, they were insane.

  Or desperate.

  “Can they do this?” he asked. “Force me to pay to get him back just because they’re on the reservation?”

  “I don’t know.” Rusty huffed out a breath. “You could probably fight them, and you might win, but I’m guessing it would take more time and money than paying the reward.”

  “Which is what they’re betting on.”

  “Yeah,” Rusty agreed. “I wish I could be more help, but I don’t know anybody who has much influence with the tribe. Hilary’s got a friend who’s a lawyer though. Practices in Cut Bank. We could ask her opinion. Off the books,” Rusty added.

  Meaning free of charge. Just what David could afford. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” His temper eased, his head clearing enough to make way for curiosity. “If Mary’s a teacher and she’s been in the Army, she’s gotta be older than she looks.”

  “Close to thirty, I’d say. She went to college at Montana State, then basic training and stuff. Then she was deployed for a year. This is her sixth year teaching.”

  At least two years older than David then. “How come Kylan lives with her?”

  “His mother’s in prison for selling meth.”

  Oh. Geez. “Tough having your mom arrested.”

  “Better than living with that woman. She’s bad news, coming and going. Best thing that could’ve happened to Kylan, having Mary named his guardian. Hasn’t been easy though. Kylan is…well, he’s got some challenges.”

  David looked up and saw Galen shuffling out of the office building, swiveling his head as he searched for his missing passenger. “Listen, Rusty, I gotta run.”

  “No problem. I’ll call you after I get a chance to talk to our lawyer friend. If you need anything else while you’re here—a place to stay or a practice pen to run some calves—don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  David tucked the phone away but stayed put, bracing his elbows on the railing to stare down into the murky creek. He had to settle down, use his head. Slamming around kicking things and antagonizing everyone in sight wouldn’t help. Much as he’d like to paint Mary and Galen as the villains, they were getting the shaft here too. And so was Kylan.

  His conscience reared up and gave him a sharp jab. Hell. Why did it have to be a kid? Why couldn’t Muddy have been with some thirty-something rodeo stud who had four other horses in the pasture?

  David contemplated his limited options as he walked the two blocks back to Galen’s pickup. Leaving without Muddy was not a possibility, but even if he could conjure up five grand out of thin air, it still left the kid without a horse, at least in the short term. And with nationals just over a month away, the short term was pretty important to Kylan Runningbird.

  David stopped a few yards short of where Galen was leaning on the pickup’s flatbed, seeming content to wait as long as necessary. The man must be a great poker player. That face gave away nothing.

  “Who are you anyway?” David asked, irritated enough he didn’t care that he sounded rude.

  Galen didn’t flinch. “How do ya mean?”

  “What are you to Mary? An uncle or something?”

  Galen gave a single, deliberate nod. “Mary’s brothers were my wife’s nephews.”

  David blinked, not sure which part of that statement to try to comprehend first. “Mary’s not your niece?”

  “Not by blood. Her mom left my wife’s brother and hooked up with some white man down in Great Falls for a while, came home pregnant. None of us ever laid eyes on him.”

  That would explain why she wasn’t as dark as the rest of them. “What about Mary? Has she…does she…”

  “She went to see him once, when she was in high school.” Galen shrugged. “Never went back, so we assume he ain’t much.”

  David shook his head, baffled. He couldn’t imagine growing up that way. Then he remembered Galen had referred to her brothers in the past tense. “What happened to your nephews?”

  “Car wreck. Killed the two of them and a couple others.”

  “Oh.”

  They stood, took a moment of respectful silence until a gust of wind peppered them with road grit. Galen tugged the collar of his jacket up another inch. “Guess you got some thinking to do.”

  “Yeah.”

  Galen nodded, then circled the pickup to the driver’s door. “Might as well see some of the country while you’re at it. Hop in. I got a job down Heart Butte way.”

  David hesitated. He needed to get on the phone, figure out how to put together either the reward money or enough cash to hire a lawyer of his own, but he got the distinct impression Galen wanted to talk, so David got in the pickup.

  If Mary’s sort-of uncle had any bright ideas how they coul
d work this out, David was all ears, because he didn’t have a clue.

  Chapter Eight

  Heart Butte was south and west of Browning, nestled in the flanks of the mountains, or so Galen said. Their destination was a few miles shy of town. David wasn’t sure why he’d been dragged along, and he didn’t ask. He was pretty much on his own, fighting a battle on enemy turf. Wouldn’t hurt to learn as much as possible about his opponent.

  Besides, the scenery was a whole lot better than the inside of his trailer.

  The day had turned off gorgeous, the sky an endless stretch of blue, the sun warm enough he could finally shed his jacket. The highway dipped and swerved through miles of spring-fresh range, past rainwater ponds and across a river frothing with snow melt. A song came to mind that David had heard at a rodeo in Alberta. Something about heaven in the foothills of the northern Rocky range and it not getting much better for a cow.

  No kidding.

  “What are we doing out here?” David asked.

  “Gotta write brand papers for some bucking horses. They’re takin’ ’em to a rodeo in Choteau this weekend.”

  “You’re a brand inspector?”

  “Yah.” Galen made a disgusted noise. “Damn poor one, considerin’ I bought a stolen horse. Never could figure out what Muddy’s brand was s’posed to be under that scar.”

  “Circle P,” David said, stifling the urge to rub it in. “What does Kylan call him?”

  “My wife, Cissy, named him Mutley, like the old cartoon.”

  David gave him a blank look.

  Galen sighed. “Guess you’re too young to remember. Damn near everybody is these days.”

  “It sounds a lot like Muddy.”

  “I s’pose that’s why he seemed to take to it.”

  They lapsed into a silence more comfortable than it should have been given the circumstances. Galen turned onto a gravel road that meandered along a gravelly creek bed. Quaking aspens crowded the banks, white-barked trunks stunted and twisted by the wind, which had dropped to a stiff breeze that set the leaves quivering. Around one bend, a pair of mule deer peered at them from the tall grass in the ditch, then bounded up and away, disappearing into the brush.