Page 40 of Double Bucked

It’s a victimless crime, if you think about it.

And I think about it.

Long. Hard. I even start talking to Rafe about it.

He’s in. In fact, he tells me if I can get the goods, he’ll sell it. He’s already got a buyer with a ready mare. But?—

“It’s all about the timing,” Rafe says. His Corona hangs between his knees. We sit on the steps outside Maeby’s Bar, watching the dipping sun bruise the sky.

I thumb my beer cap, making little rigid indentations in my palm. “Go on.”

“Hypothetically,” Rafe continues—which has become his new favorite word, hypothetically, “we’d have to collect and get it to the mare within twenty-four hours. Plus, it’s gotta be in the window when she’s ovulating. If she doesn’t produce a foal, we don’t get paid, and then this is all for nothing.”

I squint at him. “We?”

“Yeah. Fifty-fifty.”

“Fifty-fifty! I’m doing all the damn dirty work!”

Rafe clasps my shoulder. “Yeah, but you look so pretty doing it. C’mon, I’ve got something to show you.”

He pushes up to his feet, choking his beer by the neck. We walk through the parking lot, and he pops the trunk of his car. It’s stuffed with bags of feed, tattered clothes, and other bits. He pulls a utility bag forward and unzips it, motioning me closer.

“I’ve got everything you need,” he says, “hypothetically.” He lifts out the items as he goes through them. “This vial here is where you’ll put the collection. You mix it up with this extender to preserve it. Then you’ve got to store it in this ice pack immediately to keep it from spoiling. Keep it out of sunlight. We’ve got six hours from storing to insemination, so there isn’t a hell of a lot of wiggle room. I spoke to the mare’s handler—he said they can get her prepped and ready to go on Friday.”

“Claire and I are flying out Friday.”

“Well, you can consider this my bon voyage present.”

“The hell is that?” I say, pointing to the bag.

Rafe winks, wearing this dumb, wide grin. “Your stallion’s new girlfriend. Artificial lady-horse bits. Wanna try it out first? See how it compares to Claire?”

“I’m this close to knocking your teeth out, pal.”

I swallow the rest of my beer. It tastes warm and clots in the back of my throat. I stare at the bag and its dubious contents. Rafe stares at me.

“What are you thinking?” he asks after a beat.

“You ever wonder if your parents are looking down at you and wondering, why the hell didn’t I throw him out with the bathwater when I had the chance?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rafe says. He slaps me on the shoulder. “They’re Ransoms. They’re definitely looking up.”

Claire isn’t happy.

When I tell her I’m going to meet her at the airport, she blows up my phone about it. It’s a hurt I’ll smooth over later.

Twenty-five grand makes for a pretty nice Band-Aid, the way I figure it.

And she can’t know anything about this. I can’t implicate her like that.

Better or worse, this is all on me.

The night of our departure, I check my watch. Just near eleven. My suitcase is in the back of my truck. I’m all ready to roll out. Just one more thing I have to do.

My truck growls like a guard dog as I keep it loitering in neutral. Rafe’s utility bag sits in the passenger seat beside me, feeling a bit like an unpinned grenade.

From my spot, I watch as the car rolls up around the back of the main house. Claire leaves, bag in hand. I can barely make her out in the dark, but I see her looking around for me.

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