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  On the porch, his old dog, Bo, got stiffly to his feet, wagging his tail as the mutt ambled toward the steps.

  “How’re the old bones, pup?” Pete sat on the top step, giving his buddy a long scratch behind each ear, watching the sun slide behind a puffy cloud. The scent of his momma’s meatloaf curled out from the screen door, and his stomach grumbled.

  “Is that you, Peety?” Her sweet voice sang from the kitchen.

  “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you with anything?” He always asked.

  “Oh no, I’ve got everything just about ready.” Daisy Gonally always declined his offer. The screen door hinges squeaked behind him, and her footsteps sounded along the porch. “Here you go.” She sat down next to him and handed him a bottle of beer. She took a pull of her own, then brushed a gray-blonde hair off her face and up toward the knot of hair at the top of her head. Her shorts reached down below her knees, and her floral-embroidered T-shirt had a few spots on it from cooking.

  “Wyatt and Annie say hi.” He tapped his bottle on hers and drank, cooling him from his tongue to his belly.

  “They doing okay?” Her brother and sister-in-law owned a small farm in Wyoming, where Pete had picked up the bales. Even though it would have saved money for the Gonally Ranch to buy hay locally, he made the seven-hour trip, paid premium price for the hay, and did so to help out family who’d been having a lean year. Years. But that’s what family was all about.

  “They’re great. They told me to bring you with next time I drive down.”

  His momma nodded, using her thumb to spin her wedding ring on her finger. “Maybe. When things slow down here a bit.”

  Things never slowed down here, and his taking that job for Dirty Harry’s was going to put things behind even more.

  “We eatin’ any time tonight?” His dad’s voice came from inside the kitchen.

  Momma groaned and got to her feet. “No rest for the wicked.” She tapped her beer on Pete’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s feed the old bear.”

  “I’m standing right here.” The screen door framed Mort Gonally’s tall, wiry body, his mostly-bald head dark brown from the sun, his face…not looking too happy.

  “And you still got your hearing.” Momma giggled. “Well, move out of the doorway, or you’ll never get fed, old man.”

  He gave her a grin as he pushed open the screen door for her. Then his dark-green eyes turned toward Pete. “You put that hay up?”

  “Yes, sir.” Pete followed him into the kitchen where they took their usual seats at the square table. Momma set bowls and platters in front of them, sat, and started grace. Pete looked to his left, where Huck always sat. His big brother hadn’t been home in months. Huck gave the excuse that he was working, but most Fridays, he’d pack a bag and head out of the apartment they shared on the oil field in Williston, North Dakota. Their roommates, Shaw Donahue and Dax Marshall, didn’t know what Huck was up to on weekends, either.

  The clink of silverware on china brought him back and he accepted a bowl from his dad. Heaping mashed potatoes on his plate, he winked at his mother. “Best cook in the Dakotas.”

  She gave him a look. “You’re buttering me up.” Handing him the bowl of green beans, she watched him closely. “What do you have to tell us?”

  The woman was far too intuitive.

  His dad pushed the platter of sliced meatloaf toward him. “You ready to buy the ranch? Is that what this is about? ‘Cause, I’m not gonna be forced—”

  “No. Not yet.” Pete set a slab of meatloaf on his potatoes and drowned the whole thing in brown gravy. At fifty-nine, his dad wasn’t ready to give up farming. His momma…she was more than ready. She’d already picked out a place for them in Texas, near friends who’d retired early. “But I do have some news.”

  He caught a look zipping between his parents. “I have a job painting a motorcycle.”

  “Really?” His mother’s face lit with happiness.

  His father’s dropped in a frown. “Just when are you going to find time for that? You work on the Bakken, you work here weekends, and you go to school.” He set down his fork. “Which one of those is going to get pushed aside?”

  Pete tipped up his chin. “I’m going to need to be gone weekends for the next month.”

  Mort tossed up his hands and looked toward the ceiling.

  “That’s fine, Pete.” His momma touched his hand. “We’ll manage.”

  “How?” His dad shot her a glare. “Even with the hired man here Monday through Friday, we barely keep up without the boys here.”

  “Listen.” Pete had worked this all out. Now he just had to convince his old man. “I’ll tell Huck he has to come home weekends. And if he refuses, I’ll ask one of the Amhurst boys to come and work. Two of them, if you want.” The neighbors had five boys, all working their family’s ranch, and they always helped the Gonallys in the spring and during fall roundup.

  “And I suppose you’ll pay for them with all the money you’re raking in these days.” His dad could never believe how much money roughnecks made on the oil field, nor how hard they worked for it.

  “Yeah, I’ll pay them.” He went back to eating. He knew what was coming next, and wanted to get down some of Momma’s awesome cooking before his stomach soured.

  “Why do you have to do that art thing? Don’t you have enough going on?” His dad poked at his food, warming up to his favorite topic. “You say you want to buy the ranch, but you still do your drawing? Why?”

  Daisy let out a long breath. “Do we have to do this during supper?”

  “Dad, it’s something I like to do.” He gestured around them. “I love the ranch, hell, enough to break my ass…pardon the language.” He winked at his momma. “Break my back on the oil field to buy it. But I want to do the ‘art thing’ too.” He pointed toward the living room. “You got your sports on TV, your cattlemen’s association, and your Pheasants Forever group.” He pointed to his own chest. “This is my thing, and it has been since I first picked up a crayon.”

  Pete climbed down off his pulpit. Preaching would do no good. His old man just didn’t get him. Huck had always hunted with their dad, gone to the cattlemen’s dinners, watched sports with him. Pete had always been happy sitting on a hill drawing landscapes.

  His dad stared hard. “Pete, how do you ever—”

  “Let it drop, Mort.” His momma refilled their glasses with milk. “He’s good at his art. Be proud of him.”

  Mort’s head dropped. “I am proud of you, son.” He picked at his food. “Don’t ever think that I’m not.”

  A knot formed in Pete’s throat. It’d been a long time since he’d heard those words. “The bike I’m painting is being raffled off at a bar in Deadwood. The money’s going for Alzheimer’s.”

  “That’s a worthy cause, dear.” Daisy squeezed his hand. “Buy me a few tickets? I’ve always wanted a custom chopper of my own.”

  His dad choked on his milk, and laughed as he mopped his face with a napkin. “Oh lord, watch out for Miss Daisy on a motorbike.”

  The rest of their meal passed with less drama, and as he was ready to leave for North Dakota, Pete had a cooler of leftovers in his blue two-door truck, his clean laundry in a rucksack in the truck’s box, and had kissed his momma goodbye. “See you Friday.” He waved and drove off, north toward his day job. He yawned and opened a can of cola. “On the road again.” He just couldn’t wait to not be on the road so damn much.

  ****

  Pete walked into the apartment he shared with his brother and their high school friends. The lights were off, and after he brushed his teeth, he tiptoed into the room he shared with Shaw.

  “That you?” Shaw’s voice rumbled, sleepy.

  “Yeah, sorry.” Pete peeled out of everything but his boxer briefs and climbed into the extra-long twin bed on the other side of the room from Shaw’s.

  His friend yawned. “Anything exciting back in Lemmon?”

  “Nothing ever exciting in Lemmon.” Pete rolled onto his side. “I got
a call from my art school Saturday. I got a job painting a motorcycle.”

  Shaw’s bed squeaked and the lamp snapped on. His buddy sat up, his old T-shirt showing their high school mascot, a cowboy on a bucking bronc. “You did? That’s great.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t pay, except for my expenses, but they’re raffling the bike off for charity.” Just thinking of the project, his chest expanded and his heart thudded. It still was one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to him.

  “Where’s this at?” Shaw rubbed his fist over his eye. His brown hair had gotten shaggy in the last few months.

  “Deadwood. A biker bar.”

  Shaw nodded. “Figures. When do we get to see this masterpiece?” We was Shaw and his woman, Harper Johansen, who worked as a traveling promotions person for a national beverage company. Spring, summer, and fall, she traveled to rodeos as the company’s sponsor. Shaw had met her over the Independence Day weekend at a rodeo in Belle Fourche, South Dakota, and the two worked at getting together every weekend they could.

  “I’ll have pictures mid-October, and it’ll be raffled on Halloween.”

  Shaw’s phone buzzed. “Tight schedule.” He read the text and typed in his reply.

  “What’s going on?” In the doorway, Pete’s brother, Huck, and their fourth roommate, Dax Marshall, stood in their underwear and T-shirts. “Pajama party?” Huck looked so much like Pete, folks thought they were twins, instead of just eleven months apart in age.

  “I got a job painting a motorcycle.” Pete glanced at Huck’s leg. A big, round bruise covered half his calf. His gaze shot to his brother’s eyes, and Huck tugged down the side of the sleeveless T-shirt he wore. Covering another bruise? He was always either bruised or limping. What the hell did he do every weekend?

  Dax grinned. “Congrats. When’s the big reveal?” With that smile, his dark eyes, tan skin, and black hair, the guy could be a model instead of a roughneck—who wrote country songs in his spare time.

  “Halloween. At Dirty Harry’s in Deadwood.”

  Shaw’s phone rang. “Sorry, guys, Harper just got to her hotel.” He nodded toward the door.

  Pete got up and left the room, closing the door behind him. “Huck, I need to ask you something.”

  His brother froze.

  Dax looked between the two brothers, then hightailed it into the room he shared with Huck, shutting the door.

  Huck turned slowly, his greenish-brown eyes narrow, jaw tight. “Yeah?”

  “I need to work on the bike the next four weekends. Can you get back to the farm and help out?”

  Huck dropped his head. “No. I can’t. I got commitments.”

  “Commitments?” Pete crossed his arms. “What kind of commitments?”

  Huck shrugged. “I can’t say right now, Pete, but it’s not anything hinky.” His brown eyes lifted to meet Pete’s. “When I can talk about it, you’ll be the first one I—”

  “What about Momma and Dad? They think you’re the prodigal son, or something.” Every weekend when he arrived home without his brother, Pete could see the hurt in his mother’s eyes.

  Huck ran his hand across the back of his neck. “I know, I just gotta do this thing right now.” He sat on the arm of the couch. “I’ll see if I can hire somebody to help Dad on weekends.”

  Pete and Huck had never kept secrets from each other. It felt foreign to be excluded this way. “The Amhursts would probably do it.”

  Shaw opened the door to their room. He caught the looks on Pete and Huck’s faces. “I’m off the phone.” He shut the door and the thin line of light under the door went dark.

  “Yeah, okay.” Huck stood. “I’ll call Dad tomorrow and work it out. And I’ll talk to Momma.” He trudged to the door to his room. “I’ll be sure to make it to the Halloween thing, little brother. I’m really proud of you.” He opened the door and disappeared into the room he shared with Dax.

  Pete shook off the feeling of impending doom. Huck was an adult. Whatever he was doing, he could handle on his own. “Hope so, big brother.”

  Chapter Three

  Friday night, CJ blinked through the steam blasting from the dishwasher behind the bar, and started unloading the hot glassware. Midnight, and the place was only half-full because of the live concert at one of the parks. That was fine with her. Maybe she could let her other bartender go early. Or maybe she’d leave early, go to the park and listen to the band for…

  Who was she kidding? Her sense of responsibility to the place would tug at her like a big old rubber band. She reloaded the dishwasher, set it to start, and looked up as the front door opened. A tall man walked in, wearing a black, short-sleeved shirt that showed off his big shoulders, nice muscles on his arms and chest, and was tucked into the narrow waist of his dress jeans. Shiny cowboy boots clomped toward her. And thank you Karma, he had a nice, healthy bulge at the front of those Levis.

  “Ma’am.” He stopped at the waitress station.

  She looked up into light-brown eyes with green flecks. “Hayseed?” This was not the same country boy who’d shown up on Sunday. He’d tamed those wild curls some, but they still looked soft and touchable. Damn cute specimen of the male species.

  “Yes, ma’am. Pete Gonally.” He sounded a little agitated. “I’ve come to look at the bike, if that’s all right.”

  “Sure.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I’m just surprised that you actually clean up.”

  Pete didn’t move a muscle.

  She had to give him credit for not shooting back about her outfit. Catching her reflection in the mirror behind the bar back, she smoothed her white T-shirt, spotting a few stains on it. Her jeans were old and comfortable, but there wasn’t any changing now…without looking like she was trying to impress him. She did slide her feet out of her purple rubber clogs into a pair of flip-flops. That’d be her concession to fashion for the day.

  CJ caught the other bartender’s eye. “Tony, I’ll be out back in the garage.”

  He nodded, and went back to pouring tequila into a dozen shot glasses.

  “C’mon, Pete Gonally. Let’s get you acquainted with your work space.” She led him out the back door of the bar to a one-car garage. The opaque windows had bars over them, and the door was heavy metal with a keypad lock.

  “It’s like a fortress.” Excitement had replaced the irritation in his voice.

  “Been broken into one too many times.” She entered numbers and the door popped open. On the opposite wall, the alarm flashed and beeped. CJ flipped on the lights and hustled over to enter the code to shut it off.

  Pete closed the door and clomped in behind her.

  In the middle of the nearly-empty building, the brand new black motorcycle sat shining like a kid on the first day of school. But her gaze wandered to the corner. To the old bike sitting in shadows, collecting dust.

  “She’s a beauty.” Pete walked three circles around the new bike, his enthusiasm pouring off him. “Okay if I grab my stuff out of my truck and get started?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He had to be tired. Hadn’t he worked all day on the farm? And driven hours to get down here? “Unless you want to wait until tomorrow?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep, knowing this was here waiting for me.”

  His youthful zeal was almost catchy. Almost. She pulled a waitress pad and a pencil from her back pocket. “Here’s the door code and the alarm shut-off.” She wrote the numbers. “When you leave for the night, turn the alarm back on. Just press Arm and get the hell out quick.”

  “Will do.” He reached for the paper and their fingers touched.

  A spark flared along her skin, making her breath catch.

  “I appreciate the opportunity, ma’am. I’m going to do my best on this job.”

  She appreciated the respect, but it made her feel like Pete’s elderly aunt. “I get the feeling you will, Pete, but seriously, if you call me ma’am once more, I’m gonna go get my walker and smash you over the head with it.”
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  He smiled, a sexy curve of lips, a little flash of his white teeth. “Ms. Overton?”

  “CJ.” She could look at that smile for the rest of the night, but she had a business to run. “Park back here. We have a security guard and cameras, so you’ll be safe.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” His voice sounded different. Low and manly. “Let me walk you back into the bar.” He stepped around her and opened the door, standing back for her to go first.

  The way he looked at her, like he couldn’t figure her out, made her a little incautious. She put a little sway in her hips and strolled past him. “Thank you, Pete. You’re quite the gentleman.”

  The half-laugh he let out almost made her smile. Almost. CJ kept up the seductress’ walk until he opened the back door of the bar. She wandered in, and Dolby came rushing out of the office, nearly barreling into her.

  “Got us a fight.” He hustled along the hallway and into the main barroom.

  Men shouted, a woman screamed, the sound of glass and wood breaking reached them.

  CJ took a step forward, but Pete grasped her arm and pulled her behind him. “Wait here.” He ran full-throttle into the bar.

  So surprised that she couldn’t move for a few seconds, CJ blinked and nearly did as she’d been told. Then she took a hop and started running.

  By the time she reached the corner where the noise came from, Pete had one biker by the arm, and Dolby held the other in a choke hold. A blonde woman begged Pete, “Let my Stumpy go.”

  Pete looked at Dolby, who gestured toward the door. Pete marched Stumpy out of the bar. The blonde followed.

  Dolby sat his captive down. “Stay here, and get your wallet out. You’re paying for half the damage.” He motioned CJ over. “I’d say a hundred should cover half.” He trotted outside.

  “A hundred? “That’s bullshit.” The biker in the chair started to rise.