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СКАЧАТЬ breathed in the scent of coffee and crispy fried bacon as he slid into a booth across from Carson. “Bethany’s looking good,” he said.

      “I wouldn’t let Clete hear you say that,” Carson warned. Bethany had married Clete Reynolds, a former football star. Clete owned the Range Rider bar and kept a variety of weapons behind the counter.

      Jack was just marveling at how nothing in Beartooth ever changed when another woman came out of the kitchen. Her hair and eyes weren’t as dark as they’d appeared last night in the alley. Her slim body under her apron was tucked nicely into a pair of jeans and a Western shirt that set off her assets—something else he hadn’t gotten a good look at last night.

      As she swept up to his table with two cups and a pot of coffee, she gave no indication that she recognized him.

      “Good morning,” he said, studying her as he removed his Stetson and placed it on the seat next to him. She had a bruise on her cheek that she’d done a pretty good job of covering with makeup.

      She put down the cups and filled them without looking at him or Carson, but Jack noticed that her hand trembled as she filled his. There was no doubt in his mind that she recognized him. Without a word though, she headed for a large table at the front of the café where a group of ranchers were seated.

      Jack’s gaze followed her before finally turning back to his friend. “Who is that?”

      Carson, who’d apparently also been watching the woman, gave a secretive smile. “You heard Claude Durham died a few months ago, right? That’s the new owner of the café, Kate LaFond. At least that’s the name she’s going by now. I swear I know her from somewhere and, wherever it was, Kate LaFond was not her name.”

      “Really?” Jack said, letting his gaze return to the woman.

      “Just saying you might want to stay clear of that one.”

      Jack turned back to his coffee and took a sip. He figured that was probably good advice given what he’d seen last night, and yet his gaze strayed to her as she disappeared into the kitchen.

      “So how are you settling in?” Carson asked after Bethany had taken their orders.

      “It’s as if I never left.” Jack could feel his friend studying him.

      “You aren’t still thinking about getting even with whoever set you up for the rustling fall, are you?”

      Jack smiled and glanced toward the group of ranchers at the big table at the front of the café. He recognized all of them, including Hitch McCray. “Water under the bridge.”

      Carson laughed. “If I didn’t know you so well, I might believe it. I just don’t want to see you end up back in prison.”

      “That makes two of us.” Jack smiled as he leaned back in the booth and stretched out his long legs. “So how are you doing?”

      “Gamblers Anonymous meetings in Big Timber once a week. Working the ranch the rest of the time.”

      Jack nodded. He knew Carson had been through hell the past twelve years. First, the woman he’d loved had been murdered. Everyone in the county thought he’d killed Ginny West. To keep from losing his son to vigilante justice, Carson’s father, W.T., had sent him away for eleven years. Carson had ended up in Vegas, of all places, and gotten into trouble gambling.

      Just recently he’d been cleared of the murder. But Jack knew that Carson was still paying off gambling debts and dealing with his father’s death. It didn’t matter that he’d never gotten along with W.T. Blood was always thicker than water, even when you wished it wasn’t, Jack thought, with his own regrets.

      “So you’re sticking around?” he asked. Carson had sworn that the last thing on earth he was going to be was a rancher, and yet Jack knew for a fact that his friend was now wrangling on the family’s W Bar G ranch with his sister, Destry.

      “For now,” Carson said. “Have you made any plans?”

      Jack shook his head. He’d purposely not let himself think about the future, or the past, for that matter. Especially about how he’d ended up in prison. Or who might have put him there. Or maybe more to the point, what he intended to do about it.

      “Interested in a job?” Carson asked.

      “What do you have in mind?”

      “Wrangling on the W Bar G.”

      “Destry offered me a job when she heard I was getting out, but I thought she was just being nice.”

      Carson laughed. “When it comes to the ranch, my sister doesn’t offer anyone a job just to be nice. If you’re serious about sticking around and staying out of trouble, I know she’d be happy to hire you on. Or maybe you’re planning to start ranching your folks’ place.”

      “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, to tell you the truth.”

      “Well, we’re going to be working the roundup the next few days and sure could use your help with branding if you’re going to be around.”

      Jack considered Carson and Destry’s generous offer, then studied his worn but lucky cowboy boots for a moment. Was he staying? He knew it could mean trouble if he did and yet... He watched Kate LaFond walk past their table again.

      “Thanks for the offer. I’ll give it some thought.”

      “You do that.” Carson seemed to hesitate as if afraid to broach the subject. “Have you seen Chantell yet?”

      Ah, Chantell Hyett. Jack knew it was just a matter of time before he crossed paths with his former girlfriend. “The only letter she sent me in prison made it clear she wouldn’t be waiting around for me.”

      “You don’t sound all that broke up over it.”

      He laughed. Chantell’s father was the judge who’d sent him up—and the only one who’d taken their relationship seriously. Maybe too seriously. Two years at Deer Lodge was a stiff sentence for rustling one bull that was returned unharmed within twenty-four hours after it had gone missing. Jack recalled the self-satisfied gleam in Judge Hyett’s eyes the morning he’d sentenced him. Jack had felt lucky he’d gotten only two years.

      As the large table of ranchers paid and began to leave, Jack saw Hitch McCray headed for their table and swore under his breath.

      “Jack French,” Hitch said, smiling around a toothpick stuck in the side of his mouth. The rancher was on the south end of his thirties. He ranched with his mother on land just down the road from the French place. Ruth McCray ran her son and her ranch with an iron fist. When Hitch could escape her, he sneaked away to chase women and drink, both to excess.

      But none of those were the reasons Jack couldn’t stand the sight of the man.

      “Hitch McCray,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

      Jack had heard all the stories, even while in prison, including Hitch’s driving-while-intoxicated arrests. Not that he could blame the man for drinking. If Ruth McCray had been his mother, he would have tried to stay drunk, too.

      Word around town was that Ruth СКАЧАТЬ