Page 16 of Montana Justice

Lachlan

Deputy Martinez waved through another minivan filled with what looked like a family heading out for a weekend trip.

That made thirty-seven vehicles so far, and not a single one had triggered any red flags.

No nervous drivers, no suspicious cargo, no attempts to turn around when they spotted the checkpoint.

The intel had seemed solid. Warrior Security’s contact had been certain that drug smugglers were planning to use this route today, sometime between seven and noon. But noon was twenty minutes away, and we had nothing to show for it except frustrated deputies and annoyed civilians.

My radio crackled. “Unit Three to Sheriff. Another clean vehicle. Honda Accord, elderly couple heading to Billings for a doctor’s appointment.”

“Copy that.” We were all frustrated. Nobody needed to say it out loud.

A knock on my passenger window made me look up. Beckett stood outside, hands shoved in the pockets of his tactical jacket. I knew he’d be showing up sooner or later. I unlocked the door and he slid in, bringing the scent of coffee and gun oil with him.

“Figured you could use some company,” he said, handing me a to-go cup from Deja Brew. “Black, no sugar, just how you hate it but drink it anyway to prove you’re tough.”

“Thanks.” I took a sip of the bitter brew, grateful for the caffeine hit.

Beckett’s sharp gaze swept over the scene ahead of us. “Any luck?”

“Not a fucking thing.”

Beckett muttered a curse. “Our intel wasn’t solid. Shit. I thought for sure it would be.”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “It seemed solid to me too. But…nothing.”

Somebody trafficking weapons and drugs through my own backyard didn’t sit well with me. We were starting to hear more chatter about it.

“Yeah. I’m honestly more concerned about the fentanyl than I am the weapons. Had a teen nearly die a few days ago.”

“Shit.” Beckett’s jaw tightened. “That’s new for us.”

“Yeah. We’ve been lucky so far—Garnet Bend’s been mostly untouched by that garbage. But if someone’s trying to establish a pipeline through here…” I didn’t need to finish. We both knew what fentanyl had done to communities across Montana.

“Don’t worry. Between Warrior Security and the department, we’ll catch these assholes. If not today, then soon.”

I sure as hell hoped so.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Martinez check the back of a pickup truck before waving it through. The driver looked more confused than nervous, probably wondering why there was a random checkpoint on a Tuesday morning.

“How are things at home?” Beckett asked, his tone casual but his eyes knowing. We hadn’t talked about my home situation again since I’d mentioned it to him, Lucas, and Hunter at the tavern a week and a half ago.

“Fine.” The word came out more defensive than I’d intended.

“Lach.”

I sighed. “They’re… It’s good having them there. The house feels less empty. Piper cooks these amazing dinners, keeps everything clean without me even asking. She’s trying so hard to contribute, to not be a burden.”

“But?”

“But she’s sad all the time. She tries to hide it, puts on this smile whenever I’m around, but I can see it in her eyes.”

“Like postpartum depression stuff?”

“It has to be more than that. Last night…” I paused, remembering the sound that had pulled me from sleep around two in the morning. “I heard her crying. Not just a few tears, but full-on sobbing like her heart was breaking.”

Beckett was quiet for a moment. “Did you go to her?”

“I stood outside her door for ten minutes trying to decide. In the end, I figured she needed privacy more than comfort from someone she barely trusts.”

“You sure about that?”

I wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Piper.

Every instinct I had was twisted up where she was concerned.

Part of me wanted to protect her from whatever was causing her so much pain.

Another part reminded me that she’d stolen from me once and could do it again. Or worse even, disappear with my son.

And then there was the part that just wanted to hold her, to recreate that one perfect night we’d shared a year ago.

“She needs something,” I admitted. “Dr. Rankine says the fatigue and mood swings could be postpartum depression, but I think it’s more than that. But I have no idea what.”

“You know, Lark’s been looking for help at Pawsitive Connections,” Beckett said, his tone carefully neutral. “Nothing too strenuous, just feeding animals, cleaning stalls, maybe helping with the therapy sessions. The kind of work that keeps your hands busy and gives your mind a break.”

I glanced at him. “You think that would help Piper?”

“I think sitting in that house all day with nothing to do but think about whatever’s eating at her isn’t helping.

And Lark’s good with people who are struggling.

Patient. Understanding. Plus…” He shrugged.

“She wouldn’t mind if Piper brought the baby.

Actually told me once she thinks having babies around is therapeutic for some of the animals. ”

The idea had merit. Piper needed purpose, needed to feel useful beyond cooking and cleaning. And maybe being around Lark and the animals would help her open up, start healing from whatever trauma she was carrying.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” I said.

“Good.” Beckett checked his watch. “Want me to stick around until you call off the checkpoint?”

“Nah, no point in both of us wasting our whole day. Thanks for the coffee and the conversation.”

“Anytime, brother.” He climbed out of the cruiser, then paused with the door open. “Lach? Whatever’s going on with Piper, she’s lucky to have you looking out for her. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.”

That didn’t feel true, but I didn’t argue the point.

After he left, I waited another few hours, just in case, before finally calling it. “All units, stand down. Pack up the checkpoint and head back to regular patrol.”

The relief in Martinez’s voice was obvious. “Copy that, Sheriff. Hopefully we’ll have better luck next time.”

Next time. At this rate, every criminal in the state would know we couldn’t execute a successful operation if our lives depended on it, even when we had what felt like solid intel. The drive home felt longer than usual, my mind churning over the failed checkpoint and what it might mean.

I pulled into my driveway to find Piper’s beat-up Honda in its usual spot. Through the front window, I could see her in the kitchen, Caleb in his bouncer on the counter while she cooked. The domestic scene made something loosen in my chest, even as I wondered how long it would last.

“Hey,” I called out as I walked in, hanging my duty belt by the door.

Piper turned from the stove, and I caught a flash of genuine concern in her eyes before she carefully schooled her expression. “You’re home early. How did everything go today?”

“Frustrating.” I moved to the sink to wash my hands, needing a moment to let go of the job before fully entering this space. “We had a lead that didn’t pan out. Spent all morning running a checkpoint that yielded absolutely nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” She bit her lower lip, a gesture I’d noticed she did when she was thinking hard about something. “That must be really disappointing.”

The depth of understanding in her voice surprised me. Most people would offer empty platitudes or change the subject, but Piper seemed to genuinely grasp how much these failures weighed on me.

“It’s part of the job,” I said, drying my hands. “Some days you win, some days you waste everyone’s time. But yeah, it’s frustrating.”

“Still.” She turned back to the stove, stirring something that smelled like heaven.

“I was thinking… Would it be okay if I made you something special for dinner? There’s this recipe I’ve always loved.

I started it but then couldn’t remember everything.

I’d need to look it up online to remember all the ingredients. ”

She said it so carefully, like she was asking for something unreasonable instead of simple internet access. That’s when it hit me—she didn’t have a smartphone, didn’t have a laptop, had no way to connect to the outside world except through the basic phone I’d given her for emergencies.

“Of course,” I said, guilt twisting in my gut. “You can use my computer anytime. I should have offered before now.”

“I didn’t want to assume…”

I moved to Caleb’s bouncer, lifting my son into my arms. He gurgled happily, reaching for my face with tiny hands. “Hey there, little man. You being good for your mama?”

“He’s been perfect,” Piper said softly. “He had a long nap this morning, which helped me get some cleaning done.”

“You don’t have to clean constantly, you know. The house won’t fall apart if you take a day off.”

She made a noncommittal sound, and I knew she’d keep cleaning anyway. It was her way of contributing, of earning her place here. No amount of reassurance from me seemed to shake her belief that she had to constantly prove her worth.

“Would you mind logging on to your computer now to look up the recipe?”

“Why don’t you just go ahead and look it up?” I shifted Caleb to one arm and rattled off the password, watching her memorize it with intense focus. Such a simple thing, access to information most people took for granted, but she treated it like I’d handed her something precious.

Like she was surprised I’d give her access to the outside world.

Fuck, was that how she felt? Was that why she was crying last night and felt sad all the time? Did she feel like she didn’t have any options? Like she was trapped here in some sort of gilded cage?

I’d never meant to make her feel that way, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t.

“Actually,” I said, remembering Beckett’s suggestion, “there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. A friend mentioned that Pawsitive Connections is looking for help. It’s the therapy animal program out near Resting Warrior Ranch.”

Piper’s hands stilled on the spoon she was holding. “A job?”

“Don’t worry, you could bring Caleb. You wouldn’t have to leave him with a babysitter.” I didn’t want her to have a total breakdown like she had last week when I’d mentioned a job. She wasn’t ready to leave him, and that was fine.

I probably should’ve confirmed with Lark this was true before making the offering, but I knew the woman pretty well. I’d call in a favor if I had to.

“Just part time, nothing too demanding,” I continued. “Feeding animals, cleaning stalls, maybe helping prep for some of the therapy sessions. The woman who runs it, Lark Monroe, is really understanding about people needing flexibility. Plus, you’d be able to be outside some. Out of this house.”

“I don’t know…” The hesitation in her voice was clear.

“You don’t have to decide right now. I’d just like for you to try it for a couple days, see if it’s a good fit. If not, then we’ll figure something else out. But I think it would be good for you to get out a little more. So you’re not alone with this little man all the time.”

She nodded slowly. “What about me working at the sheriff’s office part time?”

“With me?”

She nodded.

The fact that she wanted to work with me eased a tightness in my chest I hadn’t even realized had been there.

I wasn’t the problem. I wasn’t the reason she was crying at night when she thought no one could hear.

If she would entertain the thought of working down at the station, then it wasn’t me she was trying to stay away from.

But, unfortunately, her working there wouldn’t pan out. “I don’t think that’s what you want. You couldn’t bring Caleb to the station. We can’t have a baby there. He’d have to stay with a sitter or day care.”

She paled at the statement. “Oh.”

I shifted Caleb to my other arm and reached out and cupped her shoulder gently, relieved when she didn’t pull away. “Let’s try Pawsitive for a few days and see how you like it. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll see what else I can find.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She leaned into my hand—just for a second. A quiet, intimate gesture that made us both go still. The air between us shifted, thick with everything unspoken. The pull that hadn’t gone away, despite everything.

Almost without thinking, I traced the curve of her cheek with my thumb. Soft. Warm. I moved closer?—

Then stopped as Caleb let out a gurgle and reached a tiny fist toward his mother’s hair. She and I both laughed as I untangled the strands he’d grabbed and was trying to fit into his mouth.

Once she was loose, she turned back toward the stove. “I’ll finish making dinner.”

“Don’t you need the recipe from the computer?”

She froze. “No, I, uh… I think I remember it now. I don’t need to look it up.”

“Okay, great.”

But whatever had just passed between us was gone. Vanished like it hadn’t happened at all.

Her defenses were back in full force—rigid and unyielding, just like her spine as she stirred the sauce with mechanical precision.

Worse, her head was bowed again, that familiar, quiet sadness settling over her like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

I’d always prided myself on reading people. On spotting trouble before it boiled over. On knowing what someone needed before they ever had to ask.

But not with Piper. The more time I spent around her, the less certain I was about anything.

And that had to change.