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“What was her name?” Topher asked, his fingers once again inching closer toward Royce’s wings. Royce pulled the plate even closer to himself. “Something flowery or”—Topher leaned back with a jolt of laughter— “thorny.”
“Briar,” Royce replied. “Her name is Briar.”
“Yeah,” Topher nodded, “but you called her Thorny once and it stuck. I wonder what she’s going to think when she finds out you’re the sheriff these days?”
He had called Briar “Thorny.” At eighteen, Royce had been self-aware enough to know that what he had intended as an—albeit awkward—pick-up line had not been appreciated by the younger girl. And, worse, the wrong crowd of girls had overheard him. He’d wanted to apologize but there had never seemed like a right time.
Of course, the right time would have been eighteen or so years ago, not when he saw her again to discuss her father’s possibly suspicious death.
“I’m curious, too, since she hung up before I could introduce myself.”
“Damn.” Topher laughed again. “I wish I wasn’t headed to Denver. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when she sees you.”
Royce kind of wished he was the one headed to Denver. But he was also intrigued by Briar Nilson, had never forgotten her. She had been prickly, but Royce had found himself drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain, and he wondered what it would be like to see her again. An unexpected feeling blossomed in the pit of his stomach. Anticipation? Excitement? Royce didn’t want to look too closely at it.
