“Hey, it happens. Did you at least enjoy yourself?”
She didn’t have to think long about that. Now that her headache was all but gone, other things bubbled into her mind. Good memories that made her whole body hum. “It was pretty special.”
“Ooh. Gonna share some details?”
“No!”
“At least give me his name. Maybe what he does for a living?”
“His name is Sly, and I assume he’s a rancher. He must be, right? Who else has to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work on a Saturday? I don’t know his last name or anything else about him, except that he’s never been married. I said I was divorced.” In the heat of the moment, she’d also mentioned she couldn’t have kids. “We agreed this was a night to forget our troubles and keep things fun and light.” They’d accomplished both goals in spades. “I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again.”
“That’s so unlike you.”
“So you said.” As unforgettable as last night had been, Lana regretted what she’d done. She massaged the space between her eyes. “Remind me to never drink again.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Look on the positive side—you’re back in the saddle, and a darned handsome cowboy put you there.” Kate hooted at her joke. “Besides, you needed to be wild for one night. Once you adopt a baby, you won’t be able to overdo the alcohol or stay out all night on a whim.”
“I never do either of those things.”
“You did last night Listen, I have to leave for my mani-pedi, but if you need a ride, I can come pick you up in an hour or so.”
Lana supposed she could order breakfast downstairs and wait, but she wanted to change into fresh clothes. She also had a jillion things to do today—clean house, grocery shop, do laundry, et cetera. “I’ll take a Lyft, thanks. Send me a picture of your nails.”
“Will do. Talk to you later.”
Early April in western Montana usually brought mornings cold enough to see your own breath. Yet this morning, Sly Pettit was sweating like a son of a dog. He also felt like crap. At thirty-five, he was no longer able to shake off a hangover with a couple of aspirin as easily as he’d done at thirty.
“Sly? I said, if you’re feelin’ poorly, Ollie, Bean, and I can handle the rest of the branding,” Ace, Sly’s longtime foreman, said, scratching his head as if puzzled. Bean, a grizzled cowhand, frowned, and Ollie, the rangy twenty-year-old kid Sly had hired for the spring and summer, shot him a curious glance.
Realizing he was grimacing, Sly smoothed his expression. When he’d met his attorney at the Bitter & Sweet Bar and Grillfor dinner last night, he’d planned on staying about an hour, then heading home. Instead, he’d arrived home just shy of dawn. “I’m okay,” he said.
“Well, you look like you’ve been run over by a tractor and left for dead.” Ace blew on his hands to warm them and then shook his head. “It’s that trouble with Tim Carpenter, isn’t it?”
Bean said nothing, but now he appeared intrigued. Ollie, too.
Sly and his lawyer, Dave Swain, had met to discuss whether Sly should sue Carpenter. The whole idea left a bad taste in his mouth. Dave didn’t enjoy it either, and thought Sly should try to work things out with his neighbor, who owned the Lazy C Ranch, which was adjacent to Pettit Ranch. But Carpenter’s refusal to sit down and talk had left Sly without much choice.
“I’m not happy about it,” he said. “But that’s not why I look like hell. I’m hungover.”
The crew members chuckled. “Been there more than a few times myself,” Ace said. “The way you’re sweatin’ out that alcohol, you’re sure to feel better in no time.”
Sly lifted the gate of the holding pen and Ace slapped the rump of one of the January calves they’d culled from the herd earlier.
As the animal loped from the pen and Sly herded her toward the calf table, he thought about the mess with his neighbor. Tim Carpenter had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, mainly because Pettit Ranch was profitable. Not enough to replenish Sly’s all-but-empty savings, but enough to pay the bills. It wasn’t his fault the Lazy C continually struggled to stay solvent.
He and Carpenter had never been friends. Now they were enemies. All because a few months back, someone had poisoned Sly’s cattle. Two of his heifers had miscarried and lost any chance of future pregnancies, and three others had died. As a grown man, he rarely felt powerless, but he had then. He hatedhis inability to help his animals as they sickened and died and feared that others could, too.
Autopsies and tests had proved that his animals had been poisoned with arsenic. Neither Sly nor his crew had any idea who’d do something so heinous. Then by chance, Ace had spotted a small pile of white powder just inside the northernmost pasture fence off the private service road that ran between Pettit Ranch and the Lazy C. He’d tested the powder and determined it to be arsenic. Both ranches shared the road, and no one else had access. Who else but Carpenter could have set the arsenic there?
Still, Sly had given his neighbor the benefit of the doubt. He’d driven to Carpenter’s and attempted to question him. The first time Carpenter had ordered him off his land. On the next try, he’d pulled out a rifle and aimed it at Sly’s chest.
Which sure made it seem as if the man had something to hide. That was when Sly had quit trying to straighten things out himself and hired a lawyer. Not with the intention of suing, but to get Carpenter to cough up information that could shed light on what’d happened. That plan had also failed, and now he really was on the verge of suing.
“Sly?” Ace was waiting for him to say something.
“I need to get to the bottom of this poisoning.”
His foreman rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re suing, then?”
