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He’d snuck up on me. Even worse, he was looking at me like I was a problem.
“Hi,” I said, repeating my earlier explanation for why I was there.
He tilted his head. “You have a horse?”
I did not.
Yet.
“Yep.” I smiled. “Just got him. Do you happen to have any information on a farrier?”
I was going to look that information up when I got home—because that was another thing that was wrong with the poor horse—but if he knew someone…
“I do it myself,” he said. “But I think I might have a card somewhere that has a guy on it that we used to use.”
He didn’t move to get the card or the bale of hay.
He did, however, stare at me straight into my soul.
Denver Windsor was the president of the Dixie Wardens MC motorcycle club—Montana Chapter.
He was freaking intimidating, and any of the times that I saw him in town had me wilting inside.
I always felt like he could read me better than I could read myself.
“The hay?” I asked.
He jerked his chin. “Move your car to the barn doors.”
I hurried to do what he asked, getting my car to the barn doors and only having to back up twice to get where he wanted me to go.
He loaded up a bale of hay into my trunk, then walked away.
I stood there, wondering what in the hell I should do.
I had cash in my pocket to pay, but he was gone so long that I wondered if that was it. He was done?
I walked inside the barn and placed the cash—forty dollars—on the closest flat surface with a bottle of fly spray to hold it down.
Then I walked to my car and drove away.
No one stopped me, which I took as a win.
The last two stops were at the hardware stores in town where I bought rope at one and a bucket at the other.
This way, no one would be able to tell what I was buying stuff for.
When I got home, I started to plan.
Six hours later, I was sneaking into the pasture, knowing damn well and good that I was about to go to jail.
I didn’t let that stop me.
I’d dressed in boots that were three sizes too big for me, procuring them off the porch of a neighbor.
I’d be sure to return them, but only after I accomplished my mission.
“Come here, big boy,” I whispered into the night.