“Ah, come on. Levon used to play poker with us all the time. It’s no big deal. Even Trip joins in sometimes,” Dusty said.
“I heard. He lost his shirt, or so he said.”
Dusty laughed as he put a few frosty beer bottles on the table. “That’s not my fault.”
“Of course not. Call Trip. See if he’s interested. I’m turning in for the night. My back hurts.”
“It’s only eight o’clock!” Buck said, spreading his arms out wide as if he was shocked by the notion.
“I need to get to that fencing on the south side of the ranch tomorrow. You do, too. The sooner that gets repaired, the sooner we stop having to search for stray cattle every night.”
“At least stay for a beer,” Dusty said, reaching for one of the bottles on the table.
“No, thank you. But much appreciated.”
Dusty made a comical face as if he was crazy. Brody would love to grab one of those long necks, sit back on the porch in a comfortable chair and look up at the sky. He’d missed doing that. But the terms of his parole were that he could not be caught drinking alcohol at all or risk being hauled back to prison.
That wasn’t going to happen. He had the date on the calendar when he was finished with his parole. On that day, he’d sit on the porch with a cold beer with some friends and look up at the sky. Until then, he wasn’t risking it.
He left the bunkhouse to the sound of laughter as the boys got themselves settled at the card table. Brody occasionally liked a game of cards, but not tonight. His back was aching. He’d gone to the clinic to make sure they’d gotten all the shards of glass that had cut him out of his skin. He’d gone alone and left Tara back at the store to talk with the police officers. When he called the store after he’d left the clinic, he’d gotten the store’s voice mail. She’d left.
He had to keep himself from getting in his truck and riding over to Sweet Sensations, although he wasn’t exactly sure what help that would be. Tara wasn’t there. She was home. He didn’t have her address and he didn’t have her cell phone number. There was no way for him to check on her except in his mind where he tried to convince himself she was safe and a crazy drug dealer didn’t have a gun pointed at her anymore.
He walked the short path from the bunkhouse to his house, still marveling in the notion that he had a home again. It wasn’t a temporary place in a seedy part of town because it was the only place that would rent to him given his criminal record. This was a home. And Tara had been trying to help him put his own stamp on it.
When Hunter had first approached him about working as a ranch manager at the Lone Creek, he thought Hunter had lost his mind. Now he knew he’d be indebted to Hunter for the rest of his life. So much of the past he’d tried to flake off of his back these last years without success was finally shedding away.
He listened to the sound of the animals in the barn and in the pasture. He loved being here. It had been almost instantaneous the day he’d moved in. With each night he spent sleeping in his bed, listening to the sounds of the ranch, he actually believed he was here to stay.
There was only one thing missing from his life. Tara.
He’d just stepped up on the porch when his cell phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. He didn’t recognize the number. He half thought of letting it go to voice mail. But he didn’t know who it was, and if it had anything at all to do with his parole, he could be in trouble by not taking the call. So he answered it.
“Brody?”
The sound of Tara’s voice turned his blood cold.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I…I need…” She started crying and talking fast and he found it hard to understand more than a few words of what she was saying. Dexter? Who was that?
“Where are you, Tara?” he asked, trying to remain calm so she wouldn’t get more upset.
“I’m home.”
“Is someone with you?”
“No!”
The fear he’d felt when hearing her voice deflated like a balloon. “Good. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to be alone. Can you come over?”
Sweet Montana Outlaw: Chapter Eleven
“I shouldn’t have called you. You don’t have to stay,” Tara said the moment she opened her apartment door.
“You obviously had a reason to call me. Why don’t we talk a bit? If you feel okay, I’ll leave.”
She touched her hand to her cheek and stepped aside so Brody could come into the apartment. “I’m so embarrassed. I’ve never done this before.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. What happened this morning would rattle anyone for days, if not weeks. You’re going to be fine.”
Brody walked into the apartment and stood by the door. In the center of the room sat a red sofa opposite a set of palladium windows. A small TV was tucked in the corner. Clearly, whatever Montana view this window afforded was worth making it the focal point of the room.
Like her shop, Tara’s apartment was full of color and had items strategically placed around the room. He doubted each piece was put there by accident.
“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the sofa with her hand.
He walked into the room and found a black cat shedding all over the sofa.
“Dexter, shoo. Go into my room,” Tara said. The cat didn’t move for a few seconds.
“It’s okay. The sofa is big enough.”
Brody sat down and gently leaned back on the sofa. As soon as he did, Dexter shot off the sofa as if
