Page 33 of Deacon (Men of Clifton, Montana #52)

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.

“Do not tell me he’s not here,” Deke cut in, stepping forward. “If you don’t get him, I’ll arrest you for refusal to cooperate.” Her cheeks blanched; she stood aside, her fingers trembling on the doorframe. “Where is he? ”

“In his office. I can get him—”

“No, thank you.” Deke and Rawley brushed past her into the dim hallway. They walked in silence to Winchester’s office door. Deke didn’t knock. He pushed it open and stepped into the room.

Winchester sat behind his big desk cluttered with ledgers. He sprang to his feet, his eyes narrowing like a cornered animal. Rawley clicked the door shut behind them.

“What now, Agents?” Winchester’s voice was smooth, but his fingers drummed nervously on the desk.

“You’re under arrest for the theft of Rudy Hollister’s cattle, along with Drury’s,” Rawley announced, stalking around the desk in slow, precise strides.

Winchester laughed, a short, brittle sound that grated against Deke’s nerves. Deke sank into a burgundy wingback chair, and folded his arms. “Your boy gave you up, Winchester. Though he led us on a wild goose chase at first, he decided to talk.”

“None of my boys would implicate me,” Winchester spat, voice tight.

“Save it,” Rawley said, and Deke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Johnny and Teddy talked.” He let the silence stretch until Winchester’s face tightened.

“Bullshit,” Winchester muttered.

“Tell us where to find Walsh,” Rawley demanded. Both agents watched as Winchester’s bravado faltered and he slumped back into his chair. Sweat beaded on his brow, thin rivulets clinging to the skin.

“I don’t— ”

“So help me, if you say you don’t know, I will be pissed,” Rawley said as he spun Winchester’s chair so he could look him in eye. “Where is he?”

“As far as I know, he’s in Liberty, Montana.”

“How do you reach him?” Deke’s tone was flat, steel-edged.

“I call him,” Winchester said.

“Not on your cellphone.”

“We used burner phones.” He shrugged, defiant.

“Call him now.” Deke crossed his arms.

“I don’t have that phone anymore, we got rid of the burners, but I can give you his address.”

Winchester hesitated, then sighed. He pulled open a drawer. Rawley’s hand dropped to his holstered sidearm.

“Slowly,” Rawley warned.

Winchester removed a piece of paper and scribbled an address. He slid the slip across the desk. Deke rose, voice crisp, “Stand up. You’re under arrest for rustling, removing ear tags, and anything else I can add.”

Winchester obeyed. “How about a deal?” he offered, desperation creeping into his tone.

Rawley chuckled. “Everyone wants a fucking deal.”

“I’m done making deals,” Deke replied. “You, your sons, and Smith, are all going down. Once we locate Walsh, he’ll be in a cell next to yours.”

“That man will kill me.”

“You should have thought of that before.” Deke watched silently as Rawley snapped steel handcuffs over Winchester’s wrists and led him toward the door.

At the door, Mrs. Winchester hovered in the doorway, knuckles white on the frame. “Where are you taking him?”

“The sheriff’s department will be here to pick him up.”

“Will I be able to bail him out?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Probably,” Deke said. “But he didn’t bail his sons out. If it were up to me, he’d stay locked up, too.”

Rawley chuckled. “Now, that’s a good question, why didn’t you bail your sons out?”

Winchester’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “I thought it’d look better if I left them there. It wouldn’t look like I was involved.”

“That’s some fucked up shit,” Rawley said, shaking his head.

Deke cracked a grin. “That is fucked up.”

Winchester managed a brittle smirk. “I’ll be out in less than an hour.”

“I don’t care when, or if, you get out. Enjoy it while you can. Hollister’s herd alone is worth thousands. That alone is a hefty sentence.” Rawley ushered Winchester down the porch steps to the waiting truck.

“As soon as the sheriff’s deputies arrive, we’ll hand you over,” Rawley told him, then closed the door behind them.

“After they get him, we’ll head for Walsh’s place.”

Deke dialed the county sheriff on his phone, his back to the house. He gave the deputy the rundown on the arrest, then waited, eyes fixed on the road. He hated the thought of driving to Liberty but he wanted this case over and done with.

Three hours later, they pulled up to a weather-beaten house that had clearly seen better days.

Its paint was peeling, and the windows sagged in their frames, as if weary from holding the structure together for so long.

Across the yard, a barn stood precariously, its roof sagging and sides bowed out, as if the slightest gust of wind would send it crashing down.

Deke scanned the surroundings, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “It looks deserted. If that son of a bitch gave us a fake address, I will go back and beat it out of him.”

Rawley chuckled. “If only we could.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Deke sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing on him. “Let’s go to the door.”

Both men stepped out of the truck, their boots crunching on the gravel as they approached the door and knocked. A thin, gaunt man, with balding hair appeared in the doorway, his eyes wary and calculating.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice sharp and defensive.

“Mr. Walsh?” Deke inquired, his tone firm but polite.

“Who wants to know?” the man replied, his eyes widening when he saw the protective vests with livestock agent embroidered on them.

“I’m Agent Deke Anderson and this is Agent Rawley Bowman, we’re with the Montana Department of Livestock. We’d like to talk with you,” Deke stated, holding the man’s gaze.

“About what?” Walsh replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.

“The theft of some cattle that you and Chet Winchester stole,” Deke declared, his voice steady and unyielding .

Deke kept his eyes fixed on Walsh, sensing the man’s intention to flee. In a swift motion, Walsh slammed the door shut, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing in the stillness. Deke glanced at Rawley; his expression determined.

“Take the back, I’m kicking this door in.”

“You got it,” Rawley responded, sprinting around the side of the house.

Deke braced himself and kicked the door twice before it gave way, bursting open with a loud crack.

He rushed inside, his weapon drawn, moving with cautious precision as he scanned the dimly lit interior, shadows dancing in the corners of the room.

As he maneuvered his way toward a back room, the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the silence.

“Son of a bitch! Rawley?” Deke called out, his voice tinged with urgency, but received no response.

He quickly navigated through the cluttered kitchen, bursting out the back door to find Rawley sprawled on the ground.

“Shit!” Deke shouted as he ran to him, squatting down and placing a steadying hand on Rawley’s shoulder. “Rawley?”

Rawley groaned, pain etched across his face. “I’m alright. He hit my vest but damn that hurts.”

“No shit. Been there. Can you get up?” Deke asked, concern lacing his words.

“Yeah,” Rawley replied, his voice strained but resolute.

Deke stood, extending a hand to help Rawley to his feet. Rawley got up, bent over, breathing heavily as he steadied himself with his hands on his knees.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been hit in the vest, but I’d like it to be the last. Fuck,” Rawley muttered, wincing as he placed a hand over the bruise forming beneath his vest. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Deke took off running toward the woods behind the house. He moved to the left and dashed through the trees, then he stopped to listen. When he heard Walsh thrashing through the woods, he saw him slowing down to keep quiet. Deke stayed with him but not letting him know he was following him.

When Walsh stopped and turned to face the direction he’d just come from, Deke knew Rawley was making his way toward Walsh, and Deke watched Walsh raise his gun and peer through the woods in Rawley’s direction.

Deke crept through the woods until he was merely feet away from him. Deke moved behind him. Walsh was concentrating so much on Rawley coming toward him that he had no idea Deke had him in his sight.

With cautious steps, he walked up behind him, put his weapon to his head and cocked it, making Walsh still.

“Drop your weapon to the ground. You’re under arrest for rustling and removing ear tags.”

“I didn’t remove the ear tags. That was all the Winchesters and Smith.”

“But you did steal the cattle.”

“Uh—”

“That’s what I thought. Talk to the judge. Put your hands behind your back. I got him, Rawley,” Deke shouted.

When Deke snapped the handcuffs on, he took Walsh’s elbow and led him back toward the house and saw Rawley walking from the woods.

“How about a deal?”

Deke laughed. “Everyone wants a fucking deal, right Rawley? Let’s go.”

“It sure seems that way with this bunch. I’ll call the sheriff’s office.” Rawley removed his phone and placed a call, then put it back into his pocket. “They’re on their way.”

“Good. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’ll have a hell of a bruise tomorrow, but I’ll live.” Rawley looked at Walsh. “You shot me, you son of a bitch.”

“That’s another charge for you, Walsh. Attempted murder of a livestock agent.” Deke dragged him to the front of the house and put him in the truck to wait for a sheriff’s deputy. He slammed the door, leaned against the truck fender and folded his arms. Rawley stood next to him.

“I think this case is finally over,” Rawley said.

“All that’s left is the trial, then we can put this behind us.”

“Let’s hope so.” Rawley sighed.

“Hey, thanks for your help on this, Rawley.” Deke put his hand out to him.

“Anytime.” Rawley shook his hand.

Once the sheriff’s deputy arrived, Walsh was loaded into the back of his cruiser and after shaking their hands, the deputy drove off. Deke and Rawley looked at each other.

“Can we go home now?” Rawley asked with a grin.

“Yeah, you can head back. I want to stop at Hollister’s place about the arrests, then I’ll head home.” He shook his head. “I have to come back on Saturday to help with the move. Damn, I’ll be glad when I don’t have to make this trip again.”

“I could wait if you want,” Rawley said.

“No, it’s fine, Rawley. Head home. I know you’re tired,” Deke said with a grin, making Rawley laugh.

They climbed into Deke’s truck. He started it and they drove back to the hotel in Maple Ridge, Rawley packed, shook Deke’s hand and drove home to Clifton.

Deke hated the idea of driving to Clifton since he had to come back on Saturday, but he couldn’t stay on the department’s dime. He’d go home, get some rest, then come back and take Ava and his daughter home.