Rowdy and I walk down the center pathway, side by side, the soles of our boots grinding against the thin layer of muck left behind on the concrete.
The stations don’t have any machinery. They milk these cows by hand?
And I’m no dairy farmer, but aren’t cows supposed to be milked in the morning? Or did they already finish?
When I get to the ladder leading up to the loft, I don’t hesitate.
“CJ,” Rowdy warns.
“I’m just gonna look,” I tell him over my shoulder. This goes againstfollowing my lead, but he doesn’t stop me.
When I step onto the loft’s creaky planks, hay dust tickling my nose, I pause to listen.
Another cow lows, but it’s muffled up here. I walk to the window, which looks over the snowy pasture dotted with cows, steam rising from their warm flanks into the cold morning air, to the row of houses we visited. Below the window is a tidy layer of fresh green hay, flattened.
An icy chill walks down my spine. Someone small sat or kneeled here. Watched our truck drive through the compound and park in front of that house. Watched us load up that firewood.
The window is blank now, which only confirms my suspicion that the message was intended only for us.
“CJ,” Rowdy barks.
I search the loft, checking behind the stacks of hay bales, but there’s nobody hiding up here.
But someonewashere. Someone who wrote that message in the window because they’re that desperate for our help. So where have they gone?
Reluctantly, I descend the ladder, but before I can give my report, a figure darkens the barn doorway.
It’s Sheriff Thomas.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sheriff Thomas shoveshis hands to his waist. “First you come charging in here with some bullshit claim, and then I find you snooping around. I oughtta arrest you for trespassing.”
I keep my irritation in check with a measured exhale. “We have every right to be here.”
With a sneer, he leans sideways to spit tobacco juice into the dirt. “I’ll escort you from the premises.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say as CJ joins me. “We were just leaving.”
Sheriff Thomas stares a beat too long at CJ’s badge, then the two of them lock eyes.
“I thought that was you,” Thomas says to CJ, cold hatred in his gaze. “Fish and Game must be gettin’ desperate if they’re hiring drunks who can’t stay out of trouble.” He spits again, making my stomach lurch. “You ever find that sister of yours?”
Next to me, CJ stiffens. “What do you fucking know about it?”
Sheriff Thomas gives him a smug grin. “I’m the sheriff. I know all kinds of things.”
CJ lunges, but I grab him by the shoulders. “Stop right there,” I grit out while he fumes.
Using his momentum, I steer us past the sheriff. Only once we’re a safe distance away do I release CJ. “Get in,” I mutter, my tone firm.
CJ releases a strangled grunt as he swings the door open and climbs into the passenger seat.
I settle behind the wheel and start the engine, then back the truck and trailer away from the barn. Sheriff Thomas gives me a cocky salute from beside his SUV as I steer toward the exit.
Driving with a load of fresh wood is like dragging an anchor and takes some concentration to navigate the potholes, so I wait until we’re back on pavement before I shoot CJ a glance.
“Getting into a brawl with the sheriff is a great way to get fired.”