Borrowing Trouble by Stacy Finz

from her. “My mom owns a store in the Bay Area that sells a lot of things like yours. You’d like it. She also carries some of my husband’s pieces.”
    â€œYour husband wouldn’t by any chance be the guy who made Brady’s rocking chair and swing?” She couldn’t remember his name off the top of her head. Something Irish.
    â€œYep. He also made the rockers at the Lumber Baron, the planters in the square, and the tables and benches at Lucky’s cowboy camp.”
    â€œBrady said his studio was nearby. I’d love to come over sometime and get one.” She wondered if they were very expensive.
    â€œAnytime,” Harlee said. “His studio is right behind our house. He built that too.”
    â€œHave you guys lived here long?”
    â€œColin, about four years. I met him here when I moved into my family’s vacation cabin last fall. But I’ve been coming up since I was a kid. So you’re from LA, huh?”
    â€œChicago, originally.”
    â€œWelcome. It’s a really nice town. Do you like to bowl? The reason I ask is that Darla . . . she runs the barbershop with her dad, Owen . . . and I are always looking for young, single people to come to our bowling parties. When we started, both Darla and I were single. Now she’s engaged to Wyatt Lambert.”
    â€œWyatt from Nugget PD?” Uh, duh. How many Wyatt Lamberts could there be in this town? Sloane had liked him instantly.
    â€œUh-huh. And Connie too. We’ve been trying to get Brady to come, but he says he hates bowling.”
    Sloane wondered if that meant Brady was single. “I’ll come,” she said, thinking that it would be a good way to meet people.
    â€œGreat.” Harlee smiled. “Griffin, of the Gas and Go, and his mechanic, Rico, come. And Tawny Wade and Lucky Rodriguez recently joined the group.”
    â€œSounds like fun. Although I have to warn you, I’m not much of a bowler.”
    Harlee laughed. “Neither are we. We mostly use it as an excuse to drink beer and socialize.”
    That worked for Sloane. “When’s the next one?”
    â€œI’ll talk to Darla. We’ll try to do it on a night both you and Wyatt aren’t on duty.”
    â€œSounds great,” Sloane said. “So do you work with your husband in his furniture business?”
    â€œOccasionally I’ll pitch in with some of the office work. But I have my hands full with the Nugget Tribune . I own it, run it, and pretty much write all the stories.”
    â€œSeriously?” After Brady told her about it, Sloane had gotten a subscription and scanned the online newspaper every day. The website had everything from national wire stories to local news. Even birth, wedding, and death announcements, recipes, a ranching column, and a fish report. “It’s a great newspaper.”
    Harlee looked surprised. “Thanks. I don’t get that too often. The Nugget Mafia likes to say that if it was a ‘real newspaper’ ”—she made finger quotes in the air—“they could at least use it to wrap their steelhead in.”
    Sloane knew the Nugget Mafia included the mayor, barber, and a bunch of other old guys who hung out either at the barbershop or the gas station, playing cards. They liked to call her “Blondie” and tell her how to do her job. The chief had told her to ignore them.
    â€œThe Nugget Tribune is the other reason I came,” Harlee continued. “I wanted to do a profile on you since you’re the newest addition to our police department.”
    Caught off guard, Sloane sputtered. “Uh . . . I’d have to check with the chief.” The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself.
    â€œRhys won’t care,” Harlee assured her.
    Sloane shrugged and tried to sound apologetic. “In LA we always had to go through the public information office to talk to the media. I’d feel better if I