Page 56 of The Mountain Echoes
They shake their head but ask for another round of drinks.
“What IPA do you have on tap?” I ask as I mull over the menu.
“Rifle Falls and Face Down Brown,” the server tells me, her hips stuck out, her expression laconic. This is thelast half hour of her shift, I can tell. She’s past giving a damn about tips and just wants to go home and put her feet up.
“Rifle Falls. I’ll have the double cheeseburger with the sweet potato fries.”
She brings the beer right away. I drink some and let myself relax. It’s been a day.
“So, we hear that Rami divided the ranch between his daughters,” Joy remarks.
I scowl. “How the fuck do youalreadyknow?”
Elena guffaws. “Seriously, Mav? How long have you lived here?”
“So, do you think the older sister…what’s her name?” Joy tries to recall, and when I fill in the gap, she continues, “Will Aria kick Celine out?”
“Joy, you’ve got to stop with the gossip.”
My sister snorts. “Puhlease!This town survives on good ol’ ranchy gossip. Also heard that Hudson didn’t get a dime.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“How did he take it?” Joy asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.
“He was too soused to give a shit.”
“Christ, but he’s a drunk,” Elena mutters, leaning back, slouching a little on her chair.
Joy props herself on her forearms. “And how did Celine take it?”
“She was sobbing like she’s auditioning for a daytime drama,” I tell them.
Joy bursts out laughing. Elena cracks a smile.
The food arrives, which is a relief. ‘Cause I’m starving. I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast.
I all but attack the burger, devouring it.
“You think Aria will sell?” Joy muses.
“I don’t know what I think.” I take a long pull from my beer. “Earl warned me that she might not. Nadine said the same thing.”
“Then, at least, she won’t be selling it to a golf developer,” Elena pointed out.
“Hallelujah!” Joy raises her glass. “Last thing we need is to have to deal with stray balls in Wildflower Canyon.”
Before I can say anything, the door swings open, and in walk Duke and Hunt. Heads turn—men and women alike. They know who they are: the one who owns the biggest ranch in Colorado and his right-hand man.
While Hunt has, as Joy likes to call it, Rip Wheeler energy—broad shoulders, hard eyes, a face carved like a granite ridge; Duke’s many years in a tailored suit give him a polished look even in worn jeans and a battered cowboy hat.
“Baby.” Duke sits next to his wife and kisses her softly.
Hunt sits between Joy and Duke. He nods at me. “Mav.”
“Gents.” I lift my glass of beer. “Drinks and dinner or just drinks?”
“You pickin’ up the tab?” Duke wants to know.
