My lungs burned as I drew a deep breath, seeking oxygen that wasn’t there, and my fingers itched to hold the cigarette I’d thrown away six years ago. Altitude did that to me every time—at least the breathing part.
The craving for a smoke? That was courtesy of Alba, Colorado, population 649. Or so the sign I’d passed about a mile back proclaimed. Then again, I wasn’t about to trust a sign that hadn’t been updated since before I’d been born—which was par for the course in my hometown.
Nothing about it had changed since I’d left, which was pretty much the point of the whole town. Just past the paved roads, Alba was the best-preserved ghost town in Colorado, and the tourists who flooded her streets in the summer kept the tiny town alive all winter long.
The total on the gas pump climbed as I stretched my hands toward the late-afternoon sun and the snowcapped peaks above me, willing life back into muscles I’d kept cramped for far too long during the drive from North Carolina. The bite in the March breeze cut through my exhaustion, and I welcomed its icy fingers on my exposed skin. It definitely wasn’t T-shirt weather up here at ten thousand feet.
A gasp caught my attention, and I turned toward the minivan that had pulled up behind my Jeep a minute ago. A blonde wearing sunglasses too big for her face and a puffy winter coat gawked with one foot on the concrete and one inside her vehicle, as if someone had pushed pause during her exit.
I lowered my arms, and my shirt slid back into place, covering the inked strip of stomach she’d no doubt gotten an eyeful of.
She shook her head quickly and started to pump her gas.
At least she didn’t make the sign of the cross and back away.
Either she’d moved to Alba in the last ten years or my reputation had softened some since I’d joined the army. Hell, maybe the population of Alba had forgotten all about me.
I finished filling my tank and headed inside the small convenience store to grab a drink. God only knew what Dad would have in his fridge.
A set of bells chimed as the door closed behind me, and I nodded in greeting to the older man leaning on the counter. Looked like Mr. Williamson still owned the gas station. His bushy silver brows rose with a quick smile. Then he did a double take, both his brows and smile falling as he blinked in confusion. And then his eyes narrowed in recognition.
Looks like that rep is alive and well.
I quickly chose a few bottles of water from the slim selection and carried them to the counter.
The old man’s eyes darted between my hands and the bottles as he rang them up, like I was going to steal them or something. I’d been a lot of things, but a thief wasn’t one of them.
The bells chimed again, and Williamson visibly relaxed. “Afternoon, Lieutenant Hall,” he greeted his newest patron.
Awesome.
I didn’t bother looking. That stubborn, old, judgmental piece of work hated my—
Holy shit. Cam?
That wasn’t Tim Hall wearing a badge—it was his son, Gideon.
Gid’s mouth hung slack, his light-brown eyes wide in shock.