Page 43 of Beau

Beau shook his head. “Joey still had to pay a fine and his community service wasn’t a walk in the park. Trust me, yours won’t be either, if that’s what you get. Joey also lost his truck in the process. Whose vehicle did you use?”

“It belonged to Donnie’s father.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s not going to be happy when that truck is confiscated.” Beau got to his feet. “I’ll be in touch. I need to talk with the other two.” Beau looked at Mr. Jones, who was sitting on the sofa with jaw clenched and he knew the man was beyond pissed. “Do not let him call the other two.”

“You can bet I won’t.” Mr. Jones stood and shook Beau’s hand. “I’m sorry this happened.”

“You’re not the one who should apologize. I’ll talk to you soon.” He placed his hat on his head, walked to the door, then outside, closing it behind him.

As he stood on the porch, he could hear Mr. Jones yelling at his son, and he was sure Shelby would rather be in juvie than deal with his father’s wrath right now.

Later, he pulled into the driveway of the Simpson residence. After stepping out, he walked to the door and knocked. When it opened, he knew he was staring at Donnie Simpson.

“Donnie Simpson?”

“Who wants to know?” Donnie said with a raised chin and Beau had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. He knew Donnie was acting tough, but that’s all it was, an act. Beau could see the fear in his eyes.

“I’m Agent McCallister with the Montana department of livestock. I need to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“Do you want to do this outside? Because if you do, I’ll wait while you put a coat on.”

“What’s going on here?” a man asked as he came to the doorway.

Beau told him who he was and that he needed to speak with Donnie.

“Alright. Come inside. I’m Aaron Simpson, Donnie’s father.”

Beau shook hands with him and entered the house with them. He removed his hat and coat then took a seat on the sofa.

“So, what can we do for you, Agent?”

“I believe your son, along with two of his buddies, stole a horse from the Lawrence ranch.”

“What? You must be joking.”

“Mr. Simpson, there is nothing funny about rustling.”

“Damn it, Donnie. What the hell did you do?”

“I didn’t do it.”

“I know you did, Donnie. Your friends gave you up.”

Donnie folded his arms and leaned back against the cushions on the sofa, and Beau was losing his patience. The boy refused to meet his gaze, staring instead at the floor with a defiant set to his jaw. But Beau was not about to back down. His voice was sharp and cutting as he glared at Donnie Simpson, his frustration evident.

“You need to start talking,” he snapped, as he stood and tried to control his anger.

“I don’t have anything to say. I’m sixteen, and I don’t have to talk to you,” Donnie shot back, his tone full of adolescent rebellion, as he stood up.

Beau narrowed his eyes, as he took a step forward, getting closer to the boy, and he saw him swallow hard. Not quite as brave as he was pretending to be.

“Yeah, I know exactly how old you are,” he said through gritted teeth, “old enough to be put in juvenile detention. So do not push me.”

The color drained from Donnie’s face at the mention of juvenile detention. He had clearly never considered the consequences of his actions until now.

“Juvenile detention?” he repeated, fear creeping into his voice.

---