Bozeman had once been a small college ski town, but the population had boomed these last ten years. Big-box stores and chain restaurants had flocked to this mountain valley. Construction had reached an all-time high as builders replaced wheat fields with apartment complexes and townhomes. Open lots had been filled with tech centers and office buildings.
“Have you lived here long?” I asked Terrell.
“Just a couple of years. I moved from Arizona to Montana for the skiing, then decided to go to the academy.”
“Bozeman is changing fast. None of this was here when I was in high school.” I pointed to the new subdivisions on both sides of the street. We were at the far edge of town, miles from where I remembered the last stoplight being when I was a kid.
Terrell smiled. “I hear we might be getting a Best Buy.”
I frowned. “Great.” I could live without a Best Buy.
I missed the hometown feel that Bozeman once had. I ran into fewer and fewer familiar faces at the grocery store these days. I got stuck in traffic almost every morning. And walking down Main Street, something I remembered fondly as a kid, now just pissed me off. The local shops had lost some of their authenticity, becoming too fancy in an effort to mimic ski towns like Aspen or Breckenridge.
Out went the small-town charm and in came the higher crime rate.
Bozeman was getting to be as bad as a fucking big city. Drugs. Murder. We were even seeing a stronger gang influence.
“Whoa. What the hell?”
I was snapped out of my thoughts as Terrell’s head whipped to the side. An orange Chevy Blazer streaked past us, speeding in the opposite direction.
In a split second, Terrell had the siren blaring and lights flashing and was flipping a tire-screeching U-turn. His foot dug into the gas pedal as the cruiser’s engine revved. We caught the Blazer in no time, following it over to the shoulder.
“You take the lead,” I told Terrell as I unbuckled.
He nodded and we both got out of the cruiser. Approaching with caution, always at the ready like we’d both been taught, Terrell came up on the driver’s side window while I took the opposite.
“Evening,” Terrell greeted the driver. “License, registration and proof of insurance, please?”
I bent low to look through the open passenger window. The driver, a young college kid, was fumbling in his wallet. His shaking fingers had to try three times to get his license out of the plastic slot. “Here you go.” His voice was as rattled as his fingers as he handed the card to Terrell.
“Do you know why I pulled you over,” Terrell looked to the card, “Quincy?”
“I was, um, speeding?”
Terrell nodded. “The speed limit here is forty.”
“Oh. Really?”
Come on, Quincy. Don’t play dumb. Why did the young ones always try and play dumb?
Terrell frowned. “Go ahead and get me your registration and proof of insurance.”
“Okay.” Quincy reached across the dash, his gaze skidding away from mine. With a pop, he opened the glove box and set off a paper explosion. Receipts. Candy wrappers. University parking tickets. It all came spilling out—including an ID that landed right on the seat by my window, faceup.
My eyes narrowed at the Colorado ID. Quincy’s picture was next to the name Jason Chen. I squinted and made out a birthdate. “Jason Chen” was twenty-seven.
Fuck that. If this kid was twenty-seven, then I was in my damn forties.
“Quincy, I think you’d better get out of the car,” I said. “And bring that other ID with you.”
Ten minutes later, Quincy was shaking my hand and promising never to buy a fake ID again.
“Thank you. Thank you so much, Officer.”
I let his hand go. “Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” He shook his head. “I promise. I won’t. It was stupid of me to get that fake ID in the first place.”
“This is your once, Quincy.” I held up one finger to his nose. “Your one free pass and your one chance to learn from your mistake. Don’t take it for granted because you won’t get a twice.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Good.” I jerked my head to the Blazer. “Now get out of here.”
He nodded and rushed back to the SUV, waving to Terrell and me as he pulled back onto the road.
“Why’d you do it?” Terrell asked. “Why’d you let him off with a warning?”
I shrugged. “Way back when, I had someone give me a once and it changed my life. I pay it forward when I can. Besides, that kid was harmless. We took his fake ID. We could have written him up, but I think we made a more lasting impression this way, don’t you?”
“I sure do. That kid was about to piss himself.” Terrell nodded and started back to the cruiser. “A once. I like that.”
I grinned, knowing Terrell would be stealing a term I’d stolen myself. “Just use them wisely.”
Frozen in the doorway of The Maysen Jar, I watched as Poppy smiled and laughed with an elderly man sitting by the register.
Damn, she was beautiful.
It was hours later than I’d planned to be at the restaurant. Terrell had dropped me off at my truck after the Quincy incident and I’d come straight here, so anxious to see Poppy that I’d had a hard time obeying the speed limit myself.
But I was here now and I couldn’t get past the damn door.
“Excuse me.”
A lady stood behind me, wanting to get past. “Sorry.” I unstuck my feet and stepped inside, holding the door open for her.
As the lady joined a friend at a table, I stayed at the back wall, watching Poppy work. Her hair was up, tied in a knot secured by two pencils. A black apron was tied around the waistband of her jeans. Her white V-neck tee with the restaurant’s logo on the pocket draped perfectly down her breasts, hinting at just a bit of cleavage as it fell down her flat stomach.
Beautiful.
Her smile was so natural and charismatic. She
