Cowboy's Reckoning. B.J. Daniels

be on his way to Montana?

      So maybe it was a US marshal watching out for her. That should have relieved her mind, but it didn’t. She knew Barnes. She’d looked into his eyes the second time he’d tried to kill her. He’d told her then that he would kill her no matter what it took. He would come for her—only this time he would succeed.

       CHAPTER THREE

      BILLIE DEE DROVE by her house before returning to work, but she didn’t see a US marshal lurking around. If that was who the man really was. If he was any good, then he wouldn’t have let her see him. So why had he made his presence known last night? To relieve her mind?

      Or maybe the man was a friend of Barnes. Maybe he’d wanted her to see him so she’d know it was just a matter of time. Barnes had gotten out today and already gotten rid of the law following him. That didn’t bode well.

      Maybe with luck, the men he’d snitched on would find him before he could figure out how to get from Houston to Gilt Edge, Montana. She’d calmed down some since the phone call. She felt...resigned. There was nothing she could do. Running would be fruitless. It would be just a matter of time before Barnes found her.

      She thought about the Cahills and her job. None of them should be in danger. Barnes would come in the night for her, and since she lived in a wooded area in a house isolated from other ones in town, he shouldn’t have that much trouble getting to her. Hadn’t she known from the moment she’d witnessed the murder that it was going to get her killed?

      In a perfect world, she would have left work five minutes earlier—or later that day. She wouldn’t have been a witness. She wouldn’t have had to decide if she could live with what she’d seen and keep her mouth shut. She wouldn’t have looked into Barnes’s eyes when he saw her and known that he was going to kill her.

      And he almost had. Twice. She touched the scar hidden under her hair, running her finger the length of the path the bullet from Barnes’s gun had taken the night of the murder. Life was all about timing. Five minutes one way or the other could save you—or get you killed.

      Back at the saloon, she saw that the family meeting must be over. The only vehicles out back were Darby’s pickup and Mariah’s motorcycle. The two still-practically-newlyweds were working the bar today. Billie Dee could tell by the romantic western music coming from the jukebox. It made her smile. Mariah and Darby were obviously so in love.

      She threw herself into her cooking, whipping together a huge batch of brownies from scratch. Cooking and baking were the only things that kept her mind off what was happening. There’d been a time when she would have thought about taking off, relocating, changing her last name, getting a different job...all things that she now knew wouldn’t help. If Barnes wanted to find her, he would.

      It wasn’t a coincidence that she’d looked out her window last night and happened to see the man across the street. She’d learned the hard way to watch her back. Still, there was only so much she could do.

      When the back door opened, she thought it would be a member of the family.

      “Billie Dee?”

      “Henry?” She was startled to see him again. Had he forgotten something?

      “I know you’re busy with the bar about to open and your lunch crowd on the way, but...” He had taken off his Stetson and now turned the brim in his fingers. He had nice hands, large but well proportioned. It was something she’d noticed the first time she’d met him. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me.”

      She raised an eyebrow. The invitation was so unexpected and yet she realized looking at his expression that he’d been leading up to this for a while now. That he’d gotten up the courage made her smile. But his timing sure could have been better, though.

      “I know this is short notice,” he added. “Are you free tonight?”

      Tonight? She almost laughed. Tonight she was. Tomorrow? Well, that could be another story. Her answer seemed to surprise them both. “Yes. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

      Henry broke into a huge smile that warmed her to her toes. “Good.” He looked pleased. “Say six? I could pick you up at your house, if that’s all right?”

      She returned his smile. “Six at my house.” She gave him the address, but she had a feeling he already knew where she lived. Henry wasn’t the kind of man who jumped without looking first. Also, Gilt Edge was a small town.

      The cowboy put his hat back on, tipped the brim and said around his grin, “See you tonight, then.” And he was gone again.

      Billie Dee stood in the middle of the kitchen, surprised that she needed to catch her breath. She had a date. A date. She laughed at the irony. But she felt better about everything, even though it made absolutely no sense. Tomorrow... Well, she’d deal with that when it happened. But tonight... Tonight she had a date with a handsome cowboy. She laughed again, feeling young and excited and alive—at least for a while. And yet as she turned back to her cooking, tears burned her eyes. Why now?

      She’d joked that she’d come to Montana to find herself a handsome cowboy, but she’d never dreamed that one would actually show up at her age. Fighting tears, she began to sing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” as the timer went off. As she pulled the large pan of brownies from the oven, Mariah came in, one hand on her protruding belly.

      “Tell me I smell brownies,” the young woman said.

      Her back to Mariah, she hurriedly wiped at her tears. “I was just about to cut some to bring out to you.”

      “You are the best, Billie Dee,” Mariah said and gave her a quick hug. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

      * * *

      “YOU HAVE A DATE?” C. J. Larson asked, giving his father the once-over later that evening. “Is that a new shirt?”

      Henry smiled at his youngest son. At twenty-seven, C.J. was four inches taller and stronger looking than his older brother, Tom. It always surprised him when he realized that his sons were now grown men.