Stone Cold

19

Late that afternoon, Nate heard another vehicle coming up the mountain toward his line shack. He was installing the final new glass and window frame into the south-side wall — a difficult task because the opening was out of square. He strapped on his shoulder holster before stepping outside to see who it was.

“You again,” he said, as Liv Brannan braked to a stop in the ranch pickup and climbed out. She had a square white envelope in her hand.

She smiled slyly, then it morphed into full beam. She seemed to enjoy antagonizing him, he thought.

“This time I’m here on official business.”

She approached and handed him the envelope. Because the day had warmed, she no longer wore the red down coat she’d covered herself up with earlier. She looked attractive and businesslike in a crisp white button-down shirt with the collar open and a loose string tie. He wished she’d put the coat back on.

He took the envelope, addressed to simply Nate R.

“The lady herself — I call her ‘Herself’ because I don’t know her name yet — is due to arrive tonight on the late flight into Rapid City. Apparently, she’s flying in from overseas, so she’ll need some rest. But Mr. T. wants to have a big ranch welcome dinner for her tomorrow evening, and he’d like for you to be there.”

“So there’s no need opening this, then?” Nate asked.

“You should open it. You can RSVP to me right now in person.”

“What if I’m busy?”

She widened her eyes and blew a puff of air out her mouth as if there had been a bug in it. “Busy doing what?”

“Fixing up my place. Or locating pigeons. I think I have a line on some.”

“Pigeons? Aren’t they urban birds?”

He shook his head. “Not necessarily. Pigeons hang out in old structures, usually in the rafters. I spotted some old buildings on the far end of the ranch — a couple of barns — that look like pigeon heaven.”

“And you want them why?”

“To train my falcons.”

“So the pigeons are targets,” she said flatly.

“Yes.”

“You’ll need a better excuse.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

She waved that off as if he hadn’t said it. “Remember when he welcomed you here? It’s like that. When a new VIP arrives, he wants everybody there so the VIP can feel like a welcome part of the family.”

Nate grunted.

He opened the envelope and looked at the card inside.

“I thought we had a deal,” he said.

“This is special. This is for Herself.” She stifled a smile at the word herself. Nate wondered if deep down she was jealous. Not sexually, but because a new woman at the compound might threaten her autonomy and access.

“Do I have to wear a tie?”

“No.”

“Jacket?”

She said, “I’ll find one for you. You don’t have to go out and buy one.”

He shook his head.

Brannan reached out and grasped his arm. “It’s important for you to be there. Mr. T. really wants you there. He said so himself.”

“So it’s nonnegotiable.”

“I’m afraid so. Can I take that as a yes to the RSVP?”

Nate took a deep breath and sighed. She was persuasive. He could feel the warmth of her fingers on his forearm through the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t want her to let go. And that smile…

“Oh,” she said, “Mr. T. would like a few minutes of your time after dinner. Not long — he’s got Herself to entertain, after all. But he specifically asked me to ask you to linger a few minutes after the dinner breaks up.”

“Does he have another assignment for me?” Nate asked.

“I don’t get involved in those things,” she said.

“Right, I believe that.”

Her nostrils flared at being questioned, and she let go of his arm and thrust her face at him with her hands on her hips. “Okay, mister, I may handle details on the back end. Travel arrangements, cash advances, false IDs — that kind of thing. And I’m damned good at it. But I’m not involved with setting up the assignments. Mr. T. handles those all on his own.”

“Okay,” Nate said, holding his palms up. “Back off.”

“You are a frustrating individual,” she said, cooling off. “No one else around here insults me and sticks around very long.”

He almost took her right then. He fought an overwhelming urge to pick her up in his arms and carry her into his line shack. He knew she wouldn’t object. The back-and-forth had been subterfuge — both knew what was sparking. But…

“One thing,” she said over her shoulder, as she sashayed toward the pickup. “Mr. T. said no weapons.”

Nate’s eyebrows arched.

“Mr. Whip will be there,” she said. “I told him the same thing.”

Nate cringed. Then: “How did he take it?”

“He was much more gracious than you,” she said. Then, with a flip of her hair, “Mr. Whip will do anything I ask.”

So that was it, Nate thought. He smiled cruelly at her.

“It’s not like that,” she said. “He’s not my type. Too preppy. As far as I’m concerned, he’s just a very important colleague. He’d like it to be more, but that would be unprofessional. Mr. T. would frown on it.”

“One question,” Nate said. “Does Mr. T. know you come up here sometimes? Not on official business?”

Brannan got in and shut the door. Before starting the motor, she said, “No, and I’d appreciate you not mentioning it. He’d frown on that, also.”

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Nate said.

“Try to be nicer and more pleasant to Herself than you are to me,” she called out, spinning gravel as she backed out.