Hot on the Trail. Vicki Tharp

kneading and pounding again.

      “Your grandfather will be in tonight,” her grandmother said. “He cut the cattlemen’s meeting short and will catch the last flight out of Boise.”

      “I called Hank and Mac on the satellite phone, but they’re so far out, it’ll be dark before they’re home,” Boomer said.

      Jenna took the information in. A mental paralysis had her staring blindly at the table. Alby and Santos were out checking fences, out of radio range, oblivious to the tragedy.

      “We need to make those calls,” Boomer said.

      Jenna glanced at the notepad and the list of people she needed to notify. “I need to make those calls. This is my deal, my program, my calls.”

      The stool barked as Boomer stood abruptly and snagged the pad of paper out from beneath her pen tip. He shook it in the air. “You may have started the program, but we’re all a part of this.”

      Sidney took a sip of her cold coffee, her nose wrinkled. Her short red hair lay flat against her head, the mousse having worn out from all the times she’d scrubbed her fingers through it. “Bryan’s right. This isn’t something you should have to do alone. We’ll divvy up the calls.”

      Jenna’s chest got tight again, and her nose stung. “Have I ever told you guys how lucky I am to have you in my life?”

      “Psssh.” Sidney waved her hand dismissively. “You’re family. No blood relation required.”

      “I’ll notify his mother,” her grandmother offered.

      Boomer copied down the number on a new sheet and handed it to Lottie, who pinched the corner between two flour-covered fingers.

      “I’ll call the funeral home,” Sidney volunteered.

      Boomer scribbled on a clean sheet and gave it to his wife. “I’ll notify the Veterans Administration and the state licensing board.” Again, he scribbled down the numbers, tore the page free, and stuck it to the counter next to him. “That leaves…” Boomer glanced up, and his expression softened.

      “Quinn.” The name came out of Jenna’s mouth, quick and raspy. Her hand trembled as she reached for her cup, and a dollop of cold coffee lopped over the side.

      “I’ll call Quinn,” Boomer said. “You call the licensing board.”

      “No,” Jenna said, maybe a little too forcefully. Boomer and Sidney looked at her, and Lottie stopped her kneading. “He’s my…” Ex-boyfriend, ex-almost-fiancé. “I mean, he’s …” Kurt’s best friend—the reason Kurt was at the Lazy S to begin with.

      You know, the man who’d put his pride aside to call and get Kurt into your program.

      The man who’d made you promise to take care of Kurt, because he was one of the “special ones.”

      The man whose heart you’re going to break…again.

      Jenna rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands as the acid ate away at the lining of her stomach. Cell by cell, layer by layer. A slow, insidious attack. She glanced up. Everyone was focused on her. “No,” she said again. Stronger. “That’s my call to make.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      The muscles in Quinn’s right forearm burned as he watched the play of his mangled muscles and tendons in the wall-to-wall mirror of his local twenty-four-hour gym.

      The base had a gym, but he liked the anonymity of The Lift. No one knew him. No one asked him how he was doing.

      Or when he was going to fly again.

      He didn’t work out for the camaraderie. He didn’t work out to outlift anyone, or show off his abs, or delts, or biceps.

      He worked out to save his career.

      Heavy metal music beat against his eardrums. Harsh, horrible, disturbing. As much as he hated the music, the crash of the chords drowned his thoughts and distracted him from the pain.

      A barbell dropped on the floor mat behind him with a thump that reverberated beneath his feet. The gym rat met Quinn’s gaze in the mirror. Held his hand to his ear as if holding a phone and pointed to Quinn.

      Quinn set the weights down, tugged the earbud from his ear, and turned toward the guy.

      “Dude, your phone.” Gym Rat chalked his hands. “Third fucking time it’s gone off in the last five minutes.”

      Wiping the sweat from his neck with a hand towel, Quinn grunted his thanks.

      No one called him anymore.

      He picked up his phone with his left hand, then switched it to his right. It would take him twice as long and triple the concentration to use his right thumb, but the physical therapist was right. If he didn’t work on his dexterity, it would never improve. By the time he’d thumbed to his “missed calls” list, the phone rang in his hand.

      His parents’ area code, but not his parents’ number.

      He managed to answer on the third ring. “Yeah.”

      Silence. The faint buzz of the open line. The whir of the cables in the pulleys beside him. The clank and clatter of weights hitting the stacks. A woman a few feet to his left had one earbud dangling between her breasts. The bass line bumped in Quinn’s chest.

      “Who is this?” Quinn didn’t have the time or the patience.

      Nothing.

      Nothing.

      “I’m hanging up.” He pulled the phone from his ear, his thumb over the End button when he heard the faint, “Wait…”

      He raised the phone again. “I don’t have all day.”

      “It’s me.”

      His scalp tightened. His right hand shook. He switched the phone to his left. Didn’t help the shaking.

      “It’s Jenna,” she said.

      “Yeah.” At least his voice didn’t shake. “What do you want?” The words came out gruffer than he’d intended, less irritation, more accusation.

      Again, the silence.

      He and Jenna didn’t talk. She wasn’t calling to ask him about his day. With the way things between them had ended four years ago, there could only be one reason for her to call.

      His knees went weak, and his quads failed him. He dropped onto the weight bench. The air in the cushion escaped with a hiss. “Kurt.”

      “Yes.” The word came out puny, insignificant, but he knew it was neither.

      “Is he okay?”

      “No. No, he’s not okay.”

      His stomach tipped and dipped and dived. “What’s wr—”

      “D-dead. Kurt’s dead.”

      Dead? His stomach hit the ground—a cable cut—tippy-top floor to bottom basement. A death-defying descent.

      His heart didn’t drop. It stopped.

      “Quinn?”

      He hadn’t been body slammed this hard since he’d crashed his helo.

      “Quinn?”

      Anger flooded in, so hot, so hard, so electric, it jump-started his heart.

      “Hey, you still there?” Her voice didn’t break, but it lacked its usual power, like an engine running on outdated fuel.

      Yeah, he was still there, but the last surviving member of his helo crew was dead.

      “How?” was all he managed.

      Someone tapped Quinn on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, if you’re not going to use the equipment—”

      Quinn cut him a savage