“Tommy only went one time.”
“That’s not what I heard, but it doesn’t matter how many times, it’s still theft. Rustling is a serious offense. How many times do I have to tell you that it’s a felony?”
“My dad said he’d never let us go to prison.”
“Your dad is not the law. He might have had judges in his pocket before, but for this, you’re all going away for a long time.”
Teddy’s eyes widened. “How long?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let them know you cooperated, but don’t expect much.”
“It’s not fair,” Teddy murmured and Deke shot to his feet.
“Not fair? You stole a man’s livestock! His livelihood. That’s what’s not fair.” Deke sat back down.
“If you weren’t taking the cattle to someone to sell on the black market, just what were your intentions?” Rawley asked as he placed his hands on the table and glared at Winchester.
Teddy shrugged. “We were going to let them go.”
“Bullshit,” Rawley snapped.
“We’re done here. I’ll see you in court,” Deke said as he stood, then he and Rawley walked toward the door.
“Will you help me get a lighter sentence?”
Deke turned to look at him. “If you want me to say you cooperated, I need more. I want to know where those cattle were going.” Deke headed toward the door.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Gary Walsh was who we were going to sell them to.”
“Who the hell is he?”
“I don’t know him. Dad was in touch with him.”
Deke walked back to the table, leaned forward; tone icy. “If you’re lying again—”
“I’m not. I swear it.”
“We’ll check in with him and so help, if you are lying, I will not tell anyone you cooperated. We clear?”
“Yes.”
Deke looked at Rawley. “Let’s go. We’ll head back to the Winchester house first thing in the morning. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be there if we went now.”
Rawley nodded, and they walked out of the room.
Early the next morning, before the sun had fully breached the horizon, Deke and Rawley climbed into Deke’s pickup. The engine rumbled to life, sending a low vibration through the metal floorboards. Outside, pale dawn light filtered through cottonwood branches, and mist curled over the dew-drenched grass as they rolled down the asphalt road toward the Winchester ranch.
When they arrived, Deke eased the truck to a stop just feet from the front stoop. He killed the engine, and both men stepped up to the door. Deke knocked, three firm blows that echoed through the still air. Rawley relaxed against a white post, arms folded over his chest, long legs braced apart. His lean frame looked casual, but every muscle was coiled, ready.
After a moment, the door swung inward. Mrs. Winchester peered out; her hair wound in a neat chignon. She let out a soft sigh and rolled her eyes. “Agents, what can I do for you?”
“Get Mr. Winchester, please.” Deke’s voice was calm but carried an edge that belied the rising tension in his jaw.
“He’s not—” she began.
