Page 3 of Montana Justice

Buck shrugged. “Could ask. Small town like this, probably half the bar knows.”

The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself by asking questions. I took a sip of my drink and tried to refocus on my situation. I needed money, which meant I needed a mark. Buck was friendly enough, and truckers usually carried cash. But something about the way he was looking at me—like he was calculating something—made my skin crawl.

Or maybe that was just the pain talking. Everything hurt right now, from the physical injuries to the deeper ache of being completely alone in the world. I’d been running on adrenaline and desperation for days, and now that I’d stopped moving, exhaustion was catching up with me.

“So, what kind of family you visiting?” Buck asked.

“Uh, cousins,” I said. “Haven’t seen them in years.”

The lie was getting easier to tell, which should have worried me more than it did. But lies had been survival tools for so long that truth felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. And lies had always come easily. I was Ray Matthews’s daughter after all.

I glanced back toward Lachlan’s table, and this time, our eyes met across the crowded room. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw recognition flicker in his expression. Then someone said something that made him laugh, and he turned away.

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure Buck could hear it. Eight years. Eight years since I’d seen Lachlan, since my family had been run out of town in disgrace. He’d been there that night. I didn’t remember much, but I remembered that. But that didn’t mean he remembered me. Why would he? I’d been nobody then—just another piece of Matthews family trash that had finally been swept away.

“You okay?” Buck’s voice seemed to come from far away. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I realized I’d been staring, my soda forgotten in my hand. “Sorry. Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Buck leaned closer, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a comforting tone. “Maybe you should get something to eat. Low blood sugar can make you feel real strange.”

He was right about needing food, but wrong about the cause of my distress. I looked down at the menu again, trying to focus on the prices instead of the way my chest felt like it was caving in. Seventeen dollars. That was all I had between me and whatever came next. Not enough for food and a place to sleep. Not enough for anything, really.

Unless I did what I’d come here to do.

I studied Buck more carefully, noting the way his wallet created a slight bulge in his back pocket, the decent watch on his wrist. He seemed like the type who’d carry cash—older guys usually did. But as the minutes passed, his friendly demeanor started to shift into something that made my stomach clench.

His hand found its way to my back, fingers splaying across my spine right where one of Dad’s kicks had left a particularly tender bruise. I had to bite back a gasp of pain.

“You know,” Buck said, his voice dropping lower, “a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be traveling alone. Lot of dangerous people out there.”

The irony of that sentence coming from him wasn’t lost on me. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can.” His fingers pressed harder against my back, and I fought not to flinch. “But maybe you don’t have to. I got a room at the truck stop a few miles from here. Clean bed, hot shower. You look like you could use both.”

There it was. The proposition I’d been dreading. I’d hoped Buck would stay in the friendly zone long enough for me to figure out how to get his wallet without having to pay for it with my body. But desperation was apparently written all over me like a neon sign.

“That’s very kind,” I said carefully, “but I should really?—”

“Come on now, don’t be shy.” His grip tightened, fingers digging into the bruised muscle. “You’re broke, aren’t you? I can tell. That look in your eyes, like you’re calculating the cost of everything. I’ve seen it before.”

My chest tightened with panic. This was escalating too fast, and I couldn’t afford to make a scene. But Buck’s hand was sliding lower now, and the smell of his cologne mixed with cigarettes was making my head spin.

“I’m not interested,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

“Sure you are.” His smile turned predatory. “Why else would you be talking to me? Pretty girl like you doesn’t chat up truckers unless she needs something.”

He wasn’t wrong, and we both knew it. But I couldn’t do this. Not that I was above it. I’d had to use my body before whenmy father had forced it. But I didn’t want to do that now. The thought of it made me want to crawl out of my own skin.

“Let go of me,” I said, but Buck’s grip only tightened.

“Don’t be like that, honey. I’m offering you a good deal here. Food, a place to sleep, maybe a little traveling money if you’re real nice to me.”

My ribs burned as I tried to shift farther away. What was I going to do? I was trapped—too hurt to fight, too broke to leave, too desperate to have many options.

“Everything okay here?”

The voice came from behind us, deep and familiar in a way that made my heart stop. I turned slowly, hardly daring to believe what I was hearing.

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