Page 15 of Montana Heat

I slammed my laptop closed and jumped up from the couch, clutching my throwaway phone. I hurried to the door, then windows, checking the locks and closing the blinds. I started shaking so bad that I dropped my phone twice before making it back to the couch. Curling up in a ball, I tried to steady my breath and called the police chief.

I’d barely been in Garnet Bend for twenty-four hours, and it was starting again.

Would I ever feel safe?

Chapter Four

Jensen

I slipped out early without a word to Susanna. I knew she wondered where I’d gone at 3:30 for the past few Wednesdays, but I wasn’t going to tell her. She’d just nag me about it anyway, especially after the talk we’d had yesterday about Mrs. Kimble.

I went by and got the pizza, which had become a standing order: green peppers and mushrooms with light sauce. Honestly, I was more of a meat-lovers pizza type of guy, but that didn’t matter. I could eat whatever. And the pizza wasn’t what this was about anyway.

Mr. Cristolman had the pizza ready for me when I walked in. I tried to pay for it, as I did every week, but he wouldn’t take the money. He’d refused my payment ever since he’d figured out exactly what was happening. I hadn’t planned on revealing that, but he’d seen us one day and had put two and two together because of the pizza I normally ordered versus what I ordered on Wednesdays.

“Tell Margaret I said hello.”

I nodded and grabbed the box, plus the small package wrapped in foil he slid on top of it. “Thank you.”

“Thankyou, Jensen.”

The admiration in the man’s eyes made me uncomfortable, as it always did. All I was doing was eating a pizza.

Plus, Mrs. Kimble was good company.

A few months ago, I’d been cutting through the park in the town square when I’d spotted her eating pizza inside the tiny indoor conservatory Garnet Bend was so proud of. She’d been sitting alone inside the hexagonal greenhouse-type building that housed a ton of plants, a small water feature, and a few benches—a space open year-round, no matter the weather outdoors. Everyone in town loved it.

But Mrs. Kimble had been looking pretty sad that day, eating her pizza.

Nobody should look sad eating pizza.

I hadn’t meant to go inside and ask if she was okay. I definitely hadn’t meant to sit down and share a type of pizza I didn’t particularly like with the older woman.

But when she explained that she and her husband Harold had had pizza there in the conservatory every Wednesday afternoon since the day it opened fifteen years ago to the day he’d died this past June, I knew I had to stay.

Green peppers and all.

Somehow it had become a Wednesday afternoon tradition for the two of us for the past few months. We ate pizza, and she talked about her Harold. She didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t talk much. And I didn’t mind hearing stories about their fifty years of marriage.

There was rarely anyone in the conservatory on Wednesday afternoons at that time, so I was surprised when I heard voices as I opened the door.

“Oh, I smell pizza!”

That was definitely Mrs. Kimble. She said the same thing everyweek.

“Hi, Mrs. K.”

“Jensen, come over here, hun. I have someone I want you to meet.”

I made my way over to the bench in the corner where we always sat. I stopped short when I saw who was sitting next to Mrs. Kimble.

Kenzie Hurst.

At least she had more appropriate clothing on today, not high heels and dress slacks.

“Kenzie,” Mrs. Kimble said, “this is my standing dinner date for Wednesday afternoons. His name is?—”

“Jensen Chambers,” Kenzie finished for her. “He and I met earlier this week.”

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