Chapter 1 #4
“What? It’s true.” She gestured toward a corner booth with her coffee pot.
“Tom and old Commissioner Elway used to sit right there every Thursday morning for years. Regular as clockwork. Last time they were in together—must have been two weeks before Elway died—Tom had worked himself into such a lather about those mining rights. Going on and on about mineral surveys and who was buying up water rights.” Her voice softened.
“Poor Elway just sat there listening, the way he always did. Never said much, but you could tell he was taking it all in. Man had the patience of a saint.”
She paused, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Lord, I miss that man. Elway had a way of making everyone feel heard, you know? Never judged, never rushed anybody. Just listened.”
“Commissioner Elway retired about three years ago, didn’t he?” Detective Martinelli said gently.
“That’s right. Turned in his badge and said he was going to spend his golden years fishing and working his ranch.
” Dolly’s voice grew heavy. “Then that ATV accident took him just like that. Found him out on his back forty with that machine rolled over on top of him. They said it was a heart attack that caused the crash, but…”
She trailed off, glancing around the diner as if she’d said too much.
“But what?” Hammer asked quietly, but he could barely hear over the thunder of his heartbeat.
“But nothing. Just old-man talk. Tom took Elway’s death real hard, that’s all. Said he’d lost his best friend and the only person around here who understood what was really going on.”
“What’s going on?” Hammer felt Saxon’s eyes on him, but kept his own gaze fixed on Detective Martinelli.
“And I’ll take that coffee to go, Dolly.” Martinelli stood up. Turned to Hammer. “You from around here?”
Sort of.
“Yes,” Mack said. “I’m Mack Jenkins. And this is my brother.” He held out his hand to the detective.
“Jenkins—”
“Yes,” Hammer said. “That Jenkins.”
Martinelli glanced at Rowan. “Then you’re the dead older son.”
Hammer raised an eyebrow.
Martinelli cocked his head. “Interesting. Well, welcome back, I guess. You still in the military?”
Oof, the man knew too much, maybe, but, “Nope.”
“You knew Elway, then. Good man.”
“I did.” He met Martinelli’s eyes, even as something cold settled in his chest. Elway Blackwood had been more than a good man—he’d been a lifeline.
The steady presence who’d shown a traumatized ten-year-old what real strength looked like.
Who’d taught him that power could be used to protect instead of terrorize.
“How’s Sierra handling it?” The words slipped out before Hammer could stop them.
“Sierra? About like you’d expect. That woman’s tough as nails, but losing her grandfather hit her hard. They were close, especially after her parents died when she was young.” Martinelli studied Hammer’s face. “You know the family?”
“We went to school together.”
It was true, as far as it went. They’d also spent years as inseparable best friends, another two as teenage sweethearts, and one night as lovers before everything fell apart. But Detective Martinelli didn’t need those details.
“She’s been having some trouble lately,” Martinelli continued. “Cattle rustling, equipment vandalism. Nothing too serious yet, but it’s got her on edge.”
“Any idea who’s behind it?”
“Could be anyone. Hard times make people desperate, and there’s been a lot of hard times around here lately. We’re keeping an eye on things, but with the city expanding, the police force is thinning, and with only four detectives…” He shrugged. “We do what we can.”
“Sounds like you need some help. Maybe in the area of private investigation?” Saxon said.
Martinelli raised an eyebrow.
Saxon grinned.
A radio crackled from Martinelli’s belt. He unclipped it, listening to a burst of static and code numbers that meant nothing to Hammer but brought the detective to his feet. Dolly brought out his coffee.
“Got to run. Another call.” He pulled a business card from his wallet. “Nice meeting you…”
“Rowan. Wallace.”
Detective Martinelli raised an eyebrow. “Wallace.”
“Mm-hmm.” Hammer made no other comment.
“Okay. If you’re planning to stick around, give me a call. We could use someone with your background.”
“My background?”
“Military experience, leadership skills.”
He headed for the door, leaving Hammer staring at the business card. Detective Michael Martinelli, South Eagle Police Station.
“Interesting,” Saxon said. “Sounds like your girlfriend could use some help.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Hammer slipped the card into his shirt pocket. “That was a long time ago.”
“Uh-huh.” Saxon’s grin was all teeth. “Went to school together?”
Before Hammer could respond, Dolly appeared with fresh coffee and a plate of green chile cheeseburgers they hadn’t ordered. The smell of grilled beef and roasted chiles filled the air.
“On the house,” she said, refilling their mugs. “Consider it a welcome-home present.”
“Dolly, you don’t have to—”
“Hush. I’ve been feeding hungry boys for thirty years. I know one when I see one.” She patted Hammer’s shoulder. “Eat up. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”
Saxon bit into his burger with obvious appreciation. “This is incredible. What kind of chiles are these?”
“Hatch green chiles, straight from New Mexico. We get them roasted fresh every fall.” Dolly beamed at the praise. “I’ve got apple pie too, if you boys have room.”
A commotion outside caught Hammer’s attention. Through the large front windows, he could see people gathering near the police station. The EMS truck was pulling away, lights flashing but no siren—a good sign. Whatever emergency they’d responded to was under control.
Then he saw it.
Parked in front of South Eagle Elementary School, an old beet-red 1968 vintage Ford F-100, with three on the tree and that white leather bench seat.
Time pinned him to the booth.
Especially when the driver’s door opened and Sierra Blackwood stepped out.
Ten years collapsed into nothing. She was still small, maybe five foot five in her work boots, but she moved with the same confident grace that had captivated him as a teenager.
Long dark hair caught the afternoon light as it fell in waves over her shoulders, framing a face that could have been carved from memory—every detail exactly as he’d carried it through a decade of trying to forget.
The plaid blue flannel shirt she wore was rolled up to reveal slender forearms that spoke of ranch labor and mountain climbing, her jeans bearing the honest wear of someone who worked the land with her own hands.
Still breathtakingly beautiful in a way that hit him like a physical blow.
He might have even stopped breathing.
“Earth to Hammer.” Saxon’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “You’re staring.”
“That’s her.” The words came out rough, barely audible. “That’s Sierra.”
“She’s pretty,” Saxon said.
Pretty didn’t begin to cover it. Sierra had always been striking rather than traditionally beautiful—those high cheekbones, dark eyes that seemed to see straight through to a person’s soul, full lips that could smile like sunshine or deliver a to-the-bone truth with equal effectiveness.
But it was her presence that had always gotten to him, the way she commanded attention without trying, the quiet strength that radiated from her small frame like heat from a forge.
And oh, it just lit him on fire.
Her shoulders were set in that rigid line he knew too well—the posture that meant she was holding herself together through sheer willpower.
Hammer had seen it before, usually right before she broke down crying in private, and the sight of it now made his chest tighten with the urge to fix whatever was hurting her.
“You gonna go talk to her?” Saxon asked.
“I don’t know.” Hammer watched as Sierra paused at the school’s front steps, one hand resting on the railing.
“Seriously? Isn’t that why you’re here? So you can tell—”
“Maybe I should wait. Find the right time.”
“When’s the right time to tell someone you’re back from the dead?”
Before Hammer could answer, the school’s front door burst open and a boy came running out.
Eight or nine years old, maybe, with sandy-brown hair and a backpack that looked too big for his small frame.
He launched himself at Sierra with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for favorite people, and she caught him in a hug that spoke of overwhelming affection.
Her son.
The realization hit Hammer like a physical blow. Sierra had a child. Of course she did. Ten years was a long time—long enough to meet someone, fall in love, get married, start a family. Long enough to build a complete life that didn’t include the guy who’d abandoned her without explanation.
“You okay?” Mack’s voice was concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
No, he’d just seen his future whisp away.
Because he was the ghost.
“I’m fine,” he said, then looked at Mack. “Let’s eat. And then let’s move on. Our little visit into the past is over.”