“Let me just say that the women in Drum seem to have other concerns, and I live in Drum.”

He shuddered and grimaced.

We were silent for a moment, and I figured his thoughts had moved past the pubic hair (or possible lack thereof) of the women in Drum, but what he said still surprised me.

“I think we’re goin’ about this all wrong.” He cast a glance in my direction. “Instead of keepin’ you hidden for the rest of your life, we need to figure out how to bring the bastard down.”

The bastard meaning my father.

My jaw dropped and I stared at him like he’d announced he was thinking about running through town naked. While I fully intended to do something about my father—after I got Bart out of the way—Hank had always been after me not to borrow trouble. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You’re tellin’ me that you intend to spend the rest of your life in Drum? That would be an absolute waste.”

“And you’re telling me you’d leave Drum?” I asked. “Because we’re family now, Hank, and I’m not leaving without you.”

“I was born on this mountain, and I’ll die here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You, on the other hand, dropped in outta nowhere, and you can leave just as easily. But not until I know you’re safe. I’ve been given’ some thought on how to deal with your father.”

I shook my head, staring at him in horror. “Hank, you need to stay far away from my father. He’s no one to mess around with.”

“You see a one-legged old man in this chair,” he said with a look of defiance. “But I assure you, I was once a man to be feared.”

“I know you were.” My mind was working overtime, trying to figure out how to defuse this situation. “But one bad guy at a time, okay?”

“Why are you so damn set on bringin’ down Bart Drummond?” he asked in contempt. “His history has nothing to do with you.”

Because he threatened to release information to have you arrested. But I couldn’t tell him that because he’d likely go confess rather than let that asshole think he was controlling me.

“You know I blame him for Seth’s murder. I vowed to hold the people responsible for his death accountable.”

“And you did,” he said. “You killed Carson Purdy. And Carson and Bingham took care of the rest.”

My first night in town, I’d see three men drag Hank’s seventeen-year-old grandson out of a motel room several doors down from mine. They’d killed him in cold blood. Carson Purdy, Bart Drummond’s ranch overseer, had been behind it. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think Bart might have been involved too. Even if the authorities had claimed otherwise.

“We don’t talk about your past much,” I said. “But I need to know more. I need to know how bad it was.”

“The past is the past,” he said with a sigh, then his voice took on a hard edge. “I ain’t that man anymore, but I can drag him out of the closet if need be.”

“You can’t take on my father, Hank,” I said. “He’s bigger and badder than Bart Drummond.”

“Don’t underestimate me, girlie,” he said, stroking the back of the kitten’s head. “I’m capable of more than you think.”

That was exactly what I was afraid of.

Chapter Three

Molly’s car was in the parking lot when I pulled in at five minutes before noon. I usually showed up earlier when I worked the lunch shift, but I had purposely arrived as late as possible, hoping to avoid the fallout of Molly being fired. I could hide out in my car and wait for her to leave, or I could go in and go over the lunch specials with the cook, Tiny.

I was done hiding from my problems, so I got out of the car.

Tiny was in the kitchen with his newest cook, Pickle, the fourth assistant cook since I’d started. The first had been murdered and the other two fired. So far, Pickle (the nickname Tiny had given him; Max had told me his real name was Fred) was working out better than the last two.

Tiny cast me a dark look when I stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Don’t you think about crossing that line.”

Tiny didn’t have many rules, but he wouldn’t stand for anyone setting foot in his kitchen.

“Is Max talking to Molly?” I asked.

He cast a glance out through the server window, then grimaced. “Yeah, and it don’t look pretty.”

“Then I’m a refugee seeking asylum.”

He laughed at that, then motioned me in. “I like you, kid.”

I walked in and peered through the window myself. Max and Molly were standing next to the bar, and even though they weren’t raising their voices, their body language made it obvious their talk wasn’t going well.

I perched on a stool in the corner, out of sight from the front. “How long has that been going on?”

“Five minutes or so. Ginger walked in and heard ’em, then walked right back out.”

“To be fair,” Pickle said, “they were a lot louder when she walked in. Max started talkin’ to her, which only pissed Molly off more.”

I nodded. I suspected Ginger had headed over to Wyatt’s garage to hang out with her husband until the coast was clear. “What’s the lunch special?”

“Tuna melt,” Tiny said with a look that dared me to protest. He knew I hated tuna melts.

“Good thing I had time to prep the dining room last night,” I said. “We’re gonna be lucky to open on time as it is.” I leaned forward and got another glance at the two of them. Molly was pointing her finger at Max, jabbing it like she was trying to make a point. Thankfully, Max didn’t look like he was about to cave.

Then Molly turned abruptly, and her gaze landed on me through the window.

I froze, wide-eyed, then sat back on the stool. “Shit.”

A few seconds later, Molly showed up in the doorway to the kitchen. “Happy now, bitch?”

Tiny took a step forward and pointed to the back door. “You need to be leavin’. Now.”

Molly shot him a feral glare, released a frustrated growl, and threw the back door open so hard it bounced off the outer brick wall. She stomped out, then banged it shut behind her.

“That’s the most excitement I’ve seen since I got here,” Pickle said, his eyes shining.

“Stick around long enough and you’ll see plenty more,” Tiny said, then he looked at me with raised eyebrows, but his tone gentled. “The coast is clear now. You scoot.”

I walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Love you too, Tiny.”

“Awww…” Pickle said with a grin.

Tiny’s face reddened, the first time I’d ever seen him blush. I pulled my dinner out of my purse and put it in Tiny’s refrigerator.

“My cookin’ not good enough for you?” he asked as I shut the door.

“On the contrary,” I said with a laugh. “It’s too good. My jeans were getting tight.” I stuck my thumb under the waist of my jeans to demonstrate.

He rolled his eyes, and I shot him a grin as I walked off to stow my purse in my locker in the backroom. Max was behind the bar when I walked into the dining room, his hands on the counter, his head hanging between his arms.