Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3) (5 page)

“His name’s Wyatt and he’s an asswipe. Although I’m pretty sure he’s a single asswipe, just in case you’re interested for yourself.”

“Why would I be interested in a guy who’s clearly interested in you?”

“Because I don’t want him,” Darla said adamantly—too adamantly, if you asked Harlee—then opened her menu, feigning indifference.

Harlee arched a brow, knowing that there was definitely something going on here. “Okay.” She held up her hands in surrender.

“So you’re interested?” Darla asked, trying to sneak a peek at Big Ears, who was looking right back.

“No.” Harlee would’ve laughed if Darla hadn’t look so relieved. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, so a man’s the last thing I need. All my energy has to go into finding another newspaper job.”

She leaned over the table to confide in Darla that she’d left San Francisco with a bit of a debt problem.

“How bad?” Darla asked, turning her gaze from Wyatt to eye Harlee’s clothes. “Like collection agency bad?”

Harlee nodded her head. “It’s a sickness. Just like some people are addicted to crack, I’m addicted to department stores.”

Then there’d been the swanky Marina studio she hadn’t been able to afford, all those pricey restaurant meals, and a hefty car payment. San Francisco was an expensive city and her friends—software designers, venture capitalists, and lawyers—had deep pockets. On her pathetic reporter’s salary it hadn’t been easy keeping up with the Joneses. And she’d gotten into a lot of trouble trying. Now it was time to pay the piper—part of the reason she’d been forced to move to Nugget.

“My cards are maxed out and I only have a thousand dollars in my checking account,” she continued, deciding on the French dip with a side salad.

“What about DataDate?” Darla asked. “You just got two new clients.”

“Business is picking up. But it’s still not enough. Thank God for free rent, or I’d be living with my parents.” As much as she loved them, moving back into her childhood bedroom would’ve been the cherry on top of her failure sundae.

A woman with a cloud of dark hair and soulful eyes came to take their orders. “Hey, Darla. How’s business at the barbershop?”

“Good. Really good. You should come in sometime for a service. Mariah, this is Harlee Roberts. She’s new in town, lives in her family’s cabin up on Grizzly Peak. Harlee, Mariah and her partner, Sophie, own the Ponderosa.”

“Nice to meet you, Mariah.”

“You live next door to Colin,” Mariah said, refilling their water glasses. “We love Colin.”

“He’s great,” Harlee said, and changed her mind about the French dip, getting a Cobb salad instead.

When Mariah left, Harlee whispered, “Liar.” Darla had confided during Harlee’s shampoo that business was deader than road kill. The men still came to get trims and shaves from Owen, but most of the women in town already had stylists in either Reno or Quincy.

“What am I supposed to say? ‘No one wants me to cut their hair’?”

“It’s not that, Darla. You just need more time to get established. You’ll see.”

“Whatever,” Darla said, and Harlee understood that she was just frustrated. “I didn’t know you lived near Colin.”

“You know Colin?” For some reason that surprised Harlee, who’d pegged Colin for the town hermit, although she knew he had a lot of construction jobs in addition to making furniture.

“It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone.”

“Do you think he’s weird?” Harlee asked, lowering her voice.

Darla vacillated. “Mm, maybe a little. More like quiet. And at least he doesn’t stare at my chest, like that one.” She pointed at Wyatt, who had turned around in his stool and was sure enough blatantly watching Darla.

“The one you’re so hot for me to like?”

“Hey, pickings are slim around here.”

“What’s the deal with the other two?” Harlee motioned toward the bar, her inner reporter kicking in.

“The one in the hat is Clay McCreedy. He’s the heartthrob of Nugget, owns a huge cattle ranch up the road, has two sons, and is engaged to a famous cookbook author. The other one is Nugget Police Chief Rhys Shepard. He’s absolutely dreamy, sweet as can be, and is married to Maddy Shepard, owner of the Lumber Baron Inn. Together, they’re like the cutest couple in town. It would make you sick, if she wasn’t so sweet. And pregnant too. My dad’s always bitching about her inn and how it’s turning the place into Lake Tahoe, but secretly I think he’s madly in love with her.”

Someone other than Mariah brought their food, and Harlee dug in, starved. Darla took a big bite of her tri-tip sandwich.

“I have to say, the inn rocks,” Harlee said between bites. “I haven’t seen the inside, but the outside makes the square.”

“They’re doing high teas on the weekends. It was Emily Mathews’s idea. She’s the cookbook author engaged to Clay. You should take your mom. The inside is like seriously killer. Colin did the carpentry.”

“Really?” Now Harlee was even more curious to see the inn’s interior. “That’s a great idea. You want to join us?”

“Sure. Why not?” Darla shrugged. “It’s not like anyone’s busting down my door for a cut and color.”

“They will,” Harlee assured her, wondering if perhaps Darla’s unconventional getup might be scaring people off. Admittedly, she’d been thrown by it at first, but Darla was a good person.

“Hey,” Darla said, “you want to take yoga with me? Pam, across the square at the dance studio, holds classes.”

“Is it expensive?”

“I don’t know. But how expensive can it be?” Darla pushed her plate of fries closer to Harlee so they could share. “After lunch we could go over and check.”

And here Harlee thought that she’d be bored living in Nugget. It would be a lie to say that she’d stopped fantasizing that the phone would ring with Jerry on the line.
“Legs, the paper made a big mistake. We need you back. Stat!”
Or better yet, the
New York Times
.
“What were those idiots thinking? Come work for us in our San Francisco bureau. We’ll pay you twice what you were making at the
Call
.”

Then she’d get her old apartment back—the one she couldn’t afford. And life would return to the way it used to be.

“Shit,” Darla cried.

“What?” Harlee nearly jumped out of her seat.

“Wyatt’s coming over here. Do something, quick.”

O
n his way down Grizzly Peak, Colin passed a truck filled with firewood. He figured it must be for Harlee. The delivery couldn’t come any sooner, because the weather service was predicting snow next week and it would be damned cold over the weekend.

At least she seemed to be getting into the swing of living in Nugget. He’d noticed her propane had been delivered the day before. Not that he was spying. And she hadn’t called him for help—or for the use of his shower—since he lent her the wood and space heater. That was five days ago. Not that he was counting.

During the week, he and the crew had gotten Sophie and Mariah’s new house pretty well buttoned up for the pending storm. After the rough framing had been completed, they’d applied plywood sheathing to the exterior walls and roof, which would hopefully keep out the snow. Today he planned to start installing windows and doors before knocking off for the weekend.

It would be a light crew, so he’d be able to breathe. When he pulled up to the site, he spied Sophie and Mariah’s Volvo parked off to the side. Sophie, who was due in December and getting bigger by the day, waved as he hopped out of his truck.

“It’s looking good.” She walked over to join him.

Unlike the log homes and Victorians that were popular in the area, Sophie and Mariah had decided to go with a single-level contemporary plan that boasted vaulted ceilings, angular windows, and courtyards that took advantage of the Sierra and Feather River views. Colin really liked the way it was shaping up.

“Yep. We’ve made good headway thanks to the weather,” he said.

Mariah strolled over, shielding her eyes to block the sun. “Nice day. Still doesn’t feel like snow.”

“It does to me,” Colin said, zipping his down jacket. “You decide on your appliances yet?”

Pat Donnelly, the contractor on the project, liked fixtures and appliances to be ordered well in advance. Being the top contractor in this part of the Sierra, he was spread thin and got ornery when he had to wait on late shipments.

“We’re pretty set on the Wolf range. But we’re at an impasse on the fridge and dishwasher,” Sophie said, flicking her head at Mariah and rolling her eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” Colin said. “I’m not getting in the middle.”

The women laughed and Mariah said, “Hey, I met your new neighbor yesterday at the Ponderosa. Harlee, right?”

“Yeah,” Colin said. They waited for him to say more, but what more was there to say other than she was gorgeous, had a screaming body, and was so far out of his league he had a better chance pitching for the Giants than getting the attention of someone like Harlee Roberts.

“Well, what’s she like?” Sophie prodded.

“Nice.”

“What does she do for a living?” Sophie pressed, clearly frustrated at Colin’s reticence.

But he didn’t want to dish. So he shrugged one shoulder and threw her a crumb. “I think she said she used to be a reporter for the
San Francisco Call
.”

Sophie looked impressed. “What’s she doing now?”

“I honestly don’t know. Maybe she’s writing a book.” Why else would she move here? Although he got the impression that her coming to Nugget was pretty last minute.

“How old is she?”

Geez, enough with the inquisition
. Colin had stuff to do.

“I don’t know,” he said. “In her twenties, maybe. I’m not good at that.”

“And that’s why we love you,” Mariah teased. “Well, is she single?”

Besides being a bunch of matchmakers, everyone in Nugget liked knowing everyone else’s business. It was a town hobby. He knew people wondered about him. Luckily, no one thought he was interesting enough to dig deep. It helped that he kept a low profile.

“I better get to work.” He started for the house.

Members of the crew had spread out to staple Tyvek to the exterior walls. Colin planned to come in behind them to install windows and doors. Some of the special-order glass hadn’t come in yet. Those openings he’d cover with plastic.

“We’re taking off,” Sophie said. “If we don’t see you around, have a good weekend, Col.”

They were good people, Sophie and Mariah. They’d all moved to Nugget about the same time—he from LA and Soph and Mariah from the Bay Area. Sophie had worked for a big-time marketing firm and Mariah had founded her own software start-up. Neither wanted those lives when they turned forty.

They bought the Ponderosa, moved into the apartment above it, and hired Colin to bring the place back to life. They took one look at his house in progress and decide he was the man for the job. He and a consultant who knew everything about modern bowling alleys. He restored the original hardwood floors, did all the carpentry in the dining room, and refurbished the bar, which according to town legend had survived the gold rush.

The couple persuaded their friends Maddy and her brother, Nate Breyer, to buy the run-down Lumber Baron and recommended Colin for that job too. He’d been working ever since.

Colin strapped on his tool belt and started on the south side of the house, where the exterior had already been wrapped. He taped a window-and-door schedule to the wall and got to work. By the time he finished that side, the men had stopped for lunch, eating sandwiches on the tailgates of their pickups.

It was this time of day, while the workers took their breaks, that Colin got the most done. One blissful hour of solitude. When they finished, Colin would find a quiet spot to eat his own lunch.

He tugged the schedule down and readied to start at the back of the house. That’s when he heard a whining sound come from underneath the deck.

At first he thought he’d imagined it and continued to tack the list to the back wall. But he heard it again. This time the noise, a painful whimper, was louder. Colin got down on the deck and listened through the floorboards and heard scratching.

Someone or something was down there. Colin grabbed a flashlight from his toolbox, hiked down the embankment, and swept the light over the crawl space.

“Anyone in there?” he called.

Another whimper. This one more pitiful than the last.

Shit! The last thing Colin wanted to do was crawl around in a hole twenty-four inches tall. He could get one of the guys. But then he’d have to hand in his man card and leave his balls at the door.

“Hey,” he called back under the deck. “Do you really need me to come in and get you? Or can you come out on your own?”

He got his answer in the form of a yelp. Then a wounded cry. Colin did another sweep with the flashlight and saw nothing, which meant whatever he was dealing with was jammed way back there, farther than Colin wanted to go. Hell, he didn’t want to go in at all. Every time he looked at the crevice, it got smaller and smaller. Darker and darker. Even with the flashlight.

He took off his jacket because it had suddenly gotten so hot that Colin couldn’t breathe. “How you doing in there?”

“
Errrrr
,” came a weak cry.

“Okay. I’m coming in.”

He crawled in halfway, but quickly came back out, his heart pumping so hard that he thought it would explode out of his chest. “Breathe,” he told himself, and for the next few seconds concentrated on the exercises the therapist had taught him.

“
Errrrr
.”

“Okay, chill. I’ll be there in a few seconds.”

He got on his hands and knees and inched his way back in, using the light to guide him. The joists and beams felt like they were closing in, smothering him, as if someone were holding a pillow over his face.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Focus.

Task.

Straight ahead.

“Where you at?” Colin called into the darkness.

“
Errrrr
.”

A few feet away, huddled next to a deck post, was a black-and-white fur ball. “You okay?”

The dog, which looked like some kind of shepherd, let out a long whimper and thumped its tail like it sensed Colin was a friend, not a foe.

“There better be a good reason that you made me crawl through hell.”

The dog made another high-pitched, “
Errrrr
,” then cocked its head to the side.

The mutt was a mangy thing. Scrawny and disheveled. And if Colin wasn’t mistaken, the animal’s belly was matted in blood.

To keep from spooking the dog, Colin slowly reached out his hands, getting a wet-nosed sniff and a few tentative licks for his trouble. Sticking the flashlight in the waistband of his jeans, Colin gingerly lifted the animal, crawled back out, and didn’t stop until he saw blue skies.

“We made it.” Colin gasped for breath and tried to regulate his breathing as the dog licked his face. “Knock it off. That’s gross.”

Once his pulse returned to normal, Colin used the sunlight to closely examine the animal—a male—and found a nasty cut. Maybe from barbed wire; he couldn’t tell. But the raised incision was oozing blood and looked infected. Colin put his jacket back on, hefted the dog into his arms, and carried him to his truck.

“Whaddya got there?” Jack, one of the workers, finished a soda, crushed the can, and chucked it into the Dumpster.

“An injured dog. I found him under the house. You know where there’s a vet around here?”

“Nearest one’s in Graeagle. Right there on Main Street,” Jack said, coming over to pet the patient. “He’s bleeding, poor dog. Here, let me put some Tyvek sheeting on the seat of your truck.”

“Thanks,” Colin said. “You guys okay with me taking off? I’ll come back later and close up the openings before the snow hits.”

“Sure.” Jack checked his watch and smiled. “It’s practically the weekend anyway. You want me to call the vet, let him know you’re coming with an emergency?”

“Yeah, that would be great.” He didn’t think the bleeding was life threatening, but the infection could be serious.

Two hours and three hundred dollars later, Colin drove up McCreedy Road. “This place look familiar, boy?” The dog, whose nose rested on his two front legs, looked up at Colin with doleful eyes—one blue and one brown. “You buzzed on doggy tranqs?”

When Colin knocked on Clay McCreedy’s door, his fiancé, Emily, answered and looked a little surprised to see him. “Hey, Colin.”

“You by any chance missing an Australian shepherd mix, about two years old?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Emily invited him in and called to Clay, “We’re not missing a dog, are we?”

Clay came into the foyer and nodded a greeting at Colin. “Nope, at least not that I know of. One of the barn dogs might’ve gone for a stroll. You got her with you?”

“It’s a he, and he’s in my truck.”

Emily and Clay grabbed their jackets off a hall tree and followed him outside. Colin opened the passenger side of his truck. The dog thumped his tail a few times, stood up, did a couple of turns, and dropped back down, looking up at Colin like
What now?

Clay scratched the dog under his chin. “Not one of mine.”

“He’s so sweet,” Emily said. “Where did you find him?”

“Under Sophie and Mariah’s new deck. He was filthy and cut up on barbed wire. The vet cleaned him, gave him a shot of antibiotics and stitched him up. He didn’t have a collar or one of those tracking chips. Dr. Weil thought I should check with some of the local cattle ranchers, since he’s a herd dog.”

“Sophie and Mariah’s property is a good five miles from any cattle ranches,” Clay said. “While it’s possible that the dog might’ve gotten hurt and run off to lick his wounds, it’s more probable someone dumped him off. Unfortunately, it happens all the time. You could put a notice in the paper, but I doubt anyone will claim him.”

The dog had cuddled up next to Emily’s leg as she stood inside the truck door, stroking his head.

“You want me to take him off your hands?” Clay asked. “I got room in the barn for one more.”

Colin scrubbed his hand through his hair. The dog would probably like a place like this. Plenty of animals to keep him company, young kids to play with, and a nice roof over his head.

“Nah,” Colin said. He and the dog had kind of bonded—maybe because they were both a little lost. “I’ll keep him unless someone comes forward to claim him.”

“Man’s best friend,” Clay said, wrapping his arm around Emily’s shoulder.

Colin could use a friend.

Once they got back on the road, he reached over to scratch the dog behind his ears. He seemed to like that. “You got a name, boy?”

The pooch just gave him another one of his doleful stares and licked his hand.

“You look like a Max to me,” Colin said, sliding the dog a sideways glance. “What do say? Max work for you?”

The dog let out a bark, and Colin grinned the rest of the way home.

 

“Oh my God,” Darla mouthed to Harlee, her mile-long fake eyelashes fluttering at the array of miniature pastries, finger sandwiches, and salmon pinwheels decoratively arranged on tiered silver servers.

“Wow.” Harlee waited until their host was well out of earshot. “This is not what I expected. It’s so sophisticated.”

“It’s absolutely lovely, girls.” Harlee’s mom poured each of them a cup of tea.

At sixty-one, Leigh Roberts had the kind of grace and beauty that still turned heads. She wore her hair, now completely silver, in a stylish chin-length bob. Unlike Harlee, who’d become a slave to designer labels, Leigh chose clothes that were arty, one-of-kind pieces that she liked to accent with exotic scarves or interesting jewelry.

“Thank you so much for thinking of this,” Leigh said to Harlee.

“It was Darla’s idea,” Harlee told her mother, taking in the ornate dining room with its decorative cornices and antique sideboard. “This part of Nugget is not at all like when we used to come here, is it, Mom?”

“No, but I always thought that this old building had tremendous potential. And someone with a fine eye for detail must’ve seen it too, because the place is gorgeous.”