Free Run Wild by Lorie O'Clare Page B

would see it that way. I’m surprised he wasn’t run over out there on the highway. He was found right before the turnoff to Trinity Ranch?”
    “Yup. Right before it.” He hadn’t mentioned who had stopped just short of hitting the buck. It wouldn’t surprise Trent if Lana already knew. She had the public in and out of her office all day long, and if he knew anything about his town it was that his people loved to gossip.
    “If Jim or Ethel Burrows had been heading home to their ranch after dark, they could have wiped out one of their cars,” Lana pointed out.
    Trent had picked up his pen and began clicking it as he stared at the closed manila folder on his desk. “You’re right. It could have been a lot worse.”
    “Oh yeah, those bullets.” There was a shuffling of paperwork on the other end of the line.
    Trent glanced up toward the large windows on either side of the door leading into the sheriff’s office. He had a private office off the main lobby but often sat at the dispatcher’s desk to do his work and make phone calls. He liked being able to see out on the street and spotting anyone as they walked up to the entrance to the station. His budget didn’t allow for a full-time dispatcher, which meant he often answered his own 911 calls. His father had done the same, had the station phone transferred to his phone at night, and before 911 was around, their home phone and sheriff’s phone were the same number.
    “I can’t think of anyone out that way who can’t shoot a buck,” she said after a moment. “I guess maybe a kid. But the bullet went through this buck’s lung and came out on the other side. By the looks I’d say it was a twenty-four caliber from the size of the bullet hole. But that doesn’t help you know who shot it. Whoever it was, they would have known they didn’t kill it.”
    Trent jotted down a few notes, but Lana was probably right. Every rancher in the area, not to mention most of their ranch hands, had rifles. Many of them were similar brands. He wouldn’t find out who had killed that buck and left him on the road unless someone saw them do it, which Trent doubted, or he would have received a phone call. All he could do about it at this point was keep his ears to the ground, see if anyone slipped up during conversation and offered evidence they’d been out that way at the right time in the evening to have shot the buck or seen anyone driving by or up to anything out of the ordinary.
    Trent’s town usually talked to him about any detail, or event, they found odd. His people helped keep crime in the area to a minimum. Everyone looked out for everyone, as it should be. But this damned murder had the entire town and all ranches in the area squeamish. People weren’t thinking, or behaving, as they usually did.
    “Thanks, Lana. My appointment is here, but I appreciate the phone call.”
    “Glad to help.” She said her good-byes and hung up before Trent could do the same.
    He placed the phone on the receiver and stood as Natasha walked in the door.
    “Right on time.”
    “I am?” She glanced at the large, round clock on the wall behind him. “Looks like I’m fifteen minutes early.”
    “Like I said,” he muttered, starting around the desk.
    Her expression changed slightly, although he couldn’t guess at what emotion, or reaction, he’d just pulled out of her. More than likely, working among a family of bounty hunters, Natasha had to be quick and alert to pull anything past them. Either she’d just learned this sheriff of a rural county might measure up to her standards more than she’d originally thought or he’d actually just busted her trying to catch him off guard. He doubted he’d get the truth out of her.
    His phone rang again and he stopped, grabbing it and holding a finger up for her to give him a moment. “Sheriff’s office,” he said, then glanced at the caller ID.
    “It’s me, Matilda, again,” Matilda whispered. “I forgot to tell you. Natasha King