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“What do the Westons do?”

“They protect this town.” She juts her chin at the window. “This entire block of buildings we’re in isn’t called the Weston Ward for nothing. They own it. Opened a food bank a few years ago. Let a local barber use River’s tattoo parlor to give free haircuts to whoever needs them. Shit like that.”

My stomach swoops, a warm, buttery feeling. “They sound too good to be true.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not.” She sets her glass on her knee.

Gaze drawn to the window, it lights on a building I’ve noticed all afternoon. How could I not? It looms over the town like a sentry. “What’s that?” I ask and point. On the mountain high above the town is a strange industrial-looking facility. Around the tall building that resembles a block of cement, access is blocked by razor wire. Video cameras are mounted on poles. Bright red warning signs are barely readable.

Her blue-green eyes drift to the gray sky outside the shop’s window. “That’s Moriah Mountain Complex—we call it the Complex.”

I sit taller. “What’s that?”

“Used to be a military base. Now it’s supposedly used for agricultural research or some shit like that.” Her voice drops ominously. “We call it Montana’s Area 51. Some weird government shit goes on up there.”

“Like what?”

“Like those.”

I watch as, in the air above the mountain, green orbs of light blink in and out like lightning before disappearing.

“What are those?” I ask breathlessly.

“The Green Mountain lights.” She kicks one leg over her knee and rests her elbow on it to look at me. “No one knows what they are. They happen randomly with no explanation. Some think they’re supernatural. Some think they’re man-made. A signal from the Complex to whoever is out there watching.” She shrugs. “But whatever they are, the Complex leaves us alone, so no one pokes around too much.”

I stare, wondering about this strange town I’ve landed in, when Hassie sits back on the couch and returns to the conversation. “Anyway, like I said. The Westons. Whatever you’re running from, you’ve come to the right place. The Westons don’t just take in animals. They take in people.” She takes a long sip of her drink, exhales. “I lived with them for a few years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m like the little sister they never wanted.” A brief flash of pain crosses her face.

“The oldest, Warren”—she rolls her eyes—“was my guardian back in the day.” She cocks her head, studying me. “Have you met him yet?” Though her question is light, it’s edged with caution, curiosity.

“No. Not him or Wells.”

“Wells is a sweetheart. Warren is a menace.” She jerks her chin. “He owns the saloon down the way. Which makes us unfortunate neighbors.” She grins. “But not to worry, I do my best to terrorize him on the daily.”

Impressed, I lift my eyes. “This is your shop?”

“Yep. Born and raised in Tempest. Probably die here too. No one ever really gets to leave.” Her expression hardens, and she swallows her whiskey in one long slug. “No matter how much you scream into the fucking void.”

Despite her edged tone, I envy Hassie. For having a safe place to land, a hometown to keep her. It’s the secret hope of my heart.

Hassie flashes a tepid smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I board my horses at the ranch, so I’ll see you around.” She lifts her empty glass. “We should do drinks—more drinks—and next time we will not talk about men. Maybe get drunk and make a hat.”

“I’d like that.” I smile. Barely twenty-four hours in Tempest, and I’ve already made a new friend. She’s kind of weird, kind of mean, kind of honest. My favorite type.

“C’mon. Let me hook you up.”

We shove off the couch and head to the table full of beautiful trinkets. Hands moving without faltering, Hassie plucks various pretty pieces from the gold trays.

“Who did that?” she asks, head down as she arranges the items in a small box. “To your face?”

Fear pinches my stomach. I palm my cheek. “Some asshole.”

“Yeah. We got those around Tempest too.” She looks up and meets my gaze. “You handle it?”

Sammy and his blown-out brains flash in my mind.