“Well,” I say finally. “I appreciate the support. But we’ve still got legal issues to sort out.”
“You’ll beat those charges,” Phillip assures me. “Nobody’s going to convict you boys for standing up to the Morrisons. Not in this county.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” I murmur.
I place my order for feed and supplies, and Phillip insists on giving me a discount. “For all the trouble,” he explains with a shrug.
As I wait for my order to be filled, more people approach to express their support. Some I know well, others just by sight, a few not at all.
By the time I leave, loaded down with supplies and a newfound sense of cautious optimism, it’s mid-morning. I head back to my truck, scanning the street for any sign of Noah or his deputies. The coast seems clear, but I remain vigilant as I load the supplies.
Just as I’m about to climb into the driver’s seat, a familiar voice calls my name. I turn to see Austin jogging toward me, a copy of the Gazette in his hand.
“Have you seen this?” he asks, slightly out of breath. “It’s all over town.”
“Just read it,” I confirm. “Phillip and the others in the feed store are pretty worked up about it.”
Austin grins, looking pleased. “It’s working, Devlin. The whole plan is actually working.”
I glance around, making sure no one’s within earshot. “Let’s not celebrate yet. Noah and the Morrisons won’t take this lying down.”
His smile fades slightly. “Yeah, I know. But for the first time, I feel like we might actually win this thing.”
“Maybe.” I allow, not wanting to dampen his enthusiasm completely. “How are Jesse and Truett taking all this?”
“Jesse is in a meeting with Shawn Cooper, going over legal strategy,” Austin says. “Truett is back at the ranch, keeping an eye on things there. We figured it was best not to all be in town at once. Makes it harder for Noah to track us.”
I nod, approving of their caution. “Smart. Any sign of Noah or his deputies today?”
Austin shakes his head. “Nothing so far. Word is, he’s holed up at the station, not taking calls. The sheriff is supposedly on the warpath about the article, demanding to know why he wasn’t briefed about Project Watershed.”
“Good,” I say grimly. “Let them fight among themselves for a while. Takes the heat off us.”
“Speaking of heat,” Austin says, lowering his voice. “Have you heard from Carson? He was supposed to check in this morning, but no one’s been able to reach him.”
A thread of unease winds through me. Carson is the one who put himself on the line by hacking and gathering all the intel we needed. If he’s gone silent…
“I’ll try him,” I say, pulling out my phone. “He might just be lying low after the article dropped.”
Austin nods, but I can see he’s worried too. “Let me know if you hear from him. Jesse is getting antsy.”
“Will do,” I promise, clapping him on the shoulder. “In the meantime, keep your head down. This isn’t over yet.”
He gives me a mock salute, similar to the one I gave Atlee earlier, before jogging back down the street toward his own truck.
I climb into my vehicle and immediately try Carson’s number. It rings several times before going to voicemail. I hangup without leaving a message—better not to create a record if he’s in a sensitive situation—and instead send a text that looks innocuous to anyone who might be monitoring his phone.
Me
Mom’s asking about Sunday dinner. You in?
It’s our code for checking in. If he responds with anything about bringing dessert, it means he’s fine but can’t talk. If he mentions a side dish, it means he’s in trouble.
No response comes as I pull away from the feed store, heading back toward the ranch. The optimism I felt earlier is tempered now by concern for Carson. He’s the youngest of us brothers, always trying to prove himself. I hope his eagerness hasn’t gotten him into a situation he can’t handle.
The road back to the ranch is clear, with no sign of patrol cars or suspicious vehicles. Still, I take a circuitous route, doubling back a couple of times to ensure I’m not being followed. Old habits from my military days, but they’ve kept me alive this long.
As I drive, my thoughts return to Atlee. I should have warned her this morning about the article and prepared her for the attention it might bring. She’s smart, adaptable. She’ll handle it fine, but I still don’t like the idea of her being caught off guard.
