Montana Sky by Nora Roberts

you for all those other women you like to play with.”
    â€œI’d take my chances on that, too.” But he backed off. It wasn’t the time, or the place. Still, he had a feeling he’d be looking for both very soon. “I’ll be back.”
    â€œYeah.” She dipped her hands into her pockets as he climbed into his rig. Her pulse was still drumming. “I know.”
    She waited until his taillights disappeared down the long dirt road. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the house, at the lights. She wanted that hot bath, that hot meal, and a long night’s sleep. But all of that would have to wait. Mercy Ranch was hers, and she had to talk to her men.
    As operator, she tried to stay away from the bunkhouse. She believed the men were entitled to their privacy, and this wood-framed building with its rocking chairs on the porch was their home. Here they slept and ate, read their books if reading was what pleased them. They played cards andargued over them, watched television and complained about the boss.
    Nell would cook the meals in the bungalow she shared with Wood and their sons, then cart the food over. She didn’t serve the men, and one of them was assigned cleanup duty every week. That way they could eat as they pleased. They might eat dusty from work, or in their underwear. They could lie about women or the size of their cocks.
    It was, after all, their home.
    So she knocked and waited to be hailed inside. They were all there but Wood, who was eating his supper at home with his family. The men ranged around the table, Ham at the head, his chair tipped back since he’d just finished his meal. Billy and Jim continued to shovel in chicken and dumplings like a pair of wolves vying for meat. Pickles washed his back with beer and scowled.
    â€œI’m sorry to interrupt your meal.”
    â€œWe’re about done here,” Ham told her. “Billy, get to the dishes. You eat any more, you’ll bust. You want some coffee, Will?”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind.” She walked to the stove herself, poured a cup, and left it black. She understood that this was a delicate matter and she’d have to be both tactful and direct. “I can’t figure who would slice up that old cat.” She sipped, let it stew. “Anybody have an idea?”
    â€œI checked on Wood’s boys.” Ham rose to pour coffee for himself. “Nell says they were in the house with her most of the evening. Now they both have pocketknives, and Nell had them fetch them to show me. They were clean.” He grimaced as he drank. “The younger one, Pete, he busted out crying when he heard about old Mike. Tall boy, Pete. You forget he’s only eight.”
    â€œI heard about kids doing shit like that.” Pickles sulked in his beer. “Grow up to be serial killers.”
    Willa spared him a glance. If anybody found a way to make things worse, it was Pickles. “I don’t think Wood’s boys are John Wayne Gacys in training.”
    â€œCoulda been McKinnon.” Billy clattered dishes in the sink and hoped Willa would notice him. He was alwayshoping she’d notice him; his crush on her was as wide as Montana. “He was here.” He jerked his head to flop his straw-colored hair out of his eyes. Scrubbed harder than necessary at dishes so the muscles on his arms would flex. “And his men were up in the hills when the steer got laid open.”
    â€œYou ought to think before you start flapping your lips, you asshole.” Ham made the statement without heat. Anyone under thirty, in his mind, had the potential to be an asshole. Billy, with his eager eyes and imagination, had more potential than most. “McKinnon isn’t a man who’d cut up some damn cat.”
    â€œWell, he was here,” Billy said stubbornly, and slanted his eyes sideways to see if Willa was listening.
    â€œHe was here,” she agreed. “And he was inside with