Page 17 of Trigger Happy

“At the BnB listed in the profile. The Little Red Barn,” she says, rifling through her purse. “It’s the cutest place nestled on their ranch’s property. There’s even an herb garden out front, and the best part is, there’s only one bed, so before you ask, since I know you don’t plan these things in advance, no, you can’t stay with me.”

She’s…? But I’m staying—

My thoughts jam.

Fuck.

8Sabrina

I’m impressed…” Lawton says, gravel crunching as we drive down a road lined with glittering gold aspens. Yellow leaves clash beautifully against the infinite blue sky. “It’s been twenty minutes since we passed the elk reserve outside of town, and you haven’t said a word. Not even when I left my blinker on for a good half mile. That must’ve used up all your self-restraint.”

I ignore him, looking out the passenger window instead. Outside, the sky is the kind of vast that makes you feel unimportant. In the best way. Small enough that little things don’t matter.

Inconsequential things.

Like sharing a room with my ridiculously muscular, offensively attractive, sworn enemy for the next month.

Partners.

I hold in a scream. I thought I’d have the barn all to myself. I’d been dreaming about the clawfoot tub, the Egyptian cotton, the California king. I suck in a long breath.

It will be fine.

I can handle Montoya and his sideways smirk. I refuse to let him see that he’s getting to me. Think how much this payout will add to your down payment fund, I remind myself. Besides, there’s definitely a couch. I remember it from the rental photos.

“We need to figure out what to do when we meet them,” I say, my words fogging the glass. “Oh, and we need fake names. I already decided on Sophie. That’s number six of Social Security’s top ten, so it’s popular enough.”

“I put Luke on the rental intake.” He turns the steering wheel, only using one hand like he can’t be bothered with two. “Why can’t we walk up and introduce ourselves like normal people?”

“Because saying ‘Howdy’ isn’t going to win them over. We can’t be those renters who only text when they need the Wi-Fi password. They need to like us.”

We drive beneath a dangling wooden sign that reads Queen Ranch. The main house should be a mile or so down the road, if the satellite images I looked up are correct.

“All right. Then what’s your idea?” Lawton buzzes us in the front iron gate.

I roll down the windows so I can breathe in the fresh air with a faint hint of campfire smoke. The snow-topped mountain range towers in the distance as if it’s watching over everything: from the horses grazing in the pasture to the eagle flying in the sky to the two dogs lounging in an outdoor kennel, living their best sunbathing life.

I think it over. “Okay, so Bobbi’s obsessed with pea pasta, right? What if we followed her to Green’s Grocers, bought every bag off the shelf except for one, and then when we both ‘coincidentally’ reach for the last bag, we do the no-you-take-it dance, and voila, friends.”

His lips flatten. “That’s too much work.”

“It’s called making an effort,” I say as we pass a hand-painted sign that says Do Not Let Dogs Loose! They Are Nice To People But Will Eat The Chickens!

“It’s unnecessary,” he says, driving past the open chicken coop. They’re all pecking out in the grass. “Let’s keep it simple. All we have to do is play nice with them. Be their friend.”

“Because making friends is so easy,” I mutter, turning to him in the driver’s seat. “What are we going to bond over? Bloodstain-removal tips?”

“Sounds good to me.” Lawton whistles when the main house comes into view. “Damn. We aren’t in Texas anymore.”

“And thank god for that. I’d sweat through my contour,” I say, spotting the sprawling log ranch house in the distance. “It has five bedrooms, six baths, three outdoor firepits, a wine cellar, stables, and a red-light sauna. Bobbi’s parents left her the ranch.”

“That sounds like a Christmas song for rich ranchers,” he says. “How’d you know all that?”

“Zillow.”

“Of course.”

The ranch fits perfectly beneath the mountains with its sleek wooden exterior, gigantic windows, and stone chimney with smoke curling up to the sky. If this were my home, I’d never leave. Staying here for the next month might make up for the fact that I have to spend it with Lawton. I can see Bobbi and Arch rocking on a porch swing, patiently waiting to greet their guests.