by Lexie Ray
“Got you, fucker,” I muttered. I continued to watch, trying to gauge where the person would go, what else they might do, but they simply turned around and walked back in the direction they came. They could’ve been going anywhere. I stopped the feed when the first cows came to drink. I didn’t want to see that. Couldn’t even make myself watch it. I knew they’d suffered because I’d seen the aftermath. Instead, I brought up other feeds, trying to see if there was one that showed the person more clearly. Unfortunately, that was the only feed. I went back to it, and watched it again, and then for a third time, trying to find the frame that would best show the person. When I thought I had it, I paused and zoomed in, but the picture fell apart, pixelated beyond being able to see anything. God dammit. I rewound the feed and fast forwarded, hoping to see something I could use, but I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it.
It struck me, though, that there might be someone who could.
Tucker answered his phone brusquely.
“I hope you’ve come to your senses, brother.”
“Meet me at the police station,” I said. “I’ve got something.”
“What do you mean you’ve got something?”
“The security footage. From the cameras. It caught someone in the fucking act.”
“What?” Tucker was taken aback. “There’s not even a camera around there.”
“There’s not, but there’s one near it. It caught it. It’s just too small to see properly. Do you think anyone at the police station would have the technology to be able to see just who it was?”
“Only one way to find out,” Tucker said. “I’m in the truck, on my way.”
I slapped my cheek to sober up as I started the truck, but I didn’t even really need to. The fact that we had a fighting chance of figuring out who did this was enough of a sobering realization. If we couldn’t save the ranch, then at least we could find the asshole who did this and exact some kind of justice.
I arrived at the police station first — I’d started out a lot closer to it than Tucker. He was the one with the connections here, but I couldn’t wait around for him. I needed to know.
“Hey,” I told the officer manning the front desk — and the 9-1-1 line and dispatch. “Is there someone or something here that can help me with a security video analysis?”
It was a strange enough request that everyone at the station was soon crowded around a computer screen, my phone plugged in to the tower and the officer best at all things technical clicking away, frame by frame, of the footage.
“Heard about what happened.” The sheriff joined the party, shaking my hand as I stood up. “Everyone’s real sorry — sorry for you, and sorry that something like that could happen in our town.”
“Thank you for saying so, but hopefully we can figure out the bastard who did it.” I pointed to the computer screen. “It’s small, but you can see it. You can see everything. We just need to be able to zoom in on the face without it getting pixelated.”
Tucker walked in while the officer was still messing with the software. “Howdy, boys.”
“What’s up, Tuck?” The sheriff shook my brother’s hand before Tucker joined us around the computer.
“Anything yet?” Tucker asked. I was thankful that he was all business, that he didn’t ask me about storming out earlier.
“Well, here’s the best frame,” the officer said, maximizing the frame. The person’s face was lifted as they stopped at the water trough. They were just far away. “And here it is zoomed in.” A pixelated mess.
“There’s no way we can tell who that is,” I complained.
“Not like this, no,” the officer said. “But if I run it through some filters, sharpen it up — there’s a special program we have for this. Got it through a government grant, God bless it, and thought we’d never need it. Like our riot gear. Could you imagine? A riot in this town?”
“Get on with it,” the sheriff urged.
“Sorry, sir. Here. This is about as clear as it’s going to get, but I don’t think it’s that bad. Maybe if we print it out on some wanted posters, pop it up on social media, someone will come forward. We could think about a reward, that kind of thing.”
I stared at the screen.
“Son of a bitch,” I said, dumbfounded.
“You know that guy, or what?” Tucker asked.
“Hell, I know that guy,” one of the officers said. “Picked him up for public intoxication. He slept it off here. Said he works for Bud Billings’ operation.”
“That’s fucking Forrest Holland,” I said. “Zoe’s ex.”
“Jesus Christ.” Tucker and I stared at the monitor, at the asshole who had fucked up so much for our family.
“Well?” The officer looked at us expectantly. “Are we going to go get this motherfucker or aren’t we?”
I’d never driven anywhere with a police escort, much less charged alongside flashing lights and wailing sirens going nearly twice the speed limit. It was exhilarating. I supposed I was more thrilled at the prospect of the officers apprehending Forrest and ending this bullshit, but maybe thrilled wasn’t the right word. It almost felt like relief.
“Do you miss this?” I asked, glancing at Tucker in the seat beside me.
“I drive fast all the time,” he said, frowning in confusion.
“No, I mean the flashing lights. The sirens. On your way to right a wrong.”
“A righteous takedown was always pretty cathartic,” he admitted. “But no. I don’t miss this. I’m a rancher now, and I’ll be a rancher the rest of my life.”
“Mom and Dad would’ve been happy to hear that.”
“Could you imagine if they were still alive?” He shook his head. “How would they deal with all this bullshit?”
“That’s the thing. If they were still alive, I don’t think any of this would’ve happened.”
He snorted. “You think that people fuck with us because our parents are dead?”
“I think it was harder to fuck with them, yeah.” We whipped by fields that had formerly grown grain, but were now barren. They were beautiful, in a way. It was just a natural part of the process. The field was seeded, the seeds grew, the crop was harvested, and the field was left to regain its minerals for the next planting. That’s what happened in the winter, which would be here before we knew it. I felt a completeness, rocketing down that road, that everything was about to be okay again. That the natural order to things would reassert itself. That this was all coming to its conclusion.
“You think that Mom and Dad scared people?” Tucker asked.
“No, nothing like that. But they were more established than we are. Secure.”
“Chance, we have one of the biggest ranches in the state,” he reasoned. “We’re pretty secure.”
“I think we’re lucky,” I said. “Not necessarily good. And for a long time, we had no luck at all, no matter how hard we tried. Things were close to failing during the drought this past summer. People sensed that.”
“It’s better to be lucky than good any given day,” he said. “And everyone suffered during the drought.”
“Some people didn’t,” I said. “Bud Billings didn’t. He was still ready to snap up our land in a heartbeat.”
“We’re going to come back from this,” Tucker said. “And with everyone contributing in different ways, we’ll make it so people will be way too intimidated to try and fuck with us.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
“So does that mean you’re back? You’re done being tired with all of this?”
I puzzled over that one. Was I back? I was eager to make Forrest pay, to let the wheels of justice grind him up and spit him out. I was downright desperate for Zoe to come back to me, for everything to be all right again. And when I turned my mind to the ranch, thinking about everything that needed to be done, the only thought in my mind was when I could do it.
“Yeah, I’m back,” I said. “Sorry I doubted everything.”
“You probably mad
e Mom and Dad roll over in their graves.” He clapped me on the back. “You’re the heart of that ranch, you know?”
“I am not. Stop being corny.”
“I’m not, and it’s true. You never left it.”
“If Mom and Dad were still alive, I would’ve. To play football.”
“Life would’ve been a lot more normal if the accident had never happened. But it did, and think about how life turned out for us.”
“Messy?”
“Hell yes, messy. But bigger and more beautiful than any of us could’ve ever imagined. Think of how amazing our family is now. How close it is.”
All I could think of was the hole that Zoe left when she fled the ranch. I needed her back.
Bud’s cattle operation was a real eyesore, even if it was successful. There was no grass in the dirt lots that populated the property because he didn’t need it. A few animals milled about in the corrals, but the majority of his cattle camped out in front of huge troughs stuffed with grain. They were behemoths, those animals. They didn’t exercise at all, didn’t roam around in hundreds of acres of grassy pastures, didn’t move from troughs of grain. God only knew what kinds of medicines he gave them to grow them so big. There had been lots of rumors swirling around about just what kinds of substances Bud was pumping into his cattle, but nothing substantiated. It didn’t stop people from buying his cattle. The operation was like a well-oiled machine, and it went against every single thing our parents thought were important about ranching. Bud Billings couldn’t love this. No one could. It wasn’t the way animals and the land were supposed to be treated. What Bud Billings loved was money, and this was how you got it.
“It’s a real shit hole, isn’t it?” Tucker remarked as we parked beside one of the cruisers.
“That about describes it, I’d say.”
We followed the sheriff as he approached Bud, who emerged from a nearby barn, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt and looking puzzled.
“Sheriff, I could hear you running those sirens from miles away,” he said. “Upsets my cattle. What in the world is going on?”
“Bud, I don’t think those cattle could be upset by anything,” the sheriff responded. “They are up to their ears in eating.”
“I guess you’re right,” Bud said, chuckling. “That’s how you keep a herd happy, Chance. You have to have the money to feed them.”
“Our herd eats just fine,” I replied.
“When it’s raining, maybe, but it doesn’t always, does it?” He eyed me. “Should you be driving? Sheriff, he was throwing quite a few drinks back not too long ago.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bud, we’re here about one of your ranch hands — do you even call them ranch hands here?” The sheriff looked around. It was clear he didn’t have a high opinion about the place.
“They’re my employees,” Bud clarified. “Employees of my company.”
“Well, one of the employees of your company poisoned the Corbin herd,” the sheriff said. “Forrest Holland.”
“That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard of,” Bud said, screwing his face up in a pout of puzzlement. “I don’t even think there’s a Forrest Holland here.”
One of the officers who had accompanied us perked up and pointed. “Hey! You! Stop running!”
Forrest had bolted out from behind the barn, intent on escaping the police presence, but swift officers — and Tucker — ran him down and hauled him back.
“Don’t touch me, you dirty pigs!” Forrest shouted, spittle flying from his mouth, completely unhinged. “You can’t touch me!”
“Forrest Holland, I presume?” the sheriff asked.
“That’s him,” I confirmed.
“Fuck you!” he snarled, spotting me. “Fuck you, Corbin!”
“You’re under arrest for poisoning the Corbins’ cattle,” the sheriff said, unimpressed by all of the outbursts. “Read him his rights.”
An officer cuffed Forrest and recited the Miranda rights.
“You sure you don’t know this man, Bud?” the sheriff asked. “Picked him up for public intoxication not long ago and he said he worked here.”
“I have a lot of employees,” Bud said with a shrug. “You can see just how big my operation is. Arrest him, if you must. Take him away.”
“What the fuck, Billings?” Forrest asked, jostling the grip of the officer who was trying to move him toward the cruisers. “You throwing me under the bus?”
“I’ve never spoken to this man in my life,” Bud said. “I have a manager I employee who makes all hires.”
“You’d better tighten your requirements,” the sheriff said. “You don’t want trash working for you, do you?”
“I’m not trash!” Forrest raged. “Fuck all of you.”
“Take him away,” the sheriff said.
Forrest jerked his chin at Bud in a sharp, savage gesture.
“It was this one who told me to do it,” he said. “Gave me everything I needed — the poison, everything.”
Bud laughed. “Such an entertaining fellow.”
“Don’t believe me?” Forrest spat on the ground, perilously close to the shoes of one of the officers. “Search this place. You’ll see.”
“Goodbye, young man,” Bud said, waggling his fingers at Forrest like one might do at a child. “I hope you find the help you need in prison.”
“I’ll see you there, you son of a bitch,” Forrest said, attempting to lunge at him. The officers stopped him — they had him well in hand. His eyes roved around wildly until they fell on me. “And you!”
I didn’t like the man on a good day, but seeing him in cuffs, prepared to be put away for God only knew how long, put me in an exceptionally good mood. “Yeah, me.”
“That’s my woman, and my son,” he said. “They’re mine. I’m getting them back.”
“I don’t think you’ll be doing much of anything for a long time,” I said, pleased with myself, with everything, with the surprising lack of desire to smash Forrest’s face in. Zoe would’ve been proud.
“I’ll get out,” he vowed. “Some way. And I’ll find you and kill you, fucker. Zoe’s mine. Toby’s mine.”
“Jesus, you really don’t understand your right to remain silent, do you?” one of the officers said, jostling him a bit. “Everything you’re spouting off right now is going to be used against you. You’re threatening Chance, here, and making threats against other people. You’re probably adding years to your sentence.”
“I’ll kill you, too!” Forrest howled, coming completely unhinged.
“Well, shit, that’s a threat against an officer,” he said, looking and sounding suspiciously like he was enjoying himself. “We take those real serious.”
“You’re never going to see this guy again,” another officer assured me. “He’s going away for a long time, and I doubt he’ll behave very well while he’s away.”
It was hard to express how good that sounded. If Forrest was never around anymore, there wouldn’t be the threat of custody disputes or violence against Zoe and Toby. They could come home. They could come home and feel safe.
She could be with me again.
“Bud, we’re going to have to search your property,” the sheriff said, stepping forward.
“That’s preposterous,” Bud spluttered. “You’re taking the ravings of this idiot at face value? I thought you had better judgment than that.”
“You have anything to hide?” The sheriff peered at Bud critically.
“Of course I don’t,” Bud said. “Anyone can see that.”
“Then you won’t mind us taking a look around.”
“You need a warrant for that kind of thing.” Bud looked downright anxious, but I could’ve just been seeing things. “I know the law.”
“We don’t need a warrant if there’s probable cause, and your employee just gave us that.” The sheriff waved the officers forward. “This shouldn’t take long.”
“Now, wait a second, here.” Bud stepped for
ward and seized the sheriff’s arm. “I’m not consenting to this. This is against my will. I don’t want you to search my property because it’s just that — my property. Mine. I don’t let anyone on this place unless they work for me. There are sensitive operations going on here. Trade secrets. That kind of thing.”
“If you really think you need to, Bud, you can wait inside one of the cruisers,” the sheriff said, looking down at his arm, where Bud was clutching it. “In handcuffs, if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“I thought you were my friend,” Bud said, his voice confused and hurt.
“The Corbins are good people,” the sheriff said. “I hate seeing bad things happen to good people, especially when those bad things are caused by other people. What are we going to find here, Bud? You could save us a lot of time if you just told us. Maybe even save yourself some time in prison, too.”
“I’m not going to prison,” Bud said, aghast.
“You’re at least going to jail if you don’t take your hand off me right now,” the sheriff warned him, making Bud step away.
“God help you if you poisoned our herd, Bud,” Tucker said, shaking his head.
“He did that, not me,” Bud said, pointing wildly at the cruiser that contained Forrest. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Sir, we found some things in the barn over there that you’re going to want to see,” one of the officers said, jogging back to join us.
“What kinds of things?” the sheriff asked.
“Skull and crossbones shit,” the officer replied. “Shit we’re going to have to get a chemist to come in for.”
“Jesus Christ, Bud,” the sheriff said. “Really?”
“None of that is mine,” he said, his eyes roving around, unable to settle on any of us. “Forrest probably stashed them there after he poisoned your cattle. I had no idea those things were in there.”
