Reno.
“You’re up early,” he told his brother.
“Wrapped up a rodeo gig in Tucson last night. I drove until I couldn’t see straight then slept a few hours in a rest stop. I’ll be in Cobbler Cove this afternoon. I’m working a rodeo in Bozeman starting Saturday, so I’ve got two full days off to spend with you. Still want me to look at that letter you think is forged?”
“Absolutely. Stay at my place. I’ve got a guest room now.”
“You finished it?”
“Last weekend.”
“Look at you. Two whole functional bedrooms. Pretty soon you’ll be hosting dinner parties.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Reno laughed, then said seriously, “You okay, Dill Pickle?”
He hated that Reno could be a thousand miles away and still hear something in his voice that prompted the question.
“I’m fine.”
“Mm-hm.”
“I am. I’m fine.”
“I believed you less the second time.”
“Drive safe, Beano. I’ll see you tonight.”
Reno was still laughing when Dillon hung up on him.
He grabbed his keys and headed out, pulling into Fern’s farm at seven-fifteen. By seven-twenty he’d given up pretending this was a routine visit.
Tessa was on the porch with her usual a mug of morning coffee in one hand and a stack of paperwork in the other. Hamlet was drowsing across her feet.
She looked up when his truck pulled in. He could tell at twenty paces that she’d been crying.
Oh, Lord. Had something gone sideways with Murphy?
He cut the engine, reminding himself sternly that he never walked into a barn full of upset livestock without a plan, and he was not about to walk up to that porch without one either. But as hard as he tried to think of a way to make things better, he reached the front porch with absolutely nothing useful to say.
“Morning,” she said with a hint of emotional exhaustion in her voice.
“Morning.”
“Coffee?”
“I’ll get it myself—” he started.
She shot him a withering look that cut him off mid-sentence, stood up, and went inside. She came back, handed him a mug, and their fingers brushed again. He registered the contact with a jolt of awareness that was as exhilarating as it was involuntary.
She sat back down in the old wicker chair.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
She gave him a wry look. “Do you really want to know, or are you asking because you think you should?”
“I really do want to know. I’m worried about Makayla and Murphy.”
