"The b.i.t.c.h from h.e.l.l, that's what he said."

"Great. Just what we need." She set her cup down. "I'll have Berta get the scoop from Eloise," she said. She smiled as he went to place her order. Small towns. A curse and a blessing. You could usually find out anything about anybody just by going through Berta and Eloise. Of course that meant your life was also an open book. Which made her wonder how long it would be before someone brought up Moaning Mona.

Morgan sat at her desk and did what she always did after the first major storm. She made a listing of the most popular cross-country trails and snowmobile routes and made notes on which ones she still needed to mark. Every summer, before the seasonal staff got laid off, she had intentions to get the trails marked for skiing long before the first snowfall. And each year, that plan fell through. So she was forced to strap on skis and hit the trails herself.

She hated cross-country skiing. But the snowmobile routes?

Oh, yeah, now that was fun. She intentionally left those for last, waiting until a good base was down before attempting those in the backcountry. But since the storm a week ago, they'd only had a dusting. The snow had all but melted in the lower elevations.

"Hey," Berta called quietly across the room. "Take a look,"

she said, motioning to the street.

Morgan inwardly groaned. Moaning Mona was walking beside Charlie, heading this way. She gripped the edge of her desk hard, trying to decide how she was going to play it. She tried to act as nonchalant as possible, only giving the approaching couple a cursory glance. Maybe Moaning Mona wouldn't remember her.

Or maybe if she showed indifference, Mona would think Morgan didn't remember her.

Yeah, good luck with that.

She kept her head down when the door opened, feigning interest in her trail map. But it would just be rude to totally ignore them. She finally glanced up and offered a quick smile.

"Berta, Morgan," Charlie began. "This is my daughter.

Mona."

Mona politely shook hands with Berta then turned with a wicked grin to Morgan. "So Morgan? Forest ranger, huh? Imagine that."

Morgan coughed nervously. "Yeah, imagine that." She stuck her hand out. "Nice to finally meet you."

Mona laughed. "Yes, it was nice to meet you."

Charlie frowned, looking from one to the other, then glancing quickly at Berta. Berta gave him a knowing smile.

Great. Just great. Berta knows. Just a matter of time before Charlie finds out that I slept with his daughter. Morgan wanted to slink under her desk and hide.

"So, you two have already met?" Charlie finally asked.

Morgan cast pleading eyes at Mona who only chuckled.

"Yes, you could say that." Mona turned to her father. "I ran into her at that bar. What's it called? Sloan's?"

Charlie stared at Morgan. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Yeah, Morgan, why didn't you tell him? "Well, Charlie, I didn't know she was your daughter."

"Well, when I told you her name was Mona, surely that rang a bell. I mean, how many Monas are you going to run into at Sloan's?"

"I-" But Morgan closed her mouth. She refused to tell Charlie-in front of Berta, no less-that she'd slept with his daughter and she never even knew her name.

"As I recall, I don't think we exchanged names. Did we?"

Mona asked her, that same sickening smile on her face.

Morgan knew she was blus.h.i.+ng, and she looked quickly at Charlie, seeing the questions in his eyes as his brow furrowed, then a slight widening of his eyes as he finally put two and two together. Morgan looked away. Somebody please shoot me now.

"So...the morning you came home at three," he said, looking at Mona, "was the same morning that Morgan came in here looking like-" He paused, his glance sliding to Morgan. "Are you saying that-"

"I'm not saying anything," Morgan said, grabbing her coat.

"In fact, I have, you know, things to do. I have lots of things to do.

So, it was nice to meet you, Mona," she said as she headed to the door. "I hope you enjoyed your ski trip, and have a safe trip back to New York."

She slammed the door and walked away, not daring to look back into the office. What are the chances? She rolled her eyes, making a silent vow to never pick up a woman at Sloan's again.

CHAPTER SIX.

"So that's her?" Morgan asked Tracy as she slid her beer down the bar.

"Yeah. Doesn't talk to anyone. Just comes in, gets a beer and burger, and leaves."

Morgan surveyed the tall woman who was sitting alone in a booth, her long legs stretched out as she read a newspaper. Dark hair-short and s.h.a.ggy-a thick wool sweater over a denim s.h.i.+rt, jeans and boots. Cowboy boots.

Morgan smiled smugly. "Wonder how many times she's going to bust her a.s.s with those boots?"

Tracy grinned. "I hear Googan is scared of her."

"Googan is scared of his own shadow. Not that anything ever happens in this county that Googan couldn't handle, I'm still glad they brought in somebody to replace Ned." She glanced at the woman again. "That's a.s.suming she's a real sheriff." She lowered her voice. "Berta tells me she comes from Winter Park."

Tracy nodded. "Googan said she was Chief of Police up there.

Said she demanded they call her Chief and not Sheriff."

"Kinda full of herself, huh?"

Tracy leaned closer. "Why don't you go talk to her?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I think she's your type."

Morgan laughed. "Oh, no. I think I've learned my lesson about picking up women in the bar."

"Yeah. About that last one. I saw her-"

"Look, let's just forget about that, okay? Because if word got out that-"

"You mean because she's Charlie's daughter?"

"Christ! Does everybody know?"

"Well, gee, Morgan, the place was full that night. Half the town was here."

"Great. And she ended up being a psycho. And straight at that."

"She was cute."

"Yeah, a cute psycho. And she's my boss's daughter."

"You didn't know that at the time." She paused. "Did you?"

"No. h.e.l.l, I didn't even know her name. I woke up in the morning and she was gone."

Tracy shook her head. "Don't need to know about all that, Morgan. You know my mother already questions our friends.h.i.+p."

"Still? I've been here seven years. You'd think she'd get over it already."

"It would help if I had a boyfriend."

"In this town?"

"I know. I need to get out of here."

"You've been saying that since I met you."

"I just love it here. Best fis.h.i.+ng in the Rockies, if you ask me. And now snowmobiling. I mean, I work nights and have all day to play. If I move to a city, or even a nice-sized town like Gunnison, I'm looking at an eight-to-five job. And doing what?

I'm a bartender."

"You're fast approaching thirty," Morgan reminded her.

"I know. And still working at my uncle's bar."

"Well, Sloan doesn't have kids. Maybe when they retire, you could buy the joint."

Tracy tossed Morgan the towel and pointed at the water spot from her beer. "I'll tell my mother you said that. She'll be so proud that my ambition is to own a bar that she'll quit harping on me to move to Gunnison and go to college."

"Uh-huh," Morgan said absently, but her attention was drawn to the new sheriff as Jeff brought over a paper bag with her dinner to go. The woman nodded at Jeff but didn't speak.

Then she downed the last of her beer, tossed a couple of bills on the table, got up and left. "You're right. She doesn't speak."

"She's kind of mysterious, don't you think?"

"I was going to say brooding," Morgan said. At least that's how it appeared to her. The woman had folded the newspaper earlier and had simply stared off into s.p.a.ce, as if contemplating life, not even the occasional slap of the pool b.a.l.l.s interrupting her. There was no smile, no expression. And no words as Jeff brought her dinner. Definitely brooding about something.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

It was a beautiful morning, clear and bright, and even the ten-degree temperature didn't dampen Morgan's mood. They'd had a couple inches of snow during the night. Not enough to hinder travel and certainly not enough to add to the base on the trails, but enough to cover the ground and trees with picture-perfect snow. These were the times that Morgan could actually admit she liked winter. Not during a driving snowstorm. Not during subzero weather. And definitely not in March and April when a late storm would push spring back yet again. But on days like today, with a crispness in the air, the sun reflecting brightly off the fresh snow, the crystal flakes clinging to the spruce and firs, and the birds and squirrels flitting about, it was nearly perfect.

And it made her miss Jackson. When he was younger, these were the mornings when he'd bound off the back porch and snorkel in the snow, his eyes bright and playful, begging for a quick walk in the woods. And she would oblige, following him along the trail as he chased after squirrels and played in the snow.

Maybe I should get another puppy.

But she shook her head. It was too hard. Let it go.

And she did, driving south out of town toward the lake.

Lake San Cristobal was one of the largest natural lakes in the state, formed by the Slumgullion Earthflow. The flow was still active, but it wasn't affecting the lake any longer. And the lake itself was one of the most pristine Morgan had ever seen, with a backdrop of fourteen thousand foot peaks. And the view today was spectacular, the high country getting much more snow than they had down in the valley. Above the lodge, the mountains showed nothing but white. She thought the first big group of snowmobilers might come around this week.

She turned where Hines Creek met the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River and saw a familiar truck parked off to the side.

She slowed, knowing Ed Wade was probably just fis.h.i.+ng, but she wanted to check on him all the same. As she pulled behind his truck, she saw him and another man standing on snow-covered boulders fly-fis.h.i.+ng.

She got out of her warm truck and slipped on her parka, trudging her way to the river. Ed saw her and waved.

"Hey, Morgan. Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

"Absolutely. Most people would say too d.a.m.n cold for fis.h.i.+ng though."

"Oh, I promised my uncle, you know. Uncle Dave? This is Morgan. Forest Service."

"Yep," he muttered and continued with his fis.h.i.+ng.

Morgan raised her eyebrows.

"He's eighty-eight. Doesn't talk much."

"I ain't deaf though."

Morgan laughed as he moved farther away from them.

"He came up to spend Thanksgiving. You know my mother leaves for the winter about now. They'll be here until Sunday then ride back together." He lowered his voice. "He's feisty, so I like to get him out of the house."

"No doubt. Well, I'll let you get back to your fis.h.i.+ng. I saw your truck and wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"Oh, sure. Thanks, Morgan. Have a good one."