“Huh,” Lucy said. “I could have sworn I left with the last batch of volunteers. I stuck around to see if you were going to make it out, you know. I wouldn’t leave you behind. I didn’t realize you’d deliberately wanted to be left behind.”
Lucy looked over and gave her sister an obvious wink.
Ha. “Nothing like that. I left a little after the last group,” Beth Ann said.
“Sure you did.”
Beth Ann gritted her teeth. “I left a little after the last group, honey,” she repeated. “And if you don’t want me telling Mom and Dad that they were handing out alcohol and condoms at the gate, I think we should just end this conversation right now.”
“Ending conversation,” Lucy said with an impish grin made all the more roguish by her nose ring. “We won’t talk about anyone’s hookups.”
“Do not mention hookups, Lucinda Janelle Williamson,” Beth Ann hissed. “If this gets back to Allan—”
“I know, I know,” Lucy said, turning the car up the long, winding drive to their parents’ house. “Then his crazy ass will start stalking you again. Don’t worry. The last person I’d tell about your hookup is that jerk. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks, Luce.”
Lucy examined her fingernails. “Don’t suppose you’d hook a sister up with a mani?”
She had a feeling there’d be a lot of free manicures in Lucy’s future, just to keep her mouth shut. “You know I can.”
When Colt got back from dropping Beth Ann off, he returned to his cabin. The sheets were still rumpled, the floor tracked with mud from the night before. He moved to the bed and ran his hand over it. Still smelled like her—and him—together. Damn. He didn’t want to sit here all day, ruminating on their weekend together. It had been hot and intense and mind-blowing.
And it was over.
He left the cabin and hiked over to the main lodge. He swung in and of course both Brenna and Grant sat at their desks, working. They looked up at the sight of him, and Brenna smiled. He gave her a half wave and ignored the desk he shared with Dane. Why Grant thought that two survival instructors needed a desk, he didn’t know. He headed to the rec room in the back and turned on the TV, picking up the Xbox controller. A mindless game would distract him.
“Hey,” Brenna protested in the other room. “Where’ve you been?”
He ignored her, too.
She pushed into the room a moment later. Her hair was pulled into two buns perched high on top of her head, both speared with pencils. Brenna crossed her arms over her chest. “I saw your truck parked on the side of the highway all weekend. What gives?”
His truck. He supposed he should go get it. “I was busy after the rescue. You wanna be a dear and go retrieve it for me?”
She gave him an exasperated look, then put her hand out. “Keys?”
He tossed them to her, and she gave him a wink, then left.
Good. Maybe now he’d get some peace and quiet.
As soon as Brenna left, Grant entered the room. Fuck. Not what he wanted at the moment. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for him to start in.
It didn’t take long.
“You are not going to believe the shit Brenna pulled this time,” Grant began. “Remember I asked her to log all the receipts from the camping goods store? She logged them all in a spreadsheet as ‘camping stuff.’ One hundred and eighty-two lines of data. No dates. No dollar amounts. Nothing but ‘camping stuff.’ How am I supposed to write that off?”
Here we go.
“I’m positive she’s doing it just to f**k with me.”
Colt was pretty sure that Grant was right. He and Brenna seemed to have an antagonistic relationship—they were pleasant enough in person, but Grant constantly picked apart everything Brenna did, and Brenna turned around and deliberately did things to irritate Grant.
Sometimes, Dane speculated that it was like working with two children that couldn’t get along. Personally, Colt just thought the two of them needed to f**k and get it over with. He wouldn’t say that to Grant, though. The man still had issues, even five years after his wife had passed away.
So Colt said nothing. He clicked on the remote.
“Speaking of f**king,” Grant said slowly, and Colt looked over at his buddy. Grant had grabbed a coke from the fridge and twisted the cap off. Too early for beer, then. “You disappeared all weekend after that big rescue mission on Friday. You find some hot little piece in need of rescuing and hookup?”
Every muscle in his body tensed. He forced himself to give a light, careless shrug. “Maybe.”
“Out in the woods all weekend?” Grant shook his head. “Too much rain and mud for me. You are stone cold, Waggoner.”
“River washed out the way back,” Colt said after a moment, but even the lie tasted bad on his lips. “Had to hike our way back to the ranch.”
“Bullshit,” Grant said, kicking the side of his chair with a grin. “I don’t know the area half as well as you and Dane, but even I know the river doesn’t come anywhere near the road, dumbass.”
Colt said nothing.
“Hot damn. You lucky dog,” Grant said with a grin, and swigged his drink. “Don’t tell Brenna.”
“I ain’t even tellin’ you, bro.”
“Who was it? Someone we know?”
Colt turned up the volume on the TV.
“Fine,” Grant said, still amused. He picked up the other controller. “It’s a small town, though. It’s bound to get out.”
It was bound to get out, Colt realized. It was just a matter of time before someone pointed out the flaws in his story and knew that he’d deliberately detained Beth Ann—though not originally for the reason they’d think.
And then she’d be furious at him. Good thing she’d only wanted a one-night stand. If she never brought it up again, he wouldn’t, either, and no one need know the truth.
Beth Ann had said she couldn’t have a relationship that wasn’t built on trust, after all. And their little fling had been built on a foundation of solid lies—all his.
Grant casually added, “Your brother, Marlin, stopped by a few hours ago.”
Damn it. “What the f**k does he want?”
“Said he wanted you to go by and visit your dad. Old man wants to talk to you.”
Hell. Colt didn’t want to talk to him. Henry Waggoner lived on the trashiest plot of land on the outskirts of Bluebonnet, in a double-wide that was so torn up it had holes in the floor. His front yard was covered in broken-down trucks, washing machines, and various bits of scrap metal. It looked like a junkyard.
His dad insisted it was all stuff that had value. All Colt saw was garbage. And that garbage had been there for the entire twenty-seven years his dad had been living in that trailer. He hadn’t even bothered to clean it up when Colt’s mother got fed up and ran off for parts unknown back when he and his brothers were just little boys.
White-trash Waggoners. The entire town called them that. He’d worked hard to pull himself out of that misery. He’d trained hard, joined the marines, trained harder…and then with one lousy shot to his f**king knee, he’d lost it all again.
“If he comes by again, tell him to f**k off,” Colt said in a hard voice. “I don’t want anything to do with them.”
Tuesday was a hell of a day. In addition to Beth Ann’s booked appointments, she was still trying to squeeze in her Saturday clients. Most of them were upset that she’d been a no-show, but she’d mentioned the word migraine and most of the women had been sympathetic.
All except nasty Mrs. Potter. She came in every Saturday to have her hair teased and curled for Saturday night bingo two towns over.
“It’s not responsible for you to just not show up, Beth Ann,” Mrs. Potter said for the seventh time on the call.
“I know. And I’m very sorry, honey,” Beth Ann said soothingly, resting the phone on her cheek as she shampooed someone’s hair. “It won’t happen again. Did you want me to squeeze you in today? Or tomorrow?”
“No,” Mrs. Potter said in a sour voice. “I went to that new place instead.”
“New…place?”
“That one down the street. Next to the hardware store. She just moved in. Lovely girl. She used to do hair in Dallas, you know. She cut Troy Aikman’s hair once.”
“You don’t say,” Beth Ann murmured. She grabbed the spray nozzle and began to rinse her client’s hair. “Well, I’ll see you for your Saturday appointment as usual, then?”
“Or maybe I’ll just go there,” Mrs. Potter said nastily. “We’ll see on Saturday, won’t we?” She hung up.
Jeez. Beth Ann put the phone on the counter and wrapped a towel around her client’s wet hair as the woman sat up. “So you wanted to take off two inches?”
As she began to rattle off about what she wanted done to her hair, Beth Ann listened halfheartedly. When the woman sat in the barber chair, Beth Ann moved to the big storefront window and peeked out the mini blinds. The shop next to the hardware store had been closed for a while. Had someone moved in, or was Mrs. Potter just being her usual snide self?
But then she saw a customer walk in. And there was a sign in the window, though it was too far away to make out.
“What do you think? Two inches?” the woman in her chair was saying.
Beth Ann forced herself to turn away from the window and smiled. “Two inches is a little shorter than you normally wear it, but I think it’d be cute.”
No matter how curious she was, she was not going to look out the window again.
After her last appointment left for the day, Beth Ann sat down and sighed. She’d been on her feet all day straight. Normally she didn’t mind, but today she’d been juggling clients on top of clients, and it had been exhausting. She needed a few minutes off her feet. Better yet, she needed someone to come in here and give her a pedicure and a foot massage herself, instead of being the one to give them. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.
The cowbell on the door clanged, indicating a new customer.
“No walk-ins today, sorry,” Beth Ann said in as pleasant a voice as she could…and then had to stifle her groan at the sight of the man that had just walked in.
Allan. He smiled over at her, his boyish face handsome. “I sold two BMWs today, Bethy-babe. Thought I’d come by and see if you wanted to go out to dinner to celebrate.”
Ugh. “That’s nice, Allan,” she said politely. “Congratulations.”
“Get your purse and let’s go. I made dinner reservations at that Italian place you like over in Huntsville.”
Annoyance swept over her. He made reservations? Without asking her? And she didn’t like that Italian place—he did. Typical. “Allan, listen, that’s very nice but I’m too tired to go out.” Especially with you.
“Nonsense,” he said cheerfully. “My treat.”
“Allan, no—”
A car horn honked out front.