Next to that, the old Duncan log cabin had been purchased and shined up, painted white, and turned into the visitors center. He sort of missed Old Gordy Duncan sitting on his front porch, smoking a pipe, yelling at the tourists. A giant copper moose stood in the yard of the center, and he supposed that was better than the real thing.

Across the street, the Copper Mountain Good News biweekly paper still shared a space with the radio station, but an upstairs had been built on to the former false-front building, with the name GOOD NEWS MASSAGE added to the listing by the front door.

Probably not a bad way to get the local scoop for the paper.

The only building that looked familiar, really, was the Midnight Sun Saloon, set back in a gravel parking lot. A timber-framed building with a red roof, it still listed their barbecue special over the front door. He hoped Sergeant Vic—the name he and Mal used to call her—still ran the place.

Dodge passed the Blue Moose gift shop, a former blue house-slash-storefront for Miss Henry, the psychic, then Starlight Pizza on the left. He found a smile. Levi’s place.

He pulled into the lot between the Lone Wolf Bar—yet another log cabin—and Gigi’s Grocery, a former two-story boardinghouse that had been gutted and turned into the local grocery and pharmacy. Getting out, Dodge glanced at the sky. The sun had taken a dive and was turning the mountainscape a deep, glorious orange.

He pulled his cap down and headed inside, straight to the back where glass partitioned off what had been the house’s back bedroom. He didn’t recognize the person at the counter as he handed over the pill bottle.

“Right. Barry Kingston.” After a moment, the pharmacist handed him the bag.

More luck—he also didn’t recognize the youngster at the register. The kid, maybe sixteen, with the name Carter on his badge, checked him out, and Dodge grabbed the bag and headed to the truck.

“Are you kidding me?” The voice came from across the street, and he looked over his shoulder, startled.

Aw. But— “Mal?”

“Dodge? Seriously?” Malachi Bowie was walking out of Bowie Mountain Gear, a newer timber-framed building, wearing jeans, hiking boots, a black parka, and no hat, his blond hair tied back in a knot. The guy still swaggered as if he owned the world.

Or at least all the local female hearts.

“I can’t believe it.” He slapped his hand into Dodge’s and pulled him against him, giving his back a pound. Let him go. “What is going on, Forty-Four? Ten years ago, you practically vanish off the face of the earth, and now, poof, you’re back?”

“It wasn’t quite like that.”