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“Hard to miss.”
“What about Art Andrews?” asked Billy. “Do you know him?”
“Sure do. Nothing will make me smile more than bringing that asshole in for questioning.”
Billy chuckled. “You and him got some history?”
“You call it history. He calls it his rearranged face.”
Billy chuckled.
Dry Run Roadhouse.
After work, Billy and I stopped off at the roadhouse for a beer. The wind was bad and snow was blowing wildly all over the place. Visibility on the roads was dangerously impaired. We didn’t intend to stay long. We had to get back to the ranch before it was impossible to get there.
But it was worth a look to see if Art Andrews happened to be at the roadhouse. One of his favorite hangs. He wasn’t there and it could’ve been because of the weather. I had his address.
“One quick pitcher, Jack,” I said. “Roads are terrible and we’ve got to get home.”
Jack stood in front of us filling up a pitcher of Miller for me and one of Bud for Billy. “Savanna was a lot better today. Did you think so?”
“Sure did. A big improvement.”
Jack was fixated on Savanna. He loved her a lot and she filled his every thought. He wanted nothing more than to get back together with her. I changed the subject. “You hear Billy is running for sheriff in the election?”
“No shit?” Jack gave his cousin a look.
“None. Me and Molly are his campaign workers and we’re dedicated to getting him elected.”
“I can help,” said Jack. “I know a lot of people.” Jack chuckled. “Not all of them are drunks.”
“Speaking of drunks, give me a call if Art Andrews comes in. I’m looking for him.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Seems he used to hang with Burke Foster.”
“Huh,” said Jack. “Never seen them together in here—not ever—but I’ll call if he comes in.” To Billy: “Best of luck to you, Billy. All of our kin over by Shelby will definitely vote for you. We’ve got cousins coming out the ass and most of them are voting age.”
“I need supporters on this side of the county.” Billy hooked a thumb over his shoulder pointing west.
“Jack can work the Shelby side,” I said. “You and I and Molly will work the rest of the county. You can’t lose.”
“Oh yeah, I can lose.” Billy laughed. “And I probably will.”
Wild Stallion Ranch.
We had to shovel snow again to get to the barn and to get the doors open to feed Outlaw. Montana weather was pissing me off more by the minute.
When we finally fought our way inside the barn, the temperature wasn’t too bad. The little heater seemed to be doing a decent job. There was no film of ice on Outlaw’s water—that was my marker.
He seemed happy to see us, shaking his big head around and nickering. While he ate, I spent some time brushing him and telling him stories about how much better life was going to be for both of us in Texas.
Before we left him with a clean stall and fresh bedding, I gave him a carrot to munch on. “See you in the morning, boy.”
He kicked the side of his stall in protest as we went out and closed the barn door.
“I feel bad I can’t ride him right now. The fuckin snow is three feet high and drifting higher in a lot of places. There’s nowhere we could ride.”
