Jon said with a hesitant nod.
The woman approached, clutching a writing pad to her chest. Her eyes darted to the pool of blood and fluid on the floor, then to the cow and calf in the stall.
“May I speak to you alone, Mr. Rider?”
Jon indicated for her to follow him, detouring briefly to the washroom to wash his hands and arms and roll his shirtsleeves down. They stopped to talk in the doorway of the barn. Kaycee couldn’t quite make out the conversation from where she stood with the children.
Before Kaycee could make a move to collect her things, she saw Jon’s face suffuse with anger and he clenched his fists.
“Child neglect? What in hell are you talking about?”
Kaycee wasn’t sure what to do. To get to her truck, she’d have to pass close enough to Jon and the social worker to eavesdrop. Although she’d always been a bit nosy, this conversation seemed too personal for idle curiosity. The four children, however, had no such qualms. Little by little they inched closer to the adults. Kaycee crossed the aisle to clean up. She slipped out of the soiled coveralls, rolled them into a ball and tucked them into a plastic bag in one of her medical cases, then washed her hands again. Wiping her boots clean in the thick hay, she glanced around for another way out of the barn.
She spied a back door, but couldn’t be sure if she could get to her truck that way. The voices at the end of the barn grew louder, more strident. She turned, staring at the two dark figures against the bright light, so focused on each other that Kaycee doubted they would notice if she made a discreet escape around them.
Hoisting her cases, she edged down the aisle, stopping when she reached the tight cluster of wide-eyed children hanging on every word of the argument.
“Mr. Rider,” Mrs. Hawthorn said, holding the notepad to her chest, “I’m here for your children’s welfare.”
“By scaring them out of their minds?” Jon snapped.
Kaycee wanted to tell him to calm down. He wouldn’t do himself any good by losing his temper.
“I have no intention of frightening them. But, I must advise you that Montana law gives me full authority to speak to your children, without your consent and without your being present. Now, if you’ll just answer a few questions, perhaps we can resolve this quickly.”
Jon’s jaw muscle ticked. He took a couple of breaths before he spoke again. “I’m sorry. You took me by surprise. Who made this accusation?”
“By state law, I can’t reveal that information.”
“Wait a minute,” Jon said, his voice growing harsh again. “You can come into my house—harass my children, interrogate me—because of somebody’s unsubstantiated accusation? And you won’t tell me who made it?”
“Can’t, Mr. Rider. I am not allowed to give you that information.”
“I don’t believe this.” Jon raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “How am I supposedly neglecting my children?”
Mrs. Hawthorn consulted her notes. “According to the report I received you do not have proper supervision for your seven…?”
Mrs. Hawthorn cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at Jon. Kaycee automatically raised her eyebrows, too. Seven?
Jon nodded and Mrs. Hawthorn went on, “Seven children. That the younger children may be suffering from neglect. That there is a scarcity of food in the house, that the kids are not being fed, clothed or tended properly.”
“That’s not true. I have two freezers full of food in there. Who around here would say something like—” Jon’s eyes narrowed. “My in-laws! That’s who it is, isn’t it? The Arants from San Francisco.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t—”
“Yeah, I know, you can’t give me that information. You don’t have to. All right, ask your questions.”
“Your children are Rachel, aged twelve, Samantha, eleven, Wendy, nine, Michele, eight, twins Tyler and Zachary, five, and Bowie, two. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife Alison passed away last year?”
“Fourteen months, five days, three hours and I can give you the minutes if you need that, too,” Jon said, hiding whatever emotion he might be feeling.
Kaycee’s lips parted slightly at the startling revelation and she looked at the motherless children through new eyes.
Mrs. Hawthorn’s expression was a mix of sympathy and impatience as she jotted a note. “And you make your living by ranching alone?”
“Yes.”
“Who supervises your children when you’re busy?”
“I keep a full-time housekeeper.”
“It’s my understanding she quit.”
“What makes you think that?”
“A report was filed, as I said. Judging by the condition of your house and children—”
“I’ve got seven kids, lady. It doesn’t take long for the house to get cluttered, even with a housekeeper.”
“So you do have a housekeeper?”
“I just said so, didn’t I?”
“Good, that will help matters. May I meet her?”
“She’s not here today.”
“Why?”
Kaycee watched Jon fidget. She’d bet her next year’s profit he did not have a housekeeper at the moment. Lying to a social worker was definitely a bad idea.
“Everybody needs a day off, Mrs. Hawthorn. Even my housekeeper.”
“Your son has a fever. I assume you know that.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“He’s had medical attention?” She looked at him for confirmation.
Jon took a deep breath. “Children’s Tylenol every four to six hours,” he said patiently as if quoting from the back of the medicine bottle.
“Why didn’t you take him to the doctor?”
“He didn’t need to go. It’s just a low fever. Could be catching a cold.”
Mrs. Hawthorn continued to stare at him expectantly.
“Okay, okay. If he’s not better by tomorrow I’ll take him to the doctor, all right?”
“As I understand this is not the first time you’ve been without proper supervision for the young children. Nor the first time you’ve failed to get medical attention when the children were ill. Can you defend these accusations?”
