Page 36 of To Match A Dragon's Fire

I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror, barely recognizing myself. It was still shocking to see the new wrinkles that had formed every time I looked. Sometimes I forgot I was me.

I still have it, though.I gave myself an encouraging nod.

Because I did look good despite… everything.

Even if I’d gained a few pounds and had drier skin and didn’t smile as much as I used to.

But I was old enough to not give a shit. I still owned land here. This was still my town.

And my property taxes went to paying the sheriff’s salary so whoever it was, they could do me a favor and get that trespasser out of there.

A teeny, tiny voice in my head that sounded a lot like Willow when we could drag her out to girl’s night said I might be acting a little rash. It wasn’t like we had to run the entire property on our own. There was plenty of land to go around.

The generations speaking through my last name stomped that weak voice out.

It was my land and he was an intruder.

A sexy, rugged intruder, which was the worst possible kind.

The other voice said…

Great. You’re hearing voices now.

I ignored whatever fresh mental breakdown I was heading to, favoring the scenic drive instead.

Everything was going to be fine. I’d slip into town, meet the new sheriff, get the law to help me out, and hopefully do it all without running into anyone I used to know.

The one-mile strip of Christmas’s main street loomed up ahead under the big, blue Oregon desert sky. The whole stretch of trailers and houses was as run down and barren as I remembered it.

But the sign warning me to turn around hadn’t always been there.

The next sign passed in a blur, something about tourists not being welcome and there was a detour marked ahead.

I frowned as I drove past Lennox Avenue, which led back to the state highway, where all the orange cones were pointing.

Apoplouder than a gunshot rang through the cab of the Bronco.

Screaming, I gripped the wheel tight and kept my feet from slamming on the brakes. The back tires fishtailed as the rims ground on asphalt.

Sparks flew behind me.

The Bronco squealed as I gently eased onto the brakes.

I came to a stop in front of the wood sign with the handwritten letters:All violators will be shot.

My heart rejoined my body as I took a few deep breaths. Of course I’d blow a tire on the way here. Given how dramatic that little scene was, I’d probably blown at least two.

I pushed open the driver’s side door to check the damage, freezing when the flash of something metal in the distance caught my eye.

Duck.Instinct had me pulling my head down just as a warning shot took out my windshield.

Or at least I hoped it was a warning shot.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.I fumbled with my pistol, brushing away the ice-like glass shards that covered me and the front seat.

“Don’t shoot!” I screamed.

Like whack-a-moles, the camouflage-colored shooters popped up from the brush and started creeping toward me.

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