Page 7 of Deadly Vendetta

Martha was a sweet elderly lady, but she did love gossip, and nothing much exciting happened in a town like Fossil Hill. A visit by out-of-town relatives was almost headline news.

When Dana finished the Swansons’ last calf at twelve-thirty, she was hot, dirty, and curious. “You hear anything about some new people in town?” she asked Bill as she stood next to her truck and peeled off her muddy coveralls.

“Nope.”

“The ones who rented Martha’s place out on the highway?”

He gave her a blank look. “Nope.”

She hadn’t expected much of an answer. The reclusive old rancher probably wouldn’t yell “Fire” if his boots were in flames, but he was a good neighbor who baled her hay on shares, and he’d come over to work on her old tractor more times than she wanted to think about.

She was in her truck with the motor running before he spoke again. “Saw a stranger and his little girl in town, though. Guy looked sorta edgy.”

“Thanks, Bill.” Well, that sounded odd. Martha’s new renter, maybe? But why did she think Dana would care?

Giving him a breezy wave, she headed back home, one eye on the speedometer and the other on the clock. Coveralls or not, she smelled like a cow barn and—she took at quick glance in the rearview mirror—her hair looked like something destined for the landfill.

Scraggly wisps of dishwater-blond hair hung in limp tendrils about her face. The light touch of makeup she usually wore was long gone, replaced by a smudge on her cheek and a streak of something unmentionable across her brow. Definitely not ready for the Pink Petticoat Inn.

Her small-animal clinic hours didn’t start until two o’clock, so barring walk-in emergencies, there wouldn’t be any clients waiting for her now. She could check in with Francie, then race the hundred yards up to her house for a quick shower—

An unfamiliar pewter-gray SUV was parked in front of the clinic.

Dana pulled into her usual spot behind the clinic and walked in the back door. “Francie? What’s up?”

“You’ll have to take care of this one, boss,” Francie called out.

Dana walked up the hall, past the kennel room, the surgery, and the two exam rooms, feeling a familiar sense of pride at the sparkling clean floors, the neatly arranged supplies.

Whatever dreams she’d had as a teenager about moving far away, she was where she should be—close to her aging mother, in a safe, rural area where the kids could grow up with relatives nearby, surrounded by familiar memories of their late father.

Despite the struggles ahead, she would make a success of the clinic, and the ranch, as well.

She stopped short at the doorway to the reception area.

“This guy just needs your key for Martha’s place,” Francie said, with an odd note of warning in her voice. “She gave him one but it doesn’t work.”

The words floated past Dana in an incomprehensible tumble of sounds as she stared at the tall, dark-haired man standing in her waiting room. The shock of recognition in his eyes matched her own stunned reaction.

She hadn’t seen him in fifteen years. He was taller, broader, far more imposing than the reckless charmer she’d loved with all her heart during her senior year in high school. But he still had that indefinable edge hinting at danger.

After all these years she’d never expected to see him again. But Zach Forrester was back.

And she wanted to run.

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