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"Excuse me," she ventured, her tone casual, "that fella in the ring? Anyone know him?"
Their faces closed off like shutters during a storm. Eyes darted away. Mouths tightened.
"Sorry," one man muttered, his gaze glued to a point somewhere over Rachel's shoulder. "Don't know much."
"See, everyone knows Silas, but no one knows Silas," another added cryptically before shuffling off with his companions.
Ethan leaned in, eyebrows knitted together. "That went well."
"Like a lead balloon," Rachel murmured, scanning the crowd for another opening. Her heart drummed a steady rhythm against her ribs—frustration, not fear.
Then, a solitary figure by the pens—a rider, shoulders squared, eyes harboring storms. He was glaring to the man the group had called Silas. The look on his face wasn't adulation, but irritation.
She zeroed on this sentiment with interest, hastening towards the fellow in question.
"Wait here," she said, a hand on Ethan's arm before she strode toward the man.
The man by the paddock noticed her approach and crossed his arms. He had a thin, black beard, a wide face, and a cowboy hat twice as large as hers. "Can I help you, ma'am?" His voice was gravel, distrust woven through each syllable.
"You know that rider?"
"Who? Silas?"
"He has a last name?"
"Who's asking."
"Ranger," she said, flashing her badge.
"Ah, shit. Yeah, I know him. Silas Martin. He do something stupid?" The man looked almost eager as he asked the question.
"Why? You want him to have?"
A snort of amusement. "Hell yeah, I do."
"Silas Martin," she began, watching his jaw clench at the name. "What can you tell me about him?"
"That lowlife?" A bitter chuckle escaped him. "He's got this place fooled, but not me."
"Fooled how?" Rachel's pulse quickened; something flickered behind the rider's scowl.
"Last night, my horse fell ill. The vet found traces of something in his water. Something not natural."
"Poison?"
"Wouldn't put it past him." The rider spat into the dirt, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Thank you," Rachel said, nodding once, sharply. She turned back to Ethan, her thoughts a whirlwind.
The dust kicked up by a thousand boots swirled in the harsh moonlight above, casting a gritty haze over the rodeo arena. Rachel felt the grit on her skin, tasted it on her lips as she leaned against the weathered fence, her eyes never straying from the rider who had just shared his suspicions.
She remained silent, allowing him to feel the urge to fill the space.
"Silas ain't just a cheat with the horses," the rider said, voice low, almost swallowed by the crowd's roar for the bucking bronco on display. "He's been in and out of pockets that ain't his."
"Thief?" Rachel's hand idly traced the grain of the wood, the word pulling at threads in her mind. She thought of the missing ATV.
"Sure as the sky is vast," the rider muttered, head nodding in a rhythm of certainty. "And folks whisper about worse."
