pushed his arm away from her shoulders. “Actually, I’m still pretty upset with you from that last little stunt you pulled.” The heel of her boot found his big toe. She didn’t step down too hard.
Ron whimpered.
Oh, well maybe it was a tiny bit harder than she’d intended.
“I’m sorry, Patty.” Savannah found it wasn’t as difficult to smile this time. “I didn’t mean to include you in our little tiff. Now, about my room?”
“No problem.” The woman hid her amusement as well as Savannah hid her satisfaction over inflicting pain on the stupid bastard.
And she was in no way finished with him. Maiming was now officially off the table. Another cute move and she was going for the jugular.
She had to be careful, though. In their line of work, attracting too much attention sometimes ended with them giving themselves away. The town was a legitimate client paying for Porter Burke’s services. The team had to give it their best effort.
Savannah hadn’t once forgotten how much she had at stake here.
Life had been good to her these last six years. She had just about everything she could want and certainly more than she’d ever dreamed possible, given her background. But some elusive piece seemed to be missing, and she couldn’t shake the feeling Blackfoot Falls might be the key.
The whole point of coming back to her childhood home was to get some closure. Being run out of town had been traumatic, and she’d had nightmares, plenty of them, for years. Now she’d see it all from an adult’s perspective instead of a hormonal teen’s.
This quest was one of completion, a symbolic way of locking the past behind her, so she could finally, unequivocally feel like the woman she appeared to be. Content, successful and capable of creating the life she wanted.
Now, if she could just figure out a way to get rid of Ron.
* * *
MIKE BURNETT SWUNG into the saddle and pulled up the collar of his jacket against the chilly October air. The sun had already dropped behind the snowcapped peaks to the west, so he didn’t need to check the time to know he was running late. He’d hoped to be home well before sundown.
Maybe he was wrong about the calf straying this far. He thought he’d caught a glimpse of the little hellion in the brush, but it must’ve been a coyote.
After taking a final look around, he started down the ridge, scouring the overgrown sage while keeping Dude at a slow walk. As they approached the clearing, the gelding sniffed the air. His nostrils flaring, he danced impatiently, waiting for a signal.
Mike knew what was coming. “It’s getting cold. Any chance I can talk you out of this?” he said, leaning forward and stroking the bay’s neck. “Huh, you big baby?”
Dude decided that was permission enough and galloped toward the trees. They skirted a trio of pines, leaped over a fallen branch, raced past a grove of cottonwoods and then splashed across the creek. Mike could’ve done without that part of the ritual, but he’d had the bay for five years now and he liked that Dude still had the playfulness of a colt.
Besides, even in the cold, Mike still got a rush riding like the wind. He wasn’t sure which one of them liked the exercise better.
After his own excitement leveled off, it was obvious Dude still needed to burn off some energy, and Mike didn’t have the heart to slow him down. Together, they raced across the field, through the tall grass, until the barn came into view.
Chip, the part-timer he’d hired last spring, apparently hadn’t left yet. His sorry old green pickup was still parked in the driveway. He was a good kid, still finding his way at the ripe old age of twenty-two, but he had a strong back and never complained about the work.
Right behind Chip’s truck was a newer black crew cab that Mike didn’t recognize. Course, there were about twenty trucks in the county that fit the same description.
Probably belonged to Victor or another friend of his parents who had come to see them before they left to spend the winter in Florida. For years they’d waited until after Thanksgiving to go stay with his sister, Lauren, and the grandkids and then returned by mid-April. But now all it took was the first dip in temperature to get them packing up their small trailer.
Mike wouldn’t be surprised if they told him they were leaving Montana for good. His dad didn’t need to be out in the cold dawn hours feeding the animals, what with his arthritis. Mike had taken over most of the chores, although his dad still managed to ride his old chestnut during the warmer months.
Chip walked out of the barn just as Mike rode up. “Hey, your mom was looking for you.” Chip glanced toward the house. “I think she wanted to catch you outside. I can take Dude.”
“Thanks.” Mike dismounted, wondering why the secrecy. “Whose truck?”
“Some old guy named Lawrence. I don’t know him, but I seen him before...over by Twin Creeks.”
“Ah.” Mike had a bad feeling Lawrence was here to speak with him. “What are you still doing here? I figured you’d be at the Watering Hole by now.”
Snorting, he took the reins. “I ain’t setting foot in that place ever again. Those friggin’ pool sharks from the Circle K hustled me out of fifty bucks and a round of beer.”
“Never again, huh?”
Chip shrugged. “Or until next payday,” he said, chuckling. “Gotta win my money back so I can buy my girl a ring. Hey, I heard you’re pretty good.”
“I don’t know who told you that. I hold my own, but that’s it.”
“If you aren’t doing anything tomorrow night, how about meeting me at the Full Moon? Maybe give me a few pointers? I’m buying.”
Mike laughed. “You just said you were staying away from the game.”
“Not from pool, just those Circle K crooks. And they stick to the Watering Hole.”
Mike hadn’t had a night out in a while. Probably do him some good. Especially with his folks gone. The house was going to be too quiet for the first few days. “Yeah, I just might do that. I’ll even spring for the beer.”
“Sweet.” Chip tugged on the reins. “Come on, boy. I see he let you go swimming again.”
Mike took off his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair as he turned toward the house. Before he could take another step, he heard the kitchen door squeak open. Time to oil the hinges again. The old log-and-stone house, which had been built by his granddad, needed some attention. Thankfully, Mike had the money to make the more urgent repairs over the slower winter months.
“Hey, Mom. Chip said you—”
She motioned for him to keep his voice down as she hurried toward him wearing her usual jeans and flannel shirt but no jacket. He was a good fifteen yards from the house and the windows were all shut tight. No one inside would overhear them. But he wasn’t going to argue, if she’d even give him a second to get a word in.
At sixty-three years young
