“I appreciate it. Follow me, please.” She motioned down the hall, then looked over hershoulder at the boy standing by the doorway. “Your brothers are out back. Tell them lunch is ready.”
The boy’s scowl would have wilted corn; he turned and stalked away. Deke simply watched him go, then fell in step behind the woman.
They reached a pair of heavy mahogany doors, their surfaces polished to a mirror sheen, and she rapped sharply with her knuckles. The doors swung open silently at her touch. Inside, rich piles of leather-bound ledgers lined walnut shelves, and a massive, green-shaded banker’s lamp glowed on a desk the size of a dining room table. A low hum of conversation drifted from a radio tucked in the corner.
“Chet, this is Agent Deacon Anderson from MDOL,” the woman announced. “Agent, my husband, Chet Winchester. I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Thank you, dear,” said the older man, rising from behind the desk. He was tall and solid, silvering hair neatly combed, salt-and-pepper mustache bristling above a straight, unsmiling mouth. Mrs. Winchester, barely thirty, Deke guessed, offered him a warm smile, then slipped out and closed the door with a soft click.
Deke let his gaze roam over the office. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting stripes across a row of mounted deer heads on the far wall.
Chet sat down, leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Have a seat, Agent. What can I do for you?”
Deke slipped into a high-backed leather chair opposite Winchester, crossed one booted ankle over the other knee, and hooked his hat on the toeof his boot.
Deke’s voice was low, deliberate. “Someone rustled twelve head of cattle from the Hollister ranch recently.” He watched Winchester’s poker face for a flicker of reaction.
Winchester arched an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me this why?”
“We have reason to believe the theft isn’t random.” Deke let the words hang. “You and Mr. Hollister go way back.”
“So, you think I took his cattle?” Winchester’s lips curled in a bitter laugh. “I don’t need his damn cattle.”
Deke leaned forward, the chair creaking under him. “Maybe not. But with your family’s record, your sons pouring poison into a neighbor’s well, shifting fence lines to claim more pasture, doesn’t look good. Two of them were arrested for that well incident, yet charges vanished. I found fresh tire tracks on Hollister land, truck-and-hauler treads, bought three months ago in Missoula. The purchase receipt lists your name and this address.”
Winchester rose, slamming his palms on the desk. Shadows from the lamp danced across his narrowed eyes. “You’re accusing me—”
“I’m not accusing anyone… yet,” Deke interrupted, standing as well. “I’m not saying it was you, but I will find out who bought those tires, who stole the cattle, and I will arrest them. I’d like to look at the tires on your trucks and haulers.”
“Show me a warrant, Agent,” Winchester growled.
Deke nodded gravely. “No problem. Have a good day, Mr. Winchester. You’ll see me again.”
He turned and walked out, the door thudding softly behind him.
Outside, the hallway seemed quieter somehow. Deke made his way back to his truck, kicking up dust under his boots in the driveway. He settled into the leather seat, started the engine and paused only long enough to dial his boss.
“Deke?” Dave’s voice came over the speaker.
“I met with Winchester. Family’s dirty, but I could use backup.”
“Understood. I’ll send Killian and Rawley.”
“Tell them I’ll book rooms at the same hotel, it’ll be easier.”
“On it. Good work.”
“Thanks.” Deke hung up, shifted the truck into gear, and headed back to town. He couldn’t shake the certainty that someone in the Winchester family had orchestrated the rustling. Just not exactly who yet.
****
Ava sat at her dimly lit desk, the soft glow of the computer screen casting a gentle light on her face as she munched absentmindedly on a sandwich. Her fingers moved deftly over the keyboard, navigating through the labyrinth of payroll tasks she faced every week. It was her weekly ritual, a solitary endeavor she engaged in once Ellie had drifted into the depths of sleep for the night. As much as Ava adored her little girl, the quiet solitude of these moments was a cherished respite.
Setting the sandwich aside, she stretched her arms high above her head, her joints softly popping, and released a long, weary yawn. Thoughthe clock showed only eight o’clock, fatigue clung to her like a shadow, a consequence of a restless night. Ever since Deacon had reappeared in her life, her mind had been a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, particularly concerning their daughter. Ava was resolute in her determination to keep Ellie with her, yet she acknowledged the importance of Deacon knowing his child and Ellie having a relationship with her father.
With a deep, resigned sigh, Ava finished the payroll. She closed the laptop with a satisfying click and tidied up the kitchen, the clinking of dishes was a soothing accompaniment to her thoughts. Finally, she sank into the soft sofa, ready to lose herself in the comforting glow of the television.
Barely thirty minutes had passed when a sudden knock at the door shattered her tranquility. Her eyes darted to the door, suspicion and curiosity mingling in her gaze. Neither her father nor brother would appear this late without a prior call. Cautiously, Ava rose and approached the door, turned on the porchlight, and peered out the window. Through the blinds, she glimpsed Deacon standing on the porch, his silhouette familiar yet unexpected.
