“Yeah, I got that impression. Tried asking around town today and you’d think I was requesting state secrets.”
That gets a small smile. “People are private. It’s not personal.”
“It feels a little personal.”
She leans a hip against the bar. “Your best bet is to talk to somebody at the Forrester ranch. They run the biggest operation in the area. Sometimes they take on seasonal hands.”
Forrester. There’s that name. It matches what Margaux told me: the family that runs this territory.
“How would I get in touch with them?”
“You don’t, really. They come to you, or they don’t.” She straightens up as someone flags her from the other end. “Ask around. If they’re interested, they’ll find you.”
She moves away. It’s not a dismissal, but it’s a door closing. Politely, firmly, in the same way every door in this town closes. With a smile and absolutely nothing useful behind it.
I add the details to my mental filing cabinet. Forrester ranch. Biggest operation. Closed shop. They come to you.
The man who slides onto the stool two seats down has been watching me since I walked in. Mid-thirties, heavy jaw, the ruddy complexion of someone who drinks here most nights.He’s been working up to this for ten minutes, and the beer has finally given him permission.
“You the girl asking about work?”
Word travels fast in a small bar. I keep my expression open. Friendly. The dress is doing its job.
“I might be. You know somebody hiring?”
“Depends on what kind of work.” He grins like he thinks that’s clever. “I run cattle on a place south of here. Could always use an extra pair of hands.”
“Yeah? Big operation?”
“Big enough. Few hundred head, give or take. My brother and I run it together.”
I doubt that very much. His boots are worn but not ranch-worn. No manure, no salt stains, no scuffing from stirrups. He’s a town wolf playing cowboy for the pretty stranger. But he wants to talk, and men who want to impress you will tell you things men who are being careful won’t.
“Must be hard to find good help out here,” I say. “Seems like everybody in this town’s already spoken for.”
“That’s the truth. Used to be you’d get folks coming through looking for day work. Families, sometimes. That dried up a while back.”
My pulse ticks up, but I keep my voice easy. “How come?”
He shrugs. “People move on, I guess. Lots of little towns out here that used to get more traffic. Cedar Falls keeps to itself these days.”
“I noticed. Friendly, though.”
“We’re plenty friendly.” He leans closer. His knee presses against mine under the bar, deliberate and unwelcome. “I could show you just how friendly, if you want. Buy you dinner. Give you the full tour.”
“I appreciate the offer.” I shift my leg away and meet his eyes. Not hostile. Just clear. “But I’m just here for the drink.”
“That so?” he says, his eyes traveling down my body and then up again.
“Yes. That’s so.” I know I’m supposed to be working the room, but I can’t help myself. My wolf bristles.
He reads it correctly. Pushing would be a mistake. He holds up both hands, grinning to save face. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I don’t. Have a good night.”
He takes his beer and retreats to a table where two other men immediately start giving him shit. I turn back to my whiskey, thinking on what he said.
That dried up a while back.Families used to come through. Now they don’t. It could mean nothing; small towns lose traffic all the time. Or it could mean the pipeline Brenna described: families relocated through this area, moved along, and then gone. The traffic didn’t dry up on its own. Someone turned off the tap.