beneath some of the papers, so I picked it up. Jamie, or whoever had lost it, must have turned it off because the battery was still charged after two days when I turned it on. With no other way to contact the owner, I scanned the call log and noticed there were five missed calls from the same number. I hit redial, but no one answered. Refusing to spend more time hunting down the owner, I left a message asking the caller to let the owner know where they could find their missing phone, then got to work cleaning my office. I needed the distraction from dead bodies and possible ruin.
I was lost in thought an hour later when I heard Jamie cooing to Max in the outer hallway. “Skye! This dog is eyeing my muffin like he hasn’t eaten in a week. Are you hungry, boy?”
Oh crap! I forgot to feed Max before we left.
“I’m the worst mother ever,” I mumbled, rising from my chair. When I stepped into the hallway, I caught Jamie feeding Max part of her muffin. “He needs more sustenance than that.”
“Then feed him.”
“I don’t have any dog food here. Can you take him for a walk so he can pee and then stop by the feed store and buy a bag for the bar?”
“Sure thing. You got a leash?”
I retrieved his leash and a twenty from my purse, handing them both to Jamie. A few moments later, I heard Jamie arguing with Max. “Come on you stubborn dog.”
“What’s the problem?” I called out.
“He won’t budge. He’s dug his heels in.”
“Logan commanded him to stay by my side,” I explained. “I bet you need to tell him to heel. He’s on guard until he gets further orders.”
Jamie stuck her head through my office door with a funny look on her face. “Explain how and why a dog would follow orders?”
“He’s a war dog. Trained by the military. He’s as much of a soldier as Logan was.”
“Huh.” She looked back at Max. “Heel, soldier.” Max appeared at her side, looking up for further instructions. “Now what?”
“He should follow you. I know when Josh says heel, Max keeps close to him wherever he goes.”
“You gonna come with me now?” she asked Max and took two steps away. He immediately changed position and sat at her side. Jamie giggled and took two more steps away. Max moved with her and she laughed again. “This is so cool,” she called out and kept moving. I listened to her footsteps and Max’s nails on the hardwood floor until they left the building, then got back to work.
Ten minutes later, I heard the front door open again and footsteps across the wood floor. I expected to find Jamie and Max standing in my doorway when the footsteps stopped outside my office door. Instead I found a man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Bar opens at two on Mondays. Sorry, but you’ll have to leave.”
The man didn’t seem to hear me because he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. The hair on the back of my neck began to rise when his mouth pulled into a sneer.
“You’re that bitch who threw beer on me.”
Warning bells rang loudly in my head. I remembered him now. Logan had pointed a gun at him after he’d made an aggressive move in my direction Saturday night. He was one of the ranch hands who’d gotten into a fight. His eyes were meaner now than they’d been that night, and a little glassy as if he’d been drinking all night.
My attention darted to the baseball bat I kept on hand to break up bar fights. It was leaning in the corner just out of his line of sight. When I looked back at the ranch hand, my intentions must have shown on my face, because he lunged at the same time I dove for the bat. I shoved the open door in his direction, giving me a few precious seconds to reach the weapon, but not long enough. Before I could raise it in self-defense, he backhanded me, ripping the bat from my hand as I went flying to the floor. I rolled to my knees quickly, shaking my head to clear it, and caught a boot in my ribs before I could move. Air escaped my lungs so violently that no sound came out. But the pain in my side was like nothing I’d experienced before. Fire burned through me as I tried to crawl to