Page 79 of Montana Memory

I hated that.

“We just have a few questions,” Johnson said, voice calm, almost friendly.

I stepped to the side by the feeding bins to keep both men in sight and leaned up against the hard wood for support. “About what?”

His gaze flicked to Kelly, like they were debating how much to say. Then he looked back at me. “It’d be better if we could talk officially. If you wouldn’t mind coming with us.”

Reaching to pick up the feed scoop, I froze, darting my gaze between the two men. “Come with you where?”

My legs went weak just hearing the words. Visions of handcuffs and holding cells and sterile gray walls rushed in before I could stop them.

“I can’t,” I said, too quickly. “I’m responsible for the animals while my boss is gone. I can’t leave them alone.”

Johnson nodded slowly, like he’d expected that. “Of course. That’s admirable.”

Meanwhile, Kelly kept moving, fingers brushing the edge of a horse stall, gaze now fixed on the back exit. Blocking it.

My skin crawled.

“They look fine to me,” Johnson said, nodding toward the stalls like he had any idea what a healthy goat looked like. “You said your boss won’t be back for a while. We’ll be out of your hair in under an hour.”

“Hour’s a long time,” I muttered, barely covering the tremor in my voice.

Kelly stepped in closer, his voice smoother now, almost persuasive. “We really need to do this today, Ms. Banks. We came a long way.”

I tightened my grip on the feed scoop. “And you still haven’t said what ‘this’ is.”

There was a pause. Not long, but long enough for my stomach to flip.

“Official police business,” Johnson said, and it might’ve been the vaguest answer I’d ever heard.

I glanced between the two men again, the exits, then back to the animals, eyes focused on Olive like her twitching ears might offer some kind of solution. “If this is about Kenzie Hurst?—”

“We’re not here to talk about her.” Kelly cut me off, fast. That still didn’t mean they weren’t about to take me to jail.

Kenzie could’ve changed her mind. Maybe she’d told the police everything. Maybe they’d finally decided I didn’t deserve a second chance.

Johnson shifted closer, almost within reach. “We’re trying to give you the courtesy of answering questions voluntarily. We don’t want to arrest you.”

My breath hitched. I glanced again at Kelly, just in time to see him slip something from his coat.

Handcuffs.

Panic clawed up my throat.

“I didn’t—” I started, but my voice cracked and broke apart.

And then—the sound of a car engine. Close, tires on gravel. I didn’t know who it was, but I nearly sagged in relief. All three of us froze. Kelly’s eyes flicked to the barn doors, and without a word, he tucked the cuffs away like they hadn’t been dangling there seconds ago.

I dropped the scoop and rushed around Johnson toward the door, pushing it open so hard it banged against the frame.

Please let it be Lark. Or one of the wives from the ranch. Or one of the guys. Hell, I’d even take baby Tyson having learned how to drive.

But it wasn’t any of those people. It was a Garnet Bend sheriff’s department vehicle. Another cop.

So much for being saved.

But then I saw who stepped out—tall, sandy-haired, Garnet Bend’s own Deputy Lachlan Callaway—and some of the tightness in my chest eased. Not gone. But enough.

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