Page 81 of One Last Chance

She stood up. “Great. I’ll round back after I talk to Peyton.”

Axel held open the door, and she walked through, noticing a couple guys at the counter.

“Hey, Mal, what’s going on?” Axel said. He shook hands with a younger man, good-looking, with long blond hair, wearing a T-shirt with Bowie Mountain Gear on the chest.

He stood next to an older man, maybe early sixties, dark hair cut short, looking fit in a denim shirt and jeans. He wore a cap with Bowie Fishing Tours on the front.

“Wilson,” Axel said. “Didn’t know you were still in town. How’s the fishing?”

“Good. Got a freezer full to take home.” He turned to Deke. “I wanted to report that my truck is missing.”

Deke had followed them out. “Oh?”

“I left it on the camp road, near the trail to the Bowie fishing lodge, and it went missing.” He looked at Mal. “Of course, I left the keys in it so . . . I don’t mind anyone using it—but it hasn’t turned up. Can you keep an eye out for it?”

“That old ‘84 Ford? Blue with the white stripe? You still have that thing?”

“That’s the one. It’s not worth much, and I just use it when I’m here, but . . . you know. Hate for it to get into the wrong hands.” He looked at Axel. “Keep an eye out?”

“Yes, sir. You heading back to Montana?”

“Yep. Stay safe out there.” He shook Axel’s hand as Flynn exited into the sunshine.

Axel came out after her.

“Who was that?”

“Wilson Bowie. Mal’s uncle. He was the executor of their estate for a while. Now he just checks in on them a couple times a year.”

“Every May and June?”

He gave her a look. “Wilson is a great guy. He has his own family down in Montana, a ranch, and is real close with the guys. I promise, he’s not a”——” he pitched his voice low—“river monster.”

She glanced at him. “You’d be surprised.”

“I hope not. I’m heading over to Bowie Mountain Gear for the radios. I’ll meet you at Northstar Pizza.” He pointed to a place with hanging lights and a deck, the smell of pizza stirring in the piney breeze.

“All you do is eat.”

He laughed. “A guy can’t live on donuts alone.”

He walked away, and she watched him even as he looked both ways and jogged across the street, toward the outfitters.

Maybe that was her problem—she had too many river monsters hiding in the shadows to have faith in anything but disappointment.

Still, faith—or hope—had brought her out here. Maybe she should start leaning into it . . .

A truck filled with dogsled boxes passed, and she crossed the street after it, walking up the stairs to the ranger’s office.

Hank was at the desk, talking with a couple of hikers. He pointed to a side office as she came in.

Peyton sat at her desk in front of her computer, wearing her uniform, her dark hair washed and fluffy around her head. She looked up with a smile. “You. Sheesh. Seriously, how much trouble can you get into in seventy-two hours?” She got up and gave Flynn a hug. Leaned back and pointed to her head. “Ow.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what exactly happened?”

“I got shot at.”

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