Eli didn’t stop at the mailbox—he paid his bills online and nobody wrote letters anymore—he merely shifted into low gear and barreled down the driveway, depending on momentum to keep him from spinning out and getting stuck.
He could see his house up ahead, between the dizzying flakes flying like frenzied bugs now, a plain log structure, rectangular in shape, with a stone chimney at one end and a cyclone fence out front.
There was one of those at the back, too, to contain his dog, Festus, who couldn’t be trusted not to chase a deer or a rabbit or some other critter into the next county, if he got loose.
Festus had a pet door leading out of the kitchen, so he wouldn’t be waiting for a toilet break, but he’d sure as everything be ready for some company.
Most dogs were sociable. Festus was obsessed with human companionship—so much so that Eli let him ride in the county’s SUV with him most days.
Today had been an exception only because Eli had had to be at the courthouse for most of the morning, testifying in a burglary case.
Smiling a little at the prospect of Festus’s enthusiasm, Eli thumbed the button on his visor to open the door of his detached garage—made of logs, like the house—parked the truck inside and shut it again. He left by the side door and hurried toward the house, stomping the snow off his feet when he reached the back porch.
Festus, a lop-eared mutt of indeterminate ancestry, shot outside to greet Eli, the rubber door flap swinging behind him. He barked jubilantly, and Eli paused to ruffle his brindle-colored ears, even though it was colder than a well digger’s ass outside, and he wanted to build a fire, slam back a beer, take a hot shower to get the chill out of his bones, and pull on sweatpants and a T-shirt.
After that, he intended to rustle up some supper, sit himself down and think about Brynne Bailey in peace.
Weigh his options and decide, one way or the other, whether he ought to try to get back into her good graces or just leave well enough alone.
He managed the hot shower—after wrestling with a very playful Festus for nearly fifteen minutes—proceeded to the kitchen and then opened the refrigerator.
Since he hadn’t gotten around to shopping for groceries—what with all the Christmas shindigs he’d gone to, he hadn’t needed much in the way of grub—he settled for a boxed meal from the back of his ice-furred freezer, which tasted only slightly better than it looked when he slid it out of the carton and onto the counter.
While the food pirouetted inside the microwave, Eli filled Festus’s bowl with kibble and topped off his water.
He’d pick up some supplies in the morning—beef and chicken, bacon, spuds, some decent vegetables and fruit. Maybe even a couple of those salads that came in a bag, complete with croutons and dressing.
Half the county might be snowed in by then, but Eli wasn’t worried for himself. That truck of his would go damn near anywhere, especially with chains on the oversize tires.
The packaged dinner was everything he’d expected it to be, and less, but he choked it down anyway because he was hungry and he hadn’t finished his burger and fries back there at Bailey’s.
He’d been too distracted by the waitress.
He grinned, grabbing a beer from the fridge and heading for the living room. Brynne wouldn’t like being called a waitress, he figured. No, sir.
She might have come back to the Creek to take over her parents’ dining joint so they could retire, but she wasn’t like other women who’d grown up in rural Montana and liked it there just fine.
Brynne dressed big-city and talked big-city.
Eli’s grin faded. Sara, who was friendly with Brynne, said she’d wind up back in Boston one day soon, or maybe New York, because Painted Pony Creek was nothing but a backwater to her.
Oh, she hadn’t said as much, according to Sara, but it was obvious to anyone who paid attention. Brynne had been hurt, and badly, by a man she truly loved, and she’d come back to the Creek to nurse her wounds.
Once she’d gotten over the worst of it, she’d be gone again, off to a world of symphonies and operas, five-star restaurants, museums and galleries.
Although he would have liked to believe otherwise, Sara’s theory made a lot of sense. Even as a kid, Brynne hadn’t been your typical Montana girl. She’d mostly spurned the standard blue jeans and tank tops or T-shirts for sophisticated outfits she’d designed and sewn herself, and, though she’d been popular, there had been a certain air of remoteness about her.
During the latter part of their junior year in high school, over that summer and a few months into their turn as seniors, Eli and Brynne had been an item. He’d been crazy about her, but she’d been reserved, though sweet and funny and so damn beautiful he sometimes couldn’t catch his breath.
Then came Reba.
She was out of school, working with Shallie out at the run-down motel owned by Russ and Bethanne Schafer’s folks. Reba was bold, full of life, vibrant and wild and very, very pretty.
Unlike Brynne, Reba was more than ready for sex: the more of it, the better.
Older, out of school, on her own.
And hot for him.
Like the dumbass kid he was, he’d believed her when she said she only wanted him and nobody else. The lie was flattering so he’d bought it.
After all, he was seventeen.
The trouble was, the whole time she was going out with Eli, she was playing the same game with Cord and J.P.
Things had come to a head at a party out in the woods, just days after graduation. J.P. and Cord had been away that weekend, competing in a rodeo, but they’d come back early, showed up at the secluded beer blast.
They’d found Eli and Reba practically wrapped around each other, and all hell had broken loose.
The three of them, Eli, J.P. and Cord, had gotten into a jealous brawl, and they might have done each other some genuine damage if several members of the football team hadn’t hauled them apart.
Reba had quietly sneaked away, and none of them had ever seen her again.
They’d gotten their hearts broken good and proper, the unholy trio, and it had been months before they’d been forced into talking things out at a Christmas get-together. Cord’s grandfather had shut them up in a storage closet and refused to let them out until they’d set things straight.
After that, their friendship had recovered, albeit slowly, and they’d forgotten about Reba and all the trouble she’d caused, over the coming years.
Forgotten, that is, until Carly showed up in the back room at Sully’s that rainy night, when they’d gathered for their weekly poker game.
Carly’s arrival had changed things for Eli, as well as for Cord and, he suspected, J.P., too. Even after learning that Cord was the girl’s biological father, not him, Eli still felt oddly disoriented.