Ride Me Dirty (Bridgewater County 1)

“I've got to get back to work.” Just checking my email while waiting in line at the rental car counter had my blood pressure soaring. Mr. Farber hadn't taken Roberts off my case. That meant the longer I was gone, the less chance of getting it back.

“No, you don't. I know you lawyer types, working sixty hour weeks.”

Sixty? Try seventy-five.

“It's Montana in July,” she continued. “Let's have some fun, like when we were kids.”

I pulled a loaf of bread and some peanut butter out of the grocery bag.

“God, Cara, we are so not kids anymore and a bike ride or climbing a tree doesn't do it for me now.”

“When was the last time you rode a bike?” she countered.

I thought back. It had probably been her bike with streamers.

“You're married and I'm… well, I'm a workaholic.”

Cara laughed through the phone. “The first step is admitting it. That's why I left the note, so you wouldn't stay holed up in that house working. And, being married does not mean the end of fun.” She giggled. “The opposite, in fact.”

I had an idea where her mind was going and it only made me a little envious. She had a man who made her laugh at just the thought of being with him. As for Chad, the rat bastard, he was a waste of time and brain power.

“How did you even know I'd be here?” I asked, changing the topic.

I walked to the fridge, put the milk inside, the phone cord stretching as far as it would go. There wasn't any food in the fridge besides an opened box of baking soda, a bottle of ketchup and five cans of Charlie's favorite generic cola. I wasn't sure if it was because someone cleaned out the perishables or not. I remember Charlie was a horrible cook, so it was possible he didn't keep much.

“Are you kidding? Everyone knows everything that goes on around here. I'm sorry to hear about Charlie. I liked him a lot. But I'm glad you're back.”

Yeah, Bridgewater hadn't changed much since I was a kid. The main street was quaint with local shops. I drove past the lawyer's office so I knew where it was, but it was hard to get lost in such a small town. The mountains were to the west so there wasn't even a chance of gettin

g turned around. As I was driving, those going the other way raised one finger on the steering wheel in greeting, stranger or not. It was a Montana thing I'd forgotten, but I liked it. I liked how people were nice, even to those they didn't know. That didn't happen in New York. It was cutthroat and fast paced, no one slowing down enough to wave to anyone else. No one ever looked up from their phone. But in Bridgewater, things were different. Cara, who hadn't seen me in… fifteen years, knew I was back and wanted to connect right away. It was startling for me. Unusual.

“I'd love to see you. Come out with me tonight.”

I thought of my meeting for the following morning with Charlie's attorney, plus all the work I had to do for the office. My laptop sat as dead as my phone on the kitchen table. No internet at all. I'd searched for a cable or something, anything to indicate modern technology, but the house phone attached to the wall—with a dang cord—was all I had to connect me to the outside world.

I might be able to get the details of the sale wrapped up quickly, but not in one meeting. Plus, I had to empty the house, of Charlie's personal effects to be ready for sale. The man had lived in the house for forty years and it showed. I had my work cut out for me. I mentally groaned at adding another to-do to my already overloaded list.

Besides tackling the house, nothing else would get done here. I had to find a coffee shop or something where I could go online to work. I took vacation days for this week, but that meant nothing. Vacation didn't exist for those wanting to be partner. I still had work to do or Roberts would have all my cases by the time I returned. I could only imagine how my emails were piling up. I went to my cell, checked it for service. None.

“Okay, sure.”

Placing the bag of coffee grounds by the coffee maker, I folded the brown grocery bag and wedged it between the fridge and the counter with about twenty others.

“Great. Then let’s meet at the Barking Dog at eight.”

“The Barking Dog?”

“It's a bar on the east end of Main. No excuses.”

I looked around the kitchen and realized it was going to be awfully quiet by myself. There were no honking horns, no police sirens. There weren't even any street lights. A night out couldn't hurt, especially if I made good progress with the attorney in the morning. “All right.”

“Great!” I could hear her pleasure in her voice.

“Hey Cara?”

“Yeah?”

I glanced at the rooster clock once again. “Do any of the coffee shops have wifi?”