going.”
“Why haven’t you asked my mother out before now?”
He looked startled by the question.
“Trace has been gone for twenty-seven years,” she said.
Red smiled ruefully. “Gone, but not forgotten.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t compete, not with her expecting him to come back at any moment.”
McCall realized that Red had been competing with a ghost, even if he hadn’t known Trace was dead.
“You’d be good for Ruby,” she said.
He smiled at that. “Another strike against me. But thanks for saying so.”
A S M C C ALL CAME OUT of the bar, blinking at the bright sunlight, she found Luke Crawford leaning against his pickup, obviously waiting for her.
“McCall,” he said with a tip of his hat.
She realized at once that he’d gotten wind of her digging into Trace’s old arrests for poaching and other hunting violations.
Not that she wasn’t surprised to see him.
Was it always going to be like this? Her heart taking off just at the sight of him? Looking for him every timeshe came into town, afraid he would just appear as he had now and catch her off guard?
He’d been gone for the past ten years—since they’d both graduated from high school. The ten years apart hadn’t changed how she felt. All the hurt, humiliation and heartbreak were still there at just the sight of him.
“Been waitin’ long?” she asked.
“Kind of early to be drinking,” Luke joked.
She knew she must smell like the bar, a combination of old cigarette smoke and stale beer. Even with Montana bars going nonsmoking it would take years for the odor to go away inside some establishments.
“You haven’t been waiting out here because you’re worried about my drinking habits,” she said, realizing someone in the state Fish and Game Department had to have tipped him off.
“This is awkward,” he said. “I heard that you’re looking into a few old poaching cases involving your father.”
She bristled. While all law enforcement in this part of Montana helped each other when there was trouble, this was none of his business. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“If you’re targeting my uncle for some reason it is.”
Well, it was finally out in the open.
“Why? Do you think he has something to hide?”
Luke shook his head as if disgusted. She saw his jaw muscle tighten and realized he was trying to control his temper.
“Look,” he said finally, “the trouble with our families was a long time ago—”
“My father disappeared twenty-seven years ago—the day after your uncle ticketed him.”
Luke blinked. “You’re blaming Buzz for your father skipping town? Buzz was just doing his job.”
“Was he? I think Buzz Crawford’s reputation speaks for itself.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She sighed. “Come on, Luke. You wouldn’t have been out here waiting for me if you weren’t worried that your uncle is guilty of something. You know Buzz. That’s why you’re concerned. That’s why my checking on some of his old arrests has you waiting outside a bar for me.”
“Buzz took his job seriously. There is nothing wrong with that.”
She met his gaze. His eyes were a warm deep brown, his thick hair dark, much like her own. Like her, he had some Native American ancestry in his blood.
McCall remembered one time when a substitute grade school teacher had broken up a fight between Luke and another boy.
“All right, you little Apache, knock it off,” the teacher had said, grabbing Luke by the scruff of his neck.
“I’m Chippewa,” he’d said indignantly as she returned him to his seat.
McCall had remembered the pride in his voice and felt guilty because she had never taken pride in her own ancestry. But how could she with a father like Trace Winchester, the man everyone believed had deserted his pregnant wife and unborn child? Not to mention her grandmother, who denied McCall’s very existence.
“Look, I’ve always hated the hostility between our families,”
“Why haven’t you asked my mother out before now?”
He looked startled by the question.
“Trace has been gone for twenty-seven years,” she said.
Red smiled ruefully. “Gone, but not forgotten.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t compete, not with her expecting him to come back at any moment.”
McCall realized that Red had been competing with a ghost, even if he hadn’t known Trace was dead.
“You’d be good for Ruby,” she said.
He smiled at that. “Another strike against me. But thanks for saying so.”
A S M C C ALL CAME OUT of the bar, blinking at the bright sunlight, she found Luke Crawford leaning against his pickup, obviously waiting for her.
“McCall,” he said with a tip of his hat.
She realized at once that he’d gotten wind of her digging into Trace’s old arrests for poaching and other hunting violations.
Not that she wasn’t surprised to see him.
Was it always going to be like this? Her heart taking off just at the sight of him? Looking for him every timeshe came into town, afraid he would just appear as he had now and catch her off guard?
He’d been gone for the past ten years—since they’d both graduated from high school. The ten years apart hadn’t changed how she felt. All the hurt, humiliation and heartbreak were still there at just the sight of him.
“Been waitin’ long?” she asked.
“Kind of early to be drinking,” Luke joked.
She knew she must smell like the bar, a combination of old cigarette smoke and stale beer. Even with Montana bars going nonsmoking it would take years for the odor to go away inside some establishments.
“You haven’t been waiting out here because you’re worried about my drinking habits,” she said, realizing someone in the state Fish and Game Department had to have tipped him off.
“This is awkward,” he said. “I heard that you’re looking into a few old poaching cases involving your father.”
She bristled. While all law enforcement in this part of Montana helped each other when there was trouble, this was none of his business. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“If you’re targeting my uncle for some reason it is.”
Well, it was finally out in the open.
“Why? Do you think he has something to hide?”
Luke shook his head as if disgusted. She saw his jaw muscle tighten and realized he was trying to control his temper.
“Look,” he said finally, “the trouble with our families was a long time ago—”
“My father disappeared twenty-seven years ago—the day after your uncle ticketed him.”
Luke blinked. “You’re blaming Buzz for your father skipping town? Buzz was just doing his job.”
“Was he? I think Buzz Crawford’s reputation speaks for itself.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She sighed. “Come on, Luke. You wouldn’t have been out here waiting for me if you weren’t worried that your uncle is guilty of something. You know Buzz. That’s why you’re concerned. That’s why my checking on some of his old arrests has you waiting outside a bar for me.”
“Buzz took his job seriously. There is nothing wrong with that.”
She met his gaze. His eyes were a warm deep brown, his thick hair dark, much like her own. Like her, he had some Native American ancestry in his blood.
McCall remembered one time when a substitute grade school teacher had broken up a fight between Luke and another boy.
“All right, you little Apache, knock it off,” the teacher had said, grabbing Luke by the scruff of his neck.
“I’m Chippewa,” he’d said indignantly as she returned him to his seat.
McCall had remembered the pride in his voice and felt guilty because she had never taken pride in her own ancestry. But how could she with a father like Trace Winchester, the man everyone believed had deserted his pregnant wife and unborn child? Not to mention her grandmother, who denied McCall’s very existence.
“Look, I’ve always hated the hostility between our families,”
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