Boots and Bullets

He watched her, smiling as she licked the sugar and cinnamon from her lips, making it hard for him to concentrate on the questions he wanted to ask her.

“So are you a Whitehorse native?”

She opened her eyes and shook her head. “West Yellow stone.”

“That’s quite a change, from a tourist town surrounded by mountains to a prairie town on the Hi-Line just miles from Canada. How did you end up here?” he asked. It was an odd place for a single woman to open a business—unless she came with a husband or a lover, or had family here, he thought.

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