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When Caleb looks up, his eyes meet mine. “Well, boss. It’s just that I’ve seen Griz take a few parts off of one of the trucks. It’s one of the ones we haven’t used in a couple weeks; something on it needs to be fixed, I think. Maybe he was taking parts off of it off to fix it.”
“But that’s not what you think,” I say, anger already building in my chest. Parts have been going missing off of trucks for well over a year. Usually, ones that have been set aside because something is wrong with them, so we didn’t notice the missing parts until it was too late to go looking for them. Griz has always blamed the constant flow of ranch hands in and out of the ranch, but a niggling doubt has secretly been inside me for months. There was no evidence against Griz, but something inside of me has been starting to question his story for some time.
“Go on,” Clay says, his tone jovial and encouraging as if we weren’t talking about someone stealing from us.
I’m not fooled, I can feel the anger in both of my brothers. They’re both hiding it well, as I’m trying to. Scaring this kid will do nothing good for us, that’s for sure. And if he really saw Griz stealing from us, then I’d really feel like a shit for scaring him.
“I remember someone saying that truck is waiting for parts for the fuel system. But it wasn’t fuel system parts he was taking off. So I thought I should say something.” Caleb’s nervousness seems to fade a bit and he scowls. “I don’t like thieves. More than once, I’ve had stuff taken, working this kind of job. And it’s a shitty feeling when it happens.” His lips tighten with nerves. “Plus, and it’ll sound selfish, but I know where shit is going to roll if he really is stealing. And right now I’m at the bottom of that hill.”
Clay gives the young man’s shoulder a squeeze and then lets go. He is the new guy, there was no question. But from what I’ve seen he is a hell of a worker.
I know exactly which truck Caleb is talking about, a ten-year-old diesel. We aren’t waiting on parts for it anymore. We’re waiting for Alan, our diesel mechanic, to have time to get to it. We don’t keep a full-time mechanic on staff, because we just don’t have enough work for that. So when things get busy for Alan, we have to wait like everyone else.
“You did good coming to us,” I tell Caleb. And don’t you worry about it, we’ll take care of everything.”
After giving Joshua five minutes to change and sending Caleb back to the bunkhouse, we head for Griz’s cabin. Unlike the majority of the ranch hands who share a large bunkhouse, Griz gets his own small house. Partially because he’s the foreman, and partially because he’s worked here for a couple of years, and we like to reward hard work and loyal people. I’m starting to get the feeling that Griz, at the very least, isn’t loyal.
There’s a slight chill in the air—always is at night, even in the middle of summer at this elevation. Clay beats me to Griz’s door and knocks loudly. A good thirty seconds pass before Griz answers the door. That isn’t unusual given the time of night. It’s close to midnight now, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to wake him. But when the foreman opens the door, he is still dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved button up.
He glares at us from beneath dark, bushy eyebrows. A baseball cap covers his equally dark hair and peeks out from under the hat in such a way that it’s clear he’s behind on a needed haircut.
And there’s dark grease on his sleeves. Even from the doorway I can smell the diesel on him. He wasn’t just in the truck engine, he was doing something with the fuel system.
I fist my hands at my sides and grit my teeth. Hitting Griz will do little more than give the man an easy-to-win lawsuit. And I’ll be damned if I make a thief’s life that easy. If he is a thief—smelling like fuel isn’t a crime, after all. But damn me if it isn’t looking grim.
“What?” Griz says gruffly. Bill Grissom, or Griz as he goes by, has worked for the ranch for two or three years. I haven’t connected the dots before, but they’re clear in mind now. I don’t believe in finding a man guilty off the word of one man I barely know—Caleb. But we didn’t have a problem with theft before Griz started here. I simply didn’t connect those dots until now.
“Jig is up, Griz. Why don’t you give us back those truck parts and anything else you’ve stolen.” Clay’s words are harsh. He doesn’t have the same thoughts on innocent until proven guilty that I do. Clay has always gone with his gut.
Joshua reaches over and grips Clay’s upper arm. Behind his glasses, his expression is still even. Of all for Hollister brothers, Joshua is the most even-tempered of us. The most logical. We’ve always given him shit for being the nerd of the family, but the man uses his brain more than the rest of us.
“The fuck are you talking about, boy? I haven’t done anything.” Griz says. His graying eyebrows furrow and his face goes red. Griz is in his early forties, no more than a decade older than the three of us, but he’s the kind of man who carries an attitude of superiority. This is not something about him I’ve ever found endearing, but the man always seemed to do a good job managing the ranch hands.
Hell, maybe I’ve gotten lazy. I have been relieved since we brought Griz on. Being able to rely on him meant that I didn’t have to be up at four-thirty every morning to make sure animals were fed and shit got shoveled. We’ve had foremen before, of course. But we spent a year finding Griz after old Jim had finally retired. And he’d been the foreman since before we took over the ranch, since before our parents died.
A twinge of sadness pulls at me at the thought. I still miss them every day.
“The fuck you say,” Clay challenges him. Always full of eloquence, that one.
I step between my brothers and Griz’s attention switches to me. Then his gaze starts back and forth between the three of us and his foot slides back. As if he wants to run.
Fuck innocent until proven guilty. The man’s body language told me everything I need to know.
“Stay with him,” I tell Clay. Then, with Griz shouting obscenities at us, Joshua and I head into his cabin. In less than ten minutes, we find half a dozen things he stole from around the ranch, including the parts from the diesel. Probably already listed on eBay.
I tell Joshua to leave the stolen shit where it lies. And he follows me back out of the cabin.
“You’ll get off our land tonight,” I tell Griz. “You get out of here tonight we won’t press charges. But if any of that shit is gone in the morning,” I say, pointing at the cabin. “Or anything else turns up missing tonight, I’ll have the sheriff up your ass so quick you won’t know what hit you.”
Griz had quieted, but at my words, his face flushes again, and he opens his mouth wi
de. But before he can get in another tirade, Clay cuffs him in the back of the head. “You do what Trey says. Or it won’t be the sheriff you have to worry about.”
Clay’s face is nearly as red as Griz’s, and I almost tell him to calm down. But that might give Griz the impression we’re not a united front, so I cross my arms and glare down at our now former foreman.
“You heard them,” Joshua says, his voice amazingly still even. But we’re triplets, I can hear the hint of anger belying his tone. “Don’t make trouble. Some engine parts aren’t worth your freedom.”
Griz’s mouth snaps shut. And as one, the three of us turn and head back toward the house. As far as Griz knows, we’re trusting that he’ll leave. Or hell, maybe he thinks we’re too stupid to watch him.
