Stockton County Cowboys Book 4: Branding Cowboys

Chapter 1: Paid for Services Rendered August 18, 20— West Stockton, Oklahoma Lockmar Street Boxford Agency I knew two concrete things in life that had done me well. One, there was a right way and a wrong way to treat a man, and I was good at the right way. And two, never underestimate the power of money. Let me explain. I didn’t have a boyfriend, although I was looking for me. My last boyfriend was treated like an Arabian prince and somehow I lost him to another cowboy. It didn’t mean I was giving up on men. It simply meant that I was going to try harder in seeking out my Mr. Right so I could spend the rest of my life with him in Stockton County, Oklahoma, which wasn’t too far from Tulsa. I was single for fourteen months, needed the aggressive touch of another man, and knew that I would find one. As for money having power, I could buy a man and keep him forever, but I didn’t have enough dough for that. Other cowboys could because their bank accounts were fourteen hands high. That wasn’t my case. I made a living off private investigative work in West Stockton and the surrounding towns in Stockton County. My agency was on Lockmar Street in downtown West Stockton, which kept me busy with a career, food in my stomach, and Wolf Ridge Ranch to live on. My agency consisted of three rooms. My office, which was filled with file cabinets of finished cases, a miniature bathroom that would have made dwarves happy, and Lilith’s office, which was near the front door. Lilith Carr was my part-time secretary, housekeeper, and the woman who kept me in line. She was sixty-five and acted like a fun aunt to me. Only Lilith could set me straight when I needed a talking to, and scolded me when necessary. Without her next to my side, I was doomed at running the agency and considered her my right arm. My current case was finding out who had murdered Evan Sting, a ranch hand for Dunny Sting, Evan’s uncle, at Rough Ranch. Benny Sting was paying me a nice chunk of money to find out who slaughtered his son. Benny made his money in oil and had lots of it to share with me so I could pay my monthly bills. I had one problem in my life at that time, and it wasn’t finding a boyfriend to spend some quality time with. Instead, it was more serious and detrimental to my living. I didn’t have the slightest clue who killed Evan. Nor did I have any real facts to go on that related to the crime scene on Shotner Hill. What limited facts of the crime included Evan Sting’s body, which was sliced open at his tight stomach. Evan was also branded on the right side of his neck with the symbol U)(U. The kid was left naked in a clump of brush for three days before he was found. There was no foreign DNA on him, no foreign fingerprints, no hair follicles, and no sign of struggle. It was deduced that he was murdered on March 17, which was St. Patrick’s Day, and then was discovered on March 20 by Sheriff Lord after Benny Sting reported his son missing. Other facts were stashed in the kid’s file. Evan William Sting was eighteen-years-old, a first semester sophomore at Stockton College, a loner student, and queer. He was five-eleven, weighed one hundred and seventy pounds, and had black hair with matching eyes. He liked to read, sculpt, and was an excelled student. No matter how many details I had on the victim, and reviewed such facts on a daily basis, I couldn’t figure out on my own who had murdered Evan Sting. Therefore, I needed help with the case and knew exactly who to turn to for assistance. Tal Linear. Because he owed me.