Home For a Cowboy Christmas(52)

He could still get Emmy. It would be easier if he could finish the job now, but Orso would make sure that she never took the stand against Joe. Whether Orso killed Emmy on the way to Colorado or at the courthouse in Denver, he would get the job done.

Orso turned the heat up in the car. “I fucking hate Montana,” he grumbled.

He wanted to return to the town, but too many outsiders showing up at once raised suspicions. Instead of a hot meal, he would be stuck picking up something questionable at the local convenience store. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d eaten such, but he was getting tired of it.

He’d considered retirement for a few years now. Perhaps Emmy would be his last job. He wouldn’t go out with a big bang as he wanted, but then again, it was rare for men in his occupation to get to determine their retirement. Most were either killed by rival families or caught by the police. He considered himself lucky.

“That luck might be running out,” he said as he put the car into drive. His stomach rumbled with hunger, causing his irritation to grow.

By the time he pulled into the convenience store’s parking lot, he was in a foul mood. He glanced at the gray sky as he got out of his SUV and hurried into the store. Once inside, he was less than pleased by the meager offerings. He ignored the conversation between a customer and the cashier behind him.

A glance at the mirror in the corner showed the cashier to be a tall, portly man in his sixties. Orso decided on some cheese and crackers, a bag of Chex Mix, a bottle of unsweetened tea, and fried apple pie for dessert. His doctor would have a fit if he knew the bad food Orso had consumed since tracking Emmy.

But he’d make up for it with healthy meals during retirement. Orso was tired of the cold. He wanted to be somewhere warm. The thought of all the old people in Florida made him sick to his stomach. Never mind that he was getting up in age, as well. He wouldn’t fit in with that crowd. No, he’d have better luck in California. There were so many eccentrics there that people wouldn’t look twice at him.

Orso took his food to the register. Two other people milled about the store. One was a frazzled-looking young mother, a toddler in tow. The other was an older woman with a slight limp. Her face was red, and she wore a purple beanie over mousy brown hair in desperate need of a wash.

“Hey, Mike,” the woman said as she passed.

The cashier raised his hand and smiled. “Hey, Irene.”

Orso set his items on the counter and pulled out his wallet as Mike rang up everything.

“How are you today?” Mike asked him with a smile.

Orso shrugged. “Hungry and cold.”

“If you have a long drive headed south, you best wait. There’s a storm coming in a few hours.”

“Thanks for the info,” Orso said and paid with cash.

Mike began putting the items in a bag as Irene walked up. Orso wanted to snatch his food from Mike’s grubby hands, but he made himself wait. The last thing he wanted was to do something that would make his stop memorable to the people here.

“Whew. What a day,” Irene said as she set a jug of milk and a loaf of bread on the counter.

Orso glanced her way to find her smiling at him. He gave her a nod, fisting his hand when Mike paused.

“How’s Jerry?” Mike asked Irene.

She laughed softly. “He’s helping Dwight at the ranch. They’re doing some hunting.”

“Hunting?” Mike asked in shock. “For what?”

Orso suddenly found himself very interested in the conversation. And happy that Mike was taking his time.

“Yeah, I thought it odd, too,” Irene said. “Jerry said it was a favor for Dwight. He didn’t tell me what they were hunting. No other ranchers have said anything about a bear or cougar that I know of. Have you heard anything?”

Mike shook his balding head, his brow furrowed. “Not a word. I wonder what’s going on at the ranch.”

“What ranch would this be?” Orso asked.

Irene’s head turned to him, but she clammed up. It was Mike who said, “Riverlands.”

“I hope he finds whatever he’s hunting,” Orso said as he took the bag from Mike’s grip and walked to his car.

The minute he was behind the wheel, he drove away. He returned to the rest stop since it had free Wi-Fi, which meant reception, something hard to come by in the mountains. Orso pulled out his phone and looked up the Riverlands ranch. He then compared it to the map of Montana he’d been using to dictate where to send the people helping him.

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured when he realized that it was close to the location where Dan and Nancy had stopped to ask for directions.

Orso quickly dialed the couple. Nancy answered on the second ring. “The ranch you stopped at,” Orso said. “What was the name?”

“Riverlands,” Nancy said.

Orso smiled. “You said the owner wasn’t friendly.”

“To be fair, not many are,” Dan said.

Orso thought about that for a moment. “Are you sure you spoke with the owner?”

“Hard to say,” Nancy said. “He was alone. We didn’t see anyone else other than a dog on the porch. But the ranch was big.”

“Did he introduce himself?”

“Never gave his name. Though he did ask why we came to Montana,” Dan said.