Colorado Mountain series by Kristen Ashley

He grinned. “So you’re one of those?”

“One of what?”

“A liberal.”

I rolled my eyes but answered, “Yes.”

“Make things interesting.”

“I live to make things interesting.”

“Yeah, I heard about The Rooster.” My brows went up and he explained, “Brody stopped by yesterday morning. Heard you tore Shauna a new one.”

“Well –”

“And Kami.”

“Um…”

“Wish I’da been there, shit, just the Kami thing, woulda paid money for that. She’s somethin’ else and I don’t mean that in a good way. Hell, grew up with her and Max and everyone wondered how they could even be related. But would sell my kid to watch someone tear Shauna a new one. That woman, cold as ice, pure frost.” He grinned bigger and stated, “Never in my life was I more thrilled to change a will. I typed the damn thing myself when Curt gave me the change.”

I decided maybe I might like him.

“You wouldn’t have to sell your children, I’m happy to do it for free anytime she pulls out her ice daggers and takes aim.”

He tapped my arm and said frighteningly, “She’s got her eye on Max, both Max and Curt for donkey’s years. With Curt gone and him screwin’ her so royally, I suspect you’ll have a number of opportunities. I’ll get Max to put me on speed dial.”

Before I could respond to this horrifying news, the door to his office opened and we both turned to see Bitsy wheel out, her eyes red-rimmed, her face still wet and Max walked out behind her with an expression like thunder.

I felt a squeeze in the region of my heart; I began to move toward them but stopped when Max spoke.

“Another change of plans, babe,” he said, his voice ominous, “we gotta go see Mick.”

I stared at both of them, silent.

But George mumbled, “Uh-oh.”

* * * * *

I stood on the porch of Max’s A-Frame watching the big tow truck with my rental in the flatbed maneuvering down the road. Max, in his Cherokee, had seen it coming when he arrived, passed the turning to the road and stopped, did a three-pointer and was idling there, waiting for the flatbed to go the other way and give him full clearance to the road. When the truck turned and lugged away, Max turned in.

I had gone with Max and Bitsy to the Police Station which was a block and a half away from George’s office. Max nor Bitsy had said anything while we walked and wheeled our way there. Bitsy was still struggling with tears. Max was still looking thunderous.

Max had walked right up to the reception desk and I stood by Bitsy who took my hand.

“What’s happening, Bitsy?” I asked but she shook her head and choked back a sob so I just gave her hand a squeeze and looked at Max.

He came back to us, his eyes on me, his face not having lost that stormy look of fury and he said, “You gotta get to the house, babe. The rental car people will be there in half an hour.” I nodded and he went on, “I’ll make a call.”

The call he made was to Brody who, after Bitsy and Max disappeared deep into the Police Station with Jeff, came to get me and he took me to Max’s in his Subaru. He let us in using his key to Max’s place and he’d stayed with me while the rental car guy took pictures of the car and talked to me. Then he’d stayed a little while longer while I made coffee and wandered to the utility room to discover that Caroline had taken care of the laundry. We drank coffee and I called Mom and asked Brody for Bitsy’s number which I used and left three messages because it took me so long to tell her what I had to say which was essentially that I needed her to come to Mindy’s Mom’s house and that she had to trust me and doing all of that trying to be sensitive to whatever current calamity she was facing. Then after the tow had come, successfully backing into Max’s lane and up to the car with a difficulty that was hair raising just to watch and all seemed to be going okay, Brody had told me he wanted to get back to Mindy and he’d see me later.

He was not in a Brody mood, not that I really knew what a Brody mood was, but I knew the events of the day before were weighing on him. I knew this mainly because, how could they not? I let them, not that I wanted to but because he was a mountain man and I figured he’d want to be left to his own thoughts.

He left and five minutes later when the tow was heading out, I saw Max heading up.

I watched him park, get out of the car and crunch through the snow to the steps. The sun hadn’t burned off the clouds, it was still chilly and I’d wrapped my pashmina around my neck and was in my coat, ready to go.

“Hi,” I said when Max had gone up two steps.

“Babe,” Max said back.

“You okay?” I asked when he made it to the porch.

“No,” he replied when he made it to me.

It killed me, I could tell his thoughts too were heavy but there were other things going on, too many of them and they were too important to delay.

“I’m sorry but can we talk in the Cherokee? We need to go back down, get to Mindy.” He nodded but didn’t touch me which was strange and, I thought, vaguely alarming. “You need to lock up. I’ve turned off the coffee, the house is good.”

“Right,” he said, moving toward the door, his keys jingling in his hand.

I licked my lips.

Something was wrong, very wrong. One couldn’t say Max knew me through and through or I knew him the same way, not even close. But he was affectionate, touchy, he got close almost all the time. Most especially when something was on his mind or he thought something was on mine.

This distance was strange and I didn’t like it.

To hide that, I walked down the steps to the Jeep, crunched through the snow in my high-heeled boots and got in the truck. I turned to look through the driver’s side window expecting to see Max approaching the SUV or at least walking toward it, but I saw nothing.

I looked up to the house and there was no Max at the door locking up. I twisted in my seat, looking all around.

No Max.

I looked back to the house to see him exiting. He locked the door and then he jogged down the steps to the car. I buckled in as he slid in. I heard a jingle and I turned to see him holding up a set of keys.

“Keys,” he muttered, shaking them between us.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“To the house, take ‘em,” he ordered, jingling them again.

Automatically my hand came up and my fingers closed around the keys. Without further ado he let them go, started the ignition and did a three-pointer.