Page 44
"Nope."
He didn't offer anything else. She looked at him sideways. He watched the road. His big hands rested easily on the wheel, the black Stetson throwing a shadow across his face in the pale winter light.
She looked back out the window.
The town was small. She could see the whole of Main Street from here — maybe six blocks, timber and brick, a church steeple at the far end, the glint of a river bridge beyond it. But it was alive. That was the thing she couldn't fit into her mind. It was alive in a way that felt intentional, like someone had decided it was going to be and made it so.
Cal pulled the truck to a stop in front of a storefront she almost missed — narrow frontage, a hand-lettered sign that said BLACKTHORN OUTFITTERS & DRY GOODS, a display window with an expensive mannequin in a flannel vest and a pair of boots that probably cost more than her guitar.
"Here we go," he said.
"Here we go?" she said, looking at the store. Then looking at him. "What, do you need a new flannel or something?"
"You know," he said, getting out of the truck, "the usual."
He was already around to her side before she'd finished processing that. She stared at his hand on the door.
"I swear to God—"
"You were saying?"
She got out. He closed the door behind her. She pulled Mary Sue's borrowed flannel tighter and told herself she was not charmed.
I’m not. It’s annoying.
The bell above the door rang bright and cheerful as they stepped inside.
10
SAGE
The woman behind the counter looked up and her whole face changed.
She was mid-fifties, tall and broad-shouldered, carrying a natural authority that came from decades of knowing exactly who she was. Her hair was a rich, deep auburn shot through with silver at the temples—the kind that had probably been fire-engine red in its glory days. She wore a soft flannel shirt, dark jeans, and long silver feather earrings that swung when she moved. Completely impractical for a Tuesday morning.
Sage respected the hell out of it.
“CAL MERIDIAN!” The voice that rolled out of her was pure Georgia wrapped in years of Montana winters—warm drawl, soft consonants, and enough volume to rattle the rafters. She was already coming around the counter with her arms wide open. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks!”
Cal submitted to the hug with resigned patience. She only came up to his sternum and didn’t seem to consider this a problem.
"Been busy, Hallie."
“Busy,” she repeated, stepping back and looking up at him with affectionate exasperation. “Uh-huh. How’s your mama?”
"She's well. Sends her love."
“That woman.” Hallie’s expression was both fond and complicated. “You tell her I said—actually, never mind. I’ll tell her myself. We’re overdue for coffee.”
Then she turned, the way she’d clearly been waiting to turn, and her bright eyes landed on Sage.
Sage had tucked herself half-behind Cal’s left shoulder. Not hiding. Just… using available cover.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?” Hallie asked, already smiling like she’d won the lottery.
Beautiful? Yeah okay…
"Hey," Sage said, from behind Bear's arm.
