Page 11 of His Road Dog

"What was he doing in your motel room?"

"I don't know."

"Had he been there before?"

"Yeah." She sighed. "Of course. But only when I was there. Though I'm not surprised that he got a key since he paid for the room. His name's probably on the register."

He scratched his beard, then straightened the whiskers. "Are you a prostitute?"

"Get out." She laughed. "Do I look like a streetwalker? No offense to those who work the corners, but really? I work at Sally's Style Barn."

"Only one day a week."

She blew out her breath, her amusement over his questions gone. There was nothing wrong with her life that she needed to sit here and let him judge her.

"Roy liked to take me out and be around me. He thought I was good luck when he gambled at the casino. When he won, he gifted me with things." She shrugged. "He didn't deserve to die. I hope the police catch whoever killed him."

His gaze narrowed. "Were you sleeping with him?"

"That...is none of your business." She drank her coffee that'd grown lukewarm and licked her upper lip. "Now, point me in the direction to where I can find my shoes."

He led her to the living room without asking her any more questions. She gasped and walked to the window. The need to finish dressing gone as she took in the view outside.

Beyond the wall of windows, Montana laid out in front of her. His house was high on a mountain. Pine trees, thick as a blanket, covered the land. A river in the V of the canyon flowed as far as her eyes could see. From the house on the bluff, she felt on top of the world.

"Wow, this is absolutely gorgeous," she whispered, not wanting to look away from the beauty outside.

"Let's go."

He had all the patience in the world the night she'd met him at Tarkio clubhouse. Since then, he'd turned into a grouch.

She walked to the door and out to his motorcycle. "Remember to drop me off at the motel."

"You're not going back to the motel."

She refused to get on the back of his bike. "Fine, I'll walk there from the clubhouse."

Never before had a man not agreed to what she asked. There were men like Roy Guthrie all over that would be willing to help her. Bartering wasn't only done within the commune, people were willing to strike a deal in Missoula, too.

"You're going to stay with me while I handle business at the clubhouse, and then we're coming back to the house. Now, get on the Harley." He started the engine.

Without any other option, she climbed on behind him. Hugging his back, she took in the scenery, amazed that he lived in paradise. She'd missed out on viewing the surroundings last night when he'd brought her to his house. It was breathtaking in the daylight.

Until she'd arrived in Missoula six months ago, she had no idea other places in the U.S. were as beautiful as Northern California, where she grew up.

She'd tried exactly twelve cities over the last five years, never staying more than six months before she became disillusioned by her surroundings. Until last night, finding out someone murdered Roy, she'd wanted to stay in the area.

Her natural instinct was to leave Missoula, go somewhere that was safe, and nobody would kill a friend in her motel room.

Now, Officer Gardner wanted her to stick around in case he had more questions for her, and because she liked Roy, she'd help in any way she could to find his killer.

Priest entered the interstate, going faster. She hugged him tighter. The wind stole her breath, and she buried her face against the back of his shoulder. She would have to ask Priest how he managed to breathe normally when he rode.

Almost as soon as they got on the highway, Priest took the next exit and slowed down. She lifted her head and tried to get her bearings. Last night, she hadn't paid attention to where he'd taken her. Her mind was on other things. Officer Gardner had asked her invasive questions that made her paranoid.

She'd never felt more guilty than having someone ask if she'd killed Roy? If she had a sexual relationship with him? If she had cheated on him? If Roy had enemies?

None of the questions seemed pertinent. The officer was wasting time talking to her when he could be out there looking for Roy's killer.

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