key identifiers and dropped them in a bag, then rang them up. “I hear your brother Paul’s girls are in town.”
Terrific. He just gave her the perfect in to the real reason she was here. “They are, for a good part of the summer.” She handed him money. “I’ve taken them out to the new Larson Dude Ranch a couple of times.”
Old Bob grunted.
Uh-oh, didn’t sound like he approved. She said, “Sam is doing a great job with the place.”
“Putting his old man out of business.”
Priscilla didn’t miss the note of disapproval in his tone as he handed her the change.
In case he wasn’t aware of the fact, she told him, “Dwayne retired before Sam came back.”
Old Bob just grunted again. He probably identified with Dwayne Larson, even though the man had chosen to retire.
“Are you angry with Sam for some reason?” she asked.
“Personally? I haven’t had any bad dealings with him since he got back in town. But you wait...just give him a chance.”
That’s what she was trying to do—give Sam a chance to succeed—but Old Bob meant it in a negative way. “Why? Did someone say something bad about him?”
“Didn’t have to. Sam Larson’s reputation precedes him. He was always trouble with a capital T.”
“When he was a teenager,” she agreed.
“No one can forget what he did to Will Berger’s kid.”
Priscilla took a deep breath. Sam hadn’t had that motorcycle accident on an icy road with Tim on purpose, but the boy’s father had blamed him anyway. And Tim might have come away with a limp, but other than that, she was pretty sure he was okay.
“That happened fifteen years ago. I thought maybe you heard a customer say something bad about Sam now.”
“Sam? You talkin’ about Sam Larson?”
The familiar smoke-roughened voice grated on her. Priscilla turned to see Cooper Peterson, an old rival and sometimes pal of Sam’s, directly behind her. He was holding packets of screws and a couple of strange-looking tools. His hands were streaked with black grease—he worked as a mechanic for one of the local gas and repair stations. And he belonged to a stock car club whose latest exploit was driving into mud holes and racing out of them.
“Cooper.”
“Priscilla.”
His grin showed off shiny white teeth, the best-looking part of him as far as Priscilla was concerned. His long hair was stringy, he sported one of those little chin beards she disliked, and he smelled like cigarette smoke. He was from a whole family that a lot of people disliked, partially because they were unpleasant and partially because they were often up to no good. But what she liked least about Coop was that he was still the low-life he’d been in high school, especially when it came to using women. He sported a different one on his arm every other month. She couldn’t believe so many foolish females lived in one area, but he was romancing them younger and younger, apparently to keep up the supply.
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