Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3) (18 page)

“I wasn’t expecting something like you and me to happen,” he continued. “But we’re happening. And I’m great with it. The thing is, I’ve always been a solitary guy and just need a little space to reason it through. That’s all. You okay with that?”

Harlee pulled the sheet up to her chin and Colin pinched his eyes shut, girding for the worst. Tears. A punch in the face. Or
“You’re a real dick, Colin Burke
.
”
Because it sounded like a brush-off even to his ears, when all he wanted was time to contemplate what to do. How to make this right between them.

But when she flashed a tight smile and said, “Do what you need to do,” he knew exactly what he was going to do—not tell her a damn thing.

C
olin didn’t come back that night and Harlee wound up reheating leftovers for New Year’s dinner. Darla, Griffin, Connie, and Wyatt had all called to make sure she was okay. Honestly, she hadn’t given the imbecile who’d attacked her a second thought. All her energy had been focused on Colin.

Colin. What was she getting herself into with him? The man was a claustrophobe, a demophobe, and obviously a commitment-phobe. But she didn’t want a commitment. Certainly nothing beyond them enjoying each other’s company until she left. Sure, if they were going to continue sleeping together she wanted exclusivity. Otherwise it would feel wrong. She wasn’t the type to have multiple partners and she didn’t want to have sex with someone who did. But Colin didn’t strike her as a player. Although, sweet Moses, had the man been good in bed. Beyond good. Spectacular. And he had a way of making her feel like the most special woman on the planet.

That couldn’t be an act. Colin didn’t do slick or smarmy. The man rarely left his damn wood shop. As far as she could tell, he didn’t even have any friends. Just Max.

Okay, the brawl at the Ponderosa had been scary. If Harlee didn’t know better, she might think that Colin had anger management issues. But he’d been protecting her. She’d appreciated him having her back and a little part of her—all right, a big part—had gotten off on it. Big burly man rescues somewhat medium-sized woman from creepy asshole.

But all this “I need space to think it through” drama was giving her hives. Not to mention that she was bored out of her skull. On New Year’s in San Francisco, she’d be whooping it up. Okay, not exactly whooping it up, but going out with friends, maybe having a private dinner at a hot new restaurant where for a hundred bucks she could sample some “it” chef’s tasting menu, then go home and stuff her face with Nutter Butters because she was still starved.

God, she missed it.

What she should do is tell Colin that the sex had been grand, but she was moving on. Except that she didn’t want to move on, because she was totally into Grizzly Adams, who wasn’t even Grizzly Adams anymore. He was a hot L.L. Bean guy now, and he made her lame heart go pitter-patter. The bastard.

She padded into the kitchen and grabbed a pint of Häagen-Dazs. God, she was a cliché. Maybe she should use the time to write a few more cover letters to newspapers because, hey, she hadn’t been rejected enough. Or hop on the computer and do a background check on Jacob Silberman, her latest assignment. The guy’s bio on the website Make-a-Date was so glowing that Harlee suspected that he was really the Zodiac Killer.

While she was at it, she should run Colin too. Not that she would find much. The man didn’t drink, didn’t go to public places, and worked for himself. His house was paid for and his business was completely transparent. She knew that from working on his books. So instead of playing cyber-sleuth, she finished the carton of Häagen-Dazs and went to bed.

 

The next morning, Harlee decided to go into town, get Darla to trim her hair, and do a little grocery shopping. First, she swung by the Gas and Go and got out to say hi to Griffin. He had bought a few old truck benches on eBay and created a little waiting room in the garage where Darla’s dad and the rest of the old guys seemed to have made a permanent home for themselves.

In the shop, Griff ripped out a countertop with a crowbar as the radio blasted classic rock from a Reno station. He stopped when Harlee came in and turned down the music.

“Hey,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “What’s going on?”

“Not much. I was on my way to the square and thought I’d stop by. Check out your progress.” She looked around at the mess. The floor was covered in debris from the demolition. “What are your plans for in here?”

“I’m thinking of going mini Seven-Eleven. Foodstuff, maps, sundries.”

“Sounds good. Can’t you get any of them to help you?” Harlee nudged her head at the garage and grinned.

“The Nugget Mafia?” he asked, and crossed his arms over his chest. “They just like to tell me what to do.”

She laughed. “Where’s Rico?”

“Getting lunch. You talk to Colin? Find out why he took off like that the other night?”

Harlee didn’t want to tell him about the demophobia. Colin wouldn’t appreciate it. “He said he needed to cool off.”

“I can see that. He was probably pissed that Rhys broke it up. That guy messing with you deserved to leave the Ponderosa on a stretcher.”

“He was just a drunken moron,” Harlee said, trying to downplay the whole event. “Did you and Lina patch things up?”

“Not really. She’s pretty adamant that we become a couple.”

“Aren’t you a couple?” Harlee asked, confused.

“Before she started at USF, we made a deal to wait a year. She’s only eighteen and I wanted her to put all her energy into experiencing her first year of college—not be focused on a boyfriend back home.”

“Wow, that seems pretty selfless of you.” Harlee wondered if Griffin really just wanted to play the field. The guy was gorgeous, fabulously wealthy, and a sweetheart to boot. He could pretty much have any woman he wanted.

“Yeah. Maybe too selfless. But there is an eight-year age difference between us.”

Normally, Harlee wouldn’t think eight years was too much. But the difference between eighteen and twenty-six may as well be an eternity. “I hope you’re able to work things out.”

Griffin stared off into the distance, looking sad enough to make Harlee change her mind about his and Lina’s age situation. She could see he cared about her.

“Me too,” he said.

Rico came wandering in, laden with bags from the Bun Boy. “Hey, Harlee. What’s up?”

“Not much,” she said. “I was on my way over to Darla’s and decided to stop by and say hello. The place is shaping up.”

“Wanna share a burger?” Rico held up a greasy sack.

“No, thanks. I should get going.”

“Hey, before you go,” Griffin said, “what do you know about this Sam woman?”

“You mean Samantha Dunsbury?” The runaway bride? “She seems . . . uh . . . in transition. Why?”

“She wants to rent a house in Sierra Heights. I’m good with renting. Not a lot of buyers in the winter. But you think she can afford it? I’m not leasing them out cheap.”

“She can afford your price,” Harlee said. The woman was an heiress after all. “She’s settling in Nugget? I got the impression she was just passing through.”

Griff shrugged. “I don’t know what her deal is, but Maddy told her to talk to me about renting a place.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Harlee said.

“I thought you would.” Griffin grinned. “How’s the job search going?”

Sucky.
“Holidays are a slow time in the newspaper business. Everyone is on vacation.” Harlee glanced at her watch. “I better get going. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Say hi to Darla,” Rico shouted after her as she got inside her truck.

At the square, Harlee pulled into a parking space in front of the barbershop. Inside, Darla sat at the cash register, reading a magazine. Still no business. Harlee thought for sure Darla’s stunning work on Sam’s hair would’ve netted some appointments.

“You’ve been quiet like this all day?” she asked Darla.

“Yep. I’m chalking it up to the fact that it’s the Sunday after New Year’s. Right?”

“Is that typically a slow day?”

“Most salons, at least in Sacramento, are closed on Sunday.”

“Okay,” Harlee said. “Then no worries.”

Darla pulled a face. “Whatever.”

“So tell me the deal with you and Wyatt. We never got to talk about that and I’m dying to know.”

“It was a long time ago,” Darla said. “We used to date when I was eighteen.”

Harlee waited for her to say more; when Darla didn’t, she asked, “Was it serious?”

“I thought it was. We got engaged.”

“You did?” Harlee couldn’t believe it. Darla acted like she barely knew the guy.

“I got pregnant and he wanted to do the right thing. When I lost the baby, he left.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Harlee said. “You had a miscarriage?”

Darla nodded her head, her face grim, the memory clearly still painful. “The next day he joined the army. He didn’t even talk to me about it, just left a note and headed off to Fort Benning.”

“He knew you’d had the miscarriage?”

“Yes. He’s the one who took me to the hospital. Held my hand. Told me he loved me. I didn’t think about whether we would still get married. At the time I was too consumed with the loss of our child. I would’ve understood if he wanted to call it off, but we never even had a conversation about it. He just left me alone to pick up the pieces.”

“Darla, I am so sorry. I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a long time ago. And you have enough to deal with. Really, I’ve moved on.”

Clearly not if New Year’s Eve was anything to go on. “Did your parents know?” Harlee asked.

“My mom was planning the wedding. Given the circumstances it would’ve been just a small one, but both my parents were good with it. My dad had known Wyatt his whole life. I don’t think he has ever forgiven him.”

Harlee leaned forward in the barber’s chair, which she had turned to face Darla. “So what was that all about the other night?”

“I don’t know. He’s been coming in a lot, like he’s hoping to put it behind us. Sometimes I think he’s interested in us starting up again. Then a couple of weeks ago I saw him with some blonde. What am I supposed to think about that?”

“Are you willing to forgive him?” Harlee asked.

“Jury is still out. You think I should?”

“I think what he did was pretty awful. But you guys were kids. He probably freaked out and didn’t know how to handle the grief. You still have feelings for him, though, don’t you?”

Darla lifted her shoulders. “He was my first love.”

Just then Nate came in the door. He looked even more handsome than Harlee remembered. If a man could glow, Harlee would say he glimmered like a lightbulb. She wondered what the etiquette was on congratulating him on Sophie and Mariah’s baby.

“Hey, Darla.” He did a visual lap around the empty shop. “You have time for a trim?”

“Sure,” Darla said, hopping out of her chair so fast she nearly gave Harlee whiplash.

Harlee moved out of the barber’s chair to make way for Nate and flashed him a smile, hoping that it wouldn’t be awkward after she’d turned him down for a date. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” he said, and beamed. “You see the baby yet?”

“No. I figure Sophie and Mariah could use a little time.”

Darla had Nate suit up in a cape and walked him to the shampoo bowl. “Can we just go up to their apartment and knock on the door?”

“Sure. They love showing Lilly off.”

“Ahh,” Harlee cooed. “Lilly is such a pretty name.”

When Darla finished washing Nate’s hair, he whipped out his phone and showed them pictures of the baby. “Good-looking kid, huh?”

“Gorgeous,” Harlee said. Truthfully she looked like every other newborn—squished and red faced. “Are you hanging around to help out?” She knew he spent most of his time in San Francisco, where he operated nine other hotels and came up on occasional weekends to check in on the Lumber Baron.

“Yep. And I’m closing escrow on the house in Sierra Heights tomorrow.”

Harlee seized the opportunity. “I hear Samantha Dunsbury is planning to rent a place there. She’s a guest at the Lumber Baron.”

“I know who she is,” Nate said sharply.

“You don’t like her?”

“She’s a nut job and she’s managed to talk my sister into hiring her to work at the inn.”

“You’re kidding,” Harlee said, because it wasn’t like the woman needed to work. Not according to the newspaper clips and her designer clothes.

“I wish I was. She doesn’t have a drop of hotel experience, not to mention that she’s flighty as hell. I heard she left some poor guy standing at the altar. Didn’t even bother to show up and call it off, face-to-face.”

Harlee and Darla looked at each other. “Why do you think she wants to live in Nugget?” It was about as different from New England high society as you could get. Harlee knew, because she had a cousin who lived in Greenwich, Connecticut. Junior League and country clubs.

“Who knows,” Nate said as Darla clipped away. “Have you ever talked to the woman? She’s a complete ditz—can’t even string a sentence together.”

Harlee hadn’t found her to be a ditz, just confused, like maybe she was depressed. “Then how come Maddy’s willing to let her work there?”

“Rhys doesn’t want her putting in so many hours at the inn with the baby coming. I’m trying to pick up the slack, but I’m spread pretty thin as it is.”

“Sounds like it might be good to have Sam.”
“Seriously,”
Harlee wanted to say,
“did a person need a PhD to take reservations?”

“She wants to be the inn’s event planner. Besides the fact that she has no qualifications, the woman couldn’t even make it to her own wedding. As far as I can tell she’s never had an actual job. So you heard she’s moving to Sierra Heights, huh?”

“That’s what Griffin said.”

“Great! Now I’ll be stuck with Crazy Town for a neighbor,” Nate said, and Harlee had to wonder why the man was so hostile toward Samantha. Sam might be an odd duck, but she certainly seemed pleasant enough. Hell, she’d given Darla a hundred-dollar tip.

Darla finished his trim and used a fat brush to wipe hairs from the back of his neck. He really was a nice-looking man, Harlee noted. Thick brown hair like his sister’s, mocha-colored eyes, and a square jaw with a cleft in the center of his chin. He wasn’t as tall as Colin or as broad, but he reached at least six-feet tall and looked like he took care of himself. Definitely worked out or jogged. He had the loose-limbed body of a runner.