Rocky Mountain Dreams & Family on the Range by Danica Favorite (list of ebook readers .txt) 📗

man of action, seeking out criminals, pursuing justice, not pondering the mistakes he might’ve made. Or the people he’d hurt.

He hadn’t missed that look on Mary’s face last night when they’d exited the alley. There’d been a fraction of a second where her calm facade slipped and he’d seen hurt...but from what? Maybe he’d misinterpreted things. Still, when he’d dropped her at the hotel door, guilt had turned him into a brusque person, and he’d skedaddled before she could stir his emotions up any more.

Things had been better when she’d kept house while he’d traveled. Whenever he went home and life started feeling too cozy, he headed out. She’d been right about that unconscious pattern.

Frowning, he watched as mist dissipated simultaneously with the arrival of men. Heavy boots clomped down the docks. English was the primary language spoken, but every so often he’d hear some Mandarin or Gaelic.

Such diversity. As a young man, he’d thought God was incredible and brilliant. One of the things that had attracted him to Sarah was her artwork. His wife had used wild colors in her paintings, scattering them across the canvas, her thick brushstrokes laying claim to the proof of God’s beauty with her talent.

He’d loved her so much.

She’d been a vibrant fire, and their Abby was just like her. Alive and beautiful.

And then snuffed out before their lives had barely begun.

He blinked hard and studied the men. Most were small framed and sinewy like the man he’d met, but no one shared his towheadedness. Of course, the guy could’ve gotten a new hat to cover his blondness, but Lou doubted that. This kind of work was too physical. A hat might fall in the water and waste someone’s hard-earned money.

These men worked long hours. He worked hard, too, but in a different way. Sarah had appreciated him, but she’d wanted him to come home. To be always home for her.

Just like Mary.

And yet they were different. Sarah had been a flame, hot and exciting with a quick temper and ready tongue. She’d challenged him defiantly...and he’d loved it.

Mary wasn’t like that. She reminded him of a steady warmth, careful and secure, but no less exciting. Her flame was like that deep blue kind, the color beneath the bright oranges, the kind you needed to keep a stove cooking.

He grimaced at the mental analogy and decided to keep his focus on scoping out dockworkers, not beguiling beauties who had no trust for men and no taste for travel.

Forty minutes later he located his quarry.

Clamping his jaw, he strode toward him. Raucous laughs filled the air; grunts and the sounds of things hitting various spots filled the previous silence.

Lou dodged people and continued stalking his man. A foot away, the guy spotted him and took off at a run.

Just great.

Uttering a groan, he sprinted after him. His feet pounded against the uneven wood of the dock. Faces blurred as he raced past. He managed to jump an outstretched foot and couldn’t resist whipping a grin at the offender. He paid for that, though, when his right foot connected with a bucket. It flew forward, landing to his right.

“Hey,” the guy next to it sputtered. Lou ignored him and kept going, hopping over a pile of salmon, never taking his sights off the man in front of him. The docks shuddered under his gait, but his breath stayed easy. Good news for the old wound.

Sucking in another lungful of fish-scented air, he rounded a corner in time to see the bootlegger duck into an old brick building. The place looked unsteady, but Lou followed. At the door, he drew his gun and edged in.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just have a few questions,” he called out.

A clatter echoed through the room in front of him. Filthy windows allowed little sun to cut through the dimness of the place. It appeared to be a dilapidated warehouse, no longer used. Sliding forward, he moved behind a metallic-looking contraption and then peered around it.

Shafts of light hit the wooden floor, highlighting dust motes that danced in lazy abandon. Undisturbed. He couldn’t see the floor well enough to track prints. He’d just have to convince the guy of his intentions.

“I’m going to step into the light,” he said. His words carried well. Unless the man had slipped out, he had to hear him. “My gun is in the holster. I just have some questions about that hat I bought from you.”

Sweat tickled the back of his neck and his scar burned. It was step out in faith or do nothing. But faith in what?

Banishing the thought, he forced his limbs into motion. Slowly and carefully, he inched onto the floor while holstering his weapon. His ears strained for the slightest indication that someone aimed to shoot him. Planning to dodge a bullet put an ache in a man’s gut, that was for sure.

He made it out in the middle just fine, though. He exhaled a long breath. And waited.

The guy didn’t make him wait long. A shuffle and a stirring of air, then the man who’d given him the bowler hat appeared in his peripherals, hands up.

Lou’s neck relaxed a tad, but he kept his hands at the ready. He turned slowly. “We need to talk.” Carefully, he gestured at the empty space surrounding them. “This place safe?”

“Yeah.” The man appeared conflicted, edgy. His gaze shot around before his posture shifted to a more relaxed shape. He walked forward and held out his hand. “The name’s O’Leary. I’ve been undercover, working the smugglers, trying to get a lead on which boats are bringing the hooch into Oregon. A few weeks ago I heard some blokes talking about a hit. It was put out you were going to die.”

“Almost,” Lou muttered.

“So I started digging because I recognized your name from a few years back. You helped take down that kidnapper, Mendez. It was a real coup. I’ve been in the bureau for a while now and I remember how