overdeveloped interest in the lives of their friends and neighbors? And sure, the tale might be a little embellished by each subsequent narrator, but a person could live—or at least drink—off a choice tidbit of gossip for weeks.
So, when Matt, Alex, and Tag hit the edge of town, it was quite the event. Admittedly they were a strange procession, consisting, as they did, of a sheriff on a snowmobile, a zoologist on a horse, and a half-frozen, thoroughly pissed-off stranger on a sled.
Of course it was Tag who got the most attention, Alex noticed as they wended their way down the single main street, a small parade of Casteel residents queueing up bethem so they formed a little parade. Tag was back to sulking, when he wasn't shivering, although it was his own fault he'd ended up on the sled. He wouldn't ride behind Matt, and Matt wouldn't let him ride the snowmobile on his own. Tag couldn't get close enough to Jackass to climb into the saddle—not without losing a chunk of arm or leg—and he didn't last long on the snowshoes. He'd gotten the hang of them, but he didn't have the staying power after the day and night he'd been through. Neither would she, Alex had to admit, but Tag had only looked sour when she'd made that observation.
The sheriff's office was in the center of town, but it didn't take long to get there, since the town wasn't much over two miles long from end to end.
"You want to lie down in one of the cells?" Matt asked her once they'd gone inside. He started to open the door to the small back room that was subdivided into two cells. "You must be exhausted."
"I'm pretty tired," Alex agreed, "but I intend to have a huge breakfast and then I'll get a room at the Casteeley Inn and sleep for a couple days."
Matt's face fell. "You could stay with me," he said.
"In this town?" she teased. "Word runs through this place faster than a starving mountain lion on the chase."
"I never thought gossip bothered you."
"Doesn't," Alex said, "but I think it would bother Annabelle."
Matt looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. "You kept turning me down," he muttered.
"Maybe you should rename this Melrose Place." Tag was over by the wood-burning stove, turning like a chicken on a spit. When he rotated to face her, Alex saw that he was smirking.
But there was a glint in his eyes she didn't like. That glint looked like it concerned her, and her relationship with Matt, and Tag forcing himself on her in the forest. Okay, so it hadn't exactly been force, more like she'd been surprised. It hadn't exactly been unwelcome, either, but it had been stupid, and she especially didn't like feeling as though Tag Donovan was staking his territory.
"Peyton Place more your speed?" he said to Matt, clearly intent on picking a fight.
The flush spread from Matt's ears, encompassing his whole face, except for a white ring around his mouth where his lips were pressed tight together. One of his hands fisted, but the other ran over the badge on his chest and that seemed to steady him. Lucky for Tag.
"Haul out your wallet," Matt growled at him, "and sit down."
"He's not carrying a wallet," Alex said. "Or any other identification. Just a wad of cash."
Both men turned to her.
"I checked while he was unconscious."
Matt gave her a long stare. She returned it. Tag, thankkept silent.
"Doesn't matter anyway," Matt finally said. "Just about any form of ID can be faked these days." He sat back in his chair. "We're gonna get this treasure BS out of the way and then you can leave town."
"I don't want to leave town," Tag said.
"You aren't staying here," Matt informed him, calm but immoveable. "I can't find any wants or warrants on you. Or anyone matching your description. 'Bout the only thing I could arrest you for is stupidity, but that's what natural selection is for."
"It's a free country," Tag said. "I'm staying."
"So you can look for the Lost Spaniard?" Matt sneered.
"That's right."
"Smarter people than you have looked for that
So, when Matt, Alex, and Tag hit the edge of town, it was quite the event. Admittedly they were a strange procession, consisting, as they did, of a sheriff on a snowmobile, a zoologist on a horse, and a half-frozen, thoroughly pissed-off stranger on a sled.
Of course it was Tag who got the most attention, Alex noticed as they wended their way down the single main street, a small parade of Casteel residents queueing up bethem so they formed a little parade. Tag was back to sulking, when he wasn't shivering, although it was his own fault he'd ended up on the sled. He wouldn't ride behind Matt, and Matt wouldn't let him ride the snowmobile on his own. Tag couldn't get close enough to Jackass to climb into the saddle—not without losing a chunk of arm or leg—and he didn't last long on the snowshoes. He'd gotten the hang of them, but he didn't have the staying power after the day and night he'd been through. Neither would she, Alex had to admit, but Tag had only looked sour when she'd made that observation.
The sheriff's office was in the center of town, but it didn't take long to get there, since the town wasn't much over two miles long from end to end.
"You want to lie down in one of the cells?" Matt asked her once they'd gone inside. He started to open the door to the small back room that was subdivided into two cells. "You must be exhausted."
"I'm pretty tired," Alex agreed, "but I intend to have a huge breakfast and then I'll get a room at the Casteeley Inn and sleep for a couple days."
Matt's face fell. "You could stay with me," he said.
"In this town?" she teased. "Word runs through this place faster than a starving mountain lion on the chase."
"I never thought gossip bothered you."
"Doesn't," Alex said, "but I think it would bother Annabelle."
Matt looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. "You kept turning me down," he muttered.
"Maybe you should rename this Melrose Place." Tag was over by the wood-burning stove, turning like a chicken on a spit. When he rotated to face her, Alex saw that he was smirking.
But there was a glint in his eyes she didn't like. That glint looked like it concerned her, and her relationship with Matt, and Tag forcing himself on her in the forest. Okay, so it hadn't exactly been force, more like she'd been surprised. It hadn't exactly been unwelcome, either, but it had been stupid, and she especially didn't like feeling as though Tag Donovan was staking his territory.
"Peyton Place more your speed?" he said to Matt, clearly intent on picking a fight.
The flush spread from Matt's ears, encompassing his whole face, except for a white ring around his mouth where his lips were pressed tight together. One of his hands fisted, but the other ran over the badge on his chest and that seemed to steady him. Lucky for Tag.
"Haul out your wallet," Matt growled at him, "and sit down."
"He's not carrying a wallet," Alex said. "Or any other identification. Just a wad of cash."
Both men turned to her.
"I checked while he was unconscious."
Matt gave her a long stare. She returned it. Tag, thankkept silent.
"Doesn't matter anyway," Matt finally said. "Just about any form of ID can be faked these days." He sat back in his chair. "We're gonna get this treasure BS out of the way and then you can leave town."
"I don't want to leave town," Tag said.
"You aren't staying here," Matt informed him, calm but immoveable. "I can't find any wants or warrants on you. Or anyone matching your description. 'Bout the only thing I could arrest you for is stupidity, but that's what natural selection is for."
"It's a free country," Tag said. "I'm staying."
"So you can look for the Lost Spaniard?" Matt sneered.
"That's right."
"Smarter people than you have looked for that
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