Page 16 of Cowboy Don't Go

“I, too, have found no trace of Evan Clulagher’s name attached to accounts there,” Trey said, continuing down the trail, “but he likely used an assumed name. He likely got out of the country that way, too.”

“I’d practically given up the idea of finding him,” Cooper admitted. “My father definitely has. He doesn’t want me doing this. He’s done.”

“Any idea why?”

“If I didn’t know my father so well, know that he is as honest as any man you’ll ever meet . . . I might think it’s because there were things he didn’t want me to know.”

“About his part in the cattle rustling?”

Cooper shrugged. “He swears he’s innocent. But I guess every man who’s ever gone to prison swears that, right?”

“Some do,” Trey said. “Yet he never caved. Never confessed. Even though that might have shortened his sentence with cooperation.”

“Exactly. He had chances. But that’s where I hit a brick wall. It’s like he was protecting someone. And it wasn’t Clulagher, that’s for sure. But if he’s innocent, who would he be protecting?”

“That’s part of what I mean to find out. Here’s what I know. Cattle rustling isn’t what it used to be. It’s not riding in, cutting a bunch of cattle and riding off into the sunset. Nowadays, there are no brands to alter, the ear tags they use on feeder cattle are often equipped with GPS. Now, tighter books and head counts are kept at all ends because of losses that tend to happen in transferring cattle from one place to another. Even pasture to pasture. Nine, ten years ago, all that scrutiny was just becoming the norm precisely because of the schemes going on. Cattle rustling is a more subtle art form than it once was and rarely involves physically stealing cattle from another man’s ranch. And if that did happen, it happened in transport. But as partners in a cattle shipping-trucking business, Clulagher and your father were both positioned to mess with numbers.”

“My father’s end of the shipping business was feed shipping—grain, alfalfa, hay, etcetera. Not cattle. He had nothing to do with whatever they were doing with the cattle.”

“Still, ask anyone. Rustling cattle isn’t a likely solo operation. Unless it’s a pure Ponzi scheme—i.e. strictly embezzlement or taking money from investors and then reinvesting it without purchasing said cattle—rustling cattle requires a team. There were two other men who went to prison with your father. Both of them cowboys who worked wrangling cattle for Clulagher-Lane Trucking. They knew what the story was. But there was a drawerful of evidence pointing to your father that said he knew, too. It seems pretty clear that those two men weren’t at the top of the food chain, so they didn’t necessarily know your father’s involvement.”

“He told the police it had to be Clulagher’s operation, but with him missing and presumed dead, there was nowhere to look but at him. They even looked at my father for the murder of Clulagher, but they never found enough to take that to trial.”

“Either way, I mean to find out how and why that money got moved. And if his partner is, in fact, alive, where he ended up.”

They stopped at the river’s edge where tall grass—brown now at the end of summer—billowed in the afternoon breeze. Across the way, a hawk circled the river, darting between the branches of the tall trees along the banks. The air was still hot from the day but promised to cool to the sound of the river flowing nearby.

Cooper was glad they’d left town for this talk. Walking near this river reminded him of the reasons he’d loved this, his hometown, once, when his father and he would fish for hours along the banks of the Marietta River or the Yellowstone, setting flies and catching fat rainbow trout. He decided he would take his father out fishing again as soon as he got a free day. Maybe it would remind him that this life that remained was worth fighting for.

He and Trey walked back to town, promised to keep in touch and parted ways. Cooper felt good about the man. Hopefully, he’d be able to solve the mystery that those before him could not. He was probably their last chance. With almost nine years gone now since the day of his father’s arrest, the case had gone stone cold. Soon, possibly none of this would matter anymore. At least to his father.

*

A week passed as Shay pushed forward on the ranch development, meeting with their architect, Joel Lawrence Shaw, finalizing the plans for the luxe guest cottages that would be going up soon. Cooper and Liam disappeared every day together, doing construction on the glamping platforms and bath builds alongside several other specialized contractors for stonework and plumbing.

The plan for the guest ranch had always been to begin modestly and build their clientele and reputation over the next year or two. The many barn weddings they’d already hosted here over the last year had been wildly well received. Soon, they’d have glamping tents for summer, honeymoon cottages, and one luxury cabin for larger parties or families for all the other seasons to offer. With their first clients being old friends of Liam’s, Carolyn and Jess Brody, booking a glamping tent for their honeymoon late in September, it would be a good test of all the aspects of their program. Starting small appealed to her sense of order and wouldn’t overwhelm them right out of the gate.

Every day, after a long, hard day working construction, Liam and Cooper, and sometimes Will, would return to the house, laughing and chatting like old friends, and, with little more than a nod in her direction if they happened to cross paths, Cooper would get in his truck and go home.

As the days passed, she felt worse and worse about the way they’d left things at the café, knowing her words had hurt him, but not knowing how to fix it. Watching his truck barrel down the long road leading away from their ranch, she thought maybe he had no feelings about her at all, and she was just making up problems out of whole cloth. Maybe she always did this—living in her head, rewriting history, blaming herself for opening her mouth when she should have kept it shut. But protecting her family and their future had always come first for her, and she couldn’t—shouldn’t have to—apologize for that.

However, the longer he worked side by side with Liam, seemingly unconcerned with her feelings, the more she realized that she’d been wrong about letting him work here. He was a hard worker, and skilled. Liam raved about the work Cooper was doing, and Ryan had started hanging around them, too, seemingly as taken with him as her brother was.

Two days ago, she’d caught sight of Ryan and Cooper in the quarantine pens, giving treats to the newest horses, with Cooper watching over her son as he made progress with his filly. The rescues were eating well on special diets and starting to show signs of filling out. They’d all been vet checked and a farrier had come by to see to their hooves. The filly’s fetlock wound had gotten attention and was healing well. They’d need at least another week in quarantine before they could be cleared to move with the other horses on the ranch.

As she’d watched, she couldn’t help but notice the easy way Cooper had with her son as well as the way Ryan—her quiet, reticent son—lit up with his attention. Emotion stung her eyes as she’d turned away from the window. She couldn’t tell if what she was feeling was fear or happiness.

For so long, there had been so few men in Ryan’s life to look up to. Only Liam, who loved him like his own. But even he had been so caught up trying to keep the ranch afloat after their father had died, he’d had little time to spend with his nephew. She had dated a few men over the years, but rarely brought them home to meet her son for fear of setting him up for disappointment. With her ex-pro football player brother Will’s arrival last summer, Ryan had started coming out of his shell. Will had spent a lot of time with him throwing footballs and volunteering as an assistant coach on his school team.

Now, here was Cooper.

Maybe it was Ryan’s age or teenage hormones, or maybe it was the fact that all of them felt so hopeful for the first time in years. But whatever had happened, her son was doing well, and she couldn’t argue with that at all.

All of that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she found herself secretly ogling Cooper Lane, all the time. Something she never did. In fact, it had been so long since she’d paid any attention to a man—any man—she felt herself blush realizing it.

That he was handsome came as no shock. He’d always been good-looking, she supposed. Even though, as a kid, he’d had a bit of a nerdy reputation, because he was smarter than everyone—an underappreciated fact when you’re a kid. She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened to Cooper’s life had it not imploded because of his father’s misdeeds? Where would he be today? Surely not working for the Hard Eight as a cowboy-construction worker.

She had zero regrets about becoming Ryan’s mother fourteen years ago. Zero regrets about not ending up with his biological father. And for the longest time, she didn’t allow herself to wonder what might have become of her otherwise. If she hadn’t, for instance, chosen a careless, rich, summer boy to lose her future with. If she’d chosen, instead, someone like the smartest boy in the class, the one with a future. Someone who might have desperately needed her someday in the near future. Someone who might have stuck around.

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