Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
This might be a terrible situation, but I’m not letting either of us lie about the way we feel for each other. Not anymore. We’re in this together, even if it means we both die.
Calder
The drive into Black Hollow Creek takes twenty minutes from the cabin, following a route that exists on no map. I navigate by memory through the dense pine forest, over creek beds that will flood come spring, and past the old mining road that hasn’t seen use since my grandfather’s time.
My mind is elsewhere—on the woman back at my cabin, on the problem I’ve created, on the impossibility of any clean solution. Her face haunts me. Not just the terror from when I first took her, but the defiance. The way she looked at me last night when I touched her, when her body betrayed what her mouth denied.
Except with her, something in me fractures.
The forest thins as I approach the main road, mountains rising on either side like ancient guardians. Morning light spills through the canyon, setting the granite faces ablaze.
This land owns me as much as my family owns it.
Black Hollow Creek sprawls below me as I crest the final ridge. The town clings to the valley floor, with a population of 2,847, according to the sign that hasn’t been updated since I was a kid. Main Street cuts through the center—two lanes of cracked asphalt lined with false-front buildings unchanged since the 1950s.
I park outside Garrison’s Feed Store. The truck’s black paint is dust-covered from the drive. The morning sun shines on Blackfeet Peak in shades of amber and rust. I need supplies that won’t raise questions and need to be seen conducting normal business.
The feed store’s bell announces my entrance. Tom Garrison emerges from behind the counter, his weathered face carefully neutral.
“Morning, Calder. What can I do for you?”
“Usual order,” I tell him. “Throw in an extra bag of that high-protein mix.”
Tom nods, jotting notes. “Heard there was some commotion out near the James place Friday night. Gunshots, someone said.”
The other customers pretend not to listen, but their attention sharpens. This is how news travels in Black Hollow Creek.
“Probably poachers,” I say, examining a coil of rope with feigned interest. “Season doesn’t start for another month.”
Tom makes a noncommittal sound. “I’ll have Miguel load your order. Be ready in twenty.”
I leave, stepping back into the morning air that tastes like winter. My gaze swings to the bakery three doors down. I need bread, basics. Things any bachelor might buy.
The bell chimes when I enter, softer here, welcoming me into a space that smells of cinnamon and fresh dough.
That’s when I catch sight of them.
Allie Porter stands at the counter, her copper hair catching in the light. She’s dressed for the city—designer jeans and a leather jacket. Her mother, Emma Porter, stands beside her—ramrod straight, gray hair pulled into a low bun, wearing expensive western wear.
Of course, Emma sees me first. Her spine stiffens impossibly further, and her hand moves to Allie’s elbow in warning. Allie turns, and when she spots me, her green eyes narrow.
“Calder.” She crosses the bakery in quick strides. “Have you seen Saintlyn?”
The sound of her name in someone else’s mouth causes a strange clenching in my chest. I keep my expression neutral as I select a loaf of sourdough.
“No.”
“Are you sure?” Allie presses, moving to block my path. “I went to her house this morning. She’s not there. Her car’s there, but she’s not. No one’s seen her since Friday afternoon.”
Every muscle in my body tightens, but I don’t let it show. I step around her and place the bread on the counter.
“Maybe she’s out helping some animal.” I don’t spare her a glance. “How the hell should I know where your friend is?”
“Something’s wrong. I know it.” Allie grabs my arm as I turn to leave. “And I think you know it too.”
I look down at her hand on my arm, then back at her eyes. That singular look makes her release me immediately.
“I know nothing about your friend,” I say, each word precise and cold. “But if I were you, I’d be careful about making accusations you have no evidence to support.”
Emma Porter moves between us. “Are you threatening my daughter?”
“Consider it friendly advice,” I tell her calmly. “The Bishops don’t concern themselves with the Porter Ranch. Yet.”
The threat lands. Emma’s face pales slightly.
“Come on, Mom.” Allie’s still watching me. “Let’s go see Sheriff Tanner. Or maybe I can call Reese. She works for the FBI. If anyone can get us information, it’s her.”
“Good idea,” I say, surprising them. “Go bother the sheriff and the FBI with your problems. Just leave my family and me out of it.”
Sheriff Tanner has been in my father’s pocket for fifteen years. Any report will come straight to us. As for Reese, I didn’t know she was working for the FBI. I feel like this is something I should know about: if our enemy has a cousin who’s part of the FBI.