Page 110 of Dust Storm

Mickey was hanging out in the shade of the tree in front of Becks and Nate’s porch. She was in town at yet another doctor’s appointment.

Becks had made it another week without spontaneously combusting or being induced, which meant we had spent another Saturday in town together.

At least it had been less awkward the second time around. We spent the afternoon spitballing ideas for a groundbreaking party, then switched to talking shit about people we used to know over chips and salsa for her and a margarita for me.

I adjusted my grip on the reins, keeping my arms relaxed. A gentle breeze caressed my skin, picking up my hair and making the strands dance across my back.

Sure enough, I spotted a car bobbing down the long drive. Dottie parked herself at the post while Sadie took off like a bullet out of a gun, running after the car to herd it.

“Please don’t move, please don’t move,” I whispered to Dottie as I braced my toe in the stirrup and slid off rather ungracefully. She blew out a sharp breath from her massive nostrils, obviously annoyed but tolerant.

The car stopped and a gray-haired man in a suit got out. “Cassandra Griffith?”

“Parker,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m not a Griffith. I just work for them. And considering you know who I am, but I don’t know who you are, I’ll let you go first.”

He chuckled. “My apologies, Ms. Parker. Mayor Charles Getty.”

I shook his hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Mayor?”

Rule number one: if someone introduces themselves using their job title, they think they’re more important than they are.

“Well,” he said, hitching his thumbs in his belt loops. “Rumor has it y’all are planning on making some big changes around here.”

Nothing had been made public about the revitalization project, but Christian and I had applied for a few permits and asked around about local ordinances to grease the wheels when the money started flowing. The rumor mill must have been churning fast today.

While the mayor rambled on, prattling about the beauties of the town and the service we would be doing by bringing tax dollars to the local economy, a jacked-up truck emblazoned with brand logos blew down the drive, kicking up a tornado of dust before speeding off toward the barns.

Christian would pick up the truck on one of the cameras and send a ranch hand to deal with whoever was driving like a daredevil.

“Anyway, the Chamber of Commerce meets every Tuesday. You’re welcome to join us for a time or two to get your feet wet.” He made himself laugh. “After that you’ll have to be a paying member.”

I peered out the corner of my eye and saw the truck gunning it toward Christian’s house.

No one was coming up from the pastures.

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’ll have to discuss joining the Chamber with Mr. Griffith.”

Just saying “Mr. Griffith” instead of Christian made a strange, acrid taste coat my tongue.

The mayor hitched his pants up. “Rumor has it, Silas’s son is running things now.”

“That’s correct. Christian oversees the operations.”

A strange smile worked across his mouth. “Ain’t that something. And now he’s got a pretty thing like you working for him. I suppose those cowboys know a thing or two about picking a heifer. Nothing wrong with wanting something nice to look at.”

I should have brought one of those throwing knives with me.

I was half tempted to give him a business card with my name under the Carrington Group logo, but that didn’t mean much around here.

Instead, I steeled my face, ridding any evidence of a smile from my expression. “Well, you’re probably a busy man, so I won’t bore you with who I am or what my job entails. But if you’re curious—which you are, given the way you’re leering at me—you should stop by the middle school and have a chat with Principal Beeker. Rumor has it, she announced that she’s retiring early, but I’m sure you knew that.”

He immediately looked toward the house and cleared his throat. “I may have heard something about that.”

I lifted my chin. “And I may have had something to do with that. I imagine unseating a mayor would be just as easy. Tell me, how’s your mistress? Nadine, the lady who works at Blush & Bashful. That’s her lipstick on your collar, isn’t it?”

He paled in the midday sun, tugging at his collar like it was strangling him.

I stepped in close. “Word of advice, Mr. Mayor. If you’re going to have a side piece, don’t give her expensive perfume as a gift. It lingers.”

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