Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3) (26 page)

So instead of reaching out to her, he stood there, feeling lower than dirt, and watched her cry, knowing that the best thing for both of them was for him to end it. Now, before the pain became too excruciating.

“It was a selfish thing to do . . . not telling you,” he said, resting his elbows on the window sill so he could stare outside at anything besides Harlee, because her repugnance was palpable. “But I knew you’d run for the hills once you found out. Who could blame you?”

“I thought you understood me,” she said, her voice sounding small but angry. “Yet you completely underestimated me. How can you think I’m that shallow?”

“Shallow?” He let out a harsh laugh at the feebleness of the word. “How about realistic? For God’s sake, Harlee, do you know how hard life is with an ex-con? If this town knew about the murders . . . they’d. . . they’d shun me. And your mother? You think she’d be proud to know that her daughter is seeing a felon, a man who spent much of his adult life in a six-by-eight cell? How ’bout your dad the doctor, or your brother the cop? You think you could just tote me along to family outings? ‘Here’s my boyfriend, a convicted murderer.’ How do you think that would play with your nice, affluent, well-educated family?”

“I don’t care,” she said. Colin turned around to find her holding her chin stubbornly, while her lips quivered. “I know who you are.”

“Of course you care,” he said. “You love them. And they love and want what’s best for you. Shit, Harlee, if I were your brother, I wouldn’t let you date a man like me. Ever.”

“It’s not my family’s choice. It’s my choice. So the way you handle it is to keep me in the dark? Ignorance is bliss?”

That’s right.
Because now, not only did she know that he was a filthy ex-con, but a liar too; just like all those other men she ran background checks on. Only worse. They at least hadn’t been convicted of murdering three innocent people.

“Colin, answer me.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, saying nothing. Colin would move the Sierra mountains to regain her trust, but what was the point? There was no hope for them and there never had been. The whole time he’d been deluding himself and pretending to be something he wasn’t. A regular guy with a clean past.

Harlee got out of her chair and moved closer to the iron stove. “We need to work through this, Colin.”

“There’s nothing to work through, Harlee,” he said, forcing himself to stand firm, because when it came to her he was weak. “I’m not the right man for you.”

“What are you saying?”

“That you and I were never meant to be.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Her response—and her pride—shone in her eyes.

With anguish far worse than anything he’d ever seen, even inside his bleak prison walls, she walked out of his wood shop, closing the door on him and on any life they could have had together.

B
ix Dearling didn’t mess around. In just the five days since Harlee had emailed him about the airport in Beckwourth, he’d managed to file a flight plan, book a room at the Lumber Baron, and come to Nugget.

In those same five days, Harlee had barely gotten out of bed. Just to use the bathroom and eat an occasional meal when Darla pounded on her door, holding a Bun Boy bag, and insisted. Harlee couldn’t bring herself to tell Darla the truth. It was Colin’s secret to tell, not hers.

The bastard hadn’t called once. Not that she had wanted him to. He’d made it clear that he was through—that she wasn’t worth the work it would take to resolve their trust issues. A clean break was exactly what she needed. If he called, she’d go back to square one, the part of the program where she played Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” over and over again, buried herself under the blankets, and cried until her well ran dry.

Today she’d actually showered. But that was only because of her meeting with Bix. It wouldn’t look professional to show up with her hair going in twenty different directions, stinking like a wine press. She searched through her closet for something presentable. Not a suit, because, uh, this was Nugget. But not jeans either—too casual. Finally, Harlee settled on a pair of black pencil trousers, a white blouse, and a tailored camel jacket. She finished it off with a pair of nude wedge pumps.

To accessorize, she flipped open Colin’s handmade jewelry box, which set her off on a fifteen-minute crying jag. Luckily, she hadn’t put on her makeup yet. Harlee dabbed her eyes dry and tried to cover up the dark circles with concealer stick. After she’d applied some shadow, put on mascara, and glossed her lips, she headed out the door.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath, doubting that the meeting would turn into anything significant. If she had to guess, Bix was on a fact-finding mission to start his own version of DataDate and wanted to pick her brain.

Since it was the only way she currently had of supporting herself, she had no intention of giving away any proprietary information. Although she really didn’t have any. Her clients found her through word of mouth, all originating from that one article she’d written for the
Call.
It’s not like she had developed a “brand.” God, she hated that word, one of the most overused in the English language.

 

She parked and reached for her purse on the front seat, when her heart lurched. Across the square a man in faded jeans and a green down jacket—just like Colin’s—walked toward her. But when he got closer, she realized it wasn’t Colin. Now that she got a better look, he didn’t even resemble him. Too short. Too old. And not nearly as good-looking. Anyway, it was highly unlikely that Colin would be hanging out in downtown Nugget.

Since their breakup she’d lie in bed and listen really hard for his truck to drive down Grizzly Peak on his way to work in the morning. When the wind wasn’t blowing, she could hear the sound of his engine. But it only lasted for a few seconds and then he was gone.

A blast of cold air hit her as she stepped down from her SUV. If she wasn’t mistaken another snowstorm was on its way. She hoped for Bix’s sake that it waited until he left town.

Samantha stopped shaking out an area rug over the Lumber Baron’s front porch railing and waved. Harlee checked her watch and strolled across the green to say a quick hello. Although she wasn’t feeling too social, it was better than sitting nervously in the Ponderosa waiting for Bix, since she’d come early. Normally, not much made her nervous, but she felt like her mojo had deserted her in the last few days.

“Hiya,” she said. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. How’s everything going?”

“Great.” Sam beamed. “The guy you’re meeting just called to make sure we had his room ready. Apparently he just landed.”

Jeez, did the whole town know? Of course they did, Harlee thought to herself. And she’d be willing to bet that they knew that she and Colin had broken up, too. Crazy how they had missed the biggest secret of all. But then Harlee had also been deceived, and she was a professional investigator.

“I guess I better get over there then,” she told Sam, and on impulse asked, “Any advice?”

“Colin’s a great guy, Harlee. Damn, I gotta run, the phone’s ringing and I’m the only one here.” She dashed inside the inn, taking the rug with her.

Yep, everyone knew. Worse, Harlee started visualizing Colin and Sam as a couple. He himself had said that he found her attractive. God help her, she had to stop doing this to herself. Whatever hope she had of finding true love in Colin Burke died the moment she found out the truth. Not because she believed for one millisecond that he was a killer or a getaway driver or a thug. Colin was the kindest man she knew. A man who fate had dealt an unimaginably horrible hand. It was the fact that he’d blindsided her. She could not build a foundation with someone who would withhold such a crucial part of his background. It would never work, she told herself. He knew that, so why was she having such a difficult time accepting it?

Harlee headed back across the square and let Mariah escort her to the back corner booth, away from the entrance to the bowling alley.

“So today’s the big meeting, huh?”

“Yep.” Harlee sighed. “My guess is that it won’t last long.”

Mariah leaned her hip against the banquette facing Harlee. “You’ve probably got this covered, but Sophie made me promise to tell you that you should let him do all the talking—don’t give anything away.”

Harlee smiled. It was nice to live in a town where the people had your back. “That’s the plan.”

“And, Harlee,” Mariah said as she started to walk away, “we’re all really sorry about you and Colin. You guys seemed so good together, and honestly I’d never seen him so happy. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a reconciliation.”

There wouldn’t be one, but Harlee nodded to be polite. “Thanks.”

“Break a leg, girl.”

Harlee played with her menu to kill time until a hulk of a man in a cowboy hat, Western suit jacket, and a silver belt buckle the size of an appetizer plate came into the restaurant. That had to be Bix Dearling, although a lot of men wore Western attire in the Sierra. What gave it away was the way he carried himself—part gunslinger, part
I’ve got the whole world in my hands
. Mariah led him to Harlee’s table and as he got closer she noticed that he’d removed his hat and his hair was coal black and his cowboy boots were monogrammed. A big “BD,” like a ranch brand, on each foot. She scooted out of the booth and stood up to shake his hand, and the man actually had the audacity to let his gaze leisurely wander over her.

“Nice to meet you.” He waited for her to sit back down, and took the opposite bench.

Mariah handed him a menu and before she could leave, he said, “What’s good here, darlin’?” which made Harlee cringe to the roots of her hair.

Then Mariah amazed the hell out of her by planting her butt next to Bix’s, opening the menu, and pointing to the filet mignon from McCreedy Ranch. It also happened to be the most expensive item at the Ponderosa. Score one for Mariah. “This is from one of our local ranchers,” she proceeded to explain. “Best beef in the state. And if you’re not driving, I strongly recommend one of our artisan cocktails. We make everything with fresh seasonal ingredients and whenever possible we use spirits from local distillers. Or, if you’d prefer, we have a number of lovely craft beers from Plumas County on tap.”

“So I guess if I just wanted a Jack and Coke that would be too common for y’all?” He slid his arm on top of the back of the booth.

“We can certainly do that for you,” Mariah said. “Although why ruin perfectly good whiskey?”

To Harlee’s surprise he let out a bark of laugher.

“Bring me whichever drink is your favorite, nothing too sweet,” he said. “And whatever the lady here wants.”

“Just coffee for me, please.” Harlee was smart enough to know she’d be no match for Bix in the drinking department. She’d known reporters who liked to ply their sources with liquor for a good story. But those journalists were all part of a bygone era now.

“All righty,” Mariah said. “I’ll give you time to look over the menu.”

When she left, Bix turned up his smile. “Well, Miss Roberts, I’ve got to tell you, you’re even prettier than your picture on the website.”

“Call me Harlee,” she said, hoping she’d make it through the meeting without smacking the guy. “And I’ll just call you Bix.”

“Sounds good to me.” He gave her a slight nod. “I’m getting the steak. How ’bout you?”

Harlee just wanted a salad, but suspected that in order to be taken seriously by Tex, she’d have to get a slab of beef too. “Steak for me as well.”

He shut his menu and motioned Mariah back over.

She brought Bix’s drink and Harlee’s coffee. “That was quick. What’ll you have?”

“Two filet mignons.”

“How do you want those cooked?”

Harlee asked for medium rare and Bix wanted “bloody.”

“Coming right up,” Mariah said.

“I didn’t have too much of a chance to look around,” Bix told Harlee. “But it seems like a nice town. Beautiful drive from the airport.”

“I hope you brought a coat.” Harlee noticed he hadn’t been wearing one when he walked in. “It looks like it might snow.”

“Yeah, I saw that on the weather. Got one in the car. So this is downtown, huh?”

“This and Main Street, where there’s a supermarket, gas station, post office, and a real estate business. But what you see is pretty much what you get.”

“I grew up in a small town, so I get it. The folks over at the airport said this is one of the original gold rush tent cities.”

“Mm-hmm,” Harlee said. “But it’s also the place where the Donner Party got stranded.” In 1846, snowbound pioneers got trapped in the snow and turned to cannibalism to survive—the event had been etched into California history.

“No shi. . . . Well, I’ll be,” he said. “Right here?”

“Not right in this spot, but down the road at Donner Lake.”

“Now isn’t that something.” He scrubbed his hand through that jet-black hair of his.

“The Lumber Baron has a lot of information about it if you’re interested.”

“Hot damn,” he said, taking a sip of his cocktail and holding it up to the light to admire the flamed orange twist garnish. “Not bad. How long have you lived here?”

“My family has owned a cabin here for forever and we’ve been coming up on vacations for years, but I only started living here full-time since November.”

“To run DataDate?” he asked, and checked her ring finger. The man really thought highly of himself.

Mariah brought their salads. “We need any refills?” She eyed his nearly empty drink.

“I’m good,” he said, and Harlee indicated that she was fine as well.

“I like what you’ve done with the company,” he told Harlee after Mariah left. “My sister certainly sings your praises. Before you, the last jackass she dated cost me a bundle.”

Harlee didn’t ask why, even though she burned with curiosity. “Thank you.”

“You bring your P&L statement?”

She did a double take. “I’m not opening my books to you.”

Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Darlin’, you ever sell a business before?”

“Oh . . . uh . . . I wasn’t aware that’s what you had in mind. I figured this was just an informational meeting.”

“I want information, I use the phone,” he said, looking partly annoyed and partly amused. “I’ll need to see your financials, balance sheets, and tax returns before I make an offer, but I’ll give you a letter of intent to buy, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Whoa, this was moving way faster than Harlee had ever anticipated and she felt extremely ill prepared. She’d only started the business a few months ago and didn’t have an accountant, let alone balance sheets.

“Can I ask you something, Bix?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you even interested in my business? You run one of the largest private security firms in the country. You can replicate what DataDate does in a heartbeat, but why would you want to when the big money is in investigating corporate espionage, class action lawsuits, and a dozen other things I can think of off the top of my head?” She hadn’t divulged anything that Bix Dearling didn’t already know.

And just to prove it, he grinned. Big. “You’re right. My guess is you barely clear fifty thousand a year.”

If Harlee grossed thirty thousand this year, she’d be dancing in the streets.

“But you’ve got this trust thing going on,” he continued. “Women take one look at my brother and me and we’re exactly the guys they should avoid like a bad case of the clap. No way are they coming to us to filter out the players, because we are the players. On the other hand, they take one look at you and those big baby blues, and they see their savior.”

“So basically you need a face?”

“Basically we need a face.” He nodded.

“I still don’t see why you’d even bother with this kind of penny-ante business.”

Mariah appeared with their steaks and they both stopped talking. “We all good here?”

“We’re definitely good,” he said. “But what would make me great, darlin’, is another one of those cocktails. How about you, Harlee?”

“No, thanks,” she said.

Mariah gave her an approving nod and said, “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Bix cut into his meat, seemed satisfied that it oozed red, and said, “Back to your question. We’re not planning to run individual background checks. That’s just nuts. You and DataDate are about to become an app. With one tap of a finger, a gal can run a guy through all the databases you check by hand. Of course there will be a monthly subscription fee for the privilege.”

Harlee sat back against the red pleather upholstered seat. Genius. The idea was freakin’ genius. “Why are you telling me this? I could do it myself.”