Ground Money by Rex Burns Page B

boys.”
    “Hey—Gabe— amigo —no! I just don’t know how you police people work. I thought it was just between me and you, you know? I thought maybe you could just look in some papers or something. I didn’t know I was causing so much damn trouble for so many people, that’s all.”
    Wager studied the man’s dark eyes, which were stretched with sincerity and perhaps a touch of fear or pleading or both. In this light it was hard to tell, and Tom’s words made some sense, because he’d been embarrassed to ask for help in the first place. Besides, whatever was going on—if anything was going on—he wasn’t going to tell Wager. “I asked a couple of people around here and I talked to the sheriff over in Ute County. Nobody’s heard anything about your boys.”
    “Well, like I say, Gabe, they won’t because there’s nothing to hear. But I want to thank you for your trouble. I just didn’t know how much I was stirring up, and I feel bad about making you and those other folks go to all that trouble for nothing.” He lifted his glass. “I should have just gone on over there right at first … but I hadn’t seen the boys in so long … Say, did you know John has his permit now? You know, with a lot of luck and a lot of work, they just might make it! I swear I wouldn’t give them a fart’s chance in a whirlwind to make any money rodeoing, but they’re doing all right. They want it, Gabe—they really want it, and that’s half the fight right there.”
    They spent the next half hour talking rodeo and Tom’s sons’ chances of making good money at it. When the beer and coffee were drained, Tom won the argument for the check and apologized again to Wager for all the trouble he’d put him to. “I’ll be seeing a lot more of the boys, now, Gabe. Maybe I can give them some tips about riding.”
    They shook hands, and Wager watched the blue-and-white pickup pull into the light traffic of Colfax. Then he checked his watch and drove across town to the gym. There was still time for a good workout before reporting for duty. And to tell the truth, he was relieved not to have to worry about Tom and his problems anymore.
    It was one thing to agree with Jo about taking a vacation, but it was something else entirely to decide when, where, and how much.
    “It’s too hot to go to Mexico,” she said. Jo sat in shorts and halter and slowly turned the pages of a Sunset magazine filled with bright and glossy pictures of beaches and hotels, golf courses and mountains, dude ranches and swimming pools.
    Wager, admiring the long, smooth muscles of her tanned calves and thighs, nodded and sipped the iced tea that cooled his hand. In the branches of the locust tree above them, an occasional breeze made the lacy green tremble, but for the most part the day was still and the gray, cracking earth seemed to give off as much heat as the sun. One thing he did not need was hotter weather. “I don’t like beaches, anyway. I swim like a cannon ball.”
    “You don’t like beaches. That takes care of Hawaii.”
    “And I don’t like any place that looks like a jungle.”
    “Maybe it would be easier if you told me what you do like.”
    “Hey, it’s not just me going on this thing. It’s your vacation, too. It has to be someplace you like.”
    “I like mountains.”
    “So do I—and they’re cool.”
    She turned a few more pages. “Glacier National Monument? Here’s an ad.”
    “What do they do there?”
    “Well, let’s see … There’s horseback riding, hiking, fishing …”
    “Fishing? I like to fish. I don’t know about doing it for three weeks, though.”
    “We could go to Europe.”
    Wager blinked. “What the hell for?”
    “To see it. London, Paris, Rome—I’ve never seen it, have you?”
    “Never wanted to.”
    “But doesn’t it sound exciting?”
    “Jo, I don’t even speak European.”
    “They speak English,” she said, and showed him the page with the picture of the British flag and some guy in a red