Page 150 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

He looks up as I approach. “You need anything else tonight?”

“No.”

“The tractor’s starting rough, so I’ll service it before I head north tomorrow.”

“Take care of it before anyone uses it.”

He secures the strap and closes the tailgate. “Will do.”

I keep all my questions to myself because Beau would deny everything, and whoever he may be working with would know I’ve started looking.

Before I accuse a man who’s spent years earning my trust, I need enough proof to leave him nowhere to hide.

Beau tips his cap. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

“Drive safe.”

He climbs into his truck and leaves with the rest of the crew. I remain beside the barn until every set of taillights disappears down the road.

Inside the house, Sadie finishes a glass of milk while Emmett clears the dinner dishes and Willy changes television channels from the couch. The shed key digs into my palm hard enough to leave an imprint.

“You want me with you?” Emmett asks.

I shake my head. “Stay here with Sadie. If this goes sideways, I want her in the house where she’ll be safe.”

“You think Beau might return?”

“I don’t know what he’ll do if Arizona’s suspicion is right.”

Willy turns off the television and crosses to the front window. “I’ll watch the gate.”

I pocket the key and cross the yard alone.

The security lights cover the main buildings. I watch the road and tree line as I approach, but the ranch remains still aside from horses moving inside the nearest barn.

I unlock the side door, step into the shed, and secure it behind me before switching on the desk lamp near the back wall. The light reaches the vinyl cabinet and nearby shelves without spilling across the windows.

Beau’s labels mark every shelf and storage bin, while the tools hang in assigned spaces along the wall. He created the system after our old records became a collection of loose receipts and unreliable counts, and I gave him control because he fixed a problem I had neglected.

I open the cabinet and begin with the receipts.

The figures don’t add up, so I run through them again before checking every withdrawal against the equipment logs. The total stays the same.

Two hundred eighteen gallons are missing, and nobody misplaces that much fuel without making damn sure nobody notices.

I run the figures again, then compare each withdrawal against the equipment logs in case Beau recorded a transfer elsewhere.

The shortage remains two hundred eighteen gallons.

I work backward through the ledger and find smaller discrepancies spread across several weeks. Each one is minor enough to escape a quick review, but together they account for more fuel than anyone could misplace through careless bookkeeping.

Whoever took it knew exactly how much could disappear before anybody noticed.

That somebody knew this ranch.

The trailer fire comes back whether I want it to or not. I can still see Arizona running straight toward the flames while the rest of us fought to catch up, and every accident since then has pulled somebody I care about into Travis’s path.

He isn’t after Dusty Spur or the rodeo. He’s after me, and every person standing beside me keeps paying the price for a score he refuses to let die.