6
Cady returned to Meredith’s side, and ignored the delight she saw reflected in the older woman’s eyes. Sheriff Davis had joined her grandmother while she’d been dancing with Quinn and he looked particularly spiffy in what seemed to be the standard Montana uniform of Wranglers and cowboy boots, which he’d paired with a navy-blue shirt, crisply ironed with sharp creases along the sleeves. He wore a dark brown Stetson on his head, which he tipped in Cady’s direction when she arrived.
“Hi Sheriff,” Cady greeted him with a little wave.
“Cady, how are you?”
Cady nodded, picking up the glass of wine she’d left sitting on the table and sipping from it. “No news from San Francisco?” She wasn’t certain what she wanted most – to hear that Jameson had been captured – or hear that he hadn’t been
