by Gerri Hill
“Berta, Morgan,” Charlie began. “This is my daughter.
Mona.”
Mona politely shook hands with Berta then turned with a wicked grin to Morgan. “So Morgan? Forest ranger, huh? Imagine that.”
Morgan coughed nervously. “Yeah, imagine that.” She stuck her hand out. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Mona laughed. “Yes, it was nice to meet you.”
Charlie frowned, looking from one to the other, then glancing quickly at Berta. Berta gave him a knowing smile.
Great. Just great. Berta knows. Just a matter of time before Charlie finds out that I slept with his daughter. Morgan wanted to slink under her desk and hide.
“So, you two have already met?” Charlie finally asked.
Morgan cast pleading eyes at Mona who only chuckled.
“Yes, you could say that.” Mona turned to her father. “I ran into her at that bar. What’s it called? Sloan’s?”
Charlie stared at Morgan. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Yeah, Morgan, why didn’t you tell him? “Well, Charlie, I didn’t know she was your daughter.”
“Well, when I told you her name was Mona, surely that rang a bell. I mean, how many Monas are you going to run into at Sloan’s?”
“I—” But Morgan closed her mouth. She refused to tell Charlie—in front of Berta, no less—that she’d slept with his daughter and she never even knew her name.
“As I recall, I don’t think we exchanged names. Did we?”
Mona asked her, that same sickening smile on her face.
Morgan knew she was blushing, and she looked quickly at Charlie, seeing the questions in his eyes as his brow furrowed, then a slight widening of his eyes as he finally put two and two together. Morgan looked away. Somebody please shoot me now.
“So…the morning you came home at three,” he said, looking at Mona, “was the same morning that Morgan came in here looking like—” He paused, his glance sliding to Morgan. “Are you saying that—”
“I’m not saying anything,” Morgan said, grabbing her coat.
“In fact, I have, you know, things to do. I have lots of things to do. So, it was nice to meet you, Mona,” she said as she headed to the door. “I hope you enjoyed your ski trip, and have a safe trip back to New York.”
She slammed the door and walked away, not daring to look back into the office. What are the chances? She rolled her eyes, making a silent vow to never pick up a woman at Sloan’s again.
CHAPTER SIX
“So that’s her?” Morgan asked Tracy as she slid her beer down the bar.
“Yeah. Doesn’t talk to anyone. Just comes in, gets a beer and burger, and leaves.”
Morgan surveyed the tall woman who was sitting alone in a booth, her long legs stretched out as she read a newspaper. Dark hair—short and shaggy—a thick wool sweater over a denim shirt, jeans and boots. Cowboy boots.
Morgan smiled smugly. “Wonder how many times she’s going to bust her ass with those boots?”
Tracy grinned. “I hear Googan is scared of her.”
“Googan is scared of his own shadow. Not that anything ever happens in this county that Googan couldn’t handle, I’m still glad they brought in somebody to replace Ned.” She glanced at the woman again. “That’s assuming she’s a real sheriff.” She lowered her voice. “Berta tells me she comes from Winter Park.”
Tracy nodded. “Googan said she was Chief of Police up there. Said she demanded they call her Chief and not Sheriff.”
“Kinda full of herself, huh?”
Tracy leaned closer. “Why don’t you go talk to her?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“I think she’s your type.”
Morgan laughed. “Oh, no. I think I’ve learned my lesson about picking up women in the bar.”
“Yeah. About that last one. I saw her—”
“Look, let’s just forget about that, okay? Because if word got out that—”
“You mean because she’s Charlie’s daughter?”
“Christ! Does everybody know?”
“Well, gee, Morgan, the place was full that night. Half the town was here.”
“Great. And she ended up being a psycho. And straight at that.”
“She was cute.”
“Yeah, a cute psycho. And she’s my boss’s daughter.”
“You didn’t know that at the time.” She paused. “Did you?”
“No. Hell, I didn’t even know her name. I woke up in the morning and she was gone.”
Tracy shook her head. “Don’t need to know about all that, Morgan. You know my mother already questions our friendship.”
“Still? I’ve been here seven years. You’d think she’d get over it already.”
“It would help if I had a boyfriend.”
“In this town?”
“I know. I need to get out of here.”
“You’ve been saying that since I met you.”
“I just love it here. Best fishing in the Rockies, if you ask me. And now snowmobiling. I mean, I work nights and have all day to play. If I move to a city, or even a nice-sized town like Gunnison, I’m looking at an eight-to-five job. And doing what? I’m a bartender.”
“You’re fast approaching thirty,” Morgan reminded her.
“I know. And still working at my uncle’s bar.”
“Well, Sloan doesn’t have kids. Maybe when they retire, you could buy the joint.”
Tracy tossed Morgan the towel and pointed at the water spot from her beer. “I’ll tell my mother you said that. She’ll be so proud that my ambition is to own a bar that she’ll quit harping on me to move to Gunnison and go to college.”
“Uh-huh,” Morgan said absently, but her attention was drawn to the new sheriff as Jeff brought over a paper bag with her dinner to go. The woman nodded at Jeff but didn’t speak.
Then she downed the last of her beer, tossed a couple of bills on the table, got up and left. “You’re right. She doesn’t speak.”
“She’s kind of mysterious, don’t you think?”
“I was going to say brooding,” Morgan said. At least that’s how it appeared to her. The woman had folded the newspaper earlier and had simply stared off into space, as if contemplating life, not even the occasional slap of the pool balls interrupting her. There was no smile, no expression. And no words as Jeff brought her dinner. Definitely brooding about something.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a beautiful morning, clear and bright, and even the tendegree temperature didn’t dampen Morgan’s mood. They’d had a couple inches of snow during the night. Not enough to hinder travel and certainly not enough to add to the base on the trails, but enough to cover the ground and trees with picture-perfect snow. These were the times that Morgan could actually admit she liked winter. Not during a driving snowstorm. Not during subzero weather. And definitely not in March and April when a late storm would push spring back yet again. But on days like today, with a crispness in the air, the sun reflecting brightly off the fresh snow, the crystal flakes clinging to the spruce and firs, and the birds and squirrels flitting about, it was nearly perfect.
And it made her miss Jackson. When he was younger, these were the mornings when he’d bound off the back porch and snorkel in the snow, his eyes bright and playful, begging for a quick walk in the woods. And she would oblige, following him along the trail as he chased after squirrels and played in the snow.
Maybe I should get another puppy.
But she shook her head. It was too hard. Let it go.
And she did, driving south out of town toward the lake.
Lake San Cristobal was one of the largest natural lakes in the state, formed by the Slumgullion Earthflow. The flow was still active, but it wasn’t affecting the lake any longer. And the lake itself was one of the most pristine Morgan had ever seen, with a backdrop of fourteen thousand foot peaks. And the view today was spectacular, the high country getting much more snow than they had down in the valley. Above the lodge, the mou
ntains showed nothing but white. She thought the first big group of snowmobilers might come around this week.
She turned where Hines Creek met the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River and saw a familiar truck parked off to the side.
She slowed, knowing Ed Wade was probably just fishing, but she wanted to check on him all the same. As she pulled behind his truck, she saw him and another man standing on snow-covered boulders fly-fishing.
She got out of her warm truck and slipped on her parka, trudging her way to the river. Ed saw her and waved.
“Hey, Morgan. Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. Most people would say too damn cold for fishing though.”
“Oh, I promised my uncle, you know. Uncle Dave? This is Morgan. Forest Service.”
“Yep,” he muttered and continued with his fishing.
Morgan raised her eyebrows.
“He’s eighty-eight. Doesn’t talk much.”
“I ain’t deaf though.”
Morgan laughed as he moved farther away from them.
“He came up to spend Thanksgiving. You know my mother leaves for the winter about now. They’ll be here until Sunday then ride back together.” He lowered his voice. “He’s feisty, so I like to get him out of the house.”
“No doubt. Well, I’ll let you get back to your fishing. I saw your truck and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“Oh, sure. Thanks, Morgan. Have a good one.”
“You too, Ed.”
She was shivering as she got back in her truck. As far as she knew, Ed fished nearly every single day. He worked as a fishing guide up at Blue Mesa mostly, or along the river here, always knowing the best spots for trout. In the fall, he took hunters up into the high country looking for elk. And in the winter, you’d find him here along the creek, fishing without a care in the world.
And most likely, his eighty-eight-year-old uncle was fishing without a license. And out-of-state at that. His mother lived in Arizona during the winter. But Ed was Ed and she wasn’t about to call him on it. He was too by the book when it came to his guide trips to bother him now. Besides, it was too damn cold to stand out and write up a citation for no fishing license. So she waved as she drove past, heading up the pass to the lodge.
It was the Monday before Thanksgiving, but already the lodge was filling. Some brought their own snowmobiles, but most of the guests rented them from the lodge. And as she suspected, the backcountry would be filled with sounds of the machines as the season got underway. If she didn’t enjoy snowmobiling herself, she’d be dreading this time of year. The quiet of the mountains was spoiled with the roar of engines. But what an exhilaration it was to fly across the snow at breakneck speed. Snowmobiling was a sport she’d picked up after she moved here and embraced wholeheartedly. Cross-country skiing, not so much.
“Hey, Kenny,” she greeted Ellen’s son. “You full this week?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. We’re completely full. I was out on the trails at daybreak. Got enough snow to let the machines out.”
“Good. Your mom around?”
“You’ll find her in the kitchen, as always.”
Ellen Patterson and her husband Rick started the lodge twenty years ago and built it into a thriving business during the winter months when most of the other rentals closed down. And they did it by offering snowmobiles and trails right off the parking lot. Sure, the trails were all on National Forest land, but Rick had sculpted his own land to blend into the forest, practically right at the snowmobile shed. And with Charlie’s help, had secured new trails to hook up with the established Forest Service trails that began closer in town and down by the river.
“Hi, Morgan, thought I heard your voice.”
Morgan accepted the cup of coffee Ellen shoved in her hands and found a spot at the bar as Ellen fidgeted about the kitchen.
And that’s what she did. Fidget. Never still for a minute. Morgan had long ago gotten used to the constant movement.
“I was just out making the rounds,” she said as she eyed the fresh baked cinnamon rolls.
Ellen laughed. “Knowing you, you smelled them down at Hines Creek.” She slid the plate closer. “Help yourself.”
Morgan bit into the warm dough with an audible moan, her tongue sneaking out to grab the icing that had lodged at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know why you won’t just open your own café up here. You’d have enough customers from the lodge to keep you busy.”
“Sloan would have our ass and you know it. Besides, running a restaurant is hard work. Sloan’ll tell you that.”
Morgan sipped from her coffee before taking another bite of the roll. “Kenny says you’re full this week. Good thing we got a little snow last night.”
“Yeah, it made the trails passable down here. If not, Rick would have had to haul them up above Slumgullion to catch the trails. Not to mention shuttling them back. But we advertise snowmobiling, so we have to deliver.” She stopped washing dishes, turning with wet hands. “Say, have you met the new sheriff yet?”
Morgan shook her head. “Nope. Saw her at the bar the other night though. But she keeps to herself. I don’t know anyone she’s actually talked to on a friendly basis.”
“She came up here last Friday.”
“Really?”
“Just to introduce herself. Very businesslike, but she seemed nice enough. Not like Ned, of course, who never met a stranger. I bet Googan was plenty pissed.”
Morgan laughed. It was common knowledge that Googan thought he’d earned the job after following around old Ned like a puppy dog all those years. What Googan didn’t know was nobody wanted him to be sheriff. Not that he was totally inept or anything. But like Barney Fife, he just wasn’t sheriff material. He watched too many movies as a kid, and half the town was afraid he’d shoot somebody for stealing a pack of gum.
“She seemed your type.”
“My type?”
“You know.”
“Not you too. What? Is the town tired of me being single?”
“Well, I heard about that woman from the other week.
Charlie’s—”
“Oh, my God! You heard it too?”
“I’m just saying, you really shouldn’t pick up strangers. You never know who they’re related to. Besides, the sheriff was kinda cute. In an arrogant sort of way.”
“Is that possible?”
“Maybe arrogant is not the right word. Indifferent. How’s that?”
“You thought she was cute?”
“Yes. Didn’t you?”
“I guess. Tall. Almost handsome,” Morgan mused. “But she had an air about her. She didn’t seem like someone I’d get along with. Too moody or something. I called it brooding.”
“Mmm. Well, I was thinking of you when I met her. That’s all.”
Morgan smiled as Ellen went back to her dishes. The lone lesbian in town and everyone was trying to fix her up. It was one of the things she loved about this community. Sure, everyone knew everyone else’s business, but it was almost like one big family. And after a few months of Charlie hauling her around and dragging her out to the bar every night, they’d accepted her as one of their own. And over the years, they’d known about nearly all of her sexual encounters, no matter how discreet she tried to be.
“Thanks for thinking of me, but I can find my own date.”
Ellen snorted. “Yeah, that’s worked out great for you so far.”
Morgan laughed good-naturedly as she left the kitchen.
§
After making her rounds up past Slumgullion and down along Hines Creek, Morgan was headed back to town by noon.
The temperature had risen into the upper twenties, and the snow had turned to slush on the roads. She slowed as she passed Sloan’s Café, smiling at the sign in the window. It still amused her. It was Sloan’s Café until about two o’clock when it became Sloan’s Bar.
A compromise between Sloan and his wife. She thought bar was far too sleazy of a name when she was serving up lun
ch.
Which is what Morgan was stopping for now. Not that she stopped often for lunch. She came enough in the evenings as it was. But today, she saw Googan’s patrol truck parked out front.
And she was just curious enough about the new sheriff to pick Googan’s brain. Because Berta had struck out with Eloise, getting only the barest of details from her. Berta said Eloise was scared of the woman. And after seeing her just the one time, she could understand why.
“Googan, how’s it going?” she asked as she sat down beside him at the bar.
“It’s going. If you call Chief Daniels riding my ass every damn day going, that is.”
“The new sheriff?” she asked casually. “Hey, Sloan. I’ll just have tea and a grilled cheese.”
“No burger?”
She grinned. “No. Had a huge cinnamon roll up at Ellen’s.”
She spread her hands apart. “This big.”
“Yeah. I hear she makes the best.” He narrowed his eyes. “She serving breakfast up there at her place now?”
“Oh, yeah. You know, free to guests.”
“And you, apparently.”
Morgan nudged Googan’s elbow when Sloan walked off.
“So? The new sheriff? How’s that working out for you?”
“She’s a beast, that’s what. Not only do I have to account for every minute of my day, I have to account for every mile. She took a look at the budget and our fuel expenses and nearly went through the roof. I told her it’s a big county. There’s a lot of driving to do.”
Morgan bit her tongue. It was a small county with only minimal county roads. The forest roads, that was her area. But maybe Googan was trying to make his case with the newbie and convince her of the vastness of the county.
“Besides, ain’t just me on the budget. Carlton gets around too, you know. And Ned, hell, we all know Ned drove all over the damn place.”
“Ned’s been gone four months,” she reminded him.
“I’m just saying, she jumped all over my ass and I ain’t the only one driving.”
“So, she’s not real laid-back, huh?”
“No, she’s got a chip on her shoulder about something, or else she’s just plain pissed off at the world. Never smiles. Hell, hardly ever talks. Unless she’s jumping my ass about something. I swear, it’s going to be a long year. Then come election time, we can send her ass packing.”