The Littlest Cowboy

Chapter Two

  When Kiley opened her eyes again, smiling lazily and stretching her arms, the sun was way higher than it ought to be, and blazing at the wrong angle through the bedroom window.

  “Holy smokes!” She crawled to her clothes, rummaged through them for her cheap cell phone, and flipped it open. Five minutes to nine. The auction was at ten.

  There wasn’t time for her usual early-morning bath in the river down back. She snatched clothes and makeup bag out of her rucksack, grabbed two bottles of water from the cooler, and ran for the second floor bathroom. Shoving the stopper into the sink, she poured the water into the spotless basin and did a fast wash-up. Face first, body second. Hair...ah, hell, hair.

  It was a mess. She pulled a large-tooth comb through her curls, then piled them up on top and snapped a pretty clip into place. Then she slapped on a coat of makeup, and ran back to the bedroom and into the closet for the cash. She unzipped the duffle just to verify it was still there, and she hadn’t dreamed it. Stacks of banded bills and a waft of money-smell confirmed that it was indeed for real. She tugged the bag through the opening, and knocked a banded stack off the top of the pile. It tumbled further into the dark compartment.

  “Dang! I don’t have time for this now.” She set the bag aside, and reached way into the opening. The stack of bills was there, on top of something else. Either two bundles had fallen or her money had multiplied overnight.

  She pulled both items out into the light. A banded stack of bills, and a small book, with a lock and a tiny keyhole. It was purple with the words My Diary on the front in pink glitter.

  Kendra’s. Kiley’s had been just like it, only pink with purple glitter. She had no idea what had happened to it. But this was definitely Kendra’s.

  She landed on the floor, on her butt, and held the small book in hands that shook a little. Her throat went tight, and her eyes burned. She could’ve opened it without the key. Just a solid tug would do it. Or she could pick the lock with a hairpin, if she didn’t want to damage the thing.

  But instead of doing either of those things, she just sat there, holding that little book in her hands, blinking down at it, trying to keep the hot tears from spilling over and ruining her mascara. “Dammit, Kendra, why did you have to die before we got the chance to make up?”

  Sniffling, she put the diary into her purse. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’d give anything for another chance to say I love you.”

  She got to her feet, brushed herself off. The auction would begin in a half hour. She needed to wash her hands one more time and get there before Rob McIntyre. No time to roll up the sleeping bag, repack her dirty clothes, or carry the rucksack and cooler down to the car just then. She left it all just as it was, hefted the money duffle by its shoulder strap, and ran to the car like her feet were on fire.