“I think old man Winchesterisin on it,” Deke replied, his voice low and confident.
“I do too,” Killian agreed, a knowing look passing between them.
“From what I’ve learned about that family, nothing would surprise me,” Deke added, his voice tinged with skepticism. As he spoke, Rawley returned, his expression serious.
“Well?” Deke prompted; his gaze fixed on Rawley.
“It took me a while to get through all of them. Some are Hollister’s cattle,” Rawley reported, his voice firm. “There are twelve of them with his brand and five others sporting a different brand. I bet those boys are stealing cattle for their father, but I’m not sure what this other man has to do with it.”
Deke turned his attention to the men inside the truck, his demeanor authoritative. “I want your IDs,” he demanded to the men.
“You already saw mine,” the man said.
“Mine too,” one of the Winchester boys said.
“And?” Deke snapped.
“I don’t have mine,” the other Winchester brother muttered, his voice barely audible.
“Yes, you do. I saw it,” Killian said with a glare.
Deke opened the truck door with a swift motion. “Everyone out,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The men stepped out reluctantly, their expressions sullen. Deke turned them around with a firm gesture and removed each wallet, flipping them open.
“No ID, huh, Theodore Winchester?” Deke said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he read the driver’s license.
“So, this must be Jonathan Winchester,” Killian said, nodding toward the second brother.
“And this is John Smith,” Rawley interjected as he looked at the man’s ID, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I’d say that was a fake name.”
“It’s my real name,” the man snapped, his voice defensive, which only made Rawley grin.
“Sounds like I touched a nerve,” Rawley teased, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“He probably hears that a lot,” Killian quipped, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I’ll call Dave and have him run a background check on Smith.” Deke retrieved his phone, dialing quickly. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned his attention to John Smith. “It seems that Mr. Smith here has been arrested for rustling before.”
“That was a long time ago,” Smith protested, hisvoice edged with desperation.
“How long ago?” Killian inquired, his tone interrogative.
“Twenty years,” Smith admitted, a hint of resignation in his voice.
“Well, apparently you didn’t learn your lesson because now you’re going right back inside.” Deke nodded, motioning for them to re-enter the truck. Smith paused beside him; hesitation clear in his posture.
“I’ll talk for a lighter sentence,” Smith offered, his voice laced with a hint of hope.
“That’s not up to me, but since this isn’t your first time, I doubt the court will go for it,” Deke replied, his tone dismissive.
“Then why should I talk?” Smith asked, a note of frustration creeping in.
“You’re the one who suggested it. I don’t have the authority to lessen your sentence, but you never know what will happen if you talk.” Deke shrugged, his expression indifferent, before shifting his gaze to the Winchester boys. “Anything you want to say?” he asked.
“No,” they chorused, their voices flat and synchronized.
“I hope you can act tough in prison because they’re going to love you in there with your blond hair and blue eyes,” Rawley remarked, his words laced with irony, causing Killian and Deke to exchange knowing grins.
