Shea Glencannon squinted out into the sunlit glare of the street. Someone had called out his name. The sound of it was high-pitched, harsh and hard as gravel. The meaning of it was knife-sharp: Trouble. And that was all that Glencannon had found since coming home to Broken Crossing. When you had his kind of ornery reputation, you had to expect that your welcoming committee would be carrying drawn guns.