“Not quite as good as Connie’s, but still damn good,” he muttered to himself before taking a bite of the burger. It was delicious, but in his opinion, none could rival the mouth-watering burgers from the Clifton Diner.
The following morning, Deke eased his truck into the long, winding driveway leading up to the expansive Winchester ranch, finally parking beside the sprawling house that dominated the landscape. As he stepped out of his vehicle, the hot morning air filled his lungs, and he took a moment to survey his surroundings. The pastures stretched endlessly, dotted with cattle lazily grazing under the vast, cloudless sky, yet there was no sign of any human activity.
With a determined breath, he strode toward the front door, only to have it open before he could ring the doorbell. A woman appeared in the doorway, her gaze steady and inquisitive.
“Is there something I can help you with?” she inquired; her voice polite yet guarded.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Agent Deacon Anderson with the Montana department of livestock, out of Clifton. Is Mr. Chet Winchester available?” Deke replied, displaying his badge and ID.
“Is he expecting you?” she asked, her brow slightly furrowed.
“No, ma’am. I only need a few minutes of his time,” Deke assured her.
“I’ll have to check with him, but come inside,” she invited, stepping aside to let him enter.
“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” Deke responded, removing his hat. He wiped his boots on the mat before stepping into the house. The foyer enveloped him in an unexpected opulence; the gleam of polished surfaces caught the light from an ornate, somewhat flamboyant chandelier. Everything sparkled with an almost excessive cleanliness, and the floor was polished to such a shine that he could nearly see his reflection.
“I’ll be right back,” the woman said, disappearing through a doorway with a soft click of her heels on the tiled floor.
Deke stood in the foyer, his hat held in his hands, when a young boy, around thirteen/fourteen, appeared at the top of the staircase. The boy paused, his expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion, before descending the steps to where Deke waited.
“Is someone helping you?” the boy asked, stopping a few feet away.
“Yes, they are,” Deke replied.
“Are you a cop?” the boy ventured, nodding toward the badge and gun clipped to Deke’s belt.
“Livestock agent,” Deke clarified, noting the boy’s eyes widen with intrigue.
“What’s a livestock agent doing here?” the boy pressed on, a note of youthful defiance in his voice.
“You’ll have to talk to Mr. Winchester after I do. I’m sure he’ll let you know,” Deke said,maintaining his professional calm.
The boy snorted, skepticism evident. “Yeah, like he’d tell me anything.”
Deke refrained from commenting, though it brought back memories of when his colleague, Eli Hawkins, dealt with a group of teenagers who were caught stealing horses.
“What’s your name, son?” Deke asked, shifting the conversation.
“Derrick Winchester,” the boy replied.
“Agent Deke Anderson,” Deke introduced himself, extending a hand. Derrick hesitated briefly before accepting the handshake.
“I bet it’s cool being a livestock agent,” Derrick commented, a hint of admiration sneaking into his tone.
“It can be very dangerous,” Deke admitted, the weight of his responsibilities evident in his voice.
“Do you get to arrest people?” Derrick asked, eyes alight with youthful curiosity.
“I’m in law enforcement, so yes, I do,” Deke affirmed, holding the boy’s gaze, though Derrick showed no signs of intimidation.
“Agent Anderson?” The woman’s voice was cool, clipped, as she swept back toward him down the polished corridor. The overhead sconces glinted off her tailored navy jacket and the single strand of pearls at her throat.
“Yes, ma’am?” Deke replied.
“Chet will see you, but he’s on a tight schedule. He has a meeting this afternoon.” She glanced at her sleek wristwatch.
“I won’t keep him long.”
