suggested. “I assume that’s who was following me, too. The guy with Ulrick was FBI.”
“Maybe. Did you ask to see any IDs?”
A doubt had seeped into Hazel’s tone. Constance glanced at her, startled. “Actually, no. That was dumb, wasn’t it? But who else would it be?”
Hazel tossed her own words right back at her. “What happened before once upon a time? It sure looks to me like somebody is mighty danged eager to find Quinn Loudon. Or something they think Loudon has or had.”
Those words made Constance recall how Roger Ulrick had placed such great emphasis on finding out if Loudon gave her anything. She wondered if it was that “ace in the hole” Loudon mentioned. The same thing they were searching for under those torn-up floorboards….
Lost in a complicated labyrinth of inner questions, Constance placed the new padlock in the hasp and secured the cabin.
Everybody talks about the weather, Hazel told herself, but nobody does anything about it.
Well, she was a McCallum, and the McCallums were doers, not talkers.
They were ten miles down the road while everybody else was taking a vote on when to leave. And McCallums never let themselves be daunted by the size of the task at hand.
She had no desire to change the weather—it suited her just fine, especially right now. But as to her beloved town of Mystery, that was a different matter altogether.
She glanced over at Connie’s pensive, pretty face as they drove back down to the valley. She admitted to herself that this young filly was a real challenge. However, Hazel thrived on challenges; indeed, they were the savory sauce at the banquet of life. The meal would be bland without them.
Hazel had a plan. Her fires were banked, but not her ambition. She wanted, more than anything else, to see Mystery go on being the kind of town it was always meant to be.
But she had to face some hard facts. She was the last McCallum, and she would leave no line behind her. Only one thing could keep Mystery from obliteration under an influx of outsiders and greedy developers: New blood that must be carefully mixed with old. She meant to create new families from the old ones already committed to the town.
She had composed a mental list of good folks in Mystery who needed hitching up. Rodeo champ A.J. Clayburn had been first on that list, and now he was happily married—even a proud new papa. Second on the list was this troubled beauty now driving them down the mountain.
She fiercely admired Constance. That gal lived up to her name: steady and faithful. Rather than flounder from notion to notion, as so many of the younger generation did these days, she had set her sights early on becoming a successful real-estate mandarin. And she’d done it.
The big problem right now, Hazel admitted, was finding just the right man for her.
Doug Huntington had been an outright disaster.And local fellows like Paul Robeck, “nice guys” and all, just couldn’t stir Connie’s feminine passions. The man who finally reined in this little filly would have to be an outsider. An exceptional one, at that.
But Hazel trusted in serendipity. Her Prussian blue gaze turned to the granite-peaked mountains surrounding them.
She recalled the special tone in Connie’s voice every time she mentioned Quinn Loudon, and Hazel’s sly little smile was back.
Chapter 6
Q uinn Loudon was on her mind when Constance went to bed on Saturday night; he was still there, like a tune she couldn’t shake, when she woke up early on Sunday morning. He never really left her thoughts all through the nearly sleepless night.
Exactly why, she couldn’t say. Obviously her ordeal had been frightening, but it wasn’t just fear she felt. Not for herself, anyway. Something about Loudon, or his plight, made her fear for him.
She had nothing but his word that he was being framed—that, and something she’d never really believed in: so-called “women’s intuition.” Where was it when she fell for Doug
“Maybe. Did you ask to see any IDs?”
A doubt had seeped into Hazel’s tone. Constance glanced at her, startled. “Actually, no. That was dumb, wasn’t it? But who else would it be?”
Hazel tossed her own words right back at her. “What happened before once upon a time? It sure looks to me like somebody is mighty danged eager to find Quinn Loudon. Or something they think Loudon has or had.”
Those words made Constance recall how Roger Ulrick had placed such great emphasis on finding out if Loudon gave her anything. She wondered if it was that “ace in the hole” Loudon mentioned. The same thing they were searching for under those torn-up floorboards….
Lost in a complicated labyrinth of inner questions, Constance placed the new padlock in the hasp and secured the cabin.
Everybody talks about the weather, Hazel told herself, but nobody does anything about it.
Well, she was a McCallum, and the McCallums were doers, not talkers.
They were ten miles down the road while everybody else was taking a vote on when to leave. And McCallums never let themselves be daunted by the size of the task at hand.
She had no desire to change the weather—it suited her just fine, especially right now. But as to her beloved town of Mystery, that was a different matter altogether.
She glanced over at Connie’s pensive, pretty face as they drove back down to the valley. She admitted to herself that this young filly was a real challenge. However, Hazel thrived on challenges; indeed, they were the savory sauce at the banquet of life. The meal would be bland without them.
Hazel had a plan. Her fires were banked, but not her ambition. She wanted, more than anything else, to see Mystery go on being the kind of town it was always meant to be.
But she had to face some hard facts. She was the last McCallum, and she would leave no line behind her. Only one thing could keep Mystery from obliteration under an influx of outsiders and greedy developers: New blood that must be carefully mixed with old. She meant to create new families from the old ones already committed to the town.
She had composed a mental list of good folks in Mystery who needed hitching up. Rodeo champ A.J. Clayburn had been first on that list, and now he was happily married—even a proud new papa. Second on the list was this troubled beauty now driving them down the mountain.
She fiercely admired Constance. That gal lived up to her name: steady and faithful. Rather than flounder from notion to notion, as so many of the younger generation did these days, she had set her sights early on becoming a successful real-estate mandarin. And she’d done it.
The big problem right now, Hazel admitted, was finding just the right man for her.
Doug Huntington had been an outright disaster.And local fellows like Paul Robeck, “nice guys” and all, just couldn’t stir Connie’s feminine passions. The man who finally reined in this little filly would have to be an outsider. An exceptional one, at that.
But Hazel trusted in serendipity. Her Prussian blue gaze turned to the granite-peaked mountains surrounding them.
She recalled the special tone in Connie’s voice every time she mentioned Quinn Loudon, and Hazel’s sly little smile was back.
Chapter 6
Q uinn Loudon was on her mind when Constance went to bed on Saturday night; he was still there, like a tune she couldn’t shake, when she woke up early on Sunday morning. He never really left her thoughts all through the nearly sleepless night.
Exactly why, she couldn’t say. Obviously her ordeal had been frightening, but it wasn’t just fear she felt. Not for herself, anyway. Something about Loudon, or his plight, made her fear for him.
She had nothing but his word that he was being framed—that, and something she’d never really believed in: so-called “women’s intuition.” Where was it when she fell for Doug