Montana Dreams. Jillian Hart

opened the tin, shoving aside the pile of paper on the desk to make room to set it down. “There are a few cans of pop in the fridge, if you want to get them.”

      “Now that does sound good.” He was parched from the inside out. The rumble of the fire truck faded, the men were gone and he and Millie were truly alone. Not sure he was comfortable with that. He yanked open the ancient refrigerator and let the cool wash over him before grabbing two cans from the shelves.

      “Here.” He popped the tabs, set Millie’s down next to the first-aid kit and breathed in the sugary scent of grape soda. “Guess Milton won’t mind. We haven’t broken into his stash in ten years.”