North Country(35)

“Who?”

“That woman you hooked up with last time?”

“Oh. No. Why?”

“’Cause they’re both sitting at a table, spearing the back of your head with daggers.”

Jack curses. “Where?”

“Two tables behind us.”

My attention immediately draws to the women in question—both in their early thirties and attractive, both staring at Jack’s back as if waiting for him to turn around.

“Yeah, so the brunette in the blue shirt?” Jameson leans toward me as he explains, “Dumbass fucked her out back in his truck and then took off.”

“That’s not true! I walked her to her car before I left,” Jack retorts. “And I told her up front I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Which is the same thing you told her friend the weekend before when you took her out to your truck.” Jameson teases. “Can’t wait till they compare notes.”

Jack gulps his beer in answer.

I chuckle at the two of them. Despite their constant bickering, they’re obviously close.

Would Jay and I have remained this close had that night not happened? Would we be sitting at the Bale House, drinking beer and swapping stories? Given the things I’ve learned about him since that night … probably not.

“So, Logan, what about you?” Jameson asks.

“What about me?”

“Well, fuck, you must be ready to, uh, catch up on lost years.” His eyebrows pop with meaning. “Found anyone yet?”

A burst of laughter escapes my lips, surprising all three of us, most of all me. “I got out a week ago. I’ve spent all day in the fields, surrounded by bison. I have to be home by ten p.m. every night and have a licensed adult sit in the passenger seat with me for the next year if I want to drive anywhere.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make it easy,” Jack agrees, scratching his beard in thought. The guy must spend a lot of time in the mirror, grooming that thing. There isn’t a single hair out of place. I’ll admit, it’s impressive.

“What about that hot cop next door?” Jameson snaps his fingers. “Emma?”

“Emery?” I shake my head at the idiot. “Not only is she a cop, she runs the detachment. So no, that’s never gonna happen.” I haven’t seen her since that first night outside my barn. She’s rarely home. My gut tells me that’s at least partly intentional.

I’ve seen Isla plenty, though, early in the morning when I head to the stables, before the boys are down to do their chores. She’s always there, dragging her sleepy heels and wordlessly cleaning out Biscuit’s stall while he gallops around the corral, and then she heads home with not much more than a grunt for me and an odd question here or there. Too early for conversation, I gather, but I appreciate the silent company.

“Yeah, I guess that ship has sailed,” Jack agrees. “But there are plenty of options out there.”

“For a guy who just got released from prison?” I say doubtfully.

“Especially for you. They’ll wanna fix you.”

“Too late for that.”

“Yeah, but let ’em try. You’ve got”—Jameson checks his watch—“about two hours to find someone and seal the deal. Jack’s truck is roomy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Dude.” Jack glares at his brother.

“I think I’ll wait.” With my luck I’d get caught by the cops, and I’m sure good ol’ Glen would love getting that call.

“Yeah, he says that now. Wait till next spring when the bison birth calves with Logan’s pretty golden eyes.” Jameson snorts into his glass, earning his brother’s eye roll.

A drum percussion sounds, followed by the twang of an acoustic guitar.

Uncle Wyatt leans over to warn, “It’s about to get really loud in here,” and his grim expression says he’s not a fan of that prospect .

But it seems plenty of people are. For every table that clears out, two more groups come in. Some huddle around the hostess, others by the bar, resigning themselves to standing while they sip on a drink. The families are settling up and leaving.

“What do you got planned for tomorrow?” Jack asks.

“Nothing.” I shrug. “Splitting wood.”

“’Kay, I’m coming to pick you up in the morning. We’ll take the boat and some rods and head down to Temagami for a few hours. You good with that?”

“Fuck, yeah.” A small thrill skitters through me. It was one of my favorite places growing up.

“What about me?” Jameson complains.

Jack shakes his head. “You talk too much. Every time we go out there, I want to throw you overboard.”

His brother punches him in the shoulder, but whatever he says to him is drowned out as the singer offers a quick greeting over the microphone and then jumps into a song that dials up the energy instantly.

And I lean back for a moment, letting it sink in. This is real. I’m actually back in Cold River, free of my cell bars.

A burly guy strolls through the door then, followed by a tall brunette and a gorgeous blond.

No, not blond.

Strawberry blond.

Fuck, that’s Emery.

My heart starts pounding in my chest. She looks different from our last run-in, her hair and makeup done for a night out. Gone are the rubber boots and pajamas. She’s dressed in a green silk blouse under a black leather jacket, with heeled black leather boots that reach three-quarters up her jean-clad calves.