Outlaw's Honor. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ of the old log cabin—and the for-rent sign. Shutting the engine, she climbed off and peered into one dusty window.

      The cabin was what some might call rustic. She called it cheap and quickly dialed the number printed under For Rent. The call was answered on the third ring.

      “I’m inquiring about the cabin you have for rent, the one outside of town on the Maiden Canyon road. What are you asking for it?” She listened. “I’d like it. How soon can I move in?” She frowned and stepped to the door. Just as the woman on the other end of the line had said, the key was under a rock by the door. “I’m new to the area but I just took a job at the Stagecoach Saloon.”

      Mariah listened to the woman go on about how nice Lillie and Darby Cahill were, how good the food was and how convenient the cabin’s location would be for her.

      She interrupted her to ask, “Do you take cash?”

      * * *

      “YOU HIRED ANOTHER WAITRESS?” Lillie asked, frowning as she perused the schedule and then her brother.

      He kept his gaze elsewhere. “With things picking up this time of year, I thought we could use her. She’ll work the nights I work and Kendall will work with you.”

      Lillie’s eyebrows shot up. Since Kendall Raines had been hired, Lillie had hoped that her brother would ask the woman out. She was blonde, blue-eyed, cute as a button, a great waitress and loved by everyone. Well, almost everyone. When asked, Darby had said she wasn’t his type. Kendall was every red-blooded American man’s type.

      “Has Kendall done something wrong?” she asked, afraid whatever had happened, that Darby planned to let her go. “You do realize she is a favorite around here. If she leaves—”

      “Nothing happened. I don’t want to lose Kendall either. I just want to give this woman who came in looking for a job a chance.”

      Lillie realized her brother hadn’t made eye contact once. She studied him openly for a long moment. “Why do I feel like there is something you aren’t telling me?”

      He chuckled as he came over to take the schedule from her and put it back on the wall of the kitchen. “Because you have a suspicious mind.”

      “True,” she admitted.

      “Did I see the old man’s Jeep parked in front of his cabin?” Darby asked frowning. “I thought he was still up in the mountains.” Most of the time, when their father came down, he headed straight for the bar and trouble. That’s how they found out he was in town—their brother Flint would call her to let her know so she could bail him out.

      “I haven’t seen him.” The whole family was worried about Ely. Flint was convinced their father was losing his mind, although most people in the county thought he’d lost it years ago. Ely still claimed that in 1967 he was abducted by aliens.

      What made Ely’s claim more terrifying was what was hidden underground in the back pasture of the Cahill Ranch. The alleged abduction had taken place near one of the more than two hundred missile silos that sat in the middle of farm and ranch land across Montana. Back in the late 1950s, Flint’s grandfather had signed over a two-acre plot of land in the middle of his ranch to the US government in perpetuity for national defense.

      The US Air Force buried a thousand Minuteman missiles three stories deep in ranch land just like theirs. A missile, which was on constant alert and capable of delivering a 1.2 megaton nuclear warhead to a target in thirty minutes, was still buried in their backyard. The program was called MAD, mutually assured destruction.

      On the night Ely claimed he was abducted by aliens, the Air Force reported seeing a UFO hovering over several of the missile silos—including the one on the Cahill Ranch. Suddenly the missiles began to shut down, going off alert. It caused a panic with the military but no one had known about it until years later when the information was declassified.

      A few months ago Ely had sworn something was going on at the missile silo.

      “Maybe I’ll swing by Dad’s place later after work,” Darby said.

      Lillie saw that her brother was purposely trying to change the subject. Did he really think he could distract her that easily? “So this Mariah Ayers you hired, what is she like?”

      “She’s...” He seemed at a loss for words for a moment. “You’ll see for yourself. She’s coming in tomorrow to fill out the paperwork.”

      “Where is she from?” Lillie asked.

      “I didn’t ask.”

      “Well, you must have asked about her other jobs.”

      “Actually, I didn’t. I had her make me a drink. A mojito.”

      “You don’t drink.”

      “It wasn’t for me,” he said, turning to look at her with impatience. “I wanted to see if she was as good as she said she was. She was.”

      “Hmm,” Lillie said, still eyeing him suspiciously. This wasn’t like him. He was the one who asked a lot of questions when hiring anyone. So what was different this time? “I can’t wait to meet her.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      MAGGIE THOMPSON RAKED her fingers through the teenager’s long hair, looking for a spot she might have missed before picking up her scissors again.

      The girl wasn’t paying any attention. She was on her phone texting and had been since she’d walked in the door. Next to her at the only other chair in the shop, Daisy Caulfield, her other stylist, was visiting with a regular, Irma Tinsley.

      Maggie drew out each side of the teen’s hair, eyeballing the lengths colored a bright pink. Last week it was purple. Before that, green.

      She’d begun cutting her friends’ hair at the age of eleven. Now at thirty-three, sometimes she felt as if she could do it in her sleep. She snipped a little more before putting down her scissors and picking up her blow dryer.

      “Don’t need to dry it,” Astoria “Tori” Clark said, already slipping out of the chair before Maggie could turn on the blow dryer. “I’ve got to go. My mom called with the credit card number, right?” she said over her shoulder.

      “She did,” Maggie said, but not before the girl was gone.

      “There a fire somewhere?” Daisy asked from the next chair, where Irma was getting foil pulled out from her highlights.

      “I don’t understand this new generation,” the elderly Irma said. “Did you see her, thumbs just a flying on that phone of hers. What in the world does she have to talk about nonstop?”

      Maggie laughed. “It’s the way to communicate now.”

      “First they did away with teaching cursive writing in schools,” Irma said. “Next it will be diagramming sentences.”

      Daisy laughed. “I think they’ve already done away with that.”

      “See what I mean? And you call that communicating?”

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