High Frequency, HMT 2G, #1
When the rug is pulled from under Detective Sloane Eckhart, she leaves the Billings PD and returns to Libby, Montana.
Eight years ago she left with her pride and the promise of a future, but her heart was broken. On her return, there is no pride left, no prospects to speak of, but at least her heart is safely secured in the back seat.
Still, a bit of groveling, a kind offer of help, and a brand-new job with the sheriff’s office quickly gets her back on her feet.
High Meadow will always be home to Dan Blakely. Working with horses, being part of the HMT search and rescue team, and now building his own home right next door checks all his boxes. Only one thing is missing, but that dream walked out the door a long time ago.
Still, his life is good, steady…and perhaps a little boring.
That quickly changes when the rescue of a young, teenage girl, places the new sheriff’s detective squarely in his path. He’s not bored now, doing his best to keep her safe, even as their past holds them back while they fight for a future.
“What do you need me to do?” I offer.
Next thing I know, my arms open automatically when she shoves the baby at me.
“Take her.”
Ama disappears inside before my brain can come up with an objection.
Any baby experience I have began and ended with Carmi, Sully’s daughter, and Fletch’s son, Hunter, and that was twelve or thirteen years ago. It’s not that I don’t like babies, because I do, but the fact this is Sloane’s baby is making it a little awkward. Still, I settle her a little better in the crook of my arm.
Then I hear the creak of the rocking chair and Thomas’s raspy chuckle and look up. The old fart clearly thinks this is funny.
“You should see the look on your face,” he points out as he continues to rock his chair. “I’m guessing young Sloane becoming a parent was a surprise to you as well?”
“Yes,” I grumble, just as a little hand slaps against my chin and catches on the short hairs of my beard.
I drop my eyes to Sloane’s baby, who has her little face turned toward me. I don’t know who the dark hair belongs to, but those blue eyes are unmistakably her mother’s.
“Aspen. That’s her name,” Thomas shares. “Pretty little thing, ain’t she?”
She is, especially when her little mouth spreads in a wide, toothless smile.
“You look good holdin’ that baby,” he continues. “Too bad you let her momma slip away, or that wee one could’a been yours.”
Fuck. That stings.
Should’ve known the old man wouldn’t hesitate to poke his finger in the sore spot.
“I’m not the one who left.”
The bitter comment slips out before I can check it.
“No, you weren’t. You’re just the one who let her walk.”
Agitated, I get to my feet, shifting the baby to my shoulder as I start to pace the porch.
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“It never is, son. It never is.”
