by Nicole Snow
I hold, watching suspiciously, waiting to fire.
The semi’s driver side door swings out with a squeal.
Then that silhouetted body emerges into the light.
Big.
Bulky.
With a face as hard as stone and a smile as slick as oil, Declan Eckhard casually aims a pistol my way.
It’s one hell of a question who’ll shoot first.
I’m trained right on his heart.
He’s aiming right between my eyes.
But my finger goes numb on the trigger as he speaks, calm as you please, his voice just as slick as his smile.
“Good evening, Libby,” he growls. “If you’d ever like to see your lovely sister alive again, would you be so kind as to lower your gun?”
22
Cart Before the Horse (Holt)
Libby didn’t come home last night.
I still feel weird calling it home, but dammit, that ranch means something, almost as much as she does.
When I’d texted last night, she replied back almost instantly.
Felicity doesn’t feel safe. Staying over. See you tomorrow, champ.
Champ?
She’s never called me that before. Part of me wonders if she’s cooking up new pet names.
It’s weird, impersonal, a little mocking even for Miss Sassy herself.
Not like the way we usually are where sarcasm is half the lead-up to a fight and half foreplay.
Maybe kissing her like the ship was sinking in front of Felicity and my brother last night was a little too much, and she needed some space.
I overheard her conversation with her friend at The Nest, even if I wasn’t supposed to.
Am I really looking at her the way my brother looked at Peace?
Shit.
I remember watching them together back in the winter, marveling at how fast that redheaded hippie girl poached my brother’s heart.
If that’s how I look at Libby, can you blame a man?
And can you blame me for being in the only frigging jewelry shop in Heart’s Edge, blundering around like a moose, looking for something I can give her?
Not a ring.
It’s too early for that, even if a psycho part of me says do it.
No—I want something that’ll make her think of me when she touches it, the same way I know she thinks of her old man when she touches that little constellation necklace she always wears.
Something to remind her I picked it out just for her.
“I don’t know,” Alaska drawls at my side, rubbing at his thick, dark beard as he looks down into the jewelry case. “It’s a flower. Don’t girls like flowers?”
I eye the gaudy rhinestone orchid he’s looking at and snort.
“Alaska, I don’t know how you can be so damn smart, but this damn stupid.”
“Hey,” he grunts. “Look, I—”
“Yeah, yeah. More experience with polar bears than with women. Ain’t that always your line?”
He scowls at me. “You gotta tell the whole town that?”
From behind the counter, the clerk—Cindy Northman, another of my old high school classmates—tries not to laugh, covering her mouth politely. I’m glad she’s married off with a family, not still pining away for yours truly.
“Holt Silverton, are you really in here buying jewelry for a lady?” she asks. “For Liberty Potter?”
Sometimes it’s actually helpful having everyone in a little town knowing all your business.
Still, I make a face at her.
“Might be. You want to try being more helpful than this lunk?” I thump Alaska’s arm.
Cindy clears her throat around another laugh. “Well, what kind of stuff does Libby like?”
“Stars,” I say immediately. “But that’s more her memory with her dad. I want something for us. She loves horses, her ranch, and she’s always wearing red and yellow. Maybe something gold, or something with a ruby?”
Cindy clucks her tongue. “That’s a little simple, Holt. Favorite colors? Horses?” She shakes her head. “Let’s try something else. Tell me about the first time you kissed.”
I eyeball her. “If I hear about this from anyone else...”
“Oh, I’m not asking for gossip!” she says with a snicker, her cheeks flushing. “Really, do you think I’m that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe just a little.” Her smile turns impish, but it’s actually sweet, not flirty.
It feels like I’ve turned a corner.
Maybe some folks around here are starting to believe I’m not the scoundrel I used to be.
And maybe they’re rooting for me and Libby, too.
Not just waiting to see how I muck it all up.
I shake my head. “The first time, she actually kissed me. There’ve been a lot of kisses since then, but I could tell you about the night I kissed her. Right when I realized I was falling in love with her.”
“Please do.” Cindy’s eyes light up like she’s got a million stars in them.
Alaska nudges me. “Boss, did you just tell this nice lady you’re in love with Libby? I’m pretty sure you ain’t even said it to her yet?”
I wince, nodding.
“Never mind that,” Cindy says. “Tell me about the kiss!”
“All right, all right,” I say, laughing and rubbing the back of my neck. “It was at the Norton’s barn dance. She was all dolled up in the prettiest dress, and she just looked like a flower drifting every time she moved. We danced together until it was too hot to breathe. Then we went for a walk under the stars. We were talking about her daddy, about us, and I told her how she gets me all messed up inside.”
I can still see her that night.
Looking up at me with those sky-blue eyes that turn me inside out.
“I remember how all her colors turned silver in the moonlight, bright and pretty as you please. She looked like goddamn magic, Cindy.” I can’t stop smiling.
Cindy mouths a silent wow.
“That’s when it hit me. I knew I could look at Libby and want to kiss her for the rest of my life. She lit up my world like she was the moon and all the damn stars a man could ever need.”
There’s silence.
I realize I’ve been shooting my mouth off like some purple prose spewing kid with a crush. I look away sharply, clearing my throat.
“Think that’s how it went, anyway,” I mumble.
“Damn, boss,” Alaska says in a soft hush. There’s something like respect in his voice, though I don’t really understand why. “You’re serious about this bird.”
“Holt,” Cindy sighs, and Christ her voice is practically dripping with all this dreamy emotion. “That’s lovely. I think I know just the thing.”
Finally.
I’m ready to start cursing with relief.
It’s so embarrassing I want to get this done and get the hell out of here.
I’m also aching to be with Libby.
I think after a quick stop on-site to make sure the new framing is going okay, I’ll head back to the ranch and surprise her. Spend lunch with her before we both get back to work.
Cindy guides me away from that hideous case of rhinestones and over to another display, where delicate pieces are laid out against black velvet. They sparkle under the lights without overwhelming with too much glitter—letting you appreciate the more finer bits.
The moment I lay eyes on it, I know exactly what Cindy wants to show me without even being told.
It’s a bracelet.
At first, I’d have scoffed at it for Libby. She’s a rough and tumble girl who’ll break something so light in a heartbeat. That’s the thing with her, though.
She’s rough and tumble to her core, but she’s delicate, too.
She never breaks, and I know she won’t break this.
The chain is figaro-style, thread-thin, crafted so fine with tiny diamonds no bigger than seed pearls. They’re interspersed between the large links and the small ones, glittering like tiny stars
.
And dangling from it, I smile when I see it.
A crescent moon.
Its framing is silver with crushed diamonds inside.
Fine as powder, like moondust itself, making that crescent moon shine as bright as the real moon did overhead while I looked down at Libby, all silver and gorgeous and breathtaking.
Yeah, fuck.
I can feel it in the swell of my chest, in the slow smile growing on my lips.
That’s the one.
“It’s perfect,” I say, and Cindy lights up with a pleased smile. “How much?”
“Three thousand dollars even,” she chirps.
Alaska lets out a soft whistle, giving me a troubled look. “Boss, with the cashflow issues lately...”
“Don’t worry, big guy. I’ve got it covered.”
That’s when I slip my hand into my back pocket and pull out a small velvet box.
Once, the same box held my hopes and dreams before they were pulverized in a New York minute by Barry the fuck and that banshee Calypso, hanging on his arm.
Now?
Now it’s just a protector for an overpriced piece of useless jewelry.
I set the ring box on the counter and flip it open.
The five-carat Bulgari ring inside nearly blinds poor Cindy in the shop’s lighting.
The diamond is obscene, marquise cut and set inside a concentric frame of white gold. It’s an antique, one of those things you buy as much for the prestige as the size of the ridiculously large rock.
I’d bought it for Calypso because it suited her.
Like hell I’m going to recycle something picked for another woman for Libby.
She’d probably just laugh her head off at the sight of the thing, anyway.
Cindy stares, though.
So does Alaska, and he gives me a wide-eyed look. “Boss, is that the same—”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Trust me, I don’t need it anymore.”
Cindy bites her lip. “You want to sell this?”
I nod. “I’ve got the papers and everything. It’s over sixty years old, used to belong to some big Italian opera guy. Paid a small mortgage for it. Different times.”
With a sharp gasp, Cindy tears her wide eyes away from the ring and back to me. “Oh, my. I don’t think we can...” She swallows. “I’ll have to talk to the owner, Holt. We-we need to get an appraiser, you see, and—”
I chuckle. “Deep breath. I’m not expecting full price. How about you hold that for me, lock it up in the safe, and write me the paperwork so you can hold it for appraisal? When you’ve got the owner’s approval and a price, you can call me, and we can trade off for the sale and the bracelet.”
“S-sure,” she says, looking a little pale.
I think it might just scare her a little to have that kind of responsibility on her hands.
There’s probably never been a ring this expensive in Heart’s Edge in her life. She’s probably too young to even have been a sparkle in Gerald Bostrom’s eye.
Thinking of Bostrom is sobering, though.
As much as I’m riding on cloud nine, we still have trouble.
While Cindy bustles away to open the safe and draw up the paperwork, Alaska gives me an amused look. “You sure you want to be selling off that ring? Seems more like you should be buying one?”
I snort. “She’d kill me if I popped the question this soon. That’s moving so fast she’d push me off the cliff if we showed up by the valley to do the flower toss all the locals do.”
Not to say I’m not thinking about it.
Thinking about it way more than I should be.
“Love doesn’t run on schedules,” he says gravely.
I give him a flat look.
“That some mountain man wisdom you learned up there in the wild?”
With a long, patient sigh, he just eyes me. “One day, boss, you’re gonna stop giving me a heap of shit.”
“Not today, pal,” I tease, before frowning as my phone goes off in my pocket. “One sec.”
I step away from both Alaska and the jewelry counter as I pull out my phone and check the number. It’s one of the guys on my crew, Steve, who keeps an eye on the office when I’m not there.
I swipe my thumb over the screen and lift the phone to my ear.
“What’s up?” I say.
“Hey, boss,” Steve says, but I can already tell from the tone of his voice that something’s very wrong. “You might want to get down here quick. You’ve got company—and she’s real upset.”
“She” turns out to be the wrong Potter.
I was so worried about Libby I went tearing back to the site like my ass was on fire, leaving Alaska to wrap up the transaction and get the paperwork finished so I can either get my ring back or get paid—and I may or may not have broken a few laws, both speeding and texting while driving.
It scares me to think why Libby would be in my office, but she isn’t answering her phone and didn’t call me first.
It fucks with me even more when I go busting into the trailer and see the state Sierra Potter’s in.
She’s hunched in the chair opposite my desk like she’s cold even though it’s blistering hot out—curled in on herself with her arms wrapped around her like she’s trying to hold her heat in, damn well shivering.
Her arms are bare.
They’re covered in bruises.
Her sleeveless pink blouse is ripped and dirty. Same for her white denim capris, and where her legs are bare, she’s covered in scratches. Some of them deep, the blood drying but still wet enough to be bright red.
Her hair’s tangled, straggling out of its ponytail, dirty and littered with grass and leaves.
And her face.
Holy fuck, her poor face.
Her mouth looks swollen like she’s been hit with a brick, all split with dried blood, a black ring around her eye, her jaw a purple lump.
I don’t care what she’s done to Libby.
If Declan did this to her, I will fucking slaughter him.
You don’t treat a girl like this.
Not fucking anybody.
Especially not the sister of the girl I love.
“Sierra,” I blurt out, stepping in—and she flinches, looking up with haunted eyes. “One second, let me get the first aid kit—”
“There’s no time!” she gasps. “I barely made it, Holt. I barely got away, and if he notices I’m gone and figures out I came to you...”
Her lips are trembling frantically, her eyes wet.
I go still, staring at her.
“Declan?”
She nods miserably, staring at me, guilt burned all over her face.
“I...I tried to save her,” she whispers. “I tried to save Libby, but I couldn’t. You have to go to her. You have to, before he hurts her any m-m-more—”
Any thought I have that this might be a trick breaks off when Sierra bursts into deep, rasping sobs, tears pouring down her face as she buries her head in her hands.
She’s not that good an actor.
Fuck.
I curl my hand against Sierra’s shoulder, gripping tight, the only reassurance I can offer right now when my mind’s on Libby, my thoughts racing. I grab my phone and try texting her again—and then stop, staring at the text she sent me.
“She said she was staying with Felicity last night,” I say. “Was she?”
Sierra shakes her head miserably before grasping my wrist like I’m her only lifeline.
“I’m the one who...who s-sent that. He made me. I tried to give you a hint—champ.”
I close my eyes, swearing, but then tap out another text just to try anyway.
I have to, instead of relying on someone else’s word.
Libby. If you’re safe, tell me the name of the horse I used to ride when I’d come by your place as a kid.
Even a wrong answer would tell me something.
Nothing comes back.
Nothing again when I try to call, either, all while Sierra watches me with w
oebegone eyes.
While I swear for the hundredth time, she shakes her head slowly.
“He took her phone,” she says, rubbing at her nose. “And her truck. It’s all banged up. I saw them bring it in last night. He’s...he’s trying to make her show him where the treasure is.”
I stare at her, bewildered.
“What goddamn treasure? There’s nothing in Ursa but some old antiques that might not even be worth all that much.”
“I don’t know!” she bursts out, almost wailing. “He’s been obsessed, ever since he realized Libby’s been hiding something down there. The dead guy just makes him think it’s something priceless enough to kill over. I...I couldn’t tell him, I didn’t know.”
She touches her face then, right below her black eye, and that’s when it clicks.
Declan thinks there’s a secret fucking treasure in Ursa.
Not realizing the treasure is Ursa, and possibly that stupid rock.
He thought Libby and Sierra were hiding it, and he beat Sierra, trying to get it out of her.
Then, when she didn’t cough up details, he went after Libby.
My jaw clenches alligator tight.
Death is too good for that fucker.
I take a slow breath, trying to clear the red mist of rage from my mind before it’s too late. I have to calm down before I get Libby killed, charging out there unprepared.
“Are they in Ursa now?” I ask. “Is that where he took her?”
Sierra nods slowly. “Last night, him and a bunch of guys. Those trucker thugs he owes money to, they set up camp. Said they weren’t moving until they found something big out there.”
I could almost smile, if I didn’t want to snarl.
History’s repeating itself as tragedy and farce this time.
Looks like Danny the Rattlesnake found himself a successor.
“Give me your phone,” I demand.
Sierra gives me a blank look, her hand hovering near the pocket of her jeans, but she hesitates. “Wh-why?”
“I’m calling Declan,” I tell her. “He’ll pick up for you.”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head frantically. “You can’t! If...if you use my phone, h-he’ll know I went to you, Holt. I won’t be able to go back and—”
“Sierra, listen.” I pull the other chair over next to her and sit down, propping my elbows on my thighs and leaning forward, watching her intently. “Why do you want to go back?”