My cheeks flush, but I'm saved from answering when Martha—she's owned the diner for the past fifteen years—appears with a pot of coffee. "The usual, ladies?"
"Please."
She pours two cups and disappears.
Harper wastes no time. "So which ranch are you caught up with? The Circle H or Blackthorn?"
I bat my eyes, playing innocent.
"Oh please." She waves a hand. "Everyone knows you spent the weekend with Callahan."
I frown as I stir sugar into my coffee. "How do they know that?"
"You have gabby ranch hands." She tips her head. “And then there’s my dad, who went to talk to Jake and found you there.”
Right. I wince. “About that…”
Harper plays with a stirrer stick, tapping it against the table. “You didn’t tell me you were there when I texted.”
“It’s new,” I say honestly. I shrug. “I’d have kept it under wraps longer if I could have.”
She stares at me like she’s weighing my words. Then she smirks and waggles her eyebrows. "So? Details, woman. And don't you dare say 'it's good' and leave it at that.”
Even though I’m relieved she let it go, heat creeps up my neck. "It's really good, actually."
"Emma." She leans forward, her voice dropping. "I need you to understand something. Jake Callahan seems like the kind of man who makes women do stupid things. Please tell me that’s true so I can have hope for myself.”
"It’s true," I assure her, my lips quirking.
"Thank God." She studies me, her expression serious. "Because if you weren’t doing stupid things with a man like that, I’d have to question your sanity.”
“I question my sanity enough for both of us.” I raise my cup to take a sip.
She sits back. "But I should tell you that if he ever hurts you, I will shoot him myself, and then you’ll have to help hide the body."
"Noted."Uh, a little close to home. "But I don't think that's going to be necessary."
"Good. Because Dad doesn’t like himat all."
This is my in. “Your dad doesn’t still suspect Jake of anything, does he?”
Before Harper can say a word, Martha comes back with our orders—a cheeseburger for Harper and a Cobb salad for me. My friend waits until Martha is well away before leaning in and lowering her voice. “Emma, if you’re about to ask me about Eli Turner, you should think real hard about whether you want the answer.”
My fork stills halfway to my mouth. “That sounds like you’re telling me to back away.”
Harper doesn’t touch her burger. She just watches me, steady and unreadable. “It sounds like me telling you to stay out of something that’s already gotten one person killed.”
My heart stops, thinking she means Eli. But the look on her face makes me realize that’s not who she’s talking about. I glance around to make sure no one’s listening before I whisper, “My dad?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you didn’t not say it either.” I lean forward, pulse climbing. “If his brakes were messed with, if someone did something?—”
“Emma.” She exhales, clutching the edge of the table, visibly getting herself back under control. Meeting me toward the center of the table, she whispers, “You don’t have proof. And neither does my dad.”
“But you think it.” I study her. “You think something’s up.”
Her jaw tightens.
