LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 1

      Trace Archer hesitated on the porch. The address was correct, but he hadn’t been expecting such a large house. It rose two stories on a street that would be shady in the summertime, but on this cold March night boasted leafless branches. Probably close to a hundred years old.

      In fact, he didn’t know what he had been expecting and wasn’t remotely certain what he was doing here. And even though an old friend lived here, he doubted he’d be welcomed.

      As he was standing there hesitating, a woman popped out the front door. Covered by winter clothing, her figure was obscured, but in the porch light he couldn’t miss the long, shiny auburn hair, and when her gaze settled on him, he could tell her eyes were an unusual green, undimmed by the poor light.

      “Well, hello,” she said, pausing.

      He must be at the wrong place. John Hayes had shown him a photo of his wife once, and Ryker Tremaine had married her after John died. This woman didn’t match the photo at all.

      “Sorry,” he said automatically, shifting a little to ease the everlasting pain in his arm and hand. “I must have the wrong house.”

      He couldn’t mistake the appreciation in her eyes as her gaze swept over him. He wasn’t sure what she was appreciating, considering that, like her, he was wearing a heavy winter jacket.

      “I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said. “I don’t live here. Who are you looking for?”

      “Ryker Tremaine.”

      “Right house,” she said, then before he could respond she turned and threw the door open. “Hey, Ryker, you’ve got a friend out here.”

      “Bring him in,” came a familiar but muffled voice from inside.

      The choice taken out of his hands, Trace followed the woman inside, entering a warm, pleasant foyer. Gleaming dark wood surrounded him and a staircase led directly upward. It made him feel like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit the picture.

      “I’m Julie, by the way,” the green-eyed woman said, stripping off her gloves and offering her hand. “Julie Ardlow.”

      Trace shifted uneasily. He still wasn’t used to all the limitations of his injury and had to make a conscious decision to offer his gloved left hand to shake hers. He saw the way her eyes widened, then saw comprehension dawn. Well, it wasn’t as if he could hide it indefinitely.

      Then he heard heavy footsteps from the back of the house, and Ryker appeared. Trace experienced a sense of shock. In all the years he’d known Ryker, never had he seen the man look this relaxed, and right now he had a faint smile around his mouth. As he saw Trace, that smile vanished, and he once again looked like granite.

      “Well. I’ll be damned,” Ryker said.

      “I can leave,” Trace replied. “I was just in the area...”

      “No,” Ryker said slowly. “No. Julie, you still need to run?”

      Julie looked between the two men. Trace could almost sense her calculating whether that was a dismissal or an invitation to stay.

      “Yeah,” she said finally. “School tomorrow and all that. See you, Ryker. Nice meeting you, whoever you are.”

      “Sorry,” he said. “The name’s Trace.”

      She cocked her head a little, smiled slightly with a mouth that seemed to beg for a kiss, then headed back out the front door. Neither man moved until it closed behind her.

      “I heard you were sidelined,” Ryker said. “Didn’t expect you, though.”

      “No reason you should. I wasn’t expecting to show up here, either. If it’s a problem, I’ll leave.”

      Ryker shook his head a little. “I’ll tell my wife you’re here and make some coffee. Just...no lies, okay? There’ve been enough of them.”

      Trace didn’t have to imagine those. He lived them. But he did wonder what lies the man was expecting. Between them, there didn’t need to be any. When Ryker waved him into the living room, he unzipped his jacket partway with his good left hand, then sat on the battered burgundy gooseneck chair.

      Seldom had he ever felt more out of place. What had brought him here, anyway? A desire to find out if life after the job was possible? Ryker seemed to be making it, but then it hadn’t been that long.

      This whole house smelled of baby, he noted. Powder and sour milk. He almost smiled thinking of the huge transitions Ryker must be going through. Nothing about this would resemble being a field operative.

      At last Ryker returned with coffee for each of them. “The baby’s been fussy the last couple of days. A cold. My wife’s going to try to catch some sleep, so it’s just us.”

      That was fine by Trace. The devil of it was, he’d brought himself here and now didn’t have a damn thing to say.

      “How bad is it?” Ryker finally asked.

      “I won’t be working in the field anymore.” The least of it in some ways. Being crippled was harder to deal with than a change of jobs.

      Ryker settled on the couch and crossed his legs loosely. “Sorry, man.”

      “Not so sure I am.” This visit was pointless. He honestly didn’t know what he’d expected to find here in Conard County, Wyoming. Answers to questions about a future he was having trouble facing? He needed a shrink for that, not an old friend. Maybe he should just congratulate Ryker on his new life and get the hell out.

      “You going to be staying in town for a while?” Ryker asked.

      Was that a suggestion he leave? Trace couldn’t tell, but then Ryker had always been difficult to read. “I wasn’t planning to. I just wanted to drop by.”

      Ryker nodded slowly, still watching him. “Where will you go next?”

      “Damned if I know. Does it matter?”

      A faint frown flickered over Ryker’s face. Then he sighed. “Yeah, Trace, it matters. Word I get about you isn’t good. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, you and me, but I’m hearing things. You got trouble on your tail?”

      “I’m not sure. No one’s sure.”

      Ryker stood up then, and now there was no mistaking his reaction. “You brought that trouble right to my door? To my wife and baby?”

      “I’ve been careful. No one knows where I am right now.”

      Ryker paced three steps quickly before turning and stabbing his finger at Trace. “You came here. Who told you how to find me?”

      “Bill.”

      “Bill. Damn it all to hell.”

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