A Daddy For Her Triplets. Deb Kastner
they could be young adults,” Olivia offered, thinking out loud.
Even an extended profile of the thieves was discouraging. She glanced around the room. There were probably close to a hundred teenagers in the room, and if she added everyone under thirty into the mix, that was a lot of people to investigate.
“The Robin Hoods are definitely old enough to drive a truck with a trailer attached and are familiar both with stock and ranch equipment,” Lucy said. “There is no doubt that they grew up in the country, probably on a ranch and most likely in Little Horn. At least one of them is likely a male, since it would require a modicum of strength to move many of the stolen items. Based on everything else we’ve learned, I’d hazard a guess that we’re looking for two or more young men.”
“And one other thing,” Olivia said, her breath catching as the realization dawned on her. The letter. The thieves had walked right into the grange and posted it to the wall and no one had even noticed. They weren’t strangers, then. They were neighbors.
She shuddered. The thieves could be in the room with them at this very moment. She probably knew their parents.
“The note is pinned on the Sweetheart Wall,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the din.
Clint’s brow lowered. “And?”
“And no one is allowed in the banquet hall unless they are a member of the league, or a member’s guest.” She gestured around the room. “Whoever put up this note is not only welcome at league functions, but has the ability to walk among us with no one the wiser. We aren’t seeing them because they don’t look out of place. They’re one of us.”
“So we need to narrow it down to league members,” Lucy concluded. “We need to be especially aware of teens and young adults, although I don’t want to rule out other possibilities at the present time.”
The tone of the room immediately shifted. It was alarming that no one had noticed anyone posting the missive on the wall, because whoever it was was here—and belonged here.
People’s gazes started shifting around the room as they examined and discarded possible culprits. Folks whispered among themselves. Pointed fingers and then shook their heads. Nodded and made quiet accusations.
Lucy held up her hands and turned to the secretary of the Little Horn branch of the Lone Star Cowboy League, a tall, gawky young redhead with an oversize orchid corsage on her wrist.
“Ingrid, I want a list of all league members and their families delivered to the station. We’re closing in on the thieves. I can feel it in my bones.”
“I agree,” Carson said. “I think we’re going to get these guys, especially because they’re probably here tonight. We need to make a plan—question folks to see if anyone noticed a youngster putting a typewritten letter on the Sweetheart Wall—but we should organize our movements. Try not to stir up too much of a scene.”
“Spread out and mingle. Don’t rile people up. Perhaps someone saw something we can use,” Lucy added.
“I hope so,” Clint murmured in Olivia’s ear.
“You’d better find something if you value your job,” Byron said, a great deal louder than was necessary.
Clint met Olivia’s gaze and briefly shook his head at Byron’s nonsense. Then he winked at her and his mouth curled up in an endearing crooked grin that sent her stomach tumbling. “Don’t worry about your sons, Olivia. Byron’s huffing aside, we’re closing in on the thieves. Those Robin Hoods don’t stand a chance now that I’m on board.”
An hour ago she would have thought Clint was the most egotistical, narcissistic man ever if he’d made such a presumptuous statement. But now?
Now she saw a thoughtful, determined man who wouldn’t stop until the thieves were behind bars. He might not be a superhero, but she was glad he was on her side.
* * *
Clint wasn’t a member of the Lone Star Cowboy League, much less the Rustling Investigation Team, but he wanted these thieves caught as much as the next guy. More, even, now that he had Olivia on his arm. Who would have thought one hour with a woman could change his entire perspective?
How could he not be concerned about Olivia? She hadn’t shared much with him, but she was clearly upset by the prospect of being robbed, and who could blame her, a woman alone with three young children? Her quarter horse farm might be one of the smaller and less flourishing ranches in Little Horn, but with no man around to protect them, she and her boys were especially vulnerable, ripe for criminal picking.
The targets the Robin Hoods were pursuing didn’t have much rhyme or reason to them, even with the additional clue of the valentine card. At first they’d gone after the larger ranches and Byron had even been twice robbed. Some folks were pillars of the community. Others, like Byron, likely had made some enemies along the way.
Now the thieves were sometimes reversing their behavior, leaving gifts for those they considered needy instead of robbing. At best it was hit or miss and not typical criminal behavior at all, the medieval Robin Hood notwithstanding.
James and Libby, on whose property he lived, were also possible targets. Their ranch was also small but unlike Olivia’s meager holdings, the Everharts were relatively prosperous. It was hard to say whether the thieves would think it was worth their time to target their ranch. Clint lived in a small cabin on the land. He didn’t have any enemies that he knew about and he tried to be a good person, but he wasn’t well-known in town. For all he knew, the Robin Hoods would use him as an excuse to rob the Everharts. Then again, his presence might be enough to deter any criminal activity.
Those thieves better hope they never had to mess with him, because he wasn’t kidding around.
But what about the times he was away from the ranch? He spent many nights out in the Deep Gulch Mountains working as a trail guide and in search and rescue. He couldn’t be everywhere at once.
And now he had Olivia and her boys to consider. What was he going to do about them? Odd that the Barlows hadn’t even been on his radar before this evening, but if he’d learned one thing in his years as a foster child, it was that life could change in the blink of an eye.
As of now, he would do whatever he had to in order to get these thieves behind bars. On that one subject, he agreed with mouthy, arrogant Byron McKay, although Clint was willing to pitch in to catch the thieves and Byron expected everyone else to do the work for him. Entitlement was his middle name.
The man didn’t know when to hold his peace. Even his kids were clearly tired of his ranting. Both Gareth and Winston looked as if they’d rather be anywhere but standing by their father. Gareth kept glancing at a small group of teenage girls who were giggling and gossiping. Winston just stared at his feet.
Clint’s gaze zoomed in on the young men. In some ways they fit the profile of the thieves. They were male teenagers who knew their way around a ranch.
He considered bringing that point up to Lucy but then quickly discounted the notion as not worth mentioning. The McKays’ ranch had already been robbed twice. It wasn’t as if Byron’s own sons would rob their father. Anyway, they were both too high in the instep to get their hands dirty.
There were so many teenage boys running around here that it would be impossible to narrow the field without interviewing each and every one of them, and even then, they might come up with nothing. Most of these young men had been born on ranches and worked cattle with their parents.
Jed Parker and Chris Cutter were fooling around with the sound equipment. It looked as if they might be sneakily rigging it up to play some of their music and taking over from the band. They could very well be the thieves the town was looking for.
Clint sighed. It seemed everyone was a suspect.
“What if they’re right?” Carson asked, his expression grim. He leaned against the Sweetheart Wall and gestured at the missive. “About the Cowboy League, I mean.