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“You won’t believe this,” I say. “You know that old road leading off into the mountain pass on the far side of the Potter ranch?”
“Can’t say I remember it, no.”
“It’s half buried in scrub, away from the old trails we used to ride. Not on any modern maps, either, but get this.” I lean forward, propping my arms on my knees. “There’s an entire fucking ghost town down there. I think it might be Ursa.”
“Ursa?” Blake’s eyes widen. “Shitfire, you mean the place from those old bandit stories they used to tell kids? The lost town that was like the evil twin of Heart’s Edge way back when?”
“The one and only.” I grin. “If I can confirm it, we might be able to get Libby’s ranch a historical marker.”
“Protected land.” He latches on immediately and snorts. “You’ve been doing your homework, man. All this for Libby Potter, huh?”
I clear my throat, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Don’t you start, too. Trouble is, that dead body could throw a wrench in the whole works. So if we could get that cleared up…”
“I’ll talk to Doc and Leo. See what they know. I was never waist-deep in all that Galentron crap like they were, but they might have some good intel. Hell, maybe they can even hit up old Fuchsia in Alaska.”
“Thanks. Try to keep this quiet, though, okay?” I say. “If people find out there’s a ghost town full of valuables, they might start looti—”
“Did someone say ‘ghost town?’” A punky, purple-dyed head with an undercut hairstyle pops over the upstairs walkway railing. My niece Andrea leans over, practically doing gymnastics with the way she balances a few degrees away from falling over. “Where? I wanna see!”
I flop back in the easy chair, giving her a helpless look. “Both feet on the ground, young lady, or I’m not telling you another word.”
She huffs but plunks her feet on the walkway floor, her socks scuffing the carpet. “You’re as bad as Dad. What happened to being the cool uncle?”
“Since when am I bad?” Blake cuts in, muttering. But then he adds, “And your uncle isn’t telling you another thing, period. You need to stay out of the shit for once in your life, girl. I’m not having another incident that winds up like the winter carnival.”
“C’mon. You both know Peace would love it too.” Andrea rolls her eyes. “I don’t think cowboy ghosts are going to mess me up or try to set the town on fire, Dad.”
“Maybe not, but you’d find trouble out there anyway. Or at least, hell, cut yourself on something and wind up with tetanus.”
“I’ve had my shots.” She rolls her eyes harder.
“Even so.” He points a finger at her. “Go do your homework and quit eavesdropping.”
With an annoyed face, Andrea stalks off to her room, muttering—and I don’t think her dad sees the middle finger she flings back, but I do and bite back my grin.
I’ll be the cool uncle and keep that to myself.
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Blake groans, rubbing the heel of his palm against one eye. “You realize this ain’t the end of this.”
“I know.” I laugh. “God, I’m glad I don’t have kids.”
“You will one day. Then you’ll get what it’s like.” He smirks at me. “Maybe a few little foul-mouthed, trouble-making half Potter kids running around will give you a taste of your own medicine.”
“Shit. Don’t go giving me imaginary kids with a woman who hates my guts.”
Hates me.
Sure.
That’s why she’d looked at me the way she did last night.
Because she hates me.
That’s why we’d been so close I could feel her knock-me-down lips braising the air against mine.
Because she hates me.
That’s why I could feel her heart beating so hard against my chest, her killer tits crushed between us, not even that heavy layer of plush flesh hiding the wild thump of her pulse.
…because she hates my dumb ass.
Fuck.
I’ve got to keep telling myself we’re sworn enemies.
Or else I’ll do something a whole lot more reckless than that cop-out kiss on the forehead.
I’ll give her good reasons to hate me for the rest of her life.
* * *
Just because Libby hates me doesn’t mean I can’t try making peace and keeping her in the loop on what I’ve found.
Which is honestly a whole damn lot of nothing.
At least I’ve brought beer.
I figured she’s a beer girl, after watching her nurse that can at Brody’s like a lifeline.
Which is why I’m pulling up around mid-afternoon with a six-pack riding shotgun, still cold from the fridge at the store, condensation beading on the cans. Probably not great for my leather seats.
Don’t care.
Just another reason to ditch the Benz soon.
But I’ve got other things on my mind as I park across the ditch from the main drive—and do a double take.
There’s a big honkin’ semi-truck in the driveway.
