ONE
CAL
“Just a favor for a friend. In and out.”
I’d been repeating that mantra over and over since I left my home in Austin, Texas. Now, nineteen hours and thirty-seven minutes of driving later—plus two stops to refuel and one stop at a motel to grab a few hours’ sleep—I’d finally passed a sign announcing Poplar Springs, Colorado, population 5788. I chuckled at the sign. The last two numbers were created using tape.
“I guess they take their population count seriously in this town.”
It’d been a long drive. It was my own damn fault for waiting so long to leave, but I’d been hoping for a last-minute call telling me I didn’t need to go. Not that I didn’t want to help out, but a month was a long time to spend in one place and I would bet money that I’d be itching for the open road long before my time was up. When I didn’t get that call, I’d thrown my bag in the truck, filled two thermoses with the strongest coffee I could brew along with a selection of snacks, and hit the road.
Somewhere around the Texas-New Mexico border, my Bluetooth stopped connecting to the stereo in my truck, so I’d resorted to talking to myself to help pass the time. Problem was, I was a terrible conversationalist on a good day—and today was definitely not a good day.
Rolling through town felt as if I’d stepped back in time. Small town vibes were everywhere from the Squeaky Wheel country-western bar, to the feed and supply store, to the obligatory western apparel store with the giant cowboy boot out front. Some people might find it cute. Charming, even. But not me. Small town life made me itchy, restless.
“Just a favor for a friend,” I reminded myself. And this particular favor was long overdue. I found a parking space near the town square and I slid out of the truck, grabbed my Stetson off the front seat, and put it on, tipping the brim down low. Making my way down the sidewalk toward town hall, I was somewhat surprised at how busy the area was for midday.
There was a cluster of restaurants and small shops, and a steady stream of folks moved about their business. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they looked like extras on a movie set. Giving them a closer look, they seemed to be a mix of locals about their daily business and tourists wandering around in small groups. I’d made a point of looking up the town where I’d be spending the next month and I’d learned that their claim to fame was a lot of horse breeders. Successful ones, at that. There was also a trail riding program, which had sounded interesting. The glowing write-up I’d seen about it probably accounted for the touristy looking folks.
I nodded toward a couple of women I’d pegged as locals as they approached. Instead of an answering friendly smile, they stopped in their tracks, silently watching me pass, their mouths hung open in a wide O. I frowned, wondering if there was something wrong with my hat. Or maybe I smelled? I’d showered at the motel before heading out this morning, but I’d been driving for the better part of the day,and it got warm cooped up in my truck. But they weren’t close enough to get a good whiff. Did I have something truly horrific stuck in my teeth from the snacking I’d done on the road?
To be safe, I stopped to check out my reflection in the western apparel store window. Clean and presentable. I gave my shirt a quick smell check then looked over the Stetson but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Typically, when people recognized me, they smiled and waved. Especially the ladies. And that still happened today…but only from the people who seemed to be tourists. From the people who carried themselves like locals, I got a variety of baffled stares.
I continued toward town hall, more than surprised when two older men stopped and stared, one nudging the other furiously and gesturing toward me. Discreetly, of course, but I still knew the object of their attention.Me.
What the hell was going on?
“Howdy, ma’am.” I tipped my hat to an older woman coming out of the diner accompanied by what looked to be her grandchildren. She smiled in a dazed sort of way, her mouth opening…and closing, without so much as a hello. Her expression had been one of shock but that made no sense at all. Fans typically called out a friendly greeting, even tried to approach me. They didn’t gape at me like I was a two-headed horse.
I tried to shrug it off as I entered the brick building that took up most of this side of the street. It was the tallest building in town, which wasn’t saying much. Judging from its style, I’d say it dated back to the mid-nineteenth century. Having parents who ran a construction and remodeling business, I’d been schooled at a young age on basic building design. My mom had turned identification into a game while my dad made sure I could work a job in every aspect of construction. They both hoped that I’d joined the family business. But that was their dream, not mine.
I loved the rodeo. The excitement, the crowds, the horses. That adrenaline rush that came right before the chute opened and persisted even after I’d dismounted, buoyed by the cheers of the crowd. I craved the rush and exhilaration of that feeling. The very thought of swinging a hammer for a living made me itch even more than the idea of being in a small town.
The reception area of the building had a vaulted ceiling that went all the way to the roof. Thanks to the afternoon sun, the old windows cast a rainbow of colors on the tile floor giving it almost a church-like feel. There was no one sitting at the front desk. And beyond, there were darkened rooms. I couldn’t hear anyone else.
Checking the time, I noted that I was only five minutes early. It’s not like I expected a tickertape parade for my arrival, but there should have beensomeonethere to meet me.
“Hello?” I called out. “Anyone here?”
“Be right there,” a woman’s voice called from somewhere in the darkness. The squeak of a desk chair, and the click of heels echoed on the floors before a woman appeared through the door labeled “mayor.”
“Hello, I’m Amy Thorne,” she said, dropping a load of files on the counter and turning to face me. “How can I…oh—” The woman’s face turned white, one hand moving to cover her heart. She began to sway, reaching for the counter to steady herself.
I rushed around the counter and took her arm, easing her into a nearby chair. I knelt beside her, our gazes locking. Eyes the color of Texas bluebonnets stared back at me. Curly red hair framed her face in a beautiful contrast. She was about the prettiest woman I’d seen in a decade, and she was staring at me as if she’d seen a ghost.
TWO
CAL
“Can I get you something? Glass of water?” I offered, unsure of what to do. My eyes dipped to her left hand where she wore a simple gold band. “Call your husband, maybe?”
“No.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she couldn’t seem to take her eyes from my face. She smoothed her hands over her black skirt and finally took her focus off me. “I’ll be fine in a minute. I…must have stood up too quickly.”
“That can get you sometimes,” I said, happy to see the color slowly returning to her cheeks.
“You must be Cal Pierce?” she asked, straightening in her seat and shooting me a halfhearted smile.
“At your service, ma’am.” I dipped my chin in acknowledgment.
