Page 51 of Wyoming Bodyguard
“Men are gross,” she muttered, refusing to take a closer look at the crumbs she’d ran her hand over inside the chair.
Madden emerged from the bathroom. “Nothing in there except some toiletries and a man’s razor. Some towels.”
“All I’ve got are dust and crumbs.”
The side of his mouth hitched up. “Lucky you. I’ll check the kitchen.”
While he searched the cabinets, she made a beeline for one of the bottom beds. She tossed back the crisp, white bedding then dipped her hand under the mattress. When nothing turned up, she repeated the process with the top bed before searching the bottom of the metal structure.
“Anything?” she asked as she made her way to the second set of bunks.
“Just some canned corn and a box of pancake mix.”
Defeat crushed down on her shoulders. She hated the helplessness of watching tragedy continuing to unfold around her. But she refused to drown in her own sorrow. Instead, she turned to the bed, yanked back the covers and found a handful of brightly covered plastic tags. “What the hell?”
“What is it?” Madden hurried to her side and whistled long and low. “Well, that’s interesting.”
Her brows snapped together as she tried to make sense of the numbers on the tags. “What are they?”
“Cattle tags.”
“We don’t have any cattle on our ranch. Why would someone hide cattle tags in the bunkhouse?”
Madden grabbed his phone and snapped a few photos of what she’d found. “Not sure, but I know someone who might be able to help.”
“Who?” she asked, jumping to her feet.
“My dad.”
* * *
The smell of chili and corn bread met Madden at the front door. His stomach growled. Chili was a poker night tradition, the leftovers often heated up the next day in whatever creative way his dad could imagine.
“Hey, Pops,” he called out, ushering Lily through the door.
“I’m in the den. Grab a bowl and join me.” Walter’s voice carried down the hall over the hushed sounds of the television.
Lily hooked an eyebrow. “A bowl of what?”
“Chili. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, but he won’t stop pestering me if I don’t take some.”
“Sounds good. I’m starving.”
He led her to the kitchen where the brown tablecloth once again covered the poker table. A pot sat on the stove with a pan of corn bread beside it. He found two bowls and ladled heaps of hearty soup into them both. He carried the bowls to the living room, where his father sat watching a baseball game while eating his meal.
Walter slurped tomato juice from his spoon before waving to the couch on the side of his recliner. “Well, don’t just stand there. Sit and eat.”
Madden set the bowls on the coffee table then found two more TV trays. He set them up and motioned Lily to the couch.
“Thank you for the meal,” she said, sliding onto the cushion. “Smells delicious.”
“Nothing fancy, but it sticks to your ribs. How’s your dad?”
She flashed a small smile. “He’s as good as can be expected. Still holding out hope for a full recovery.”
“Good, good.” Walter nodded before dunking a chunk of corn bread in his bowl. “I have a feeling food and chitchat isn’t what brought you two over, so spill it.”
“We found some cattle tags, and I wanted to get your take on them.” Madden pulled up the photos he’d taken on his phone and flashed the screen in front of his dad.
