Happy Cow Ranch

Feel That Fire

Rip casts his fifth glance over at John. He wants to say something, but every time he starts it feels wrong.

"What?" John finally grumbles, wearily turning toward his foreman. Rip thinks about what he's going to say. "Just spit it out, Rip."

"Do you think he really... Could he really have tried to kill her by shocking her? Hell, he fell apart after shovin' that reporter," Rip remarks, remembering how Jamie sobbed, begging Rip for help. Rip scoffed, imagining Jamie crying to him, asking him to help hide Maisie's body.

"You'd be surprised," is all John says. They continue to drive in silence. After a while they pull up to the justice building in Helena, barely waiting for the car to turn off before hopping out and storming inside.

"Where's Jamie?" He demands of a receptionist. The poor girl pivots in her seat, looking around for anyone to help her. When no assistance comes, she nervously smiles back up at John.

"He, um, he isn't here right now, uh—" She stammers, and John slams the desk in frustration, turning his body out as he leans against the desk, head propped in his hand.

"What address does he have on file?" John asks, rubbing his forehead.

"Y-Yours, Mister Dutton," The poor girl is petrified, barely able to get out those words.

"Is there a secondary address?" His voice is strained, and he leans against the counter, body turned back toward the receptionist.

"What?"

"Is there a secondary address?" He repeats, sounding out every word with increasing irritation.

"Uh, I don't—I don't know, I don't think I can—"

"Well, then, get me someone who can, please. A girl's life is at stake, here!" John slams the counter again, sending the young girl scuttling away. He stalks away from the desk, pacing in wide ovals. Rip watches, unsure what to say.

"She's okay now. She's safe." He finally musters up, hands in his pockets. In a flash, John rounds on him.

"Yeah, that's what we thought the first time, isn't it? How the hell did she get past you?" He demands, his tone more than accusatory. The questions hit Rip like a gunshot, causing him to stagger back.

"I—" He begins, cheeks bearing the slightest hint of embarrassment. Rip averts his eyes, glaring a hole through the floor.

"Never mind. I don't want to hear it," John grumbles, turning back to the counter. Drumming the desk, John grows impatient. He slams his hand down, causing even Rip to startle. "What the hell is taking her so long?"

"Mister Dutton?" A small voice pipes up. The two men whip around for the source, seeing another receptionist at a different desk. She fidgets under the attention. "Is a girl's life really in danger?"

"Yes, and the more damn time we waste here, the more danger she's in," John's voice is gruff as he nearly rolls his eyes. The girl stands up, surprising both John and Rip.

"I know the address. I pulled it earlier today for a form." She moves away from her desk, striding into a hallway to the right. John casts a glance back at Rip, but his attention is pulled back to the hall when the girl returns. "Follow me!"

The two Yellowstone men glance at each other, then follow the girl. She leads them down a long, winding path, until finally they stop in front of a records room. She motions for them to wait outside, then slips in. John blinks at where she once stood, then looks back at Rip.

"And why the hell couldn't we have just waited back there?"

"God knows, boss," Rip has to keep in a snicker, so he just angles his head down to his boots. After a minute the girl returns, placing a sticky note in John's hand.

"That's the address. You can use this side door to get out," She indicates to a door on their left, and when they look back, she's gone. John nods to the door.

"Let's go."

After a long, silent drive, the two men pull up to the house. John takes in the sight of the beautiful farmhouse, large creek, and wide pasture.

"Holy shit," John mutters. Rip keeps taking gasoline cans out of the truck.

"What?"

John puts his hands on his hips, walking up to the fence.

"That's our fucking cattle."

Rip whips around, standing up.

"What?"

"He took our..." John spits on the dirt, shaking his head. "our goddamn cattle. He's the fucking cattle thief."

Rip makes his way over to John, standing beside him and peering at one of the close cows. Sure enough, a bold 'Y' is branded into the flank. That sunuvabitch. Rip chuckles at the ground, shaking his head once. God, I knew I hated him for a reason.

"I'll call Kayce." He turns, stalking back to the truck.

"Never should've took that boy in," John mutters, hands on his hips. "I fucking taught him this. I taught him how to break our family."

"Kayce's on his way with the trailers," Rip informs him, returning to his side. After a pause, he continues. "So... we wait to burn the place down?"

"I guess so. Maybe he'll come back and we can burn him in it," John remarks, his lip curling up as he speaks. Rip casts a glance in his direction before quickly pulling it back. He was honestly surprised that John finally realized what a rat bastard Jamie was.

After a half hour of waiting, Kayce and Ryan finally arrived, each hauling an empty cattle trailer.

"Dad..." Kayce says as he hops out of the truck, marching up to meet his father. He had just promised Jamie that they would always be brothers, but even when you're bound by blood there are some things that can break the tie. He knew this whole situation would be the straw on the camel's back.

"We tried, son. There's not a damn thing more we can do for him," John understands what he means, and when Kayce nods and moves back to direct Ryan, he hangs his head. "Goddamnit."

Once the cows are loaded up and off the property, John grabs a gas can, lights a cigarette, and gives Rip a nod.

"Let's burn this motherfucker to the ground."

Rip nods in agreement and the two spread gas across the grounds and into the house. Before leaving the house, Rip turns on the stovetop and opens the oven. When he's out of the door and standing by John, John gives him a look and looks back at the house, but hesitates. He draws himself up, sucking in a breath, and flicks the cigarette onto the porch.