Page 9 of The Lonely Road

He’s probably sleeping with Bree Keaton, I deduce.

I get more information about Kaz from Feig, with interruptions from Eunice, who, it appears, listens to every conversation in her diner. I make a mental note to come to the Horseshoe every morning to get the Wildflower Canyon news.

“He bought the Hendricks spread three years back, turned it into a golf course. People were mighty upset with him about that,” Feig tells me.

“But he ain’t like that. Protected Bree’s ranch, didn’t he? And helped out Duke and Mav. Hell, he saved Sarah and Cade’s lives when Violet went crazy,” Eunice interjects.

I pretend I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I do. Wildflower Canyon has had a spirited few months, what with the scandal of now-disgraced and deceased Congressman Landon Mercer, who raped young women and was murdered by his wife. One of his victims is a vet in Wildflower Canyon and is married to the Congressman’s brother, to boot.

Small towns and their incestuous ways.

Feig waves a hand to dismiss Eunice. “You know I love Kaz, Eunice. He’s good people.”

I do my pretend job for the day and get back to my real one when I overhear Joy at Wild Coffee inviting Elena Wilder to dinner at Blackwood Prime with the girls.

Blackwood Prime is a steakhouse owned by Mav Kincaid and the only fine-dining option in town. Polished leather booths, wine lists in French and Spanish, perfume in the air instead of beer—the complete antithesis of The Rusty Spur.

I don’t wear a suit, but I do put on a fresh white dress shirt with my jeans and boots. Anything with a designer label stays back at my place in New York—storage, more than anything.

I hardly ever use the apartment in Chelsea. I got it when I realized I owned more than I could carry in a suitcase. It’s not home.

Then again, I haven’t had a home since the divorce. It’s not in Florida, where my parents are getting older, and not with my siblings, scattered across the country, in houses where I’m always a guest.

There isn’t a place in the world I can call mine. I tell myself I don’t mind it.

But this morning at the diner, I felt a flicker of something—what it must be like to be known. To have people who track your life, who poke into your business because they care about you and the people around you.

I have friends—my brothers from back in my military days. They’re a safe place. People I call when I need their expertise, like the guy who does my investigation work for me, but they’re not home.

According to Joy, dinner is at seven, so I get there by six thirty.

I take a seat at the bar at Blackwood Prime.

I want to get the lay of the land. I also want to be there when she arrives. I haven’t seen her walk yet, and I absurdly want to.

The people at Blackwood Prime are dressed up as much as one can be in Wildflower Canyon. There are men in suits with cowboy hats. Women who are elegantly dressed—though I did see one in jeans. It’s an eclectic sartorial space—but everyone who is here needs to be able to afford a seventy-dollar steak.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Kaz says from behind me. I clocked him as soon as he came into the establishment, so I’m not surprised he made a beeline for me.

He’s not in a suit and isn’t wearing a cowboy hat either. He’s in slacks and a T-shirt—both Kiton. The man has wealth, and from my file, I know it’s tech money. He founded a company that sold to one of the big giants, and he brought himself and his money back to Wildflower Canyon, where he grew up.

I offer my hand. He shakes it, measured as before, then takes a seat.

“Bailey, darlin’, I’ll have the usual.”

Bailey, darlin’, is the bartender, and she doesn’t seem like someone who anyone could call “darling” if she won’t allow it.

“How’s it goin’, Kaz?” Bailey muses as she pours a finger of Macallan 12, same as what I’m drinking, for Kaz.

“Good enough.”

“Heard your truck was parked all night at the Keaton ranch.” Bailey folds her arms and gives him a once-over.

“I was fixin’ her⁠—”

“Pump,” Bailey finishes for him, and there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You were fixin’ it all night?”

“Christ, woman! Don’t you have other customers to hassle?”