2. Rumblings

Hailey Bailey craned her head and peered through her cracked windshield. The steel-gray clouds bellied ominously above her, and she debated with herself. Should she look for an overpass? A grouping of ponderosa pines? Or would the thunderstorm brewing atop the peaks of the San Juans merely dump rain pellets that behaved like a car wash? At best, she'd emerge with a clean car. At worst, broken windows and dents from churning hailstones or her tired 4Runner smashed by whichever limb the wind ripped from a tree.

After five years of living on Colorado's Western Slope, she had yet to predict which version of a storm was headed her way; often, she couldn't even make out its direction. Like other mountains flanking the Continental Divide, the San Juans created their own weather, and it was as unpredictable as a roulette ball landing spot—not that knowing would make much difference. Drawing tiny-mountain-town duty meant having to travel from one village to another across miles and miles of unrelenting, sprawling wilderness, whether she wanted to or not. And mostly, she did not. But that would soon change.

Whoever had coined the term "flyover zones" probably meant this very landscape and the roads twisting through it, where neither humans nor reliable communication existed. While she had yet to grow tired of the scenery, she never got to enjoy it like a tourist, and driving it day after day for work was pure drudgery. And in snow and ice? Pure torture.

But she was savvy enough to understand the order of the universe: you did what you had to do in a one-woman office, especially when you were doing your damnedest to get noticed so you could work your way out of that office and into something bigger, better, and much more metropolitan.

Her phone jangled her out of her musings. The screen displayed her sister's number, and Hailey eyed the sparse shelter at hand. Angling her SUV off the two-lane highway and onto a half-moon of dirt, she nosed the vehicle toward a stand of scraggly fir trees. She gave them a dubious glance before picking up her phone.

"Hey, Kaylee. I've got about two minutes before the mother of all thunderstorms unleashes its wrath."

"That's what you said on Tuesday," her older sister scoffed.

"It's what I say every afternoon about this time because that's what happens every afternoon about this time."

"Did you pull off someplace safe?" Kaylee had a knack for gliding into mothering mode at the drop of a pin … or a hailstone.

"Sorta, kinda. I'm parked off the road beside some skinny pine trees."

"Those trees could become lances. Don't you have any better options?"

"There's a current shortage of garages and bomb shelters large enough to fit my car," Hailey replied dryly. "It's the best I can do for now."

"Are you still not driving a county car?"

"Not yet. They're still working on it." Like they had been for the last two years. Meanwhile, she got a decent travel stipend to offset her costs. The promise had been coming for so long it was almost more comical than it was irritating.

"Well, if they're going to continue cheaping out, you need a new car that's reliable so you can ditch the one that's held together with so much bubble gum and duct tape that kids and contractors everywhere are wondering about the supply chain."

"My travel per diem wouldn't cover the cost of a new car. And reliability isn't the issue here. My car is fine. It's the storm outside that's not. You know, the one we were discussing before you started needling me about my car?" As if on cue, a bolt of lightning ripped through the clouds, illuminating the murky sky with a sizzling flash.

Undeterred, Kaylee pressed on. "It's not as if you can't afford it."

Hailey could afford it, but her current set of wheels was paid for. More importantly, she had a lifelong dream to finance. Vehicles, fashion, and a rental with more upside than her current dump all came in second to her number one priority. "Are you saying you want me to get a new car so it can get destroyed by hail?"

Kaylee's long-suffering sigh was her answer. Hailey was an expert at pushing her sister's buttons; she'd perfected it over the last twenty-six years. It wasn't that she set out to be annoying, but it came naturally, like eating … one of her favorite pastimes.

Thunder rumbled through the ground. "You called for a reason, Kayl, and you might want to get to it sooner rather than later."

"I was just checking to see if you know your plans yet. Are you heading here tonight or waiting until tomorrow?"

"I have one more inspection to do in a little town called Fall River. It's about a five-hour drive from Denver, so if I get the job banged out, I'll head to your place right after. On paper, it's hardly a town, so I can't imagine this particular restaurant has much of a kitchen."

"Is this the kind of thing your new hire is going to do so you don't have to?"

"You betcha—as soon as I get him trained. And you'd better believe I'm putting him through the crash course." Hailey's department had scraped together enough budget to hire a part-time assistant to help with her load. Monday would be his first day, and she couldn't wait to fill up his weekly thirty hours.

"It's about time they got you some help," Kaylee declared. "I sure hope you can make it tonight."

"Me too. I need to spend some time in a big city club, rocking to music that's not country, drinking big girl beverages, dancing with big girl … men."

Her sister gave her the obligatory tsk—the oral equivalent of an eye-roll—before they hung up. Hailey checked the sky one more time. After testing her wipers, she pulled back onto the highway and headed toward her last job of the day.

Hailey cut her speed to twenty as she rolled past the historic buildings lining Bowen Street, Fall River's only paved road, which was both the town's main avenue and a continuation of the highway. Several blocks in, vehicles filled every parking spot as far as the eye could see. The boulevard was wide, but the overabundance of trucks and SUVs lent it an unexpected sardines-in-a-can feel.

The reason for the crowd soon became obvious as people traded places in the doorway of a tall red-brick building, some folks leaving and others filing in. With no one behind her, Hailey crawled to a stop for a better look. A huge banner draped a set of double doors, announcing a grand opening for the Miners Tavern. Cute play on the town's mining past. Through large front windows on either side of the entrance, she saw patrons crowding an old-timey interior with a beautiful dark wooden bar that soared to an open second level. Festive balloon bouquets decorated each end of the bar top. The place exuded the warmth and charm of a bygone era and beckoned her inside to soak up its ambience.

She scanned the tavern's neighbors that stood sentinel to the town's past glory. A few appeared to be in some state of restoration, while others looked like rough hunks of rock waiting to be polished into sparkling gems—or dynamited. Like the humming bar, a few storefronts also buzzed with patrons, among them a coffee shop, a general store, and a place that advertised handmade soaps.

Her mind wandered to familiar possibilities. "Drop in a quaint bookstore, and it would fit in nicely with the aesthetic," she muttered aloud.

Honking behind her snapped her from her gawking. With an apologetic wave, she coasted to the next street and turned, squaring off the block. She parked in front of a building that was the tavern's complete opposite. Its stained wood siding, ancient square logs, and gray chinking reminded her of a shack one might find in a ghost town. A tired sign, its red lettering faded, announced that this was Dell's. "Rustic" would have been paying the place a compliment.

She checked that the tight bun at her nape wasn't about to unravel before gathering her storage clipboard and purse. Exiting her SUV, she stood for a moment and eyed Dell's exterior. Was it leaning to one side? The questionable soundness of the building's structure wasn't her problem. Her only concern was the kitchen, and she hoped it presented better than the rest of the place, or she might be here a while … and she really wanted to get to Kaylee's tonight to kick off her weekend of fun.

With a headshake, she made her way over a rickety boardwalk to the front door and stepped inside. Before her eyes could adjust to the gloom, a deep voice asked if he could help her. On reflex, she pulled out her picture ID and held it up. "Colorado Department of Public Health. I'm Hailey Bailey, here to inspect the kitchen. Is the manager available?"

"Hailey? Bailey?" A man emerged out of the shadows with a smirk and a swagger. He wore his pale blond hair long and perfectly styled. His forty-something face had just the right amount of stubble and was evenly tanned with a hint of deep orange that reminded her of skin coated in spray tan. His cut physique was on full display, thanks to a tight polo shirt in the shade of Miami-Vice pink. Though this was her first time in Fall River, she was pretty sure this guy wasn't a local.

"Are you the manager?"

"I'm the owner," he chided as he scanned her credentials. He crossed his arms in a way that made his biceps bulge. "Who told you to inspect my place?"

"It's a routine inspection, sir." Pocketing her ID, she lifted the clipboard's cover, extracted the notice, and offered it to him. "And your name is …?"

He ignored the notice and her question. "Are you really going to stand there and tell me this isn't because those cutthroat Hunnicutts pulled some strings to hound my ass?"

"Cutthroat Hunnicutts? Not sure I follow."

"The Hunnicutt family, of course." He narrowed one eye. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Even if the name rang a bell, she would have put on her poker face. She extended the paperwork toward him in a silent suggestion he take it. "I'm from Montrose County. As for Hunnicutt, I'm not familiar with the name. If you'll read the notice, you'll see this is a standard inspection conducted at least once a year. You might recall one being done ten months ago?"

His beefy arms seemed to cinch a little tighter. "You're in the wrong county, little lady. This is San Juan County. I'd be happy to show you where to go."

His "where to go" carried a whole other meaning she chose to overlook. "As San Juan is the least populated county in the state, it simply doesn't have the staff, and inspectors from surrounding counties help fill in the gaps." She twitched the notice at him, which spelled it out. He didn't even give it a glance.

"Ten months? You're on the early side. What are you, some kind of eager-beaver bureaucrat?"

His words teased a laugh she had to rein in. An eager-beaver bureaucrat she most definitely was not, but motivated to get this over with? She certainly was that. "Inspections are doneonce a year at minimum. Many restaurants are inspected multiple times." The good sense her sister had taught her kept her from adding, "And if your place wasn't located in Podunk Town, you can bet your bottom dollar Dell's would be inspected more than once a year too, buster."

Instead, she drilled into his icy blue gaze. "I will need to note an individual's name on my report, and since you're the owner ..." She let the question hang.

"Who do you show as owning this place?"

Seriously? "My paperwork says Magnus Man, LLC. Is that your entity, sir?" And can I have your damn name, already?

Magnus Man broke into a brilliantly smug smile. "If I tell you that, then the LLC's anonymity is pierced."

She clamped her mouth shut to keep it from spewing bad words. Fine. I'll write down Blond Asshole on that line.

"I expect the inner workings of Colorado corporations are probably above your pay grade," he drawled, "and there's no need to worry your pretty little head over them. Just know I'm an attorney from Aspen, and I only work with high-net individuals and their companies, so you can trust that the LLC is legit. I know what I'm doing, and I do understand how these things work. Now, if you care to produce your MBA certificate or your license to practice law, we can wade into the weeds. Otherwise, why don't we agree that you've served your twenty-four-hour notice and you'll be back sometime after that window expires?"

This guy apparently loved the sound of his own voice. Weary of the irrelevant cat-and-mouse game, Hailey parked a fist on her hip. "It doesn't work like that, sir. While notices may be given ahead of time, they're usually delivered by the inspector upon his or her arrival. Each county's department of public health dictates who and when; those decisions are beyond an inspector's control. Now, if you'd care to contact the head of Montrose County Public Health, I'm sure he'd be happy to lay out the law for you."

A feminine voice called from the murk somewhere behind Miami Vice Thor. "Bruno, a word?"

Bruno huffed and stalked back toward a dark hallway Hailey suspected led to her target—the kitchen. She let out a silent breath to calm her jarred nerves. Confrontations gave her hives, and she was fortunate that most restaurant managers were savvy enough to oblige without a fuss. This idiot appeared unable to get out from under his own self-important shadow.

All she wanted was to get this over with so she could be on her way to Denver and the sanctuary of her sister's town house, the oblivion of yummy vodka drinks, and dancing at a club that wasn't a honky-tonk. Then, for at least the weekend, she could forget her job and jerkwads like Bruno Magnus Miami Vice.

Bruno marched back and beamed that toothpaste-commercial smile of his, minus any warmth. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Finally! Hailey plastered on a saccharine smile of her own. "Yes, let's." Once more, she thrust the notice at him, and this time he took it.

Progress. She followed him into a small, tired kitchen.

The woman he'd spoken to leaned against a chipped counter, her arms folded as she scrutinized Hailey. She had a froth of fuzzy black hair that moved when she spoke. "We're about to remodel, so this timing seems unwarranted."

Oh, this was going to be fun … not.

Hailey snapped on a pair of latex gloves. "Is food being served out of this kitchen?"

"Well, yes, but …"

"Then I'll get right to work so we can all move on."