Page 16 of His Road Dog

"Just a guy I was dating for a while, before Roy. He's ancient history," she said.

She would give her parents all the information he needed. He left Nicole alone in the office. Everything of importance was locked up tight in the safe in case she went snooping. Needing privacy himself, he went into his bedroom, called the club, and informed Curley to take Ringtail off the crew that distributed the delivery of marijuana to the sellers in the area.

What started as a good way to test the young prospects and give them some responsibilities had turned into something bigger over the years. They'd taken the original growers who ran the plots in southern Oregon and replaced them with men who worked for Tarkio. He found having people indebted to the club kept them loyal, and they were more reluctant to double-cross him.

He went to the hallway, looking in the office on his way to the kitchen. Nicole sat in the chair, her head bent to the letter in front of her. Grabbing a beer out of the fridge, he leaned against the counter and drank half the contents. It was only one o'clock in the afternoon.

As soon as Nicole finished writing to her parents, he'd take the opportunity to read the content, put it all in a new envelope if there was no mention of Tarkio, and mail it for her. Minus the joint.

"Priest?" called Nicole.

He walked to the office and stepped into the room. Nicole licked the flap of the envelope, and his gut tightened. Sex was never far from his thoughts. Especially when it came to her.

"I just need a stamp now." She put the mail on the desk.

"I'll get one." He walked around the desk, opened the drawer, and grabbed a stack of old bills. "I need to make a couple of payments and put them in the mailbox, too."

She hopped up from the chair. "Sit on the throne, my king."

He glanced at her. "A toilet is usually the reference when someone says throne."

"No." She shrugged. "That doesn't make sense."

"You've never heard that before?"

She shook her head. "It must be an old-timer's word."

"Are you calling me old?"

"Older than me." She laughed softly. "How old are you?"

"Fifty-six."

She whistled. "You win."

Not wanting to debate their age different at the moment, he sat down and grabbed the pen, needing her out of the office.

"It's after one o'clock. We should eat lunch soon." He grabbed the checkbook from the top drawer.

"I'll fix us something. What do you want?"

"Surprise me." He pointed to the door. "Turn right, and the kitchen is the first doorway on the left. Make yourself at home."

She walked out of the office. He waited until he heard the fridge open and quietly went to the door and shut it, turning the lock. Hiding that he was going to read her letter before he mailed it was only to save time arguing with her. He'd rather forbid her from sending a message to her parents, but it was more important to find out details from her life.

He made out a new envelope with her parents' address, planning to save the original one and hand it to Roddy to do a background check on later. Apparently, her parents lived in California. Going from the zip code, he believed that would be the northern part of the state.

"Damnit," he muttered, spotting the post office box number.

He wouldn't find out an address of where they lived. As of yet, Tarkio had no way into the records of the postal system.

Opening the envelope, he pulled the letter out. The joint fell to the surface of the desk, ignored for the moment.

Dear Mom and Dad,

First off, I'm fine. I'm still in Missoula and working. Every day that I spend here, I find myself falling more in love with the area. It reminds me a lot of home when we'd caravan into town. The Montanans keep to themselves and are hard to get to know. Including Greg—who I told you about last time I sent a letter. I'm not going out with him anymore. He turned out to be dull and never really made an effort to know me.

Priest rubbed his whiskered jaw as he continued reading.

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