Page 65 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
I scooped up Pickle from his spot in the kitchen where he was gnawing on a rawhide bone. “Come on, puppy.”
Taking him downstairs, I plopped him in the grass without his leash. His training with Dad was going so well he was now obeying “sit,” “stay” and “come,” so I didn’t have to keep him leashed at all times to avoid him running away.
I followed him slowly as he let his nose lead him to the perfect pee spot. When he selected the place, he lifted his leg and did his business, then trotted up ahead to mark more grass. “Come, Pickle,” I called when he was done. He bounded over and I scooped him up again to go back inside.
“H
ello!” a woman’s voice called out right as I started up my stairs.
I turned and saw one of my guests and her husband walking down the sidewalk, ready to cross the highway and head for Main Street.
“Hi!” I waved. “How are you? How is everything with your room?”
“We’re great and the room is just so lovely. We’re heading downtown to do some exploring.”
“Sweet! Enjoy the sunny afternoon. If you’re up for some fun later, you should check out the county rodeo. It’s out at the fairgrounds.” I pointed down the highway in the opposite direction from town and rattled off directions.
They both nodded eagerly, excited to check out something “Western” and then continued toward Main Street.
And I went back upstairs with a smile.
This time of year was hectic. Reservations were packed as closely together as I could fit them, and on any given day I had at least seven rooms to turn over. But the interactions with my happy guests made it all worth it. I loved being a part of family vacations, part of bucket-list trips. I loved helping people get acquainted with my hometown.
Settling Pickle back down with his bone, I collected my things from the kitchen. With my purse slung over my shoulder and an enormous box of triple-chocolate-chip brownies in hand, I came back to the living room. “All right. I’d better get going.”
Hunter tipped his head backward. “Bye, baby. I’ll text you when we get there.”
“Okay.” I brushed my lips to his. “My car keys are on the counter.”
“Got it.”
“Bye, buddy. Be good.” I touched Coby’s hair and got an absentminded, “Bye, Mommy.”
I walked to the door and swiped Hunter’s truck keys from the dining room table. The moment my hand touched the metal cluster, his phone, also in the jumble, lit up with a text notification. A text my eyes read without permission.
Nell: What happens next is your fault.
I blinked, unsure what I was reading. Then the screen went black.
Nell? Who was Nell? And why was she threatening Hunter?
I turned around to the couch to ask, but I closed my mouth before the words came out. I’d just invaded Hunter’s privacy by looking at his phone, and as much as I wanted to know about Nell, I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
Hunter was as private as ever about his past. During this last month, I’d been patient, waiting for him to open up about his family and life in Chicago, but I hadn’t learned much because we spent so little time talking.
We spent our nights entertaining Coby and my son didn’t care about Hunter’s upbringing, career or family tree. And after Coby would fall asleep, I hadn’t cared either. I’d been much more concerned about getting Hunter naked than deep, heartfelt conversations about his job or childhood upbringing.
Who was Nell and why was she threatening Hunter?
I was his girlfriend but I hadn’t the first clue.
“Maisy, you’re going to be late.”
“Huh?” I jerked out of my stupor and focused on Hunter. “Oh, right. Bye.”
I walked out the door and around the office to the parking lot in a daze. Climbing into Hunter’s truck and adjusting the seat, I pulled onto the highway and headed toward the fairgrounds, still in a fog.
My mind was stuck on that text.
