Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
One month later
Jake
The owner of the feed store is asking a lot of questions about Ennis’s latest order.
Vern scratches his head and looks concerned. “Jake, this is the fifth order of ammonium nitrate this year.”
I nod casually as I carefully load the paper bags into the bed of my truck, then check my phone. Damn. No texts from Blondie, yet.
You’d think I’d give up hope after a month of radio silence, but you’d be wrong.
“Yep.”
“It’s just that…well, you’re just under the legal limit, you see.”
I shove my phone in my pocket, my mind elsewhere. “Legal limit for what?”
“Come on, Jake. You know if you had one more bag for this order, I’d have to fill out all kinds of paperwork and report it to the federal government.”
Ennis placed these orders because Wylie has been extra busy lately and asked us only recently to take on more responsibility with running the ranch. He places orders and I pick them up. I don’t know how many orders like this have gone through this year.
We finish loading the last bag, then I lean against the side of the truck to take a breather and chug some water. After wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I comment, “I can’t see why the feds would be interested in a particularly stubborn field of alfalfa.”
Vern seems pained about questioning me on my orders. “It’s just that…well…we all know who your neighbors are and…”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Maybe that’s her.
“And tensions are high right now. You know what I’m getting at. With all you’ve ordered over the last year, that’s enough to…”
I know I’m being rude, but I recheck my phone. It’s Ennis, probably wondering where I am.
“I don’t mean to be nosy.”
I laugh. “Well, hell, Vern. You’ve known me since I was a kid. But if you wanna come over to the ranch and watch me add it to the soil so you know exactly what I’m working on, you’re welcome to.”
This seems to assuage whatever anxieties are brewing in his head.
Vern gives a congenial smile and looks a little relieved. “I know. You all are good people. And I’ve been there, done that, where cattle are concerned. In fact, my granddad’s hay field had to be completely replanted one year…”
And he’s off on story time.
Idly, I recheck my phone. Still no call, no text from her.
“You just be careful with that stuff, you hear me?” Vern says.
I wink at him. “I always am.”
Slowly, I drive away from the feed store and make my way downtown, stopping for some muffins and coffee at the bakery.
Mariam, the owner, is talking to her husband, Jesse, who’s leaning over the counter. The room is pretty much dead while the married couple gives each other moony eyes.
They pull away from each other, but only a few inches, when I walk in the door.
“Hey, Jake,” says Jesse, tipping up the brim of his tan hat. Behind him, his wife smiles at me, her cheeks pink.
“What can I do for you?” Mariam asks.
“I’ll take some of those muffins, if you have any left.”
“Morning glories? I sure do.” She cheerfully goes to the glass case and extracts half a dozen, but only charges me for two.
“Take ’em. They’re fresh. They don’t taste as good on day two.”
“I can’t eat all these.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Then I suppose you might share these with the ranch hands. Or anybody else you might see today.”
She means the runaways from the cult.
It’s like we all have to speak in code nowadays, because we don’t know who is listening and who is snitching. Not only that, but sometimes a single mention of the cult gets some locals whipped up into a frenzy on the spot, and no one wants any of our good citizens to go viral.
I give her a nod.
“Hold on right there,” she says and goes to the back room. She comes back with three boxes crammed with day-old cookies, pies, and protein bites. “I was going to drive these to the shelter in Helena, but if you don’t mind…”
“I’ll get with Olivia and Wylie and have them deliver these. Thank you so much,” I say.
She lets out a heavy sigh, reaches across the counter, and grips my hand. “We’re all so tired of the way they’re trying to take over the town and change our whole way of life. Please let Jesse and me know if there’s anything we can do.”
I tip my hat to her before I leave.
Outside, I find Jesse ripping off a sign that’s been taped to the bakery’s window. He quickly crushes it in his big hands before I can see it, but my eyes catch on the headline: Wanted: The Wylie Gang.
He shoves the paper into a trash bin on the sidewalk. “I don’t like people littering. Especially with propaganda.”
“Me neither,’ I say.”
Jesse points his chin at the bed of my truck. “Fertilizing for you and about…three other properties, I see. Mighty neighborly of you.”
“Well, you know.”
I slip behind the wheel, and Jesse approaches. I roll the window down and he says, “Be careful.”
“Always.”
The older man’s eyes tell me he wants to say more. He has questions that he knows he can’t ask.
“Let me know if you need any help,” he says. “With the ranch.”
No way in hell am I letting this man with a wife and children help me with this particular task.
This part of the mission is mine and Ennis’s alone. If this goes awry, no women will mourn us.
I crank the engine and look up at the shape of the woman striding into Nate’s coffee shop across the street.
Again. Does she have a fucking punch card she needs to fill or something?
The flash of blonde hair, tight jeans, and stilettos is unmistakable.
I watch her in my rearview mirror, breaking eye contact with Jesse.
Why hasn’t she texted me yet?
I really shot my shot, and she’s ghosting me.
“You okay, Jake?”
“I’ll have to let you know,” I say.
And against my better judgment, I’m marching straight into the coffee shop.