Page 121 of Stolen for Keeps
Logan chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.” He gave me a pointed look before heading off.
I turned to Dom. “Hope this place is treating you right.”
“Barely been here a day,” Dom said, rolling his shoulders. “But if everyone’s like Logan, I might stick around.”
“Log’s one of a kind. But Buffaloberry’s got its own charm. And hey, this isn’t your first time going Montana-deep.”
Dom smirked. “Didn’t I tell you about my genius plan to open a bar in Paradise Valley?”
“Oh, right. What happened to that wild dream? Thought you were all about making your mark.”
“Turns out, getting a liquor license in Montana is about as straightforward as deposing a ghost—messy and full of delays.”
I snorted. “You gave up over paperwork? You’re a lawyer. Isn’t ‘fighting bureaucracy’ your whole brand?”
“I wasn’t that desperate, man. Besides, I have already spent most of my life arguing with people for money. Why turn it into a bar fight?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “So much for justice and whiskey.”
He hesitated then, enough for me to notice. “The truth is,” he said quietly, “last year, I almost dropped dead. Heart attack.”
My grin vanished. “Shit, Dom.”
“Yeah.” He let out a breath of laughter, but there was no humor in it. “One day, I’m in court, ripping through paperwork and thinking about my next case, my next win. Next thing I know, bam. Chest pain, ambulance, the whole nine yards. Doc told me if I kept living like that, I wouldn’t make it past forty.”
I eyed him again, his T-shirt still too clean for rancher country, though I might’ve smeared a little dirt near theLacoste logo. “And now you think ranch life is your solution?”
“Might open a fishing shop instead. No one ever had a heart attack from fishing, right?”
“You’d be the first,” I deadpanned.
He grinned, then gave me another once-over. “Didn’t know you were keeping such interesting company,” he said, his voice laced with something between amusement and curiosity. “Maya Belrose, of all people.”
I shrugged. “Life’s full of mysteries.”
His gaze narrowed. “And you called me in early, which tells me you know this one’s about to blow up.”
“Yeah.”
“Wise move, my friend. A case is at its worst right before the noise hits.”
“It’s already started,” I said. “A detective from Bozeman showed up yesterday.”
Dom tilted his head. “Frederic Harlow?”
So he’d already been digging.
“That’s him.”
“What’d he bring to the table?”
“Nothing worth writing home about.” I nodded toward my truck. “Come on. Time to meet Maya.”
We headed for The Sundown, where I introduced them.
She gave him a once-over, clearly assessing. Dom, in turn, studied her with the same cool calculation he probably used in the courtroom.
Before either of them could say a word, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then silenced it.
