Even though Dave was only nineteen years old, his relationship with Dan Carter, the chief of the Bozeman Police Department, went back a long way. “What did he say?”
“He wanted us to stay away from the parking lot. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Look at it from the chief’s perspective and tell me what you see.”
Dave’s head dropped to his chest. “I know. It looked pretty bad. We went back into town. I stayed awake most of the night, talking to a friend.”
“Did you figure out anything?”
“Yeah. I’m glad I’m here.”
After spending the last twelve months wondering if he’d done the right thing, Dave’s words struck something deep inside Brett. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”
“I’m really sorry that I didn’t feed the cattle. I’ll make it up to you.”
“It’s not me you need to thank, it’s Thomas.”
Dave nodded and turned to leave.
Brett put down his wrench. “I’m proud of you. You did well last night. Calling your mom and following Dan Carter’s instructions were the right things to do.”
Dave sent him a slow smile. “I didn’t have anything to drink, either. Maybe you and Mr. McConachie are rubbing off on me.”
“Could be. You’ve been living here long enough.”
Dave’s smile disappeared. “I’ll go and have a shower. I won’t be long.” With his head bent, he walked out of the barn and into the cold December morning.
Brett didn’t know why Dave looked so disappointed. Living on the ranch wasn’t that bad, even if he did have to work hard. He picked up the wrench and loosened the next nut. Dave’s life wasn’t easy at the best of times and Brett didn’t know what he’d done to make it worse.
***
Hannah dragged a large antique chest away from the attic wall. So far, she’d found half a dozen paintings neatly stacked against boxes and furniture. None of the artists’ names were familiar to her, but that didn’t mean they weren’t special.
She carefully stepped around the chest and wiggled between two sets of drawers. Leaning against the wall was the painting she’d been trying to reach.
“Are you in the attic, Hannah?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m over here.” She frowned when a woman about her own age appeared in the doorway.
“Hi. I’m Mary-Beth, Brett’s sister. I saw you at Charlie’s Bar and Grill a couple of weeks ago. Mrs. Bennett told me you might be here.”
“I thought I recognized you.” It was easy to see the family resemblance. Mary-Beth had the same dark hair, gray eyes, and easy smile as her brother. “Brett isn’t here. He left an hour ago to feed the cattle.”
“That’s okay. I wanted to see you, too. Brett told me you’re cataloging Mr. and Mrs. McConachie’s art collection.”
Hannah nodded. “It’s a bigger job than I imagined.”
“Are you an artist?”
“I’d like to say yes, but I don’t have a lot of time to paint.”
Mary-Beth shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who paints full time. Even if she wasn’t able to spend a lot of time in her studio, she’d still be an artist. She once told me that artists are born, not made.” Her gaze roamed around the attic. “What are you doing up here?”
“Looking for more paintings. Can you help me move a set of drawers? There’s a painting leaning against the wall that I can’t reach.”
“Sure. Which one do you want to move?”
“This one.” Hannah pointed to the heavy dresser. “If we wiggle it to the right, I should be able to move the painting.”
