Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“I saw nothing.” She busies herself at her color-mixing counter while I dab a tissue. At least I changed out of my uniform.
“Does all this”—she waves a hand toward me—“have anything to do with a certain neighbor who’s back in town after a not-so-brief stint in prison?”
“Your husband talks too much.” As one of my platoon sergeants, Mike comes home and fills Breanne’s ears with station gossip, and all anyone seems to be talking about these days is Logan Landry’s return. Even my dickhead boss, Doug, called, looking for an update. How that landed on his radar is anyone’s guess but probably through Brad Whitley, who treats my chain of command like an open chat line.
“My husband does talk too much,” she agrees, stirring the bleach. “Have you seen this guy yet?”
“Briefly, last Saturday.” I fill her in on the window-breaking shenanigans, leaving out the part where I fell into Logan’s arms and then ran home to cry for the night. While I may consider Breanne a friend, I wouldn’t want any of that ever getting back to the station via Mike.
“And since then?”
I shake my head. It hasn’t been hard to avoid him. Between work and evenings in North Bay for Isla’s practices, I haven’t been home much. “I don’t know what to do about Thanksgiving dinner,” I admit through another sip. “I told Annie we were a maybe, but it’s two days away. At this point, I’m being rude.”
“I’m sure she understands why. I mean, given who you are. Plus, weren’t you guys like, close, back then?”
“We were, yeah. I mean, we grew up together. Went to school together.”
“It was more than that, though, right?”
“Who told you that? Mike?” He and Breanne only moved to Cold River for his job four years ago, so anything they know about Landry history is secondhand.
She shrugs playfully.
“Seriously, where did you hear that? Are your clients talking about me?”
“What?” Her amusement falls off. “No! Of course Mike told me.”
This whole situation has made me paranoid. “Just … I know how people are around here, and I don’t need anyone making who I dated in high school a thing. It’s hard enough being a female detachment commander without that baggage.”
“Yeah, of course. If I hear anything, I’ll set them straight. And I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” I take another big gulp and then study the dribble left in the glass. “If I don’t slow down, you’re going to have to drive my drunk ass home.”
Breanne cocks her head in thought. “What do you have planned tonight?”
“Nothing. Rotting on the couch. I’ll probably order in. Isla got a ride to North Bay, and she’s staying overnight with one of her teammates. I’ll drive down tomorrow to see her game and then bring her back for her afternoon shift at the Landrys.” I pause. “Why?”
She smiles. “Well, there’s a great band playing at the Bale House tonight, so how about you call that cute bar owner to reserve a table, I’ll do your hair, and then we’ll head over? Mike can drive both our drunk asses home.”
I open my mouth to object.
“Come on! It’s Friday night, your kid is gone, and your hair will be magnificent. Not going out is a waste, and I will not allow it.”
“You are such a pain in my ass.”
“Good friends always are.” She collects a cape and towels from the shelf. “Now make that call.”
With a sigh, I dig out my phone.
Chapter 13
Logan
“You remember this place?” Mak holds the door open as I file into the Bale House behind my father and Jon.
“Vaguely.” I scan the barn board walls and mounted horns, the lengthy bar on the far end with open shelves of booze behind it. “Wasn’t it something else before?”
“Roseanne’s,” he confirms as the door shutters, sealing us in. “New owner’s smart. Did good things here.”
He’s gone country is what he’s done. Everywhere I look, there’s a nod to farming—horseshoes nailed to an archway, old-timey lanterns hanging from hooks. “It sure as shit’s busy.” Almost all the tables are taken, and all but two seats at the sizable bar have occupants.
“Weekends always are. They get bands in here.” He nods to the guitarist tuning his instrument by a bank of windows. “Plus, it’s Thanksgiving weekend. It’ll be rammed tonight.”
“Great.” Just what I needed.
Mak laughs. It’s an easy-going sound that I appreciate. I’ve spent more time with the ranch hand than anyone else this week, mending old fences, building new ones, and clearing trees from the hundred-and-sixty-acre lot Jon and Sarah bought behind us. I must have split, hauled, and stacked ten cords of wood. It was grueling work, and I earned a dozen scratches and cuts from branches and wire, but I didn’t mind in the least.
We came in from the fields today to the smell of grilling burgers and the picnic tables set. It was the perfect day for a BBQ, my mother insisted. I had barely finished my last bite, intent on showering and relaxing, when Jon announced that “The boys are going out.”