Page 5 of Mountain Man Summer

Her image flooded my mind again. That cascade of blonde waves catching the sunset light. Those green eyes that shifted like the lake itself—darkening when she'd challenged me about the life jacket. That voice with its distinctive cadence that hinted at something professional beneath her casual demeanor. A city woman clearly out of her element but too stubborn to admit it.

"Snap out of it, Sterling," I muttered, holstering my service weapon. "She's just another tourist."

But tourists didn't typically look over their shoulders every thirty seconds or try so hard to be forgettable when everything about them demanded attention.

The morning briefing at the station started at seven sharp. I slid into my usual seat with two minutes to spare, nodding to Betty at dispatch on my way through. The department employed a grand total of twelve officers including Sheriff Callahan, which meant everyone knew everyone's business. From Betty's raised eyebrow, I sensed my business was currently under scrutiny.

"Morning, Detective." Sheriff Callahan dropped a stack of folders on the conference table. At fifty-six, Mike Callahan retained the build and presence of the college linebacker he'd once been, though his hair had long since turned silver. "Late night?"

"No, sir. Just the usual patrol of the lake perimeter."

"Uh-huh." He didn't sound convinced. "Heard you had to fish another tourist out of trouble near Miller's Rocks."

News traveled faster than wildfire in Hope Peak, especially when it involved a woman who looked like Didi. I suspected Matt Sorenson from the resort's adventure program probably witnessed the rescue and passed the story along.

"Minor boating issue," I said, reaching for my coffee. "Woman unfamiliar with the throttle mechanism. Situation resolved without incident."

Sheriff Callahan's eyes narrowed slightly. He'd known me since I was a gangly teenager fishing off the public dock, had personally recruited me to the department after I graduated from the academy. He could read my deflections like large-print road signs.

"This woman have a name?" he asked casually.

"Didi. From Chicago." I kept my tone neutral, professional. "Renting Cabin 7 for a few weeks."

Something about her story didn't add up. People from Chicago typically came to Hope Peak for the resort's organized activities—guided fishing, water sports, horseback riding into the mountains. They didn't rent isolated cabins for solitary stays unless they were either having affairs or hiding. And Didi had arrived alone.

The morning briefing proceeded with updates on the usual summer concerns—increased traffic violations, seasonal visitors wandering onto private property, noise complaints from the vacation rentals, petty thefts from unlocked vehicles. Sheriff Callahan saved the most pressing issue for last.

"Fourth of July weekend is coming up," he reminded us, leaning against the whiteboard. "Lake population triples, alcohol consumption quadruples, and common sense gets cut in half. We'll need all hands on deck."

He outlined the security plans for the fireworks display, the additional patrols around the most popular beaches, and the coordination with resort security for their Independence Day bash.

"Sterling, you'll be coordinating the lake patrol rotations." He slid a folder my way. "I want schedules finalized by end of day tomorrow."

I nodded, already mentally arranging the rotation. Then Callahan dropped his bombshell.

"And after that, you're taking the Fourth off."

My head snapped up. "Sir?"

"You heard me. You haven't taken a personal day in eighteen months. You look like hell, and I need my best detective sharp, not running on fumes."

"I'm fine," I protested, aware of the other officers studiously pretending not to listen. "The department needs all hands on—"

"That's an order, Sterling." Callahan's tone brooked no argument. "The schedule shows you working every major holiday for the past three years. You're due. Take the day. Go to a barbecue. Watch the fireworks. Remember what it's like to be a civilian."

"Yes, sir," I managed, jaw clenched against further argument.

The briefing adjourned, and I retreated to my desk to review the case files that had accumulated overnight. Nothing major—a dispute between neighboring vacation rentals over noise, reports of teenagers sneaking onto the resort's boats after hours, a fender bender in the grocery store parking lot. Standard summer fare in a small lakeside town.

But my mind kept wandering back to my new neighbor. To Didi. To the wariness in her eyes that didn't match her cover story.

Vacation, my ass.

At lunch, I scrolled through my contacts and paused at Shawna's name. We'd had an arrangement for the past year—casual, convenient, no strings attached. Perfect for a man who'd learned the hard way that commitment led to disappointment.

I texted, already imagining how her practiced touch might drive thoughts of blonde hair and green eyes from my mind.

Free tonight?

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