The Hotter You Burn (23 page)

Carol, an attractive woman with salt-and-pepper hair, hazel eyes and the lined skin of someone who'd lived a happy life, manned the counter, the landline at her ear.

She noticed Harlow and scowled, saying into the phone, “Let me call you back after I've taken care of a sudden cockroach problem.” She slammed the phone into the receiver. “I thought we'd gotten rid of you.”

“I need to borrow your phone. Please.”

“Sorry, but it's out of order.”

“You were just using it.”

“And it just broke.”

Harlow shifted from one sandaled foot to the other, frantic, looking for help. But the only other person in sight was Carol's youngest daughter, Holly, a gum-smacking Goth who hadn't stopped flipping the pages of her magazine.

While the youngish Holly hadn't been a victim of Harlow the Bully, her older sister, Dottie, had. Carol had clearly not forgotten all the times Dottie had come home sobbing because of something Harlow had said.

Guilt stabbed at her. But dang it, she had paid for her crimes a thousand times over in the past two weeks alone.

“Fine,” Harlow said. “If you won't let me use the phone, will you give me a job?”

“A job? For you?”

“I'll work hard and never cause any trouble.”

Carol snorted.

“I'll work for less money than anyone else.”

Finally. Interest. Smiling with glee, Carol abandoned the counter to walk a circle around Harlow. “Well, well. Look at you, desperate enough to scrub my toilets. Even though you once called this inn, my home, a dump of the lowest order.”

Harlow could feel herself caving in, her shoulders slumping, her head bowing. “I was wrong.” The place rocked, reminding her of home. Overhead was a chandelier made entirely from deer antlers. Strawberry-themed paper decorated the walls. Gray stone surrounded the fireplace, and there were scuffs on the wood floors.

“Well, before I agree to sign you on, you're gonna have to show me you've got what it takes to work here.” Delight colored her tone, sending a cold chill down Harlow's spine.

She took heart, however. This was the furthest she'd come in the “interview” process.

“Come on. There are thirty rooms,” Carol said, leading her through multiple hallways, portraits of strawberries hanging in every direction. They came to an open door, a cleaning cart in front of it. “If I decide to give you a chance, you'll be responsible for every single room, every day. Guest or no guest.”

“Momma?” The voice drifted past the door frame.

Harlow tensed as Dottie entered her line of sight. A bit on the short side and a little plump, she looked like a child's doll with her dark corkscrew curls and freckled skin. She'd registered on Harlow's radar when she'd aced a test Harlow had failed.

For that, I called her hateful names and ensured everyone in school treated her like a pariah.

Dottie's gaze landed on Harlow and narrowed. “How dare you show up here. Get out!”

“I'm sorry,” she said, a lump growing in her throat. “I'm sorry for everything I did to you when we were teenagers.”

“Watch me as I
don't
believe you. The day you were born, the devil crapped his pants, knowing he'd finally met his greatest competition.” Dottie focused on her mother. “Why is she here?”

“Harlow came begging for a job,” Carol said, her glee escalating. “You, of course, will be her boss, and if she doesn't meet your high standards, you can kick her out.”

Dottie opened her mouth, closed it with a snap. “Fine.”

The two weren't going to give her a chance, were they? No matter how good a job Harlow did, she would be found lacking. Well, no matter. She would suck it up. Maybe she'd earn a few bucks in the process.

“Have fun, you two. Or not.” Carol left them to their duties.

“I need to make a call. I'll be quick.” Harlow rushed to the phone on the desk.

“Slacking already,” Dottie said, her anger only intensifying.

Voice mail picked up. “Jessie Kay, it's Harlow. I ran into Daniel and I'm so, so sorry, but I mentioned you'd once dated Beck and he acted like he didn't know, and I'm sorry.”

Dottie snatched the phone and slammed it into the reciever. “One more infraction like that and you're toast.”

“You're right,” she said. “Put me to work. I'll do whatever you say.”

“Oh, I'll put you to work, all right.”

And she did. The girl directed Harlow like a plow horse, harsh words her whip.

Is that all you've got?

You should be better at cleaning up shit. You've slung enough of it over the years.

I could do better with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back.

By the end of the day, Harlow's pride stung—nothing new there—and her body ached, muscles she hadn't even known she possessed now heavy and shaky.

“You did okay today,” Dottie said, folding towels and stacking them on the cart for tomorrow. They were in the laundry room, the air pungent with the scent of cleaners and disinfectants. “I'm not going to fire you.”

Shock swept through Harlow, nearly knocking her off her feet. “Really?”

“Is this the part where you ask for preferential treatment?”

“No. Of course not! But...does the job happen to come with free room and board?”

Dottie snorted, and Harlow took that as a
no way in hell
. “We start at six a.m. Don't be late.”

“I won't.” Harlow hesitated in the doorway. “I meant what I said. I really am sorry for everything I—”

“Don't,” Dottie snapped. “Save your apologies for someone who cares. We were kids. I'm over it.”

No. No, she wasn't even close to over it.

Harlow sighed, wondering what kind of life Dottie had led. If she was married with kids, involved or single. The gossip train so rarely mentioned her. But now wasn't the time to ask. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Harlow spent the rest of the evening moving her camping gear to a piece of land owned by Strawberry Valley Community Church, as close to the center of town as possible so she could make her early-morning shifts while still maintaining the cover of trees offered by the surrounding forest. She did her best not to think about Beck—what he was doing... Who he was doing it with.

In the middle of the night, however, while the locusts sang and the crickets chirped, serenading her as she shivered from cold, she couldn't help but crave his arms around her.

Fought a war, lost—and in turn lost the most important part of my life.

This was her new reality. Working, camping. Wishing Beck were with her, missing him with every fiber of her being, wanting to hate him, wanting to rant and rail at him for not realizing relationships could be a blessing, a gift, then wanting to scream at him for letting her go.

* * *

T
HE
 
NEXT
 
MORNING
, Harlow made it to the inn with fifteen minutes to spare. Her eyes burned; they were dry, probably swollen from her tears and definitely gritty with fatigue. Her hair was a mess, her clothes dirty.

Dottie was already in the storeroom. She took one look at Harlow and tossed her a pair of scrubs. “Your uniform.”

Good morning to you, too.
“Is there a place I can shower first?”

Dottie pointed to the right. “The employee bathroom has a stall. And we'll be sure to deduct the hot water from your check.”

Of course.

By the time Harlow showered, changed and appointed herself a locker, Dottie had the first room halfway cleaned. They worked alongside each other for one hour—two—not a single word spoken.

Finally, as Harlow stuffed a pillow inside a new case, she said, “Are you married?”

“Why? Are you hoping to steal my husband?”

Okay. No small talk. Noted.

Another hour passed. Dottie broke for lunch. Harlow hadn't brought any food and had no extra cash to buy anything so she just kept working. Her stomach growled, remembering the sandwiches, pies and peppers Brook Lynn had once made her.

I miss that girl so bad
. Even now, Harlow could hear Brook Lynn's musical laugh. Wait. Hear? She peeked her head out of the room to see the petite blonde striding down the hallway, carrying what looked to be a casserole dish, Carol keeping pace beside her.

Pride urged her to hide—
Can't let her see me like this
. But pride was nothing more than a fear of being found lacking, and if her time with Beck had taught her anything, it was the pitfalls of succumbing to fear.

She was done hiding. She had a life to live, and she was going to live it. Brook Lynn spotted her and smiled—a genuine smile—and Harlow released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

“Thank you for walking me to my room, Carol,” Brook Lynn said.

“It's just one of the many services I offer here at the Strawberry Inn.” Smug, Carol added, “Speaking of services, we now offer a new one. Our most elite customers will be allowed to watch Miss Glass clean their room.”

Well, well. Even better.

“What an amazing reward package,” Brook Lynn said. “I'm absolutely going to take you up on it, so, if you'll excuse us.” She entered the room and shut the door in Carol's face.

“How did you find me?” Harlow asked.

“I've had my ear to the ground. Yesterday Virgil Porter spotted you heading into the inn, so he made sure to have a nice long chat-up with Carol. He found out you'd accepted a job and called me.”

“Does Beck know?”

“No. Word hasn't reached him. Yet.”

Carol hadn't done much gossiping, then. She was probably as embarrassed by Harlow's presence as she was gleeful. “I'd like to keep it secret as long as possible.”

“In a town this size, as long as possible usually only equals an hour, but maybe this will help the showdown sure to come.” Brook Lynn held out the plastic container. “My famous apple-and-carrot casserole.”

“For me?” Harlow thumped her chest, just to be sure.

“And anyone you'd like to share it with.”

She grabbed the casserole and hurried to the couch. She removed the lid and the fork taped to the top. “You might want to look away,” she said, digging in. The sweetness of apples and carrots hit her taste buds, and she closed her eyes to savor.

Brook Lynn sat on the coffee table. “Jessie Kay wants you to know Daniel broke things off with her, but you aren't at fault and she's not upset.”

Her enjoyment plummeted.

“It's really not your fault,” Brook Lynn insisted. “He refused to be exclusive but didn't like that she was hanging out with Beck and Jase after...you-knowing them.”

Harlow set what little remained of the casserole aside. “Did she cry?”

“No, she rallied. She's got a date with Dorian tonight. But enough about my sister. Beck is miserable, you know.”

Hope quickly dovetailed into despair. “I don't want to talk about him.” But...maybe she should. She was still raw, yes, but she needed help.

“I'm not leaving until I know what happened. I came here willing to bribe you. You can't deny you've accepted that bribe, it's smeared all over your face, so start talking or I momma-bear-claw that casserole right out of your stomach.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

B
ECK
 
HAD
 
NEVER
 
been so close to losing his mind.

Harlow had vanished. After she'd left him, she'd moved into the Strawberry Inn, one week quickly turning into two. He'd hung out in town as much as possible, needing to see her—needing her to see him—but sightings of her had become fewer and for the past week, there hadn't been a single one.

Seven entire days without knowing where she was or if she was okay.

He'd scoured every inch of his land. He'd talked to—yelled at—the locals. He'd called the PI who'd finally, at long last, found the person responsible for her attack, and asked the guy to search Oklahoma City, thinking, fearing, she might have hitched a ride to get as far away from him as possible. If anything had happened to her...

He would want to die. But first, he would kill whoever caused the hurt. The way he'd wanted to kill the girl who'd set her on fire. Stacy Kellogg. Once a clerk at a little boutique in Dallas. Now dead, but not by his hand. Two years ago, she lit a coworker on fire, was caught, but hung herself before being sentenced to jail time.

Beck's movements were jerky as he tugged on his pants, buttoned up his shirt. He'd thought he would give Harlow a few days to cool down, to think about things and realize she was miserable without him. She was supposed to come crawling back and plead with him to forgive her for leaving in the first place. She was supposed to forget her questions and his answers and accept what he could offer.

Damn her!

He was skipping work—again—to go hunting for her. If necessary, he would tear this town apart. He just— He had to see her, had to talk to her and perhaps shake some sense into her. He couldn't go on like this.

He missed her. Missed her smile and her laugh. Her spirit. She challenged him. Made him step up and be a better man.

One taste hadn't been enough. For the first time in his life, he'd had a woman once and it had only made him want her more. Her scent in his nose. Her body flush against his. Her breasts in his hands. Her—everything. Only her.

Another change, the biggest of all, and one that freaked him out now that she was gone, making it a little harder to breathe, but it was a change he couldn't regret. If he had her, nothing else mattered.

As he swiped up his socks, Brook Lynn stormed into his bedroom without knocking. She stopped directly in front of him to poke him in the chest. “You idiot!”

“Exactly right.” A fact he'd lamented many times the past week. “But I'm not sure what crime I committed against you.”

Brook Lynn poked him a second time. “You see doom and gloom with Harlow. You think relationships are a cage. No wonder she left you.”

His every muscle tightened, ready to spring into action. “You talked to her?” He yanked the socks into place, demanding, “Where is she?”

“I'll tell you,” she said, pure Southern tenacity, “after you sit your butt down and listen to me.”

Jase heard the commotion and flew out of his bedroom. “What's wrong, angel?”

“Beck is an idiot, that's what.”

“Where is Harlow?” Beck demanded, losing patience. “Tell me before I do something we'll both regret.” If he had to shake Brook Lynn, he would. He would probably lose both of his hands when Jase ripped them off his arms, but that would be a small price to pay.

“Sit!” Brook Lynn shrieked.

All right. So she'd turned into a shrew. Got it. He sat.

“I get that you three boys have problems because of your pasts,” she said, pacing in front of him. “But do you really think you've cornered the market on them? That Harlow doesn't have her fair share?”

Jase held up his hands, all innocence, and backed out of the room. “Sorry, my man. I'd jump on this grenade for you, but...I don't want to.” He smacked into West, who'd just come out of his own room to investigate. “Run,” Jase told him, and he did.

“Some friends you are,” Beck called.

“Well,” Brook Lynn insisted.

“No?” he said.

“That's right. No. Harlow has problems, too. While you had to deal with crappy parents and foster care, she had to deal with her father's cruelty and death, then her mother's death, a woman who was her only means of support, all while the entire town hated on her. You think that was easy for her?”

“No,” he said more firmly. “Now where the hell is she?”

“Maybe she's in your stupid cage,” she snarled, stuck on the word. “A cage? Seriously?”

His teeth gnashed together. “
Feelings
are a cage.” One he'd successfully avoided for most of his adult life. Then Harlow had come along and showed him just how unfulfilled he actually was, how unsatisfied. He wanted to hate her for it, but damn if he didn't like her more.

“Well, at least we now know you have feelings,” Brook Lynn grumbled. “What about the doom and gloom you see in your future?”

“It's not specific to her, but to me. I don't know how to expect anything else.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “You could have been a little more clear to your girlfriend. It would have saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Niether one of them had been in the right frame of mind. Accusation had taken the place of listening.

“Harlow is miserable without you, Beck.”

“Good.” If he had to suffer, she should, too.

“Good? Good! For a bona fide he-slut, you sure don't know anything about women. Harlow would give up anything to see you happy. Anything! Even her own happiness.”

“If she's so concerned about me, why isn't she here?” The question exploded from him with more force than he'd intended.

“Tone,” Jase shouted from somewhere in the house.

Beck winced. Yelling at his friend's woman? Really? He would flip his ever-loving lid if one of the boys did the same to Harlow. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “What else did Harlow say to you?”

Brook Lynn took a moment to huff and puff before admitting, “Mainly that you two want different things.”

Different things? Like hell. “She asked for commitment, and I gave it to her.”

“Your version of it.”

“Yes.” He gripped his knees with so much force he might need a wheelchair for the rest of the day. “She told me I wasn't enough for her.”

“Do you even have ears?” Exasperated, Brook Lynn threw her arms up. “According to Harlow, she told you what you were offering her wasn't enough. And rightly so. What you're offering wouldn't be enough for
anyone
.”

Screw it! “Where is she, Brook Lynn? I've answered your questions, and now I demand answers of my own.”

She gave him a pitying look. “You told her you felt caged, and when she set you free, you
blamed
her for it. She cried, Beck. She went back to living in a tent.”

Razors cut through his chest, and he replayed the fight through Harlow's eyes. She'd been scared, her own fears driving her. She'd only wanted reassurance. His admittance they had a chance at something good.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. As the air left him, his upper body just kind of sagged with defeat. Damn it. If she'd mentioned feeling trapped, he would have set her free, too.

“Are relationships always this difficult?” he croaked.

“Only the ones that matter.” Brook Lynn sighed. “Look, it's not too late to salvage this. She's hurting, and that's a guarantee you'll have to grovel before she'll listen to a word you have to say, but if you don't convince her you're in the relationship of your own free will, that she's an important part of your future, one you can't live without, you'll lose her.”

I can't lose her.

“She
is
an important part of my future.”

“Don't tell me, tell her.” Brook Lynn gazed around his room and grimaced, obviously noting the empty beer bottles he'd discarded. “You aren't just an idiot, you're a pig, and it's a wonder you managed to snag someone as classy as Harlow.” With that, she strode out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

He'd messed up. What if he couldn't win Harlow back?

No. No, he couldn't think like that. She'd gifted him with her virginity. That meant something to her. To them both.

He raced after Brook Lynn, calling, “Where is she?”

Brook Lynn leaned against the kitchen counter and accepted a coffee mug from Jase. She blew on the liquid, taking her sweet time.

“Please,” he said. “With a cherry on top of me.”

She smiled at him, still not in any kind of hurry. “I suggest you pack a bag and move into the Strawberry Inn for a while.”

His control frayed, ready to snap at any second. “This is my house. I'm not going anywhere. Just tell me where the hell she is.”

“Tone,” Jase snapped a second time.

Brook Lynn patted Beck on the cheek. “Did I mention the inn has a new maid? And get this. She seems to have a soft spot for idiots.”

* * *

H
ARLOW
 
STUFFED
 
A
 
pillow into a fresh case. She'd been washing, dusting and vacuuming all day, and if she wanted to keep this job—which she did, she had to—she would be washing, dusting and vacuuming all evening. Her arms, back and thighs ached. Her feet screamed in protest. Despite the blast of the air conditioner, which she'd cranked to high, perspiration created a film over her skin.

“You didn't do it right.” Scott Cameron reclined in the center of the king-size bed, as smug as a pasha being serviced by his least favorite concubine. “Do it again.”

Though she would have preferred to smother him with the pillow, she removed the stuffing and once again fit it inside the case. In the past few hours, half the town had moved into the inn, it seemed. Scott, Virgil Porter. Jessie Kay. Daphne and her daughter Hope. Kenna. Four girls she'd tormented in high school. Another guy who'd gotten the Glass Pass. Word of Carol's promised “elite package” had spread fast.

“And wipe the mirror again,” he said. “I see streaks.”

“You know, Scott,” she said, “if you spent half as much time pleasing your girlfriend as you do tormenting me, she'd be the happiest girl on the planet.”

He glowered. “Trust me. She's plenty pleased.”

“You sure about that? The few times I've seen her, she's looked miserable.”

Before he could respond, Dottie peeked her head through the crack in the door. “We've got another customer waiting for you to clean, Glass. Room twelve.”

Great!

“But she isn't done in here,” Scott complained.

“You've had her for over an hour,” Dottie retorted, surprisingly snappy. Usually she was sunny smiles, all “yes, sir” and “yes, ma'am.” “Your time's up.”

Amid Scott's protests, Harlow dropped her rag on the floor and at last abandoned the sinking ship. “Thank you,” she told Dottie when they were alone in the hall.

The girl
hmphed
and flounced away. No name-calling? Well, if that wasn't progress, Harlow didn't know what was.

As she made her way to room twelve, Carol came around the far corner and joined her. “Oh, Miss Glass! Isn't this amazing? At this rate, I'll have Holly's orthodontic work paid for without having to mortgage my home or freelance contract killing. Someone once asked me to do that, you know.”

“How wonderful for you.”

“Isn't it? Carry on, carry on.” Carol patted her shoulder before skipping off.

“Glad my humiliation could help.”

“Yes, yes, keep up the good work.” Carol nodded enthusiastically before disappearing around the corner.

Harlow reached her destination and raised her hand to knock, but the door was already open. Another eager customer. Yippee. Who was it this time?

She stepped inside with a resigned, “Hello?”

A bag rested on the bed, small, black and masculine. A minute after the water shut off in the bathroom, hinges creaked—and out stepped Beck, wearing nothing but a thin cotton towel.

Heart hammering, she stepped back and bumped into the door, shutting it and sealing herself inside. Curses! He looked good. Too good. His hair was darker when it was wet, the strands stuck to his brow and cheeks, dripping droplets of water onto his shoulders and the hard ridges of his chest.

His gaze narrowed on her. “I heard my hag had changed careers, and decided to come see for myself.”

Her body began to ache for a reason that had nothing to do with work, readying for this man, as always. Tremors rocked her, and she did her best to hide them. At least the fatigue that had plagued her for the past few hours vanished in a blink, replaced by sizzling energy.

Run to him...

No! Never again. “I'm not cleaning your room while you watch,” she announced.

“Good. The room isn't dirty.” His smile was dark, humorless. “I'm afraid you'll be cleaning something else.”

He'd come to sleep with her? After everything that had happened between them? Bastard! “If you say your
body
, I will smack you.”

“As you can see, my body isn't dirty, either.”

Disappointment poked at her, and it only made her angrier. “Then what?”

“What else?” He tapped his temple. “My mind is absolutely filthy. If you knew half the things I'm thinking right now...the things I want to do to you...”

“Of course you want sex. You're incapable of meeting anyone's emotional needs.”

Pain ravaged his features. He reached for her. “Harlow.”

“No. I'm leaving,” she said, nails cutting into her palms, drawing blood. “We broke up, and you started seeing other girls.”

“I'm not seeing other girls.”

“Too bad for you. Maybe I'm seeing other guys.” She turned, grabbed the knob.