succeeded at a prank without getting caught, but it wouldn’t be hard to get away with tossing out some chicken feed.
“I’ll talk to them,” Clay said, and he didn’t budge. He just stood there, eyebrows raised and perhaps looking as if his forehead had had a run-in with some extra potent Botox.
The seconds crawled by. And crawled. But Arlo eventually huffed. “So, you’re really here about Sophie.”
Clay made a sound that could have meant anything. Or nothing. Arlo opted for the something because he started huffing, cursing and talking again.
“I heard Sophie’s down in the dumps. Heard it might be more than just down, that she might have that depression people have to take pills for. Guess you haven’t been able to cheer her up any?”
Clay had to lower his eyebrows because his facial muscles were starting to twitch, but Arlo must have taken it as a cue to continue.
“Don’t guess anything but getting her business back would chase away those blues. Well, I can’t help you there, intern Chief. I don’t know anything about where Billy Lee is right now at this moment.”
You didn’t have to be a cop to hear the slight pause Arlo made before right now at this moment, but Clay decided it was time to do more than offer up facial gestures. “Do you know where Billy Lee is, was or has been in the past month since he’s been missing?”
That brought on more cursing from Arlo. “I already told those FBI fellas I didn’t know, and now I’m telling you the same thing. Billy Lee’s not here, and I haven’t seen him.”
Clay decided to use his cop’s voice for the next question. “Have you communicated with Billy Lee in any way in the past month?”
Arlo looked him straight in the eyes. “No.”
Clay studied him, trying to decide if he was lying. Strange but he didn’t seem to be. Just in case though, Clay upped his stare a while longer, waiting to see if Arlo would break down and start blabbing. But he was literally saved by the bell. The one clanging over the door.
“Gotta go,” Arlo said. “Got a customer.”
Clay didn’t stop him, but he did make a mental note. There was something going on with Arlo. Maybe something connected to Billy Lee. And he needed to keep an eye on it.
THIS WAS A new level of Hell. Sophie was sure of it.
It was barely 8:00 a.m.; she hadn’t even finished her first cup of coffee and had paperwork to do on the sperm and the bull pump Garrett wanted her to purchase. But she wasn’t doing paperwork. Mila was on one side of her, Sophie’s mother, Belle, on the other, and they both had opened tablets to show Sophie what they’d found through their internet search.
They’d found Hell aka dating sites.
“It’s been six months since the unfortunate incident,” her mother reminded her. “It’s time to move on before winter sets in.”
Maybe winter was a metaphor for life passing her by, but knowing her mother she could simply be thinking of Sophie needing someone to snuggle with once it got cold. And she did miss snuggling. But she doubted she’d find that on a site called Type-A-Businessmen.com.
“They’re all professionals,” her mom said as if that would help.
“Brantley was a professional,” Sophie pointed out. A lawyer. On paper he was perfect for her, but Sophie hadn’t been able to marry the paper.
Her mother hesitated, no doubt thinking up a comeback. “Well these are professionals who haven’t jilted anyone.”
Sophie had no idea if that was actually in the bios or if her mother was just making that up to get her to take that first step into Hell.
“There are plenty of other sites,” Mila piped up. To prove that, she promptly showed Sophie the page for Cowboy-Match.com.
After one glance, Sophie concluded that not all cowboys were hot. Some were downright ugly and one had what appeared to be a lump of chewing tobacco in his jaw, complete with brown spittle on his chin.
“You like cowboys,” Mila added, frowning at the spittle guy.
Sophie did. When she was looking at shirtless pictures of them on the internet. She liked the snug jeans, boots and hats. She liked the way chaps framed their junk. But those cowboys who’d posed for man candy pictures probably didn’t need dating sites.
“How about this one?” Her mother pulled up another site. “This one is Well-Endowed-Hunks.com.”
Both Mila and Sophie turned to her mother, giving her blank stares.
“What?” Belle protested. “There’s nothing wrong with a man being large in that area.” She pointed to her own nether region.
So, her mother did know what it meant. Sophie had considered that maybe she thought that meant they’d inherited a lot of money.
You couldn’t always tell if her mother was clued into reality or not. She looked prim and proper as if she should be on one of those TV shows from the sixties, the ones where the moms wore high heels to do housework. Not a hair out of place. Lipstick was a necessity, and she wore hard padded bras that could bruise you when she gave you a hug.
“Well, if you don’t want a large endowment,” Belle went on, “I’ll look for a site for men with small weenies.”
Sophie groaned. “Don’t. Please don’t. In fact, you both need to leave so I can get some work done. Mila, shouldn’t you be at the bookstore?”
“It doesn’t open for another hour.”
Sophie groaned again. “Well, I need you both to leave. I have to order a machine to jack off the bulls. After that, I have to order some sperm.” If she’d had her coffee, Sophie was certain she would have phrased that better. Supplies for the ranch would have sufficed.
The color blanched from her mother’s face. Not a pretty sight since that only made her bright red lipstick glare like a baboon’s butt. “God, Sophie, you’re not thinking of artificial insemination.”
She wanted to groan again, but her throat was getting sore. “No. It’s bull semen for all those cows that were delivered yesterday. Garrett wanted the machine so the hands could, well, get some from the bulls we already have. But it apparently won’t be enough so I have to buy more. And I really do need to get it ordered this morning to stop the cows and Garrett from getting testy.”
Sophie might as well have been talking to her coffee because once her mother got back her color she just continued advancing into those levels of Hell.
“Here’s one I bookmarked. NicheDating.org, and you put in exactly what you want, and it matches you with your dream guy.”
Sophie laughed and didn’t bother to take the sarcasm out of it. She drank some more of her coffee and started filling out the sperm order, hoping it would prompt her best friend and mother to leave. It didn’t.
“Go ahead,” her mother insisted. “Tell me your dream man, and I’ll type it in for you.”
“Tall,” Mila answered for her. “And dark hair.” She stopped, snapped her fingers. “What about Shane Whitlock, the hand who used to work here? He owns his own ranch now near Bulverde, and I’m pretty sure he’s single.”
Shane. The guy Sophie had had a semicrush on in middle school. Because her attention had turned to Brantley in tenth grade, the crush hadn’t led to anything, and it wouldn’t now.
“I’ll look up his number for you.” Mila opened another browser screen and got started on that.
“I don’t want Shane’s number,” Sophie said. “And I don’t want my dream guy