Page 1 of Forever Finds Us
Chapter One
Brand
Ten miles north of my childhood home near Wisper, Wyoming, I sputtered to a stop on Highway 20 beneath the shadow of Rendezvous Mountain and the shroud of utter darkness it cast over the Jackson Hole Valley.
As I tried to find my father’s old mechanic’s phone number on my cell, suddenly the glare from a too-bright flashlight tapping against my driver’s side window made me drop the phone. When the SUV made a weird noise and my speed decreased even though my foot had been steady on the gas pedal, I pulled onto the narrow strip of dirt aligning the dark road, and now I hit the button to roll down my window so I could explain to the sheriff’s deputy waiting for a reason why I had parked illegally on a normally busy highway.
Tonight, the way home was empty in all directions.
I couldn’t see the deputy’s face—she was tall—but the swell of feminine hips and a brown uniform gave her away. It was the same one my sister wore for work.
“What seems to be the problem, sir?”
“I don’t know,” I said, staring at the dash computer, hoping for it to give me a clue, but the screen was blank. The lights were on, but the damn car wouldn’t move. “Engine trouble.” I poked the screen, like that would make it blink back to life.
“Hm. Isn’t this a new Explorer?”
“Yeah, it is,” I said, and I leaned closer to my door and peered out my window at the officer now shining her light at the hood of my vehicle. “How’d you know that?”
“I’ve got eyes, don’t I? Besides, you know how many cars and trucks I see on the job?” Finally, she looked at me, her light brown gaze traveling the side of my face and down my chest. She cocked a brow. “I’m surprised you don’t drive a truck.”
“I do. I bought this for my mother, but I have a truck too. An F350,” I said incredulously, like I needed to prove my manhood by saying so.
“License and registration?”
“For my truck?” I asked, confused. Why would she want that?
“Are you tryin’ to be funny?” She widened her legs slightly, hands on her hips now, inches away from a serious-looking Glock strapped around her tight thigh and a Taser holstered on her belt.
“No, ma’am.” I shook my head. “I was just confused.” I reached for the glove box and registration paperwork. “I apologize. It’s been a long day.”
“You’re from the Sheridan area?” she asked, watching me closely, probably in case I pulled a weapon from my glove box. It wouldn’t be unheard of in Wyoming.
“Uh, yeah. How’d you know that? Actually, I grew up right outside Wisper, but I’ve lived in Sheridan for a long time.”
“The ‘3’ at the start of your plate number gives you away,” she said, waving an arm toward the back of the car. “What brings you back?”
Loneliness.
“Family,” I said, handing her the registration, and I pulled my wallet from my back pocket, slipped my license out, and handed that to her too. “Here.”
The officer, who I now noticed had a kind of odd, quiet beauty about her with soft, wavy ash-brown hair and naturally rosy cheeks, took the ID from my hand. A lock of her hair had fallen out of the low bun at the nape of her neck under her deputy hat, and she waved it off her skin with my paperwork like a fan. She shined her flashlight over my license and glanced at my registration, and a little smile lifted the edge of her full, bare lip.
“Brand Lee. You related to Deputy Sheriff Lee?”
“Yes, she’s my little sister.”
She nodded in recognition. “Well, big brother, seems you bought yourself a brand-new, shiny lemon. That’s gonna be a hefty tow bill this time of night.”
“I’m aware. I was just lookin’ for Mike Williams’s number. I’ll call him and have him take a look at his shop. Maybe it’s just a loose hose.”
I could’ve called the dealership where I’d bought the SUV. It was seven hours away, but the manager would’ve sent someone for me from the local dealership if I asserted my affluence. I wouldn’t. I could’ve called the dealership owner on his cell, too, but I wouldn’t do that either. I wasn’t someone who kicked up a fuss to get my way. I never had been.
The deputy shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”
“You’re not from around here,” I said, detecting a subtle nuance in her speech different than what I was used to in my home state, and it occurred to me that I was now interrogating my interrogator.
“No, sir. From Oklahoma. You comin’ into town for Bax’s wedding?”
