Fallen. B.J. Daniels

      THE LAST BREATH OF summer blew out of the high timber. It swept down from the Crazy Mountains to turn into a howling gust that blew into the near ghost town of Beartooth, Montana. Picking up a tumbleweed, the wind sent it cartwheeling past the Branding Iron Café.

      From inside the café, Bethany Gates saw it blow by as she refilled coffee cups at the local ranchers’ regular front table. She was counting the days until she wouldn’t have to waitress. Her senior year of high school was about to begin and she’d promised herself that this year she was going to change her life.

      As the tumbleweed rolled past, a pickup pulled up in front of the Beartooth General Store across the street. Bethany watched Ginny West climb out and start up the steps to the two-story, old-fashioned storefront.

      Bethany hated the familiar taste of jealousy, bitter and strong, in her mouth. Often she wondered what it must be like to be Ginny, blond and beautiful, popular and rich. Well, maybe not rich like movie stars and athletes, but rich by Beartooth standards since her daddy owned a nice ranch south of town.

      Ginny West wasn’t spending her summer before college in a greasy-spoon café slinging plates of food and pouring coffee until her arm ached.

      “I’d take a little more of the decaf,” one of the ranchers said behind her.

      Bethany turned away from the window and admitted to herself the real reason she resented Ginny so much. His name was Clete Reynolds. She’d seen the two of them laughing and talking. The memory still bit into her like a rabid dog. Since Bethany was a girl, Clete had been hers. At least in her mind and heart.

      She filled the rancher’s cup, tuning out the same talk she’d heard every morning all summer. The men came in about the same time every day, took the same table and talked about the same things: the price of cattle, the weather, how the crops had done this year and the upcoming hunting season.

      The only way she’d been able to survive the summer was to spend it daydreaming about Clete. She’d been devastated when he’d gone off to the University of Montana on a football scholarship. Everyone said he would make pro and that the next time they all saw him would be on ESPN. She’d known that he’d never come back to Beartooth if that happened.

      As if she’d put a curse on him, Clete had gotten hurt his sophomore year, quit college and come home. He’d taken a job bartending just down the street at the Range Rider — just until he got better and could go back to playing football for U of M, he told everyone.

      Bethany knew that was never going to happen and figured most people in town did as well. But since everyone liked Clete, no one was about to tell him to his face.

      From the back of the café, Lou, the cook, called through the pass-thru that her orders were up. Bethany had learned to stack the plates along her arms and was now able to carry six to eight of them without any trouble. Her arms had muscled up over the summer. She was in the best shape she’d been in since when she used to barrel race competitively.

      Not that Clete had noticed, she thought, as she carried the food to the ranchers’ table. She distributed the plates, pulling ketchup and Tabasco sauce out of her deep-pocketed apron, and asking if anyone needed anything else.

      No one answered so she wandered back to the front window. She could see Ginny West in the store visiting with the owner Nettie Benton. She wondered what the two of them were talking about. Nettie was the worst gossip in the county. Seeing them with their heads together and looking in this direction sent an arrow of dread through her.

      She and Ginny had never gotten along. But then there’d been that incident last year... Surely that wasn’t what Ginny and old Nosey Nettie were talking about. Bethany felt herself flush and hurriedly shoved the painful memory away.

      Instead she wondered why Ginny hadn’t already gone back to college yet. Ginny was two years older than her, but had been held back a year from when she broke her leg barrel racing. Ginny should have been back at Montana State University in Bozeman by now. So what was the hold up? Bethany couldn’t shake the bad feeling that for some reason Ginny West had changed her plans to leave town. It had better not have anything to do with Clete.

      * * *

      STANDING AT THE CHECKOUT counter in the general store, Ginny West nodded, barely listening to Nettie as the older woman went on about the owner of the Branding Iron Café. Ginny had more to worry about than Claude Durham’s health, she thought, touching the note in her pocket. She’d put it there after finding it on her pickup seat this morning.

      It wasn’t the first note like it that she’d received. She’d hoped the person who’d left them would get tired of harassing her. The notes felt...threatening. She could no longer pretend that no one knew the truth.

      “Claude’s already had at least one heart attack. Doesn’t take care of himself. Won’t take anyone’s advice.” Nettie sniffed as she looked across the narrow road to the cafe. “He was downright rude when I suggested he quit eating off his own menu.”

      “Uh-huh,” Ginny said, watching Bethany serve a large table full of local ranchers. The girl had been a thorn in her side from as far back as Ginny could remember. Had she left the threatening notes for her?

      Doubtful, since the notes appeared to be quotes from the Bible. She’d never seen Bethany Gates in the small community church at the end of the street. Not once.

      She wished it had been Bethany Gates who’d left them. That girl she could deal with. But she feared the person leaving the notes was someone else entirely and that had her running scared.

      Which is why she’d called him and told him they had to meet.

      The moment he’d answered the phone, she’d known it had been a mistake. He’d been upset with her for calling him at home.

      “I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t urgent,” she’d said, hating that he made her feel like a child.

      “I’m not sure I can get away,” he’d said lowering his voice.

      “This can’t wait. Someone knows.”

      Silence, then, “Give me an hour.” He’d hung up, sounding as upset as she was. But she doubted their reasons were the same.

      Across the street, Bethany paused in front of the large plate glass window and looked directly at her. Ginny could feel the girl’s loathing for her. Before last year, she’d never done anything to Bethany. She’d pretty much ignored her since they had nothing in common even though Bethany had begun dressing like her, even had her hair cut like her. Ginny had finally had to put a stop to it.

      Bethany was one of those true western girls who’d barrel raced at all the rodeos, would jump off the cliffs into the creek with the boys and didn’t squeal at the sight of snakes and frogs and spiders. She’d always