By the time my friends and I had made a complete circuit of the park, it was time to meet Roxy and Brody for lunch at the Feeding Trough. Yee-haw.

   The two of them were standing outside the barbecue restaurant, waiting for us, and they were both dressed in their costumes. Roxy’s blond hair was once again plaited into two long braids, and she was sporting a red Stetson, along with a red plaid shirt and white jeans and boots. That silver sheriff’s star was pinned to her chest again, and her silver belt buckle was embossed with a giant heart made out of dazzling red and white rhinestones. Brody was dressed all in black, still playing the part of the outlaw leader, just like he had during the high-noon show yesterday.

   I focused on the silver star winking on Roxy’s shirt, right where her rotten heart was. She might as well have been wearing a sign: Please, Gin, stab me right here. I was going to be happy to oblige her—very, very soon.

   Roxy gave us a cheery wave, but Brody looked far less enthused, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at me. He must have seen that Air healer after all, because his nose was straight once more, and no signs of my pistol-­whipping remained on his handsome face. Too bad.

   “Hey, y’all!” Roxy chirped in a bright voice. “Are you ready for some barbecue?”

   Even though I wanted to whip out one of my knives and cut her throat, I grinned back at her, still playing the part of the clueless tourist. “I’m always ready for some barbecue.”

   Roxy chuckled, then opened the door and stepped inside. I followed her, with my friends trooping in behind me. Brody brought up the rear.

   Surprise, surprise, the inside of the Feeding Trough had a Western theme, just like the rest of the stores. Worn wooden booths lined two of the walls, with matching tables and chairs filling in the space in between. A long wooden counter with padded barstools lined the back wall, with a couple of swinging saloon doors behind it leading back into the kitchen. Old-­fashioned, rusty tin signs decorated with cowboys, cacti, and cattle covered the walls, and several large tumbleweeds were crammed into the corners, along with some actual feeding troughs.

   We sat at a corner table that was large enough for the six of us. A waitress dressed like a saloon girl hustled over, deposited menus on the table, and took our drink orders. Since it was just after eleven, the lunch rush was ramping up, and more and more folks streamed into the restaurant, ready to get their barbecue on before the high-noon show.

   Once we were all seated, Roxy turned to me. “I hear that you run your own barbecue restaurant up in Ashland, Gin. How fun! You’ll have to let me know how our little restaurant stacks up against yours.”

   “Of course.”

   I breathed in. The scent of smoked and charred meat permeated the restaurant, but that was all I sensed. No rich spices or seasonings perfumed the air, which meant that there was no real depth of flavor. This barbecue was going to be bland, at best.

   Roxy kept right on talking. “Well, I think that we’ve got the best barbecue for miles around. Everyone says so.”

   “Yeah, I saw all the signs for it and the rest of the theme park on the interstate on the way down here,” Bria muttered. “You couldn’t miss this place even if you wanted to.”

   Roxy brightened, choosing to ignore my sister’s sarcastic tone. “That’s the idea. Why, we have some folks who come here every single year for their summer and holiday vacations. . . .”

   And she was off and running. Roxy chattered on and on about the number of visitors the park had every year, the other restaurants, the amount of work that went into the daily high-noon shows, and every other small, minute detail about the resort. Despite working here for Tucker, Roxy seemed to genuinely enjoy chatting about Bullet Pointe. That, or she just wanted to bore us all to death. My eyes glazed over, and so did those of everyone else at the table, except for Brody, who just ignored Roxy and started scrolling through screens on his phone.

   Finn, Bria, and Owen chimed in when appropriate, but I didn’t bother to make conversation. Instead, I scanned the restaurant, examining everyone inside. Tourists, mostly, along with several workers grabbing a quick bite to eat before the high-noon show. For once, none of the workers were watching us, since Roxy and Brody were here to do it in person, but cold unease still trickled down my spine. My friends and I had all realized that this lunch could be a trap, but we’d all agreed that it was highly unlikely that Roxy and Brody would do anything to us in such a public place with so many witnesses around. Still, now that we were here, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d made a serious mistake. And wishing that I’d brought more weapons with me.

   But nothing suspicious happened, and Roxy talked for ten minutes straight before the waitress finally came back with our drinks, plopping them down on the table hard enough to make some of the liquid slosh out over the top, drip down the sides of the glasses, and ooze across the wooden table.

   “Patty,” Roxy said in a sharp tone. “Bring us some napkins. Right now.”

   Patty winced at the cold displeasure in Roxy’s voice, and she quickly scurried off, returned with some napkins, and mopped up the puddles of liquid. She finally took our orders and hurried off again.

   “Sloppy service,” I said in a low voice that only Finn could hear. “Doesn’t make me hold out much hope for the quality of the food.”

   Finn rolled his eyes. “Everybody’s a critic.”

   I sniffed.

   He downed his sweet iced tea in three gulps and signaled the waitress for another one, but it was several more minutes before she returned with a fresh glass for him. Bria and Owen slurped down their drinks as well, but I only had a few sips of mine. Whoever had made the tea hadn’t bothered to properly dissolve all the sugar in it, so it tasted like lukewarm grit more than anything else. I sniffed again. I would never serve such inferior sweet tea to my customers.

   I pushed my tea aside and focused on Roxy, who was slurping down a sarsaparilla. Brody was drinking the same thing, throwing entire mugs of liquid back like they were no bigger than shot glasses.