Page 4 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

Tony shrugged. “Don’t think so. I’ve been waiting for her to come to town so I can politely ogle and discern, but so far she hasn’t. No idea what’s she’s doing for supplies.”

Maybe clapped her hands excitedly together. “Can you imagine if she gets the orchard going again? Wouldn’t that be amazing? Fresh apples and cider. Apple picking, apple dumplings.”

“Now you sound like a grandma,” Tony said, pointing his finger at her like a gun.

She wadded a piece of paper and tossed it at him, pinging it off his temple. “Think of what it could do for the community. What an amazing draw that would be.”

“We don’t need any more draws. Too many city people are getting the wrong idea and trying to settle here, completely misjudging how harsh it is,” Elena said with uncharacteristic disdain. “I hope she at least has some sense of what she’s doing in those backwoods. Otherwise things could go very, very poorly for her.”

“I’m sure she does,” Tony said smoothly. “It’s hard to imagine any woman who isn’t capable packing up and moving to Montana, completely ignorant of our ways with no plan on how to take care of herself.” He darted Maybe a conspicuous look, then faked a cough. “Oh, right. Sorry, Maybe.”

“I knew what I was doing,” Maybe argued.

“You knew you were ensnaring a big, strong cowboy?” Elena guessed.

Now it was her turn to be pinged by one of Maybe’s rolled up papers. “I had a plan.”

“To marry the neighbor?” Tony piled on.

“I hate both of you,” Maybe said. Her gaze landed on the giant diamond on her ring finger. “Although I guess all’s well that ends well. Hopefully the new woman will be as lucky.”

“I bet she has a plan,” Elena said.

“She totally knows what she’s doing,” Tony added.

They stared at each other a few beats in silence before Maybe spoke again. “Should we send Elliot to go check on her?”

“I already gave him her name and address,” Tony said and the three friends high fived.

Chapter 3

She had no idea what she was doing. None whatsoever. She sat on the cold, hard ground, willing it to do something, anything other than remain dirt. Were the trees in front of her dead? She had no idea. Did she want them to be? Again, no idea. Her glance slid to the house, feeling similar dread and dismay. She’d paid a tidy sum to make it livable, had brought in a plumber and electrician to bring things up to code and make them habitable. Somehow she thought that would make the place a home. It hadn’t, of course, and she had no idea what to do next.

Everything in her life she had learned by doing. First she had survived her hardscrabble childhood, no easy feat. Then basic training. Then assassin training. Then being an assassin. And now phase three. After overcoming everything else, she’d been under the mistakenly optimistic impression she’d somehow know what to do. From far away in DC while tying up the loose ends of her former life, it had seemed so easy. Buy an orchard. Fix it up. Become country, at one with the earth. What she failed to take into account was that she had never so much as owned a houseplant, let alone an entire field of trees. And the house.She’d never lived in one before, at least not one like this, with two stories and a spacious layout. The vastness made her feel strangely stifled and adrift, insecure about all the things she didn’t know, all the things she lacked to fill the space. Worse, she had no one to teach her.

In basic, she’d had drill instructors. After, she’d had her CO. And then The Colonel. He’d instructed her, guided her, mentored her. Their relationship had always been professional. Even so, he was the closest thing to a father she’d ever had. And now she was on her own in the middle of Montana with no idea what to do next.

A sound alerted her to someone’s imminent arrival. Palming her gun, she turned her head toward the long driveway and waited.They found you. They’re coming.It would have to be a hostile. Who else? She knew no one here. There was no reason for a random stranger to show up uninvited. Except there was.

A massive forest green truck, the word DEPUTY painted in school bus yellow letters on the side, made the long drive slowly, as if he was as wary as she was.Maybe he does know about you but he’s not here to kill you; maybe he’s here to arrest you.Slowly, she stood and tucked her gun away, stumbling forward and working her jaw, reminding it how to speak. Soon she would need all the words she’d shelved four days ago when she arrived.

The man parked and unfolded himself from his truck, literally. He was tall, far taller than most men she’d met. He wore an eye patch, one that covered a ragged scar that somehow put her at ease.IED. Army. Familiar. Safe.Her shoulders relaxed as she let out a breath. He raised a hand in greeting and she followed suit.

“Good afternoon,” he called.

“Hello,” she said.

“My name is Elliot Runningbear. I’m what amounts to the law in these parts, I suppose.”

That made her smile, if only a little. “You’re not sure?”

“I’m certain I’m the law, I’m not sure there’s much need for it. We like to keep it quiet out here.” There was a question in the tone, one asking if she was the type who also liked to be quiet or if she planned on making trouble.

“A good policy,” she answered reasonably. Once upon a time she’d hated the law, had found herself too often on the wrong side of it. Life had a funny way of making corrections.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he said pointedly.

“I didn’t give it,” she returned, but not unkindly. Her life had made her factual and no-nonsense. It was no longer in her nature to pussyfoot. Maybe it never had been; she could no longer remember. “I’m Celeste.”

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