Burning Ridge

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If Deputy Mattie Cobb had eaten supper at home with her K-9 partner, Robo, she wouldn’t have noticed the rig parked illegally across the street from the Main Street Diner. But there it was, a charcoal gray truck and horse trailer parked parallel in front of the Watering Hole Bar and Grill, taking up more than their share of the diagonal parking spaces. A rack full of rifles filled the back window of the truck. California license plates, probably someone passing through town.

Being off duty didn’t really matter in Timber Creek, Colorado. The sheriff’s department was small enough that the entire staff needed to assume they were on call any time of the day or night. Besides, Mattie felt more ownership of this town than some, since it was the only place in which she could ever remember living. She’d grown up here, she’d struggled to survive here, and she now worked here to protect citizens, especially kids, from threats that lurked outside the sheltering mountains of their little community.

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