Page 20 of Playing Dirty (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #2)

Chapter Twenty

County Line

Rhett

B y the time I got back from the airstrip, the house felt too damn still.

A few hours earlier, I’d stood on the tarmac with my hands in my pockets, watching the private jet climb into the morning sky.

Callie, Tessa, the twins, and Dalia were on board, bound for Vegas.

The plan had been simple—get them out of Lovelace so the rest of us could do what needed doing.

Still, watching that jet disappear made something twist in my chest.

The quiet hit me the second I walked through the door.

No twin chatter bouncing off the walls. No Tessa telling somebody to use their inside voice.

No Callie’s laugh cutting through the noise like sunlight breaking clouds.

I’d gotten used to the chaos faster than I’d admit, and without it, the place felt… hollow.

Colt was at the kitchen table with a steaming mug, looking like he’d been up for hours. Across from him, Sawyer was already camped out at my laptop, eyes glued to the screen, fingers tapping with a steady rhythm.

I poured myself a coffee and leaned against the counter. “You two planning on saying good morning, or is this one of those silent-operator deals?”

Sawyer didn’t even look up. “Working.”

Colt gave me a look over the rim of his mug. “Before we get too far into this, you need to remember—Matt’s got a family. Kids. Whatever we do here… it’s not just hitting him.”

I took a slow sip, letting the bitter heat settle. “I’m aware.”

“You sure?” Colt asked. “’Cause once this ball starts rolling, we can’t stop it.”

I set my mug down, the sound sharp against the counter. “He went after Callie’s name, Colt. Tried to tear her down when she walked away from him. That’s not a mistake. That’s a choice. And he doesn’t get to keep walking around like he’s untouchable.”

Truth was, I did feel for his family. None of this was their fault. But if what Sawyer dug up put us on a collision course with the truth, then his wife deserved to know exactly who she was married to.

Colt studied me for a beat, but he didn’t argue.

Sawyer’s voice cut in, low and focused. “Then we’d better make sure whatever we find sticks.”

I looked at him, then at Colt. “It will. And when this is done, Callie comes home to a town where Matt Downing doesn’t exist.”

Sawyer’s fingers stopped tapping, and his head lifted just enough to break the steady glow of the laptop screen. “Got something.” His tone was clipped, the kind you use when you’re holding a card no one else at the table has seen yet.

Colt and I moved in, standing behind him. On the screen were three different driver’s licenses—Wyoming, Utah, and Montana. All with Matt’s face staring back, each with a different address, each clean enough to pass a casual glance.

“That’s interesting,” Colt muttered.

“That’s not all,” Sawyer said. He clicked to another document—a marriage license from Salt Lake City, dated eight years back. Same name. Same smug grin in the tiny photo attached to the record.

I scanned the details, a low burn starting in my chest. “What about a divorce?”

Sawyer shook his head. “I checked every public record database I can access. Utah, Wyoming, Montana. There’s no divorce decree. None. Which means either he’s still married, or the state lost its damn mind.”

Colt blew out a slow breath, leaning back from the table. “If there’s another wife in the picture, we’re about to cause some serious pain.”

“I know,” I said. And I did. I hated the collateral damage. “Doesn’t change what he’s done here. He had to know damn well that karma would catch up with him—sooner or later.”

Sawyer sat back, eyes sharp. “It’s not our job to protect him—or shield anyone from facts they deserve to have. This is leverage, plain and simple.”

He wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t about gossip. This was about ending the game Matt had been running on Callie—and maybe on two other women—for years.

I crossed my arms, staring at the marriage record one more time. “Then we use it. Quiet, clean, and fast. When we’re done, he won’t have a job, a reputation, or a place to run to.”

Colt glanced between us but didn’t argue. The line had been drawn. Now all that was left was to pull the trigger.

Sawyer’s mouth curved, not in a smile exactly, but in that self-satisfied way he got when a plan was starting to take shape. He reached for his phone.

“Who are you calling?” Colt asked, though I already knew.

“My guy at the sheriff’s department,” Sawyer said, scrolling through his contacts. “We’re gonna make life a little inconvenient for our friend.”

Colt frowned. “Inconvenient how?”

“Routine seatbelt check,” Sawyer said, like it was the most harmless thing in the world. He glanced at me. “Sometimes a little nudge is all it takes to knock something loose.”

I nodded. “Do it.”

Sawyer put the call on speaker, and within seconds, a deep, easy voice answered. “What’s up, Sawyer?”

“Need a favor,” Sawyer said. “Got a guy named Matt Downing. Driving a dark blue F-150, Wyoming plates. Runs the Frontier Market in Lovelace. If you see him, pull him over for a seatbelt check, maybe run his info. Let me know what you find.”

The cop didn’t ask questions—must’ve known better than to poke around in the why. “Consider it done.”

We stayed gathered around the phone, listening to the faint background noise of traffic and the officer’s voice as he narrated in real time.

“Alright… I got him. Pulling over now. He’s fidgety.

Not happy to see me.” A pause, then a low whistle.

“Well, this is interesting… running multiple IDs. Wyoming, Utah… hell, Montana too. Stand by.”

I shot a look at Colt. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

The officer came back on. “Dispatch is flagging it. Sheriff’s office wants him off the road until they can verify identity. I’m having his truck towed now. Man’s asking for a ride to his cabin.”

Sawyer’s eyes lit with that quiet kind of victory. “Appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” the cop said, and hung up.

Sawyer pocketed his phone. “He’s stranded at the cabin.”

I pushed away from the counter, already grabbing my jacket from the back of a chair. “Then let’s not waste the opportunity.”

Colt stood, slower than I did, but with the same resolve in his eyes. “You planning on talking to him or burying him?”

“Depends on how honest he wants to be.”

Sawyer slung the laptop bag over his shoulder, the printed copies of Matt’s licenses sticking out of the top. “Either way, he’s not gonna like the conversation.”

I didn’t bother replying. My focus was already on the road ahead and ending this thing before Callie ever set foot back in Lovelace.

The drive out to Matt’s place was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles in before a storm. The mountains were rising behind the line of pines like they’d been there long enough to see men like Matt come and go a hundred times over.

When we rounded the last curve, I spotted him out front, fishing in his pocket like he was about to pick a fight with the lock itself. The key came out in a quick jerk. Even from here, I could see the red flush creeping up his neck.

The moment we pulled up, he stopped pacing and turned toward us, eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

I stepped out of the truck, slow and deliberate, letting the door shut with a heavy thud. “Heard you had some trouble this morning.”

Matt’s glare deepened. “Some cop got it in his head to harass me. Took my truck. Said there was a ‘mix-up’ with my ID. Bullshit.”

Sawyer came around the side, laptop bag slung over one shoulder. “Not a mix-up.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out a small stack of papers. “You’ve been busy, Matt. Three driver’s licenses, three states.”

Matt’s lip curled. “Those are mistakes in the system. Administrative crap.”

“And this?” Sawyer held up the marriage license from Salt Lake City.

Matt’s jaw worked, but no words came.

“No record of a divorce anywhere,” Sawyer added. “Which means either you’re still married, or you’ve been lying to more than one woman for a long time.”

Matt took a step forward, eyes darting between us. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I kept my tone even, steady. “You’ve been lying about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, and who you are. We’re past talking, Matt. We’ve got proof, and the people who need to see it are going to.”

He scoffed, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. He knew we weren’t bluffing.

Colt shifted beside me, his arms folded. “Could’ve walked away clean, but you had to run your mouth about Callie. Bad call.”

Matt turned toward me like he was searching for a way to twist this back. “You think you can scare me?”

I stepped closer, close enough to see the faint sheen of sweat on his temple. “Not trying to scare you. Just making sure you understand—whatever game you’ve been running, it’s over.”

Sawyer slid the papers back into his bag with a snap. “Ready to make the call?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I said, never taking my eyes off Matt. “It’s time.”

I pulled my phone from my back pocket and scrolled for the number I’d saved, back when I was doing a bit of snooping around on my own.

Today was that day.

Matt’s gaze followed every move, his jaw set in that stubborn line he probably thought looked like control. “Who are you calling?”

“You’ll find out,” I said, putting the phone on speaker as it rang.

On the third ring, a woman answered, her voice crisp and professional. “Frontier Market corporate office. This is Human Resources. How can I help you?”

“Name’s Rhett Callahan,” I said, steady and calm.

“I’m calling to report one of your regional managers—Matt Downing.

He’s been running the Lovelace, Montana, store, but is not who he says he is.

He has multiple driver’s licenses in different states, two marriage licenses in Wyoming and Utah with no divorce on record, and has misrepresented himself to his employees.

He’s also been spreading false statements about one of them after she resigned. ”

There was a pause on the line, the kind where you can hear someone choosing their words. “That’s a serious allegation, Mr. Callahan. Do you have documentation?”

“Yes,” I said, glancing at Sawyer, who patted the bag with all the proof. “And I can have it in your inbox within minutes.”

Behind me, Colt stood like a wall, arms crossed, eyes never leaving Matt.

The HR rep’s voice sharpened. “We’ll be investigating this immediately.”

That’s when Matt lunged forward, snatching the phone from my hand. “This is Matt Downing,” he said, breathless and defensive. “I’ll save you the trouble. I resign. Effective immediately.”

I arched a brow at him, watching the last of the fight drain from his face as he shoved the phone back into my hand.

The woman on the other end didn’t miss a beat.

“Once we receive an email from you about your decision to formally resign, we’ll process your resignation and follow up as needed.

But not without an investigation.” The HR representative took a quick breath and continued.

“Your wife, Maggie Downing, also works for Frontier Market. She will be notified about the marriage license discrepancy since she is listed as your wife and the one to notify in an emergency.” The line clicked dead.

Matt’s shoulders sagged, the fight gone, replaced with something smaller—something cornered.

“Guess that’s it, then,” Sawyer said quietly.

“Not quite,” I replied. “We’re giving you a ride.”

We loaded into the truck without another word from Matt.

He slumped in the passenger seat like he was riding out a hangover, eyes fixed on the dashboard, jaw working but no sound coming out.

Sawyer drove, steady and silent, while Colt sat in the back with the evidence bag on his knee like it was a loaded gun.

The deputy was already waiting when we rolled into the sheriff’s lot. He stepped down off the porch with Matt’s keys in hand, a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

“Truck’s all yours,” he said, holding the keys out. “But here’s the deal—an officer’s gonna follow you to the county line. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t bring yourself, your truck, or your lies back to Lovelace.”

Matt snatched the keys without a thank-you. He glanced at me, like maybe he still thought he could say something to get out from under this.

I stepped in close enough that he could see I meant every word. “Don’t call her. Don’t text her. Don’t even think about her. You cross that line, and it won’t just be your job you lose next time.”

For a second, I thought he might come back with some smart remark. But instead, he turned on his heel and climbed into his truck. The deputy followed him out, patrol car pulling in behind like a shadow, ready to chase.

We stood there until the taillights dipped out of sight, swallowed by the road. The air felt clearer somehow, the knot in my chest loosening for the first time in weeks.

Colt adjusted his hat. “That’s that.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking out toward the open stretch of highway. “Matt Downing’s gone. And Callie’s coming home to a clean slate.”

Sawyer didn’t say anything—just gave me a slow nod before heading back to the truck.

I checked my watch. Still early afternoon. Plenty of time to arrange another private jet and beat the Vegas sunset. “Let’s go surprise the gals,” I said to Colt. “I’d rather tell Callie the news in person.”

“You in?” I asked Sawyer.

He shook his head. “Nope. Got my own plans.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“That,” he said, “is for me to know and for you to find out.”

I laughed and followed Colt toward the truck, already thinking about the moment I could see her face when she realized Matt was out of her life for good.

And this time, he really was.