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“Room 403.”
He squeezed his phone so hard he feared it would break before pocketing it. Hadn’t he worried that he’d be found one day? He realized he probably should have answered the texts she’d been sending him. Now she was in town at the hotel. How had she found him?
Silly question. With her resources? The only surprise was that she hadn’t come looking for him sooner.
Pickett swore as he drove the rest of the way into Powder Crossing, turned the ranch pickup into a parking spot and got out. He’d always felt invisible here. Just another ranch hand. The day he’d hired on at the McKenna Ranch was the best day of the beginning of his new life. He’d actually thought they’d never find him.
As he climbed out of the pickup, he looked up. With the afternoon light on the fourth-floor windows, he couldn’t see if she was watching him, but he wouldn’t have been surprised. Bracing himself, he headed inside.
Walking through the hotel lobby as he had many times before, he was glad to see that Willow Branson wasn’t behind the reception desk. He took the stairs three steps at time. With his long legs it didn’t take him any time before he reached room 403.
For a moment he stood in the hallway lecturing himself to keep his cool. The woman on the other side of this door didn’t know Pickett Hanson since he wasn’t the person he used to be. He had no idea what she was doing here, but he knew it didn’t bode well for her to track him down, then come all the way out here from New York to see him.
Whatever she’d come for, she was clearly determined to come so far. But he was equally determined not to let her destroy what he’d built for himself out here.
The thought almost made him laugh. She wouldn’t be impressed by what he’d felt he’d accomplished. She would only see a ranch hand driving someone else’s truck. She wasn’t going to understand. Not that he gave a damn what she thought.
But he couldn’t have her blowing his cover. He thought of Holden McKenna, who’d hired him without any experience. Holden had taken a chance with him, not asking any questions of the kid he’d been, as if he’d seen the desperation in Pickett’s eyes.
He thought of his life on the ranch that he loved. He thought of Oakley. He had so much to lose if the truth came out.
He took a breath, let it out and knocked.
OAKLEYCOULDTELLher mother was having a bad day the moment she answered the phone.
“I need to see you,” Charlotte said impatiently. “Where are you?”
After finishing her burger, she and Duffy had parted ways. She was now at the furnished apartment that she and Tilly had rented together. But now didn’t seem like the time to mention that to her mother. “I’m in town. What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk. How soon can you be here?”
She sighed. “I’m on my way.” As she pulled on her coat, she felt as if she should be wearing armor. All her instincts told her that her mother wanted to talk about CJ and what Oakley might say to a judge or an attorney.
What could she say since she didn’t remember? While she knew at gut level there was more to the shooting, she had no evidence to prove it. CJ was going to get away with this.
Unless she remembered.
When she reached the ranch, her gaze went straight to the guest room window. The curtains were closed.
“I don’t know why you think you can reason with her,” she heard CJ saying as she came in the front door. “She’d love to see me behind bars. She’s had it in for me since we were kids.”
Stepping out of the foyer into the living room, she said, “Behind bars is where you deserve to be and we both know it.”
“Oakley,” her mother snapped. “I don’t want to hear that talk ever again. He’s your brother.”
“And I’m his sister and he shot me. I was the one in the hospital all that time. I’m still in pain.” She narrowed her eyes to him as she advanced on him.
“What about me?” CJ cried, slamming his hands down on the wheelchair’s arms.
“You brought that on yourself,” she said before her mother stepped between them.
“CJ, go to your room and let me talk to Oakley alone.”
For a moment Oakley thought he would defy her. With obvious reluctance he wheeled down the hallway, but she suspected he left the guest room door cracked where he could hear.
“Let’s sit down,” her mother said, her voice tight no doubt as she struggled to be patient. Could she really not see the man her son had become?
Oakley sat on the edge of the couch, warning herself not to get kicked off the ranch. If she ever hoped to learn the truth about the shooting—let alone do anything about the drilling of another methane well—she needed to be able to come and go here. Tilly was already exiled. Because of the time she spent openly with Pickett and Duffy, she needed to be careful or she would be banished next.
