Page 61 of High Velocity

“That’s a big step,” Alex points out with a serious expression on her face. As Jackson’s mother, I can see why she might be concerned. “What will come next?”

I guess that’s the million-dollar question, one I haven’t had a chance to seriously ponder.

“With her background and experience? She could do anything,” a voice I recognize as Sloane’s pipes up on my behalf. “The sheriff’s department is constantly stretched thin, and we still have a defunct police department that could use someone with the appropriate know-how to try to breathe new life into it. She’d be an asset to any law enforcement agency or even a private organization like the High Mountain Trackers.”

“Well, I’m not sure—” I start, a little embarrassed but secretly pleased at the vote of confidence.

But Ama cuts me off.

“I’d like to see a woman on the team to take those boys down a peg,” she states, as she moves through the large kitchen like a force of nature.

“Yes,” Alex agrees with a grin. She’s setting out a tray of sandwiches, removing the plastic film covering it, while Pippa works on the coffee and Ama moves a large pot of something from the back of the stove to the front burner. “Too much testosterone between the lot. Time some of those boys slowed down anyway.”

“You ride, right?” Lucy wants to know.

“Well…umm.”

“Sure she does,” Janey answers for me, leaning over and adding under her breath. “You can come and practice on Sterling.”

Sterling is Janey’s mare, a pretty pinto.

I feel a little uneasy, because somehow, somewhere, this conversation has taken on a life of its own. Other than prompting the discussion with my surprise announcement, it went in a direction I had little input in.

“Glad that’s settled then,” Ama declares, clapping her hands together.

Then Jonas’s deep voice rumbles behind me.

“Glad what’s settled?”

Jackson

The straight shot of bourbon Jonas poured for us at the old man’s graveside is still burning its way down my esophagus as we shovel the dirt back in the hole we dug yesterday.

The old man’s oversized Stetson Jonas placed on the coffin before we lowered him into the ground is already almost covered, as we take turns with the shovels.

I’m sweating buckets in the midday sun, but my heart is much lighter and my head a lot clearer today, despite our overnight adventure. Needless to say, there wasn’t a lot of sleeping after Ewing confirmed arson. There hadn’t been a lot of answers we were able to provide—other than to share the single smoke alarm never went off—but both Ben Vallard and Mitchel Laine’s names came up. Ewing indicated he’d be contacting Vallard and he’d be in touch if there was anything to report.

I don’t think being sidelined made Stephanie very happy, but she didn’t push it. At least not then, and not this morning when she stood next to me, her fingers entwined with mine as we said goodbye to Thomas. Though I have a feeling she’s not the type to stay complacent for long, and she’s definitely not one to cower and hide when someone puts a target on her back. I just hope she doesn’t go off on her own without telling me.

Dan takes the ATV with the shovels back to the barn, while the rest of us walk back down to the ranch house. My spare limb doesn’t fit as comfortably as the damaged one does, so my limp is far more pronounced.

“Take my truck this afternoon,” Jonas offers as he falls into step beside me. “I assume you’re gonna want to get to the prosthetics clinic as soon as possible. And Stephanie may want to make a stop at her place to pick up a few things. That is, if she plans to stick around longer.”

“She’ll stick around,” I assure him. “For now.”

She and I talked about it this morning. I asked her what she wanted to do, and she said she wasn’t ready to leave Libby. So I told her she could stay with me in the cabin. It’s not ideal, being right next door to the ranch house, but at least the ranch is safe. The extensive security system ensures no one comes around here without being noticed.

I glance over at the man beside me and catch him studying me.

“What are you gonna do when she leaves? Goes back to her job?”

Good question. She made it clear she’s not ready yet, but that doesn’t mean she’ll never be. I’m not so sure about long-distance relationships, especially when neither of us have very predictable schedules. If she decides to go back, I’m not sure what kind of future we’d have. Do I feel good about that? Not particularly, but that’s a decision she’s going to have to make.

I give him the only answer I have. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He enters the house before me and as he steps into the kitchen I hear him ask, “Glad what’s settled?”

“Stephanie,” Ama, who is stirring a large pot on the stove, explains. “She’s quitting her job and moving to Libby.”

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