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To change the direction of his thoughts, he snapped on the radio, only to hear a song from the past—a love song that had hit the charts that summer he’d been involved with Cassie—a song that reminded him of her.
Angrily he punched a button for another station and contented himself with listening to the news. The windshield wipers slapped the rain away. The mailbox signaling the turnoff to the ranch flashed in the headlights. Colton slowed, then gunned the engine past the lane. He was too keyed up to go back to the blasted ranch.
He needed a drink, and it was about time he showed his face in town again, anyway. Remembering a local watering hole, he drove down the main street and past a rainbow of flickering neon lights.
The Livery Stable, a weathered plank building named for its original purpose, stood on the far end of town. Colton wheeled into the parking lot, braked, then cranked on the emergency brake and shouldered the door open. Ducking his head against the rain, he plowed through puddles to the front door.
Inside, the interior was hazy with smoke. Customers lined the bar and filled most of the booths. Pool balls clicked, people chatted and laughed, and video games buzzed erratically. Colton strode straight to the bar and recognized Ben Haley, an old classmate of Denver’s, who owned the place.
“Well, look who finally showed up,” Ben commented. A stocky man with flat features and a cynical smile matched only by Colton’s, he motioned to the nearest stool.
“I thought it was about time.”
“What’ll it be?”
Colton eyed the glistening bottles arranged in front of a ceiling-high mirror. “Irish coffee.”
Ben’s thin lips twitched. “Irish coffee,” he repeated, glancing at Colton’s shoulder. “Don’t you have enough reminders of that place?”
“I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.” Colton eyed the other patrons as Ben mixed his drink. “Has Ivan Aldridge been in?” he asked.
Sliding a mug across the scratched surface of the bar, Ben nodded. “A couple of hours ago.”
“Alone?”
“No—Monroe and Wilkerson were with him. They come in for a couple of beers once in a while.”
“Hey, Ben, how about another?” a young, curly-haired man at the end of the bar called.
“Right with ya.” He glanced back at Colton. “Glad to see ya around, McLean. Just give me a yell if you need anything.”
“I will.” Colton stared into the depths of his mug, swirling the hot murky concoction and wondering why, no matter what he did, he couldn’t erase Cassie’s image from his mind.
* * *
“So McLean’s lost his horse again?” Ivan asked the next morning. He kicked out the chair next to him and, cradling a mug of coffee in his palms, grinned widely. “Too bad.” Propping his stocking feet on the other chair, he leaned back and eyed his daughter.
“That’s what he says,” Cassie replied. She flipped pancakes onto a huge platter and watched her father from the corner of her eye. His once-black hair was now steel-gray and thin, his tanned face lined from hours in the sun, and his light brown eyes a little less bright than they had been. Wearing a faded red flannel work shirt and dungarees held in place by red and black suspenders, he warmed his back near the wood stove.
“Serves the whole lot of them right!” Ivan settled back in his chair as Cassie placed platters of pancakes, bacon and eggs onto the gouged maple table.
“You’re glad he lost the horse?”
Ivan’s grin faded. “I’m glad he’s havin’ some trouble. No reason for him to be back in Montana as far as I can see.”
“He was wounded.”
“Yeah, right, got his ass shot up in Northern Ireland—”
“His shoulder.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s time he took off again. That’s what he’s good at, isn’t it?”
Cassie, feeling a hot flush climb up her neck, sat at the table and stacked hot cakes onto her plate. “I suppose.”
“You know!” Ivan waved his fork in front of Cassie’s face. “He can’t be tied to anything. He’s been back here six months, and no one in town has seen hide nor hair of him.”
“I guess he’s been recuperating,” Cassie said, wishing it didn’t sound as if she was making excuses for a man she detested.
