“There are people who know, Callie,” he said. “Jenny Leland is here, in Bootleg. She told us you’re alive.”
Dread swept through me and I covered my mouth with my hand.
“She didn’t say anything for a while, but I guess she couldn’t watch everyone grieve over a death that hadn’t happened. Not when she’d seen you with her own eyes.”
“Who else knows?”
He rubbed his chin. “My family. Sheriff Tucker. Rest of the cops in town, I’d imagine.”
I stood, the sudden urge to run almost overwhelming. I was Callie all over again. A terrified girl, hurt and alone. Huddled in a cabin in the woods. Certain they’d find me.
“Hey, slow down there.” Gibson was suddenly behind me, his big hands on my arms, his grip gentle. “No one knows where you are. And they won’t. You’re safe here.”
Closing my eyes, I took a long, slow breath. He didn’t let go, and I certainly didn’t want him to. His strong hands anchored me.
But the box in my mind rattled violently. Quincy and Henna had always told me that the past needed to be left behind. That peace could only be found by living in the moment. I’d breathed and cleansed and meditated my way through the last thirteen years, trying to believe they were right—trying to make them right. And yet, the box had never disappeared. My past was locked inside, but it was still a part of me.
Callie lived on.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said, finally.
“People are gonna dig,” he said. “The sheriff knows you aren’t dead. He knows someone falsified that forensics report so they’d say that body in New York is you. And it’s not just him. Hell, it was June Tucker who exposed that woman claiming to be you earlier this year.”
“Do the Kendalls know that? Do they know about Jenny?”
“I don’t think so.” He dropped his hands. “But they probably know about me.”
I whipped around to face him. “What about you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck again. “Do you remember when I took you to that concert over in Perrinville?”
“Yeah.”
“We hopped in that photo booth on the way back to my truck.” He walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up his wallet, then pulled something out.
I took a faded photo strip from his hands. A fresh wave of tears stung my eyes. “Oh my god. I forgot about these.”
“Misty Lynn Prosser stole my wallet out of my truck after I told her off. She found those and turned them in. Sheriff hauled me in for questioning. The whole town knows now.”
I remembered Misty Lynn. She was a few years older than me, and basically a nightmare. “Why did Misty Lynn steal your wallet?”
He groaned. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“She’s crazy, all right? I dated her for a little while about a million years ago and she’s been trying to worm her way back into my life ever since.”
I gaped at him. “Oh my god. Please tell me you’re kidding. You dated Misty Lynn Prosser?”
His expression clouded over. “It’s not like I’m proud of it. Fuck’s sake, I was twenty-one. Everybody makes mistakes, especially at that age.”
I didn’t know why I found it so funny. Maybe it was because he was getting so defensive. “Sure, but not everyone makes a Misty-Lynn-sized mistake.”
The veins in his forearms popped as he clenched his fists.
God, he had nice arms.
“I’m never gonna live that shit down, am I?”
“It’s Misty Lynn.” I tried to suppress my smile. “Probably not.”
He spun around and stomped down the hallway. Before I could react, he stomped his way back. “I want to yell at you to get out but if I do, I’ll probably never fucking see you again.”
I covered my mouth again, trying not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. Callie was retreating back into the recesses of my psyche, and I felt like Maya again. “I’m sorry. I’m just giving you a hard time. I wouldn’t want you to meet some of my mistakes.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, but I couldn’t tell what that expression meant. “All right, you can stay.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “We both know I really can’t.”
“What if you just stayed for a little while?” he said, his voice soft again. “If you have to disappear again, fine. I get it. But it’s been thirteen years. You really gonna show up here after all that time and stay for half an hour?”
“Like I said, I don’t know what I should do.”
With his hands on his hips, he looked down at the floor and took a deep breath. Some of the intensity in his posture seemed to melt away. When he lifted his face to meet my eyes, he looked so much like the Gibson I remembered, it nearly made my heart stop.
“How about a song?”
I bit my lower lip. I didn’t think I could refuse him anything when he looked at me like that. “You want to play with me?”
“It was our thing, right?”
“It was.” I glanced down, the question leaving my lips before I could stop myself from asking. “You don’t have a girlfriend who’ll show up and get mad because I’m here, do you?”
He scowled. “No.”
I had to fight to keep the smile off my face. “I was just making sure. I wouldn’t want to make more trouble for you.”
He took a few steps closer. His arm moved a little, as if he was going to touch me, but changed his mind. “Look, this mess is bigger than both of us. All I know is right now, I have my friend back. I’d kinda like to make the most of it while I can.”
I met his eyes. They were so blue. “Okay. I’ll stay a while.”
He went into another room and came out with an acoustic guitar. I took one corner of the couch and he sat on the edge of the other. After plucking the strings and making a few small adjustments to the tuning pegs, he strummed the opening chords to “I Fall to Pieces,” a classic Patsy Cline song.
God, it felt good to sing with him again.
One song turned into another. Soon we were singing and talking like we used to. Not about Callie, or investigations, or the Kendalls. About music. I told him about some of the artists I’d worked with. The things I’d seen. Places I’d been.
And he told me about Bootleg. About the tourism boom. The new vacation rentals and spas in town. The things that were different, and the things that were the same.
He talked about meeting his half-brother, Jonah, last year. About Scarlett’s mini real estate empire, and the unlikely man who’d captured her heart. He told me about his brother Bowie finally marrying Cassidy Tucker. About Leah Mae Larkin coming back to Bootleg and getting engaged to Jameson. About Jonah’s girlfriend, Shelby, and her brother George, the big football player who was dating June Tucker.
There was so much I’d missed. The kids I’d known had grown up and started their lives. So many were still here. Bootleg Springs was that sort of place—the kind of town that drew people in and made them want to stay.
A lifetime ago, I’d daydreamed about living here. Making this my home. I hardly remembered what it was like to have a home, now.
We talked and played well into the night. Gibson produced some snacks from the kitchen, and neither of us said anything about the time. I needed to go. It was a long drive on winding roads to get back to my motel. But I couldn’t seem to make myself leave.
Finally, my eyes were getting too heavy for me to deny how tired I was. “I should probably get going.”
Gibson rubbed his chin and seemed to consider something for a moment. “It’s late. You should just crash here.”
Every bit of me wanted to take him up on his offer. But I couldn’t stay here. “Thanks, but I shouldn’t.”
“Sweetheart, it’s three in the morning and I’m not gonna let you leave just so you can run off the road on the way back to your crappy motel.” He stood. “Come on. You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”
“You don’t have to—”
He turned and leveled me with a glare. Apparently he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
And really, I didn’t want to go.
“Thanks.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled. “I’ll get you some fresh blankets.”
I followed him to his room and Callie made a momentary reappearance, my heart fluttering and cheeks flushing at the thought of being in Gibson Bodine’s bedroom. I tried to tell myself I was being silly. I was far from the teenage virgin of thirteen years ago.
But being with him in his bedroom, even while he was making up the bed for me to sleep in alone, felt a little thrilling. Even dangerous.
I liked it.
He said a gruff goodnight and left me there. I glanced around at the tidy room. The walls made of logs and the bed with a quilt that looked homemade. It was so very Gibson. And I still couldn’t quite believe I was here.
8
GIBSON
The sound of someone knocking on my door woke me with a start. It felt like I’d fallen asleep about five minutes ago, but sure enough, light peeked in through the curtains. Whoever it was knocked again. I groaned, hauling myself off the couch. Why the fuck were so many people banging on my door these days?
I ran a hand through my hair, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, and opened the door.
Scarlett stood on the step, an accusatory look on her face. “Mornin’, sunshine.”
“What do you want, Scar?”
She crossed her arms. “Well, you weren’t answering your phone, so I came by to find out why you weren’t at Moonshine this morning. But I think the reason is pretty obvious.”
I scratched the back of my neck, still trying to wake up. “What reason?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the owner of the car out front and those pretty little sandals in there.” She pointed at something behind me.
Oh, shit.
I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, Callie’s sandals were right there in plain sight.
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped.
“Trust me, Gibs, I don’t want to know the details. But you’re an ass for missing breakfast because you brought some hussy home last night.”
Anger flared, running hot in my veins. I pointed a finger in my sister’s face. “Don’t you fucking call her that, you hear me?”
Her eyes widened, but instead of attacking me like a feral cat, her mouth turned up in a wide grin. “Oh my god.”
I’d rather face the feral cat—and Scarlett was a biter—than that smile. Crap, why had I said that? “What?”
“I know you have a girl in there, but Gibson Bodine, is it a girl you actually like?” She stood on her tiptoes, trying to look past me. “Who is she? Do you have a secret girlfriend?”
Damn my nosy sister. Why’d she pick today to stop by unannounced? It was like she was drawn to family drama.
“No.” I moved forward, bracing an arm against the doorframe to block her access. I didn’t want her trying to slip inside. What could I tell her? Callie Kendall’s alive and sleeping in my goddamn bed? “It’s not like that. She’s just a friend who needed a place to crash last night.”
Inwardly, I congratulated myself on that one. It wasn’t even a lie.
Scarlett, however, clearly wasn’t buying it. “Since when do you have friends?”
“I have friends.”
“Like who?”
I glowered at her. “I’m not telling you who she is.”
She grinned. “Because she’s your secret girlfriend.”
“Jesus, Scar, no she’s not. Go the fuck home.”
“Fine. But tell your secret girlfriend I like her shoes.”
I rolled my eyes, stepped back, and shut the door in her face.
“If your secret girlfriend needs a place to stay, let me know,” she said through the door. “I might have a last-minute cancel on one of my lake cabins.”
“Go away.”
I ran my hand over my face. I needed coffee so I could think.
What was going to happen now? Would Callie say goodbye and I’d never see her again? Maybe I could convince her to start up the postcard thing again, but send them to me. At least I’d keep some connection to her. I could keep a secret; that clearly wasn’t an issue. I’d just burn them after I read them. Then there’d be no evidence of her.
I hated that idea. Not because I’d want to keep the postcards, or because I was worried about people finding out. It was because I didn’t want her to leave.
The floor creaked behind me. I looked over my shoulder and it felt like the wind had been knocked out of my lungs.
Callie crept out from the hallway, dressed in one of my flannel shirts. Her crazy hair was a mess, and I couldn’t tell if she was wearing anything underneath. The shirt was long enough on her, it might have been hiding her shorts. But her legs were looking awfully bare.
I cleared my throat. “Mornin’.”
“Hey.” She brushed her hair back from her face. “Was that your sister?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know you’re here.”
“Thanks.” She glanced down at the shirt she was wearing. “Oh, sorry, I found this in your closet. I hope you don’t mind. I left my bag in the car last night.”
I didn’t mind. The problem was, I liked the way she looked in my shirt a lot more than I should have. “It’s fine. Hungry?”
She covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. “A bit. Sorry, my body still hasn’t figured out what time zone it’s in.”
I glanced toward the kitchen. “I don’t have much here. I don’t have people over that often. Or, you know, ever.”
“That’s okay. Just coffee would be great.”
“Sure.” I paused for a second, waiting for her to say she didn’t need breakfast because she was leaving anyway. The thought made my chest hurt. I felt like I was on borrowed time with her. Like if I didn’t say something fast, she’d be out the door. “I’ll run into town and get some food. You can just hunker down here.”
Her lips parted, like she was about to say something, but she closed her mouth again.
“You got somewhere you need to be?” I asked.
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “No, not really.”
“Then I’ll go get breakfast.”
I didn’t wait for her to reply. Just started some coffee, then went back to my room to throw on some jeans and a clean t-shirt. I wasn’t going to keep her captive—she could walk right out that door anytime she wanted to—but if I could coax a little more time out of her, I was going to do it.
Why? Because seeing her again was messing with my insides in ways I both hated and couldn’t get enough of.
When I came out, she was in my kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew. She looked damn good in my shirt. She’d been pretty as a teenager, but now? Holy hell, she was hot as sin.
I really needed to stop thinking like that. This was Callie Kendall. She wasn’t standing in the kitchen wearing my shirt, her hair a mess, because I’d spent last night fucking her senseless. Although that’s exactly what she looked like, and I was hard as steel just thinking about it.
Damn it, Gibson, knock that shit off.
Tearing my eyes away from those ridiculous legs, I grabbed my phone and keys. “I’ll be back. If anyone comes over, don’t answer.”
She said goodbye as I was walking out the door. I just grunted, shutting the door behind me. Then I checked twice to make sure it was locked before heading to my truck.
I drove into town and stopped at the Pop In. Of course it was busy. The tourist season was winding down, but there were still a lot more people around than I liked. I just needed to get in and get out, preferably without any of my nosy family seeing me.
At least Scarlett wasn’t here.
I got some eggs and bread, but realized I had no idea what she liked. Shit. Inexperienced with women I was not, but I had no idea what to feed one. What if she was a vegetarian or something? Maybe I should have just gone to Moonshine and ordered one of every
thing to go.
Moving through the store, I dodged the other customers and grabbed a random assortment of stuff. Packaged pastries, a pint of strawberries, some cheese, a few cans of soup, crackers, orange juice.
I paused in front of the shampoo and body wash. Maybe she’d want a shower. What did girls use? Even in this little store, there were basically ten thousand different options. I grabbed a bottle with flowers on it and flipped open the lid. Did they go by smell? This one wasn’t bad.
“Whatcha doin’ there, Gibs?”
I froze, like I’d just been caught stealing. Cassidy stood next to me, tilting her head, a little smile on her face.
“Nothing,” I said, putting the bottle back on the shelf.
“Looking for something to make your hair softer?” She took a different bottle and held it out to me. “Might I recommend this?”
I glared at her, but took the bottle out of her hand. “Shouldn’t you be on a honeymoon or something?”
“We were saving it for later anyway, but we’re certainly not going anywhere now. Not with everything that’s going on. Do you need conditioner?” She handed me another bottle.
Great. She’d obviously talked to Scarlett. And me buying girl shit was making it look like I was hiding a secret girlfriend at my place.
But she was being kinda helpful…
I tossed the conditioner in with the rest of the stuff and hesitated, not quite meeting Cassidy’s gaze. With her mouth still turned up in a grin, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. She glanced up and down the aisle, then grabbed body wash, a package of pink razors, a toothbrush, deodorant, and a hairbrush.
“Thanks,” I muttered, then took my stuff to the front. I didn’t want to give her a chance to ask any questions.
Opal Bodine—no relation—was behind the front counter. She sat on a stool, her nose in a book. I waited for a few seconds, but she didn’t look up.
I cleared my throat and she just about jumped off her stool.
“Sorry.” She put a bookmark in the book and set it down. Was she blushing? That was weird. “Didn’t see you there, Gibs.”
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 6