Chapter One
Monday morning, Agent Wilder Richards entered the regional office of the Montana Department of Livestock and made his way to his desk. He pulled the chair out, took a seat, and turned on the computer.
No one spoke to him, and he knew why. No matter how many people told him it wasn’t his fault, he knew that Nevada Shelton had left the department because of him.
“Hey, Wilder.”
He glanced up to see Reece Maddox standing beside his desk.
“Reece,” he said, then looked back at the computer. He bit back a sigh when Reece took a seat at the opposite desk.
“You keeping that beard?”
Wilder glanced at Reece and shrugged. “I might.”
“Apparently, you didn’t do any shaving while on vacation. It doesn’t suit you,” Reece said with a chuckle.
Wilder blew out a breath. “Well, it’s a fucking good thing I’m not growing it for you.”
Reece leaned forward in the chair.
“It’s not your fault,” he said in a low voice.
Wilder clenched his jaw but didn’t look at Reece as he spoke.
“The man quit because of me,” he said.
“Nevada is happier now—”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better, Reece? Nevada loved this job. You and everyone in this office know it.”
“You told the truth.” Reece raised his hand when Wilder opened his mouth to speak. “You were under oath. We’ve all had to do it, and you know it.”
“Reece, I know that, but it doesn’t make it easier.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“No. I’m not sure he’d want to see me.”
Reece chuckled. “We’re talking about Nevada here. He’s never been one to hold a grudge. Not against another agent, anyway. Plus the fact, there is no grudge to hold. You should go see him. Talk to him. You’re driving yourself nuts over this. Trust me, he’s fine, but go see for yourself.” Reece got to his feet, picked up a post-it, wrote something on it, and then slid it across the desk.
“What’s this?” Wilder picked it up.
“His address. Until you talk to him, you’re not much good at your job.”
“I’m damn good at my job,” Wilder snapped.
“You used to be,” Reece said, then walked across the room to his desk. He took a seat and never looked at Wilder again.
Wilder stared at the paper in his hand. He was about to crinkle it up and toss it into the trashcan when he thought better of it. Maybe he did need to talk to Nevada. Wilder knew he was a deputy now with the Clifton County Sheriff’s department, but would he even want to talk to him?
On the day of the inquisition, Nevada told him he didn’t blame him, but Wilder wasn’t sure he believed that. He’d had to testify that Nevada wasn’t wearing his protective vest while on a case, which was protocol for any agent in the field. Wilder knew Nevada was just at the scene on a hunch, but he should have put on that vest. Wilder had even told him to put it on, but when the men stepped out of the house, Nevada stood up, called out to them, and started down the hill when someone inside the house shot him. He was damn lucky to be alive. The bullet hit him close to his heart, and if it had been a larger caliber than a .22, Nevada would be dead.
Wilder would have to give it some serious thought before seeing him.
“Wilder, come to my office,” Dave Markell said as he passed his desk.
“Yes, sir.” Wilder pushed the chair back, got to his feet, and followed his boss into his office.