Travis Walker stepped into the diner, hiseyes adjusting to the dim interior as he scanned the dining area, looking for the sheriff. The call he’d received forty-five minutes ago assured him he would find him here.
Sheriff Jeff Endsley was the one who called to give him a heads-up about the topic Holt Callahan was interested in, a topic he had no business discussing with anyone. Although Travis would’ve preferred to put Holt off a while longer, he knew Jeff wasn’t thrilled with the idea. He’d already done it once at Travis’s request, but he wasn’t willing to wait any longer.
At that point, Travis had skimmed the email Gage had sent him on the man Jeff was meeting with before pawning the rest of his shit on his brothers and leaving Alluring Indulgence Resort, coming straight here.
And there they were.
Sheriff Endsley was sitting at a table in the back, Holt Callahan directly across from him. From his place near the front door, Travis could only see a partial profile, but the photo he’d found on the internet was definitely of the famous thriller writer who’d recently graced Coyote Ridge with his presence.
Travis had heard rumblings about the stranger who’d wandered into town a month ago and holed up at the B and B. He figured since he hadn’t been formally introduced, now would be a damn good time. Preferably a hello and goodbye in the same conversation. He wasn’t sure how long Holt intended to stay, but if Travis had his way, the man would be on his way out in the next few minutes.
As Rachel approached to escort him to a table, Travis waved her off. “I’m meetin’ with the sheriff.”
She nodded. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No. Thanks, though.”
She smiled and returned to the kitchen. Only a couple of customers were lingering, but they were scattered throughout the restaurant, which he figured was why Jeff had chosen this place for the conversation. He appreciated that they could talk privately, but Travis didn’t require privacy. He didn’t require a damn thing because he had no intention of discussing his wife with a stranger. He didn’t give a fuck who the guy was.
Travis approached the table slowly. Holt’s back was to him, so Jeff saw him first.
“Hey, Travis,” Jeff said, slowly getting to his feet. “Let me introduce you to Holt Callahan.”
Showing he had proper manners, Holt got to his feet and held out his hand. Travis could tell when a man was sizing him up, and Holt’s laid-back demeanor was merely a facade. He clearly realized Travis wasn’t here to shoot the shit.
“Have a seat, Mr. Callahan,” Travis stated after shaking his hand. He turned to Jeff. “Thanks for the call. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“It was great to meet you,” Jeff told Holt, his expression rife with apology.
“I always knew I’d one day ask the wrong question,” Holt said when Travis took a seat. “I can only assume you’re here to tell me to back off.”
“You read people well.”
The corner of Holt’s mouth tipped up. “Maybe it’d help if I explained why I’m here.”
Travis didn’t need to hear his bullshit excuses. “I know why you’re here. You came to Coyote Ridge because you intend for it to be the backdrop of your next book.”
His smile wasn’t hesitant or half-ass this time. “Actually, no. Well, yesandno.”
Travis leaned back and put his arm on the back of the seat. “Enlighten me then, Callahan.”
“I didn’t choose Coyote Ridge randomly on a map.”
“You chose it because you know someone,” Travis filled in. “Rafe Sharpe. He’s my cousin, in case you didn’t know that.”
“I know many things I probably shouldn’t know about Rafe.”
“And why, dare I ask, are you stalkin’ him?”
“And here I thought the grapevine was more thorough in small towns. There’s no stalkin’ involved.” His expression turned serious. “I’m in love with Rafe.”
Admittedly, Travis hadn’t heard that part. The moment he’d learned of Holt Callahan’s presence in Coyote Ridge, he’d had him investigated. Gage had uncovered quite a bit of detail, including the man’s lucrative career as a thriller writer. Travis had assumed he’d chosen to come here because he knew Rafe. And why not use that friendship, and this town, for his own personal gain?
Clearly, Travis hadn’t dug deep enough.
“Surprised you, I know,” Holt said. “That’s not something I tend to share with strangers.”
“Or something you share when you’re datin’ Bailey Weber,” Travis noted. “Keep in mind; this is a small town. Someone notices every single thing you do. And that someone tells someone else.”
