“It’s Abel Atwater, ma’am,” he answered back. “You don’t have to answer the door, but I’m leaving an envelope of money for Peter underneath your mat. I suggest you pick it up as soon as I leave, because there’s fifteen hundred—”

The door opened. Those eyes looking at his, that hair—shiny black, all loose and long. It made him weak-kneed. All he could choke out was a prepubescent hi.

“Hello,” Rina answered. Poor guy. He was so nervous, he was blushing. Or maybe it was just the heat. He’d dressed up today; he was wearing a shirt. Still, as harmless as he appeared, Rina couldn’t dismiss the fact that he was an alleged rapist. She decided to be civil and nothing more.

Abel said, “Uh, could you give this to Pete for me?”

He was offering her the envelope. Rina said, “You can give him the money yourself, Abel. He’s out back with the horses.”

“Well, you can take it for him,” Abel said. “After all, you’re like his wife.”

“Your business is with Peter,” Rina said. “Not with me.”

“Yeeesss, ma’am,” Abel said.

Rina relaxed, gave him a hint of a smile. “You can call me Rina, Abel. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel sixty years old. Anyway, just go around back and flag him down. You can’t miss him. He’s wearing a hat.”

Abel laughed, and she closed the door without another word. He slapped the envelope several times against his palm, then walked through the side pathway to the back acreage, suddenly noticing the banging of his heart.

He paused before he let Decker see him, watched Cowboy Pete, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and a Dos Equis cap, ride an Appaloosa around the corral. Doc always covered up with a T-shirt. Abel used to kid him about his fair complexion, used to call him lobster boy, he’d turn so red in the heat.

Abel stepped out into the open field, saw Decker’s eyes fix in his direction. Decker immediately reversed directions and rode over to him, hopping off the horse before the animal came to a complete stop. He looped the reins over a post and threw his arm over Abel’s bony shoulder.

“Come in the house,” he said. “Let’s grab a beer.”

Abel stuffed the envelope in Decker’s shorts pocket. “There,” he said. “We’re even.”

Decker pulled the envelope, felt its contents, then pushed it back in Abel’s hands. “I told you the money was a gift.”

“And I told you I was gonna pay you back.”

“But I don’t want it back.”

“Well, I don’t rightly care about what you want.” Abel tossed the package at Decker’s feet. “You ain’t got nothing on me now. And don’t worry, Sergeant. The money’s mine. I earned it. Fuck, did I earn it!”