Chapter 22 Devlin
TWENTY-TWO
DEVLIN
I wake up with a start. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the memory of jail cells and plastic restraints too fresh in my mind. Then I feel Atlee’s warm body curled against mine, her breathing deep and even in sleep, and reality settles back into place.
I’m home. We’re safe. For now.
I lie there watching as the first light of morning filters through the curtains, casting soft shadows across Atlee’s sleeping face.
She soothes the restlessness in me and quiets the constant noise in my head.
Even now, with charges hanging over my head and Noah gunning for me, I find a measure of peace just watching her sleep.
But the peace doesn’t last. As the room grows lighter, my thoughts turn to the day ahead.
The article about Project Watershed should be hitting the website and the regular paper today, exposing Morrison’s plan to control the water rights throughout the county.
It’s a good plan, one that should shift public opinion in our favor, but it also makes us bigger targets for Noah and the Morrisons—if they dare to not let this go.
I’m hoping they do, but we don’t know until we see what others in the county think about this.
That means Atlee could be an even bigger target too.
She stirs beside me, her eyes fluttering open, immediately finding mine as if she sensed I was watching her. A sleepy smile curves her lips.
“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice husky with sleep.
“Morning,” I reply, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. “Sleep okay?”
She nods, stretching like a cat, all curves and claws. “Better than I expected, considering.”
I know what she means. Yesterday was a hell of a day, the kind that should have kept us both tossing and turning. But there’s something about being together that makes even the worst days bearable.
“What time do you have to be at work?” I ask, already formulating a plan for the day.
“Nine,” she says, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “Why?”
I sit up, the sheet pooling around my waist. “I don’t want you driving yourself today. Not with everything that’s going on.”
A small frown creases her forehead. “Devlin…”
“It’s not just being overprotective,” I cut in, though we both know that’s part of it. “I don’t trust Noah. He’s desperate, and desperate men do stupid things.”
The frown deepens. “You think he’d come after me?”
“I think he’d do anything to get to me right now,” I say honestly. “Including using you. I’d just feel better if I took you to work and picked you up after.”
She studies my face for a long moment, and I can see her weighing her independence against my concern. Finally, she nods. “Okay. But I’m not going to live in fear, Devlin. We can’t let Noah and the Morrisons dictate how we live our lives.”
“We won’t,” I promise, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “This is just until things settle down. Once the dust clears from the article dropping, we’ll reassess.”
She seems satisfied with that, or at least willing to humor me for now.
We get ready together, moving around each other with the easy familiarity of a couple who’ve been together far longer than we have.
It’s still new enough to make my chest tighten with something like wonder, this simple domestic routine—brushing teeth side by side at the sink, sharing the mirror, her reaching around me for her hairbrush, me stealing a kiss as we pass in the hallway.
After a quick breakfast, we head out to my truck. The morning is crisp, frost glittering on the grass and the promise of winter in the air. Atlee shivers slightly, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.
“Getting cold,” she comments as we climb into the truck. “Snow won’t be far behind.”
“Couple of weeks, probably,” I agree, starting the engine.
The drive into town is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
I take the back roads, avoiding the main highway where we might run into Noah or his deputies.
It’s longer this way, but safer, and the scenery is better, with dense pine forests giving way to open meadows and the mountains rising majestically in the distance.
As we near town, I can feel myself tensing, eyes constantly checking the mirrors, scanning for patrol cars. Atlee notices, her hand finding mine on the gearshift.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says softly. “Lennon seems confident the charges won’t stick.”
“Yeah,” I say, though I’m less confident than I let on. Not about the charges—those are flimsy at best—but about what Noah might do in retaliation once the article drops. Men like him, they don’t take public humiliation well.
I pull up in front of Murphy’s General Store, parking right by the entrance where the morning crowd can see us clearly. Let them look. Let them talk. I want everyone in Grizzly River to know I’m not hiding. I’m not running from the accusations against me.
“Text me when your shift is over,” I tell Atlee, leaning across the center console to kiss her goodbye. “I’ll be here to pick you up.”
“I will,” she promises, her fingers lingering on my cheek. “Be careful today. Don’t do anything reckless.”
I smile despite myself. “Me? Reckless?”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling too. “You know what I mean. Stay out of trouble.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I drawl, giving her a mock salute.
She shakes her head, still smiling as she climbs out of the truck. I wait until she’s safely inside the store before pulling away, heading toward my next destination, the Grizzly River Feed & Supply.
We need to restock some items at the ranch, and, more importantly, I need to get a sense of how the town is reacting to the article. The feed store is the unofficial hub of Grizzly River’s gossip network. If people are talking about Project Watershed, this is where I’ll hear it.
I park out front, noting that the lot is unusually full for this time of morning.
Interesting. Inside, the store is buzzing with activity, with ranchers and townspeople clustered in small groups, all of them talking animatedly.
The conversation dies down as I walk in, and I brace myself for dirty looks and whispered accusations.
Instead, a slow clap starts from somewhere in the back of the store. It spreads, person by person, until nearly everyone is applauding. I stop in my tracks, looking around in confusion, not sure what the hell is happening.
Phillip Reeves, the store’s owner, steps forward, a copy of the Grizzly River Gazette clutched in his weathered hand. “About damn time somebody stood up to the Morrisons,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “We all appreciate what you Nelson boys and Truett Weber have done.”
I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected support. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I say, playing dumb even as relief washes through me. The article worked. It actually worked.
Phillip gives me a knowing look, holding up the newspaper. “This exposé on Project Watershed,” he says. “How the Morrisons have been buying up water rights all across the county, planning to choke out the smaller ranches.”
I take the paper, scanning the front-page article. It’s even more damning than I expected, naming both the Morrisons and Noah. I didn’t know they’d be mentioning Noah too.
“Where’d this information come from?” I ask, handing the paper back.
“Anonymous sources,” Phillip says with a wink. “But word is, you boys had something to do with bringing it to light and then got arrested for your trouble.”
“Wouldn’t know anything about that.” I shrug.
Another rancher, Bill Thompson, joins us. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened,” he says gruffly. “They’re in with the most crooked deputy we’ve ever had.”
Part of me is slightly ashamed since we didn’t start out doing this out of the goodness of our hearts, but if it’s going to keep us out of hot water, then it is what it is. Hopefully, by the time we’re done, we’ll be able to pay back anyone we harmed.
“Noah Sanchez is a disgrace to the badge,” someone else chimes in. “Always has been. Even back in high school, he was dangerous.”
The conversation flows around me, everyone eager to share their opinions of Noah, the Morrisons, and the cattle rustling charges against us. It’s clear which side they’re on.
“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?”