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  She tried to leave again, but Mitchell Davis asked a few more pointed questions as if he were trying to trip her up. Chad kept awkwardly trying to change the subject and eventually earned himself a cold, pointed stare from Davis, which was when he gave up and simply sat there in squirming misery, eating some but otherwise withdrawn. Through it all, Angie stood without fidgeting and answered Davis’s questions as if they were nothing out of the norm, keeping her expression bland, not letting him get to her.

  She finally escaped to the kitchen, where she consoled herself with a big fat slice of chocolate cake, the first one cut. When it was time to serve the cake, she made sure Mitchell Davis’s slice was about two-thirds as thick as Chad’s, and served both of them with a smile before bugging out to the kitchen again. When they’d had time enough to finish, she stepped out and suggested everyone get a good night’s sleep, as they had to get an early start.

  Chad immediately stood and began making a slightly incoherent good night, mixed with a thank you for the meal, but Davis interrupted with an abrupt, “I have some more work to do on the Internet before I turn in. You go on, Krugman.”

  Chad immediately left, of course. Angie smiled at Davis. “It’ll take me about half an hour to clean up; I hope that’ll be long enough.” No way was she letting him stay in the house with her while she got ready for bed, and neither was she sitting up all hours with a long day—a long week—looming in front of her. Tonight would be the last good night’s sleep she’d get until she was back in her own bed. She didn’t think she had to worry about Davis being a repeat customer, so there was a limit to how much she’d tolerate from him.

  He gave her one of his cold looks. “I need more time than that.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can give you tonight. If you want to grab some time while I’m cooking breakfast in the morning, the door will be unlocked. I’ll be up at four in the morning.”

  “This really is a second-class operation, isn’t it?” His lip curled in that faint sneer she’d seen on his face when he first looked around.

  “I’m a hunting guide. This is my home, not a hotel. Some places, you wouldn’t have Internet available at all.” She gave him a sudden, concerned look. “You are an experienced hunter, aren’t you?” Her booking information indicated that he was, but after all the borderline-rude remarks he’d made, she couldn’t resist making her own little jab at him. She’d be as polite as possible, but what was possible was steadily shrinking. No matter what, she wouldn’t let him bully her.

  “I’ve probably been on more hunts than you have,” he snapped. “Regardless of that fairy tale about helping your father since you were a child.”

  “It wasn’t a fairy tale, Mr. Davis. I’m sorry you don’t believe me. If it’ll give you more confidence, I’ll be glad to phone someone in the area for you to talk to, to verify my credentials.” She waited a moment, then picked up the tureen, which was still half-full of stew. “No? In that case, I have things to do.”

  She carried the tureen into the kitchen; when she came back to finish clearing the table, the dining room was empty. Swiftly she loaded the dirty dishes on the tray she’d left there earlier. She felt safer in the kitchen, where she could easily get to a bunch of big knives, if necessary. Okay, that was melodramatic. If she truly believed Davis might attack her, she wouldn’t have let him stay in the house to use the Internet, and she wouldn’t be going off on a hunt. He had a nasty personality, but she wasn’t picking up any physically dangerous vibes from him. Not by so much as a glance had he indicated that he viewed her in a predatory way.

  Of course, if she’d been a great judge of men, her wedding fiasco would never have happened, would it?

  She finished as fast as possible, then sat down to rest for a minute while she watched the clock, waiting for the half-hour she’d given him to be up. Right on the minute, she got up, locked the kitchen door, then went through to the den, where he was tapping away on his laptop. “Time for lights out,” she said, keeping her tone easy.

  The glance he threw her was furious, but he shut down the laptop and shoved it back into its case. “Good night,” she said as he went out the front door.

  He didn’t reply. Shrugging, she closed the door behind him and locked it. There were some outside lights she’d turned on to light their way to the guest cabins, and she’d leave those on all night in case something happened during the night. People did get sick, after all, or take a fall. She’d leave her bedroom door open, as usual, so she could hear if anyone knocked on the door during the night.

  If anyone fell and broke a leg during the night, she hoped it was Mitchell Davis. No, scratch that. She hoped he went home at the end of the week safe and sound and happy, because he was undoubtedly the kind of bastard who would sue if he had an accident.

  Yes, it was going to be a long, long week.

  Chapter Seven

  Angie hit the ground running the next morning. As soon as she stepped outside, she breathed a sigh of relief—the weather had turned milder during the night. The warm temperatures were coming in ahead of some rain, but it still felt good. According to the long-range forecast, no really cold weather or snow was forecast for the next ten days, which was great.

  By five o’clock she’d fed and watered the horses, hooked the trailer to the truck, had all their supplies and the horses loaded. Davis hadn’t shown up to get in any of his oh-so-important Internet work, so she figured it hadn’t been that important and he’d just been making an ass of himself, which, considering how close his default starting point was to asshood, hadn’t been a difficult thing to do.

  For breakfast she made a pan of biscuits, put steak slices in half of the biscuits and ham slices in the other half, wrapped them individually in foil, and filled several thermoses with coffee. Some packs of sugar, artificial sweetener, and powdered creamer completed her preparations. After making sure Chad and Davis were waiting at the truck, at five forty-five, she stepped out the front door and locked it.

  As she approached the truck she saw that their duffel bags were on the ground; before she could ask about them, Davis unlocked their SUV and swung open the back hatch, and he and Chad loaded their duffels. “We, uh, we decided to follow you, then when the hunt is over we can leave straight for Butte,” Chad explained, his tone of voice sheepish.

  “That’s logical,” Angie said easily. “But if it’s too late and you want to spend the night here before going home, you’re certainly welcome. It’s up to you.”

  She took a wrapped biscuit and a thermos of coffee for herself, and handed the rest over to Chad. “Breakfast, gentlemen. Let’s get on the road.” They got in their SUV, with Davis driving again, and Angie climbed into the cab of her truck. She wasn’t unhappy with this change of plans. This gave her some peace and quiet, and space to think. She turned on the radio and punched the button for the CD player, and the soothing sound of her instrumental music filled the cab. Nice. This was much better than trying to make conversation. She poured herself some coffee and pulled out, accelerating smoothly so the horses wouldn’t be jerked around.

  The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour and a half, so by the time it was daylight they’d be at their drive destination. They’d unload the horses, saddle up, and be on their way. She liked driving in the dark early hours, liked the sense of getting a jump on the day, and watching the darkness slowly fade away as more and more of the incredible landscape became visible. The music didn’t intrude, just laid another layer of beauty under the early morning. Very briefly she thought about Dare and his hardball real estate tactics, but she refused to let herself start stewing about it. This time belonged to her clients, and she refused to shortchange them by not paying full attention to what she was doing, even if it was nothing more exacting than driving.

  Right on time, she pulled in to Ray Lattimore’s place; he didn’t have a big spread, but he took in a little extra money by providing parking space for guided parties and hikers. Angie gladly paid him. Even if he’d charged