Page 31 of Waiting in Wyoming

He had a reputation, after all.

Dale stepped into his home office long after Michelle had taken off to meet Sierra for lunch at the dining room at the Talley Inn in Masterson. It was a favorite place for both—they said it brought them closer tohisroots. He wasn’t as in love with the town as his wife and daughter were, by any means. Far from it.

If he’d had his way, he would have moved to Cheyenne decades ago, but Michelle loved Masterson County.Herroots, after all. And the connections his wife had in Masterson County had greatly helped Dale in his own quest. No denying that. He had been a working man who had married up, then worked his way through law school to build a reputation as a man who made a difference.

Easier to do that in a small town than in a larger one like Cheyenne.

He had files to go over. He had a list of names associated with Morris. He needed to make certainhehad never come into contact with them—in either the legal arena or in his side dealings. Just to make certain.

The last thing Dale needed was a taint on his reputation now.

Dale had just settled into his desk when the door opened. On his damned home office.

Dale’s hand slipped toward the middle drawer. Where his revolver waited.

When he saw the man who walked in, he almost pulled it. Almost.

“How in the hell did you get in here?”

“Through the front door, Dale. Through the front door. You’d think such a noted judge you’d be better at personal security, man.” Bruce Tyler stepped right into the center of his home office and took the chair near the desk for himself. “Ah-ah, pal. Hand away from that drawer. Think I’m stupid? I know all about your little peashooter. Mine’s bigger anyway.”

The rather large handgun pointed at Dale kept Dale from moving an inch. “What do you want?”

“You and I—we have a project, don’t we?” Bruce smirked at him. Dale had always hated those fucking Tylers. Since he’d been a kid and Ned and Bill had kicked his ass over something stupid. No good trash littering the streets of Masterson. This was their youngest brother—Bruce was twenty years younger and a hell of a lot physically stronger than Dale.

And had evil in his soul. No denying that. “We don’t have a damned thing.”

“Now, that’s just a lie. You’ve made a mess of things. Now, we’re going to clean it up.”

Dale stayed right where he was. And listened.

23

Brandt was a man on a mission.Early the next afternoon, once his doctors—Rhea and Shane Lowell—gave him an official all-clear, he made his way back to the house that would be where he and Meyra would live. If she didn’t send him packing, anyway, for making demands of her that she wasn’t ready for yet.

He hadn’t seen her in almost a full day. Since that last kiss in the lobby. She had been remarkably hard to find. He suspected her family was behind that. They were conspiring to hide her from him. He was sure of it.

Even Marin had been giving him smirking little looks like she knew a secret.

He was still formulating the logistics of his plan, but first—he and Mac had been to his house two days ago. He’d spoken with the Preston girls—they were staying in a two-story farmhouse that had once been the foreman’s place on his ranch. He hadn’t had the heart to charge them rent. The larger property next door had been where they had grown up. After their father’s arrest, they hadn’t wanted to stay there any longer. Not with the threat of losing the house hanging over their heads. They’d wanted some sort of stability for their little brother.

Brandt had purchased the entire Preston property at thirty-five percent below appraisal value.

It had been one hell of a deal. But when he’d gotten the keys from the oldest girl, she had had tears in her eyes. The girls had been staying at the inn. He hadn’t been able to stand it.

Now they lived together in that house an eighth of a mile away. He made a point of checking on them when he could—he’d want someone to keep an eye on Powell if she was in that kind of situation. It was how his parents had raised him, after all.

Now, he had questions for the girls. Those three assholes who had attacked him could have hurt Fallon, Molly, or Karyann. Or little Myles could have stumbled right into them. He was eight years old and liked to show Brandt his rather impressive fossil collection whenever he could. Brandt had a fossil from a dig in Brazil he wanted to give that boy—his cousin Trevor was an archeologist and had sent it to him on request.

He just needed to make certain they were doing okay and then check the property more thoroughly. He wasn’t doing it alone—he’d grabbed Fletcher Tyler for a ride. The man lived close to town and was often in and out of the inn. Especially when Charlotte was around.

Fletcher had agreed to drop him off at the local car dealership as well. Mac had told him his truck was going to cost more to repair than he had anticipated, and it would be a while. Brandt needed transportation. Fast.

He had plans, damn it.

An hour later and it was done. He drove the truck right off the lot. A brand-new truck, a year newer than his current model. Dark blue this time instead of the cherry red from before.

Now, he felt more in control of his life again. At least a little.