Read Running Scared for Free Online Page B

possible.
    “Lookin’ for work?”
    “Nah. I rented the old McIntyre place.”
    “That scrap of sagebrush?”
    Daegan’s grin was slow. “Yep.”
    The barkeep chuckled. “Well, I’ll be. Gonna do some ranchin’?”
    “Hope so,” Daegan drawled, “if I can fix the fence line to keep the cattle in. Wouldn’t want ’em wanderin’ down the road or into the neighbor’s place.”
    The bartender stopped the fluid motion of his towel on the counter, and his face, big and pockmarked from a bout with acne, creased. “You met your neighbors yet?”
    Daegan shook his head and lifted a shoulder as if it didn’t matter much even though he was trying to learn as much about Kate Summers as possible. He’d sift through fact and fiction later.
    “Well, there’s a widow livin’ to the south of you.”
    “She alone?” Daegan asked, as if the conversation bored him though his fingers tightened over his mug.
    “Nope. Lives there with her boy.” Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the barkeep added, “She’s a looker, that one. Young—probably thirty, maybe thirty-five, good shape and smart. Teaches over at Western Cascade, that’s a local two-year college in Bend. Keeps to herself a lot, but then I can’t blame her.”
    “Why?” Daegan asked, though instinctively the muscles at the base of his neck tightened.
    “Well…it’s her boy…he’s…” The bartender sighed loudly and his eyebrows slammed together. Leaning closer to Daegan, he said, “Well, the kid’s an odd duck if ya know what I mean. No other way to describe him. He never has really fit in and there are stories about him.”
    “Yeah?” Daegan displayed only mild interest, though he was hungry for any scrap of information about the woman and her son.
    “She’s got her hands full with that one.”
    “Hey, Ben, how about a refill?” a burly lumberjack ex-football type at the far stool demanded. Unshaven, with sprinkles of sawdust in the hair that was visible beneath his hunting hat, he motioned to his glass. “You talkin’ about the Summers boy? Goddamned freak, if you ask me. A bonafide re tard.”
    “Takes one to know one,” another wiry man with leather-tough skin added. His laugh cackled through the saloon and an unlit cigarette jabbed in the corner of his mouth bobbed.
    “Shut up, Spencer,” the giant returned glumly, and Daegan, glancing in the mirror, caught a glimpse of Kate Summers walking out of the local dress shop.
    “Thanks,” he said, climbing off his stool and leaving more than enough cash to pay for his beer. So now for phase one, he thought grimly, and the thought settled deep in his craw. He’d never liked playing games and detested lying, but he was about to do both.
    “It’s now or never,” he reminded himself, shouldering open the door and walking briskly to keep up with her pace. She strode along the dusty sidewalk as if she were a woman on a mission, her sun-streaked hair bouncing against the shoulders of a faded denim jacket decorated with silver studs. She was small, not more than five foot four inches, and she didn’t look to the right or left. Her keys were clasped firmly in one hand, the strap of a large leather purse thrown over one shoulder.
    She must’ve heard him because, as she paused to unlock the door of her station wagon, she tossed a look his way. Eyes the color of aged whiskey gave him a quick once-over. His gut clenched unexpectedly as she looked away and he climbed into the cab of his truck.
    Yep, she was the same woman in the photograph. Her face had thinned in the past few years and there were a few tiny lines near the corners of her eyes. Her skin was more tanned, her hair streaked by the sun, and there was an air to her—the way she carried herself—that he hadn’t expected. As if she were a woman to be reckoned with.
    She opened the door and threw her purse on the passenger seat when he rolled down his window, then jabbed a finger in the direction of her right front fender. “Looks like