Page 8 of Hudson
“No wonder Celine worries every time Killian walks out the door.”
“She knows what she signed up for. We’re as careful as we can be, but the men rustling nowadays don’t care about anyone but themselves. It’s lucrative enough that they’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.”
Blair picked up her drink and went quiet for a moment. She wasn’t sure she could be involved with a man who might not make it home one day.
When she set her glass down she looked at him. “I’m ready to go.”
“Sure.” He stood. He was tall, very tall, and that had always been her weakness. At five foot eight she’d never wanted to be the taller one in a relationship. She reached for her purse, but he was already pulling out his wallet.
“I’ve got this.” He caught Dixie’s eye down the bar. “I’m paying for both of us.”
“Okay, let me ring that up.” Dixie was back within minutes with a total. Hud peeled off two twenties, handed them over, and waved off the change.
“Thanks, Hud. You both have a good evening.” She headed back to the register.
Blair hopped off her stool, and Hud took her elbow, steering her through the crowd, then out into the coolevening air.
“Getting colder,” she said.
“Early May. Snow could be on the way.”
“I thought Celine was exaggerating until she showed me pictures from last year.”
Blair hit her fob and her car lights blinked across the lot. Hud walked her over and pulled the door open.
“Drive safe.”
“I will.” She glanced back toward the bar. “I hope they didn’t follow us out.”
He looked around. “Doubt it. They’ve probably moved on to their next conquest.”
“I’m glad you were there tonight, Hud.”
“Me too.”
She smiled, climbed in, then looked up at him. “Thank you. Again.”
“No problem.” He held the door a moment. “Blair, I’d like to see you again. Dinner sometime?”
“I’d like that.”
“Give me your number. I’ll call once I can get us into The Hartland.”
“I love their food.”
“Me too.” He stepped back and touched the brim of his hat as she pulled the door shut.
She started the car and drove home smiling.
Chapter Two
As Hud watched her taillights disappear down Main Street, he stood there a moment longer than he needed to. The scent of her floral perfume still lingered.
He turned back toward Dewey’s. One more beer, then home.
It had been a long time since he’d been on an actual date. Two years, three months and fourteen days, to be exact. The manila folders back at the department were stacked higher than a hay bale, but he was determined to finish Rawley’s case. They’d gotten a confession out of one of the men, but the second suspect sat stone-faced and wasn’t giving them anything. And Rawley was still healing, still coming in looking like a man held together with sheer stubbornness, his collapsed lung and two broken ribs making every breath a quiet battle.
Hud grinned thinking about Rawley walking into the office three weeks after the shooting, face still showing cuts from tree bark, demanding to be put back on the case. Dave hadn’t wanted him doing more than shuffling papers, which Rawley made clear he was unhappy about, but Hud had promised to keep him in the loop with daily calls. He trusted Rawley with his life and Rawley trusted him the same way, a bond built over years of stake-outs and close calls. Hud would do everything he could to get to the people behind the theft of Preston Mitchell’s prize Black Angus cattle. Twenty-head, worth nearly a hundred thousand dollars.
