next three to six months.”
“So possibly a year.”
“If it’s not a problem.”
Dillon didn’t think it’d be a problem provided Shane’s check cleared, but he’d still have to run it past his brothers. “It shouldn’t be. I think I told you I’m leaving town tomorrow. It’d be great if we could get papers drawn up and a check before I go. That way I can just hand over a key and you can move in whenever you’re ready.”
“Your brothers don’t want to meet me?”
“They trust my opinion.”
“And your opinion is...?”
“I’ll run a credit check and if that’s good, and your money’s good, I think we have a deal.”
Shane smiled faintly. “That’s all it takes to move into the Sheenan place? Good credit and cash?”
Dillon smiled back, but he wasn’t all that amused. “It’d be different if one of us was living there, but the place is empty, so it’ll just be you and the Sheenan ghosts.”
Shane’s head turned and he gave Dillon an odd look. “Is the house haunted?”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“Definitely not afraid, just curious. Are there ghosts or spirits hanging around the place?”
“Nothing too scary. Just my mother’s spirit. She died young and we think she’s found it impossible to leave.” Dillon’s gaze held Shane’s, challenging him. “Will that be a problem for you?”
The edges of Shane’s mouth curled up, his expression mocking. “No. Your mom sounds like an interesting lady. I think we’d get along just fine.”
L unch over, Dillon swung by the bank and deposited the cashier’s check from Shane covering the first six months rent and then headed south on Main Street, wanting to get home.
He had just passed the courthouse and Crawford Park when he spotted boys on the side of the icy road, messing around.
There were five or six of them out sledding, taking advantage of the powdery snow from the storm that had moved through Crawford County Saturday night, coating the valley in glittering white powder. He was glad to see kids out, enjoying themselves. It’s what he and his brothers did before they were old enough to drive to Bridger Bowl or Big Sky.
He slowed as he approached, the afternoon sun bouncing off the snow, the light blindingly bright. From this angle it looked as if one of the boys, crouched down, was beating something, most likely an old wooden flyer with a rail that had come loose.
The boys were oblivious he was there and he drew to a stop. But once stopped, he realized that the boy wasn’t pounding a rail. The boy was pounding another kid.
Fights were nothing new to Dillon. Having been the youngest in a family of five brothers, he’d had plenty of black eyes and bloody noses as it was impossible to grow up in a testosterone-fueled house of alpha males without some bumping and shoving. You wouldn’t survive in the Sheenan household if you didn’t know how to throw a punch as well as defend yourself.
But these kids were young, and the one lying in the snow, seemed to be taking a beating and Dillon sure hoped the boy on the ground had at least gotten in a few good licks before being taken down.
It was only fair, especially as the fight looked very one-sided at this point. One-sided enough that Dillon felt compelled to step in at this point.
He turned the engine off and swung out, boots crunching snow. “That’s enough,” he shouted.
The pummeling continued.
He whistled loudly.
The boy on top stopped swinging, but he kept one hand wrapped around the kid’s jacket collar.
Dillon didn’t like being ignored. “Get off him,” he growled, striding into the knot of red-faced panting savages, lifting the aggressor off, and dropping him none too gently onto his butt.
The smaller kid lay on his back in the snow, staring up at Dillon, dazed. His nose was bleeding and his lip was cut as well. He was undoubtedly going to have a couple shiners tomorrow, too.
“You okay?” Dillon asked him, reaching down to give him a hand
“So possibly a year.”
“If it’s not a problem.”
Dillon didn’t think it’d be a problem provided Shane’s check cleared, but he’d still have to run it past his brothers. “It shouldn’t be. I think I told you I’m leaving town tomorrow. It’d be great if we could get papers drawn up and a check before I go. That way I can just hand over a key and you can move in whenever you’re ready.”
“Your brothers don’t want to meet me?”
“They trust my opinion.”
“And your opinion is...?”
“I’ll run a credit check and if that’s good, and your money’s good, I think we have a deal.”
Shane smiled faintly. “That’s all it takes to move into the Sheenan place? Good credit and cash?”
Dillon smiled back, but he wasn’t all that amused. “It’d be different if one of us was living there, but the place is empty, so it’ll just be you and the Sheenan ghosts.”
Shane’s head turned and he gave Dillon an odd look. “Is the house haunted?”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“Definitely not afraid, just curious. Are there ghosts or spirits hanging around the place?”
“Nothing too scary. Just my mother’s spirit. She died young and we think she’s found it impossible to leave.” Dillon’s gaze held Shane’s, challenging him. “Will that be a problem for you?”
The edges of Shane’s mouth curled up, his expression mocking. “No. Your mom sounds like an interesting lady. I think we’d get along just fine.”
L unch over, Dillon swung by the bank and deposited the cashier’s check from Shane covering the first six months rent and then headed south on Main Street, wanting to get home.
He had just passed the courthouse and Crawford Park when he spotted boys on the side of the icy road, messing around.
There were five or six of them out sledding, taking advantage of the powdery snow from the storm that had moved through Crawford County Saturday night, coating the valley in glittering white powder. He was glad to see kids out, enjoying themselves. It’s what he and his brothers did before they were old enough to drive to Bridger Bowl or Big Sky.
He slowed as he approached, the afternoon sun bouncing off the snow, the light blindingly bright. From this angle it looked as if one of the boys, crouched down, was beating something, most likely an old wooden flyer with a rail that had come loose.
The boys were oblivious he was there and he drew to a stop. But once stopped, he realized that the boy wasn’t pounding a rail. The boy was pounding another kid.
Fights were nothing new to Dillon. Having been the youngest in a family of five brothers, he’d had plenty of black eyes and bloody noses as it was impossible to grow up in a testosterone-fueled house of alpha males without some bumping and shoving. You wouldn’t survive in the Sheenan household if you didn’t know how to throw a punch as well as defend yourself.
But these kids were young, and the one lying in the snow, seemed to be taking a beating and Dillon sure hoped the boy on the ground had at least gotten in a few good licks before being taken down.
It was only fair, especially as the fight looked very one-sided at this point. One-sided enough that Dillon felt compelled to step in at this point.
He turned the engine off and swung out, boots crunching snow. “That’s enough,” he shouted.
The pummeling continued.
He whistled loudly.
The boy on top stopped swinging, but he kept one hand wrapped around the kid’s jacket collar.
Dillon didn’t like being ignored. “Get off him,” he growled, striding into the knot of red-faced panting savages, lifting the aggressor off, and dropping him none too gently onto his butt.
The smaller kid lay on his back in the snow, staring up at Dillon, dazed. His nose was bleeding and his lip was cut as well. He was undoubtedly going to have a couple shiners tomorrow, too.
“You okay?” Dillon asked him, reaching down to give him a hand
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