Forsaken. B.J. Daniels

was no different since she never knew who might stop by. Not that she got much company anymore. Her own fault for being so contrary, her husband would have said and would have been right.

      She was too worried to sit, so she leaned against the counter, cradling her coffee mug, soaking in its warmth. She tried to remember the deputy’s name—something odd, she thought. All she could recall was his last name. Jamison.

      “Dewey worked as the tender,” she said. “His job was to take care of the camp while Branch, that’s my sheepherder, took care of the sheep up in the high country for three months this summer.”

      “The high country?”

      “Back in the Beartooth Mountains—that’s where I graze a couple thousand sheep. The tender moves camp as needed. He cooks, comes down for supplies when they run low—”

      “Would they have been running low?”

      She shook her head. “Branch just took the sheep up to the grazing area four days ago.”

      “And that’s where this boy has been?”

      She nodded.

      “When was the last time you heard from your sheepherder?”

      “Four days ago when I helped take the sheep up. That was the last time I saw either of them until...” An image of Dewey’s horse, then the boy flashed into her mind. She gripped her mug tighter as she lifted it to her lips.

      “Your sheepherder is named Branch?”

      “Branch Murdock.”

      Jamison looked up from his notebook. “His parents named him Branch?”

      She gave a shrug. “That’s the name I’ve been putting on his paycheck for almost twenty-five years. Before that my mother wrote the checks.”

      “Did everything appear normal when you left them up in the mountains?”

      Maddie hated to admit she’d had misgivings about giving the boy the job. “Dewey’s a little green, I’ll admit, but I figured he’d learn well enough from Branch.”

      “So the boy hadn’t been a tender before?”

      “No.”

      “How old is he?”

      “Sixteen.” She saw the deputy’s eyes widen. “Plenty of men his age are doing a lot harder ranch work than being a sheep tender.” She knew she sounded defensive, but the deputy unnerved her with his intent silver gaze.

      “If you’re his legal guardian, then where are his parents?”

      “Divorced. I don’t know where his mother is off to. His father works odd jobs that take him north to the Bakken oil fields for long periods of time. That’s why Chester asked me to give the boy a job and made me his guardian.”

      The deputy studied her for a long moment before he asked, “Has Dewey been in trouble before?”

      “Who says he’s in trouble now?” she snapped, and looked away, angry with herself, Dewey and the situation. If this man would just let her talk to Dewey and find out what had happened up in those mountains, she could get this cleared up before Deputy Jamison jumped to the wrong conclusion.

      “You might as well tell me if the boy’s been in trouble,” Jamison said. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

      Silence stretched between them until she finally broke it. “Dewey got into some dustup at school. His father thought spending the summer in the mountains, away from his friends...”

      “What kind of...dustup?”

      “Boy stuff, I would imagine.” She glanced toward the sound of footfalls in the hallway. “I don’t really know,” she said quietly then turned as Dewey filled the open kitchen doorway. “Come have some coffee,” she called, moving to get him a mug.

      Dewey came meekly into the kitchen, wearing her son’s clothing. He looked enough like her Matthew that it felt like being kicked by a horse. She already felt sick at heart as it was for Dewey, for his horse, for whatever had frightened him and maybe worse, whatever he might have done.

      “Sit,” she ordered, and turned away to cut the chocolate cake she’d made only that morning. She’d planned to take the cake to the stock-growers’ meeting she had later in the afternoon, but all her plans would change now.

      Dewey pulled out a chair at the end of the table, and she placed a slice of cake and a mug of coffee in front of him. She automatically reached for the sugar and cream because that was the way Matthew had always taken his coffee. Dewey ignored both and began to slurp up the hot coffee as if dying of thirst.

      The deputy was watching the boy closely. She felt her chest tighten at the thought of what kind of trouble Dewey might be in. “Dewey—”

      Jamison cut her off. “That cake looks awfully good, Mrs. Conner. Mind if I have a piece?”

      Maddie tried to still her impatience as she sliced the deputy a large portion and topped off his coffee even though he hadn’t touched it. She desperately needed to know what had happened and what she was going to have to do about it.

      “Mrs. Conner here was just telling me—”

      “Maddie,” she interrupted.

      Jamison shot her an annoyed look before turning back to the boy again. “Maddie was just telling me you were hired on as the sheepherder’s tender.”

      Dewey nodded but kept his eyes on the cake he was in the process of devouring. He acted as if he hadn’t eaten in days. She realized with a start that Branch wouldn’t have let the boy go hungry—that was, if he’d been able to take care of the two of them.

      Did that mean something had happened to Branch? Her stomach dropped at the thought. What of her sheep? She’d been hanging on to the ranch by a thread for so long...

      “Son, can you tell me what happened?” the deputy asked.

      The fork froze in Dewey’s hand, and then slowly he began to scrape the crumbs from the plate, never taking his eyes off the table, before dropping his fork and washing the cake down with the rest of his coffee.

      “How about we start at the beginning?” Jamison said. “For the past four days, you’ve been up in the mountains with the sheepherder, is that right?”

      Dewey nodded.

      “Where is Branch now?” Maddie asked, ignoring the warning look the deputy shot her.

      “I don’t know,” the boy said, dropping his voice and his head.

      The deputy cleared his throat. “When did you last see him?”

      “Just before bed last night. He said he’d been having trouble sleeping. The noises were keeping him up.”

      “The noises? You mean the sheep?” the deputy asked.

      Dewey lifted his head and frowned at the silly question. “Branch was used to the sheep. He said he could tell if they were happy or scared just by the sounds they made at night.”

      “Then what was keeping him up at night?” the deputy asked.

      “The strange sounds...” Dewey glanced back down at the table “...the...crying.”

      Maddie couldn’t help herself. “Crying?”

      “I’m not making it up,” the boy said, lifting his head to plead his case with her. Tears filled his eyes, and he began to tremble again. “I swear. We heard awful...crying on the wind.”

      “You have heard the sound of wind or a coyote calling at night, haven’t you?” Maddie asked in exasperation.

      “It weren’t no coyote,” the boy snapped. “It weren’t just the wind, either. It was...something else. Even old Branch was spooked by it.”

      “Are