Page 58 of Cowboy Mountain Man

For the first time since yesterday, I know where every threat is. Behind us. In handcuffs.

Hope is in front of me, and I’m taking her home.

Chapter

Nine

HOPE

The last item on my inventory is a ceramic rooster. It has a chipped beak, an expression of deep personal disappointment, and absolutely no resale value.

I photograph it anyway. Then I close the entry. Done.

“Well,” I tell it, “one of us is getting out of here.”

“You talking to the chicken?”

I turn.

Harlan stands in the kitchen doorway with two coffees.

“Rooster. And yes.”

He hands me a cup. “Anything useful?”

“He thinks I should invoice for emotional distress.”

“I agree.”

Five days ago, I came to this house expecting dust, antiques, and a quick paycheck. I got all three. Also a kidnapping, a stolen camera, and a cowboy who makes it difficult to concentrate when he leans against things.

He’s leaning against the doorframe now. Very inconsiderate. His shoulder is healing. The bruising has spread into shades of yellow and purple, but the cut is clean.

I know because I check it every morning. He complains less each time.

“The movers finished upstairs,” he says.

“Good. Mrs. Bell’s daughter wants the bedroom furniture shipped separately.”

“She told them.”

I nod, checking the final list. The house looks different now. Daylight through clean windows. Boxes neatly labeled along the hall. People carrying furniture through the open front door.

The calendar is gone from the study. So are the crates.

Daniel Pike is in jail.

Apparently, maintaining empty properties gave him access to several convenient places to hide things. It also provided perfect access to June for those pictures, whenever he took them. As for Pike’s accomplice, the man who followed me and who helped break into the ranger cabin, he’s there with his partner in crime.

I try not to think about them when I come here. Mostly, I manage.

Harlan makes it easier. He’s been beside me every day, even after Alden told us the protection assignment was finished.

This morning, he carried a box of books down the stairs and refused to let me take the other end. I threatened to deduct points. He asked what the points were for. I told him I was still developing the system.

He kissed me until I forgot my own name. Highly unethical.

A car door closes outside. I glance through the window. My car waits at the bottom of the porch steps, packed with everything I brought to Woodbridge Falls.