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13
AUSTIN
Rick Vance is tall, about my height, and doesn’t look any happier to see us up close. He stops, blocking the sidewalk, clearly ready for a chat.
Or a Wild West shootout.
He doesn’t seem to be sporting a gun on his hip, but this is Montana.
I see bits of Carly in him—the dark hair and coloring, although his eyes are a deep brown instead of a vibrant green.
I glance at Miles, who gives away nothing, since he’s about as clueless as I am. The best thing is to follow Chance’s lead when it comes to this guy and keep my mouth shut about having my hands on his daughter.
“Mayor.” Chance tips his Stetson. His stance is wide as he tucks his thumbs in his jeans pockets.
“Bridger.” The mayor doesn’t crack a smile, only narrows his gaze and glowers. “I’m glad I ran into you. It’ll save me a trip to your place.”
His tone indicates he isn’t going to stop by to watch sports and drink beers.
“Oh? What can I do for you?” Chance prods cautiously. “I already made a sizable donation to the renovation fund for the library.”
Man, does Chance hate everyone? Pretty much all Miles and I’ve seen is gruff. Grumpy. Angry. I don’t remember seeing Chance crack a smile, even when telling something he’s philanthropic.
Mayor Vance cocks his head, and is that a sly smile splitting his lips?
“It has come to light that the dam you have on Shipp’s Creek is impacting the water rights of those downstream.”
Chance takes off his Stetson, runs his hand over his head, and then sets it back on. “That’s interesting and all since the Bridgers have the oldest water rights in the state.”
Seattle has rain. A shit ton of it. Water isn’t an issue. To me, it’s what I land my plane on and get when I turn on a faucet. I’m not familiar with the ins and outs of what the hell they’re talking about.
“Still can’t prevent others from getting enough to water their crops.” The older man puffs up his chest, clearly pleased with his argument.
“Right. That dam,as you call it, is a bunch of rocks and tree branches. Beavers create more water blockage than anything on my property ever could. I have no interest or intention of creating a problem for any of my neighbors.”
“Our property,” Miles murmurs.
Chance turns his head and gives Miles a wry look. “Ours,” he corrects. “Mr. Mayor, have you met the other Bridgers? This is Austin and Miles.”
The man’s eyes widen as he takes us in without taking the hands we both offer. “What?” he asks roughly, as if he’s swallowed his own spit.
A smile slowly spreads across Chance’s face. Yeah, finally. A fucking smile.
“Oh, you didn’t hear? You seem to have your finger on the pulse of everything in this community. Including my”—he clears his throat—“our father. Except he no longer has a pulse.”
I swear I can see Rick Vance’s back molars grinding together.
“There are three of you? Jesus.” He runs a hand over his face.
I have a feeling we’re not going to get a town-sanctioned welcoming parade.
“That’s right.” Chance nods. “Not just me you have to deal with now.”
I have to remember he’s Carly’s dad. Carly’s dad.
“I’m sure I can ring up my lawyer and have him look into any water rights issues you might have,” Chance continues, his voice steady. “Or I can ride downstream and chat with my neighbors personally about the pesky wildlife. Or I can move a few rocks and alleviate the problem personally.” Chance holds his arm out, indicating me and Miles. “I’ve got some strong backs to help me.”
“Moving a few rocks won’t solve the issues I have with the Bridgers,” Mr. Vance growls.
