Once Upon a Cowboy. Pamela Tracy

a bigger mortgage.

      “What? Are you saying the money you gave me didn’t belong to me, because as I see it, having Jared buy me out was the best solution to—”

      “I’m not talking about your half of the farm,” Billy sputtered. “I’m talking about the Rodeo Club Fund.”

      Joel leaned forward, perplexed. “What about the RC money?”

      Billy’s expression took on a hard edge. “The money that I put in my office after the festival the night you left.”

      Joel growled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What about the RC money? I remember attending the Fall Festival because it was my last night in town, but—”

      “I put it in my office,” Billy said. “The treasurer said he figured we’d made double the usual. I was about to unlock the safe when my cell phone rang. One of the kids had gotten kicked by a horse. I didn’t think twice. I took off.”

      That was Billy. He was a hands-on principal, and kids were his top priority.

      “I took off,” Billy continued. “About an hour later, I went back to the office. I’d never forgotten that I needed to lock that money away.”

      A bad feeling started prickling in Joel’s stomach. This wasn’t some proverbial story that Billy was telling to make a point.

      “The money was gone,” Billy said, “and so were you.”

      Joel had been sucker punched more than once in his twenty-six years, but never before had he realized that words had more impact than fists.

      “You knew where I kept the key to my office, you knew I’d put the money in there, and you took it.”

      “I—” Joel opened his mouth in indignation, but finishing the conversation was not to be. They were no longer alone. Beth stood behind the three boys, her hand on Matt’s shoulder.

      “Matt’s got a stomachache,” she explained, her gaze going from Joel to Billy and back to Joel. To prove it, Matt held his stomach and doubled over a bit, moaning.

      Beth shifted uncomfortably. “Is everything all right? Do you want me to run the boys home?”

      “Everything’s fine. Or, at least, it’s going to be,” Billy rushed to assure. His eyes never left Joel’s face. Disappointment battled with anger.

      Nothing was all right, not in Joel’s life and apparently not in Matt’s life, either.

      Billy looked at Joel for a long moment before saying to the boys, “Let’s head home before your father sends out the hunting dogs.”

      “We don’t have any hunting dogs,” Caleb complained.

      “Shut up,” Ryan said. He quickly and somewhat apprehensively looked at Billy, but instead of Billy offering the reprimand, it was Beth who chided, “Don’t say shut up, say be quiet.”

      “I might throw up,” Matt added to the conversation. Because of the threat, apparently real, Matt rode shotgun in the front while Joel went in the back with Ryan and Caleb. Beth, with a backward glance, headed for her own vehicle. She clutched her ice cream in her arms.

      Why he cared about her opinion so much, Joel didn’t quite know. He needed to tell her, as well as Billy and apparently the whole town, that he was innocent.

      No wonder lukewarm didn’t begin to describe the way the town of Roanoke had responded to his return so far. Fundraising for the Rodeo Club Fund was tradition in Roanoke, going back fifty years. The Fall Festival was the Friday before Thanksgiving and put preschoolers on the back of sheep, brought a real carnival with a Ferris wheel and a roller coaster to town, and allowed the high school’s marching band—usually about ten of them—to show off. It was fried chicken on picnic tables and a speech from the mayor.

      Next to the Fourth of July celebration, it was the town’s favorite, and the earnings helped with the cost of Roanoke’s annual summer rodeo, where Joel’s first taste of bull riding, at age eleven, led to big dreams and, later, exhilarating reality.

      The whole town, as well as his family, thought him a thief. This probably, no, definitely, included Beth—although she hid it better—and her mother.

      “Billy,” Joel started. “Something’s very wrong here. I didn’t steal—”

      ;

      “Little pitchers have big ears,” Billy said. The three boys moved, but to prove Billy’s point, Matt covered his ears. Ryan adopted an all-too-familiar judgmental look. One pretty advanced for a boy of eight.

      The only forgiving one was Caleb. He clutched a raggedy napkin in one hand, held up two fingers with his other hand and informed Joel, “’Morrow. I be three.”

      “How about your truck?” Billy asked, settling behind the steering wheel and starting the van, effectively changing the subject again. His lips were still in a straight line. The smile that usually reached to his eyes was missing. It seemed for his grandchildren he was willing to put on an act and pretend nothing was wrong. Still Joel could only wonder … maybe the question really was, How soon will your truck be fixed so you can go?

      “I arranged to have it towed to Tiny’s Auto Repair right after they checked me out of the hospital. He wasn’t there. If possible, I’ll stop by tomorrow morning. I think the door will be an easy fix, but I’m a little worried about the front bumper.” Joel didn’t really want to talk about his truck. More than anything, Joel wanted to protest his innocence.

      He’d not stolen money from the elementary school’s office, Billy’s office, right before he left town. Thanks to his inheritance, half of the farm, Joel’d had a bank account in the six digits. At the time, he thought it would last forever.

      “Tomorrow is Caleb’s birthday,” Matt reminded.

      “I won’t miss it.”

      If he was invited, that is. He’d not been invited to the house, not really, not by his brother. Billy was acting as the go-between and in just an hour, Joel would be facing a brother who did not want him home. Since Jared’s weapon of choice had always been silence, a literal invitation seemed doubtful.

      Chapter Three

      Beth’s sister didn’t even mention how melted the bubblegum ice cream was, just quickly got herself a bowl, grabbed the blueberries and motioned Beth to sit at the kitchen table.

      Susan Farraday was a middle child suffering from oldest child syndrome.

      “Linda called this morning.”

      Beth almost laughed, especially when Susan prepared a second bowl of blueberry-covered bubblegum ice cream and placed it in front of her.

      “I’m full,” Beth said.

      Susan didn’t say anything, just pulled the bowl back to her side of the table. “Tell me everything.”

      “About what?”

      Susan’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean about whom?”

      “There’s nothing to tell. I went over to Solitaire Farm last night to talk to Jared about Matt. That didn’t work. Mom wanted me to drop off some Bible study stuff to Meg McClanahan. I spent some time there eating watermelon and answering a few questions about Trey’s homework even though he’s not in my class.”

      Susan looked thoughtful. “Go on.”

      “On the way home, I noticed this truck ahead of me. It would speed up and then slow down. I was getting scared at first. Then I started trying to place it. I knew I’d seen it before. Finally, it really sped up, ran off the road, across the irrigation ditch and right into the McClanahans’ fence.”

      “When did you realize it was Joel?”

      “I think the moment I saw it, but I just didn’t believe. Then, when I looked