A ripple of unease spreads through me. “What do you mean?”
He exhales sharply, glancing toward the road like he expects them to roll up any second. “I was in town earlier. Ran into Gavin Wells. He told me that a bunch of sheriff’s deputies are out at Bob Nance’s place.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Why? What happened? Is he okay?”
“Someone called in a report to the Department of Agriculture and said Bob was the cause of the epidemic. They’re out there forcing him to cull.” His jaw clenches, his voice thick with anger. “Gavin said they had Bob in cuffs.”
“What?” The word bursts out of me like an exhale punched from my lungs. “That can’t be. He’s one of the last ones to have symptoms. Who the hell called it in?”
Benny shakes his head. “I don’t know, Doc. I’m worried, though. Your dad and us—we were the first to show symptoms. If they’re doing this to Bob, it’ll bankrupt him. And if they come for us next…”
My stomach twists violently. Panic claws at my throat, the bile rising. This isn’t just some bureaucratic mix-up. Someone deliberately pointed the finger at Bob. And if they’re wrong, if they don’t have proof, they could be making things worse.
I turn on my heel, heading straight for my truck. “I need to get over to the Nance Ranch now and stop this.”
“Wait—” Benny steps after me. “You got proof he ain’t the cause?”
“Yeah,” I say, yanking open the door. “I’ve got data showing the spread doesn’t originate from his ranch. There’s no way he’s the source.”
Benny hesitates before nodding, but I can see the worry still etched on his face.
I pause, my hand on the truck door. “Why would someone call him in and report him?”
Benny exhales through his nose, thinking. “Beats me… but I did hear someone say he was thinking about selling the ranch and then changed his mind.”
I nod slowly, biting the inside of my cheek. That doesn’t sit right. Someone wanted Bob out of the way. But why?
Benny watches me carefully. “Where you going?”
I set my jaw, fire burning in my gut. “To save Bob Nance.”
I throw the truck into gear, dust kicking up behind me as I tear down the road toward the Nance Ranch, hoping to God I’m not too late.
I pull up to the Nance Ranch, my tires spitting up dust as I slam the truck into park. Even before I step out, I can see the chaos unfolding. Ag officers and sheriff deputies swarm the property, their vehicles lined up like they own the place. Cattle bawl in protest as they’re herded into trailers, and off to the side, Bob Nance stands with his hands clenched into fists, his face red with anger and desperation.
The moment I swing my door open, Dr. Reed steps out from the cluster of officials. He adjusts his pristine white coat, an arrogant smirk tugging at his lips as he strides toward me like he’s about to send me packing.
“You can’t be here, Dr. Bishop,” Reed says smoothly, stopping just a few feet from me. “This is an official operation, and you’re interfering.”
I plant my hands on my hips, my voice sharp. “I’d love to see the paperwork authorizing this so-called operation. Where’s the warrant? Where’s the medical documentation proving these animals are infected?”
Reed’s smirk deepens. “I don’t have to show you anything.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh and pull my phone from my back pocket. “That’s fine. I’ve got a few friends over at PETA who would love to hear about a government agency slaughtering animals without proof of infection.” I let the words hang for a second before adding, “Oh, and I happen to know someone at Channel 6 News. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to do a live segment right here on this ranch.”
For the first time, Reed’s confidence wavers. He glances at one of his colleagues, then back at me. “We got a call,” he finally mutters.
“A call?” I echo, my voice dripping with disbelief. “You mean to tell me you showed up here, rounding up cattle for slaughter, based on someone’s word over the phone? You didn’t bother to contact Doc Lucy, or me, knowing that we were handling this?”
Reed crosses his arms. “We had reason to believe—”
“Reason to believe what?” I snap, pulling out my notebook and flipping to the most recent entry. “Because I was here just the other day. We documented symptoms in three cattle. Three. Not an entire herd. Since then, Bob’s tightened his protocols, and no new cases have developed.”
Reed scoffs. “For all I know, you doctored that report.”
I step closer, unflinching. “Then show me your own medical documentation. Where are your test results? Bloodwork? Stool samples? Anything proving that these animals are sick?”
Reed doesn’t say a word. The silence stretches, thick and damning. I shake my head in disgust. “You’re about to slaughter innocent animals, ruin a man’s entire business without any proof or documentation?”
