Page 16 of Stolen for Keeps
I’d crisscrossed Montana. I hitched a ride to an out-of-town rental, picked up gear from everyday shops, and pulled strings for the kind of tools you only get through prison contacts. It wasn’t like before. A few things needed bypassing, and the old trapper’s tunnel? Gone.
Then, I went back to Bridger Canyon and walked the same halls I had as an eighteen-year-old thief.
And I’d taken back what was mine.
Technically, my mother’s.
Not that it mattered. I hadn’t spoken to her since my arrest,and the one time I had? She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the necklace. Like it was cursed. Like I was.
But I didn’t steal it.
Ireclaimedit.
Claimer. Keeper.
I winced, offering Sheryn my bestplease-don’t-kill-mesmile. “Sorry, I had to. There was something I needed to do in Bozeman.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Suspiciously vague. Should I be concerned?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, layering on the innocence.
She clearly didn’t buy it, but her skepticism vanished the second she spotted the phone peeking out of my pocket.
“Ah-ha! You took my advice. Well done, bestie! And it’s pink too!”
“It was the only one that fit my budget,” I deadpanned.
Sheryn huffed, mock-offended. “Oh, didn’t I give you enough?” Then she grabbed my wrist, already dragging me forward. “Come on. You owe me.”
“Is this a kidnapping?”
“You bet.”
She yanked me toward her car and practically shoved me inside before peeling out of the lot.
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to The Lazy Moose.
The first time I’d been here, I’d been in awe. Sheryn had picked one hell of a venue. With wide-open fields and rolling hills, it was the kind of place that looked like it had been plucked straight from a postcard.
And the host, Claire? With her flower magic and easy kindness, she was the kind of person who made things bloom, literally and otherwise.
Before long, Sheryn introduced me to the other bridesmaids—Nick’s sister Lilly, and her work bestie Zara. Both stunning. Both effortlessly friendly.
“Oh my God,finally!” Lilly exclaimed, waving dramatically. “Maya, we’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” I said, shooting a look at Sheryn.
Zara grinned. “Mostly. But shedidsay you might be stubborn about the dress.”
I shot Sheryn a glare. “That sounds slanderous.”
Sheryn dragged me into a tent, spun toward the center, and threw her arms out.
“Ta-da!”
The dresses stood lined up on garment racks, silk and lace draping like the magazine clippings Katy used to tack above her bunk with dabs of toothpaste.
“Well, pluck my lashes,” I muttered. “These are actually…gorgeous.”
