“Tomorrow won’t be, either.”
She shrugged. “What can I say, I am what I am.”
Beth’s chaos was so different from the rigid control Langston had demanded or from the eerie orderliness of Hope’s Embrace. Her mess was honest, human. I found it comforting.
“Sophia’s excited about the field trip tomorrow,” I said, watching as Beth struggled to tie her shoe without setting down her belongings.
“Oh, the nature walk! Yes, it’ll be wonderful, assuming I remember the permission slips this time.” Her laugh was infectious. “Sophia’s such a joy, Evie. A pint-sized philosopher. So observant. She notices everything.”
Just like her mother. Always watching for danger.
My heart squeezed at the thought. All I wanted was for her to feel safe, and I kept failing. I was a horrible mother.
Beth waved. “I’d better run. Don’t want my class staging a revolution without me. You know how kindergartners are. Total anarchy.”
I ducked back into the store, admiring her ability to find humor in the chaos. That was something I’d lost long ago.
The bell above the door jingled, and Carol Ruper swept in, bringing with her the scent of floral perfume and hairspray. The owner of the Stop Over Motel was a force of nature—big smile, big hair, big personality.
“Dutch Henderson, you’ll never believe who checked into room seven last night,” she announced without preamble.
Dutch barely looked up from he inventory sheets. “Morning, Carol.”
She huffed, clearly disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm, and turned to me instead. “Evie, honey, you should’ve seen this man. Tall, built like he could bench-press a truck, with this intense look about him. Paid cash for three nights.”
Tall, intense, muscular.
My heart stuttered, then raced.
It couldn’t be.
It wasn’t.
But my mind flashed to Trent anyway.
“Did he... give a name?” I asked and picked up my coffee mug, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“John Smith.” Carol rolled her eyes. “Obviously fake. And get this—no luggage except a duffel bag that clinked when he set it down. Clinked, Evie!”
Dutch finally looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Probably just a hunter passing through.”
Carol scoffed. “Hunters don’t usually wear tactical boots with their jeans, do they? I’m telling you, this man is trouble.” She leaned closer to Dutch, lowering her voice as if sharing state secrets. “I saw a gun holster when his jacket shifted. And he asked about local law enforcement. Casually, you know, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Dutch grunted. “Probably just one of them security contractors for HighPlains Oil. They hire those ex-military types all the time.”
But my fingers had gone numb around the mug.
Tactical boots. Gun holster. Asking about law enforcement.
Was it Trent?
Or someone worse?
“What did he look like?” I pressed. “His hair, his eyes?”
Carol blinked in surprise. “Dark hair, cut short. Couldn’t see his eyes well—he kept them down, like he was avoiding my security camera. Very secretive.” She checked her watch. “Oh! I need to scoot. Breakfast service doesn’t handle itself.”
She always acted like the motel was fully booked, even though it was lucky to see two guests a night. Nobody visited this corner of Montana on purpose.
