Page 54 of Mountains Divide Us

I parked on the south side of the bunkhouse and knocked on the door, and a short man with a round belly answered.

“Just the cowboy I wanted to see,” I said.

His belly jiggled under his Coors T-shirt when he jabbed his arms in the air. “I’m innocent, Deputy. I swear!”

“Shut up, Buckey, you ol’ fool.”

He laughed. “Come on in, Frank. You want a beer?”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“There’s only two times of the day for a man: coffee time or beer time. You want coffee?” He turned, motioning for me to follow with a wave of his hand.

“No, thanks,” I said, removing my hat and stomping the snow from my boots by the door. “Max here?”

“Yeah, he’s around. He’ll stop in when he sees your truck out there. So what can we do for you? Oh, hey, you thought any more about what we talked about? The youth football thing? My kids are still too young, but it won’t be long.”

“Yeah,” I said. I’d been mulling it over long enough. Why not? What was stopping me? “I was just thinkin’ about it actually. We should do it. What do you think about talkin’ to Theo Burroughs over at Ace’s House, seein’ if we could run it from there?”

“Well, Frank, I think you’re smarter than ya look,” he joked. “That’s a damn good idea.”

“We can talk about it more later, but right now, what can you tell me about the food that went missin’?”

“Shoot. I already told Carey about it.”

“I know you did, Buckey, but I’m lookin’ for somebody. I’m hopin’ you can help.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, so it’s been a while, but whoever broke in here took a bunch of perishables.”

“Perishables?”

“Yeah, you know, like fruit, couple green peppers. Well, and nonperishables too, come to think on it. Bags of chips, boxes of crackers. We had a couple of them air-sealed packages of tuna. What else? Uh…”

“I know what perishables are, but that’s it?”

“No, now, lemme think.” He pursed his lips as he sat at the supper table in the kitchen.

I’d never seen a nicer bunkhouse. This one had seven small bedrooms built around the perimeter of the building so each full-time guy had his own space. Max and Buckey didn’t live on the property, though, so the extra rooms were unoccupied till spring, and then the two fastest cowboys to rope a calf on the first day of the season claimed use of the rooms. They were a hot commodity since a lot of the guys spent their time off at the rodeo and often came home with a buckle bunny or two. The rest of the workers slept in bunkbeds in the open main room of the bunkhouse or in long-term tents they pitched out on the property every spring. Old man Milson was in the process of building a second, bigger bunkhouse, but with winter being so bad this year, the project was on hold.

“Frank? Everything alright?” Max asked when he walked through the door, knocking his boots against the frame. Clumps of snow fell to the pile I’d just made as I turned toward the sound of his voice.

“Hey,” I said, shaking his hand after he took off his gloves, and we both sat at the table. “Everything’s fine. I was just checkin’ in about the missin’ food, though I’m thinkin’ Buckey might’ve overreacted.”

“I didn’t overreact,” Buckey argued. “There were cans stolen, too, but only the kind with the pop tops, not the ones you need a can opener for. And there was a big bottle of antibiotics stolen from the med cupboard in the barn.”

“Meds? Carey never said anything about that.”

“Yep.” Buckey nodded. “Told him about it.”

“Liquid or pills?”

“Pills.”

“What’s this about, Frank?” Max asked. “By the way, you ever find out who broke into my cousin’s bookstore? I meant to text you about that. I put the cameras up for her and showed her how to use the software.” He poured himself a mug of coffee from one of them fancy French presses sitting in the middle of the table, holding it up in my direction, asking if I wanted a cup. They weren’t just well-paid cowboys; spoiled cowboys was what they were.

I shook my head. “No, thanks. It’s funny you ask. I think it’s the same person. We got a report of a missin’ kid—possibly missin’,” I amended, “and I don’t even know if he’s technically a kid. I’m pretty sure he is. Mr. Burroughs over at Ace’s House thinks he’s homeless. I’m not sure, but with the weather lately, I’m worried he’s out somewhere alone.”

“None of the guys have said anything, and I haven’t seen any kids. Have you, Buckey?”

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