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Little Ray of Pitch Black

Page 20

by Lani Lynn Vale

I got my coffee and as I was leaving, heading to my car so I could sit until the town meeting, I’d run into my closest neighbors—which happened to be not all that close.

But close enough that we were all being affected by this so-called annexation.

There were nine of us in total.

All so far outside of town that it should’ve never been an issue—widening the road would accomplish nothing for the town so far outside of it.

Apparently, they were widening it to three lanes—a passing lane that would alternate on each side of oncoming traffic—to help with traffic flow into the city.

Which was absurd, because we had nothing here but a stupid ski resort in the next town over.

And I was in between Bear Pass and Sawtooth.

The traffic was nonexistent most of the time.

When people wanted to come in, they generally did that from the opposite direction, which was where Bozeman was located and the closest airport.

The only thing in the opposite direction of where I lived was the animal sanctuary, hiking trails that barely anyone used because they weren’t a part of the national park, and Sawtooth with their three whole restaurants.

“We have to fight this!” one of my neighbors said. “They’re taking my driveway and the gate if they go through with it.”

“Same for me,” I muttered darkly. “I…”

I froze when I saw the familiar young man heading my way.

He hadn’t seen me yet—thank God—so I’d darted backward and hid mostly behind a pillar.

But I’d not been fast enough.

He’d seen me—I saw the huge, fake smile that lit up his face.

“Sister!”

I stiffened.

“Hey!” Leo called out. “How are you?”

He came around the back, though, instead of the front where I expected him to come from.

Startling me, he placed his hand on my shoulder and pulled me into a hug.

Only, the hug was more of a hold, and he laughed softly in my ear. “Where have you been, sister?”

I pushed him away from me with a shove.

He got “tripped up” on his feet and went down, cracking his head on the wall behind him.

“Oww,” he cried out. “Why did you shove me?”

I’d seen a lot of flops when I watched professional soccer—and played it recreationally—but that one had taken the cake.

No way was I able to push him hard enough that he fell to the ground.

He was huge.

He looked exactly like my dad used to look, only with my mom’s blonde hair.

“She didn’t shove you,” someone murmured from behind me.