Page 43 of Stolen for Keeps
10
NOAH
Damn me. A cowboy’s gotta do what a cowboy’s gotta do, but I didn’t count on the ridge trail being blocked by a downed pine. I had to take the long way around, saddle baked, my patience thin. Now I was late, and Maya wasn’t answering her phone.
I nearly ran into Log on my way to the truck—my truck. I finally got my own wheels after this morning’s pickup. Still a rental, but at least I wasn’t borrowing anyone else’s.
“Hey, Noah boy,” he greeted with that laid-back grin.
“El’s inside,” I said. “Debating whether to start the beer or wait and pretend he has manners.”
“You in a hurry?”
“Sort of.” I yanked the door handle. “Might be too late, but I’ll try anyway.”
He narrowed his eyes, studying me. “You still trying to make something work?”
My spine straightened. “What?”
Had I told him about Blue Storm? I didn’t think so.
He held my gaze a beat longer, then shook his head. “Never mind. It’s written all over your face, cowboy.” He gavemy belt a once-over, my knife and rope still clipped, my gloves still tucked in. “Don’t you think you need to?—?”
“No time, Log.”
He raised a brow. “She’s surely got you starry-eyed.”
“Still early days,” I said, suddenly mulling over Log’s words about making it work. “We’re not exactly cut from the same mold, but I’m not above grinding the edges if it means we hold.”
Log held the edge of the door. “Well, if it wasn’t forged to match, all the sanding in the world won’t stop the friction.”
Classic Logan Pierce. Cowboy philosopher. Probably carved his first sermon into a hitching post. Then again, I was the one who started it. What the hell did I even mean by “grinding the edges”?
I was miles ahead of myself. It was just lunch. Just one meal with Maya.
And I was already running late.
So yeah, friction was coming, no matter how I cut it.
“I’ve gotta go,” I said, sliding in.
“Go on, then.” He closed the door for me.
I tore out of there and made straight for town. Buffaloberry Hill didn’t exactly have a lot of dining options, but if I had to bet, she’d gone to Mrs. Sutton’s harvest shop.
I burst in, my breath tight. “Hey, did a woman with…umm…long dark hair and about this tall come through?”
Mrs. Sutton barely looked up from the cherries she was bagging. “Oh, what’s her name? Maya?”
Of course she knew.
“She mentioned heading toward the waterfalls.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Sutton.”
“You sure you don’t want anything…?” she called, but I was already halfway out the door, tossing a wave over my shoulder.
I gunned it toward Raven Bluff.
