Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6

by Kingsley, Claire

  I grunted something non-committal, then glanced around while I set my stuff out for her to scan. A couple of summertimers got in line behind me and I noticed Buck wandering around with a package of donuts. No worries about gossip there. But then Zadie Rummerfield walked in, stopped, and looked right at me. Her eyes tracked my purchases, and she lifted an eyebrow.

  Well, shit.

  As quickly as I could, I paid and grabbed my bags—why the hell did I have so much stuff?—and got out of there. But I could practically feel the rumor mill sparking to life. It was like a fuse on a big stick of dynamite—one that was going to light up the whole town.

  9

  MAYA

  Coffee was perking me up. I sat nestled in the corner of Gibson’s couch, cradling the mug in my hands, my legs tucked up beneath me. I hadn’t been able to resist slipping on one of his shirts before I came out of his room this morning. The dark blue plaid was soft against my skin. And I really had left my bag in the car last night. It wasn’t like I’d come here planning to stay over.

  Plus, his shirt smelled good. Really good. I lifted the collar to my nose and inhaled. It smelled like fresh laundry, but even clean, right out of his closet, there was a hint of Gibson on it.

  It was the silliest thing, but I wondered if he’d let me keep it.

  Waking up here, in Gibson Bodine’s house—in his bed, no less—felt like something out of a dream. And amazingly enough, not a nightmare, considering I was on the outskirts of the town I thought I’d never be able to see again.

  However, I still felt unbalanced. I’d kept all things Callie locked away for so long, I didn’t know what to do with her now. Last night I’d bounced back and forth between feeling uncertain and afraid—like I was Callie all over again—to calm and composed. I’d hoped I could sleep it off and face today feeling whole. Feeling like Maya.

  But it was as if I’d cracked. I was two different people inhabiting the same body. Really, I always had been. I’d just put Callie away and never let her out. I’d lived thirteen years as Maya. But Gibson wasn’t the only thing that had escaped the box and wouldn’t go back in. Callie had, too.

  And I had no idea what I was going to do about that.

  For about the millionth time, I told myself I should go. This was beyond complicated. It wasn’t safe for me here.

  But Gibson wasn’t the only one who knew I was alive. He was right, people were going to dig. If I wanted Callie to stay gone, I’d have to disappear—really disappear. No contact. No ties. I had plenty of places I could go. I knew how to drop off the map. I was good at it.

  Maybe I should have been busy wiping down every surface I’d touched to get rid of my fingerprints. But I stayed where I was, sipping coffee on Gibson’s couch. At the very least, I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye. Not again.

  But if I left, then what? The way rumors flew through this town, the Kendalls had to know about Gibson keeping those photos. That put a great big target on his back. And he’d said June Tucker had exposed the fraud posing as me. Did the judge know that? Who else had been poking around in my case? Cassidy? Gibson said she was a deputy. And Jenny Leland was here. If it got out that she’d said I was alive…

  How many people were in danger because of me?

  Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart. Maybe I wasn’t prepared to face what was at the end of this road.

  The front door opened, and Gibson came in, loaded down with grocery bags.

  I set my coffee down and stood. “Do you need help with that?”

  “I got it.” He brought the bags into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

  I followed him in and watched as he started pulling things out. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know where anything went. And he was so gruff. It wasn’t just his gravelly voice and furrowed brow. Even his movements had a rough edge to them. It made me feel like I should stay out of his way.

  That, or climb him like a tree.

  “I thought you were just getting breakfast?” I asked after he’d emptied the third bag.

  “I didn’t know what you’d want.”

  He pulled out a bottle of shampoo. Then conditioner, followed by a bagful of toiletries. Pinks, lavenders, flowers. A hairbrush. None of that was for him. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He was stocking up for me.

  I felt like a ping-pong ball, bouncing back and forth across the table of indecision. Run. Stay. Run. Stay.

  Gibson looked over his shoulder and his eyes flicked up and down. His expression softened and one corner of his mouth lifted. “I kinda went overboard.”

  Like magic, that little smile calmed my thundering heart. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  He muttered something that sounded like you’re welcome, then went back to putting things away.

  “How about this. You were sweet enough to go to the store, so I’ll make us breakfast.” I stepped closer and hip-checked him out of the way. His head whipped around and he gave me a look I couldn’t read. That damn brow furrow he kept doing made me all melty inside. I had to stop myself from sidling up to him and threading my arms around his waist.

  I needed to calm my hormones. Apparently my old crush on Gibson was another thing that hadn’t gone back into the box. It was out in full force, as if it hadn’t been thirteen years since I’d seen him.

  But it was totally one-sided. Just like it always had been. He was being nice to me, but I wasn’t getting a hint of attraction from him.

  Unless he was trying to hide it.

  I sighed and got to work on breakfast. Now I was just making things up. This situation was complicated enough. I didn’t need a bunch of imaginary sexual tension making it worse. Even if the tension wasn’t imaginary for me.

  After breakfast, Gibson said he had work to do out in his shop. He brought my bag in from my rental car. He seemed hesitant to let me go outside. Or to leave me alone. Whether it was because he was afraid someone would see me or that I’d leave, I wasn’t sure.

  I showered, using the stuff he’d bought for me, and changed into clean clothes. I left his flannel shirt lying on his bed. I wondered if there was a way to get him to wear it for a little while and then let me put it back on. Probably not. There really wasn’t a way to say hey Gibs, can you wear this for a few hours so I can put it on and enjoy your scent that wasn’t weird.

  While Gibson worked—I could hear the muffled sound of power tools coming from his shop—I checked my messages. I had a text from Oliver, wanting to know how things were going. What was I supposed to tell him? I’d slept at Gibson Bodine’s house last night because he’d been my friend before I ran away and changed my identity?

  Obviously I couldn’t tell him the whole story, but I decided to call and check in.

  “There you are,” he said when he answered. “I was starting to worry.”

  “Why, because you sent me out to talk to a random singer who’s… what did you call him? Hostile?”

  “Pretty much. Do you have good news for me?”

  “Well, I have some good news. He hasn’t signed with another label.”

  “Great. But why do I get the feeling you have bad news, too?”

  I twined a strand of hair around my finger. “The bad news is, he doesn’t want to sign with us, either. He doesn’t want to sign with anyone.”

  “Damn. Really? You couldn’t talk him into it?”

  I sighed. No, because I got distracted by the fact that he thought I was dead and then we sang together like old times. “Not so far.”

  “That’s my girl. Wear him down.”

  “Don’t expect any miracles, Oliver. He’s talented, but he has a lot going on in his life right now.”

  “I have faith in you.”

  I laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do. Talk to you later.”

  I put my phone down, feeling a little shaky. Why had that left me so unsettled? I was still struggling to reconcile what was happ
ening. Talking to Oliver felt so normal—so Maya. But I was sitting in a log cabin outside Bootleg Springs, with Gibson Bodine working in his shop outside.

  Henna’s soothing voice ran through my mind. Meditate and let it go, sunflower. That was exactly what I needed to do. Center my energy. Be present in the moment.

  I found a blanket, folded it neatly, and set it on the floor in front of the couch. Sitting cross-legged, I closed my eyes and breathed.

  At first, my mind spun like a whirlwind, thoughts flitting in and out of my consciousness. I kept breathing. Centering. Gradually, the chaos diminished. I felt a familiar sense of peace and calm.

  The box still made its presence known. Without trying to push it away, I acknowledged it. It wasn’t a problem for right now. Not this minute. For now, I was in a holding pattern.

  Gibson hadn’t explicitly invited me to stay today. He’d just acted as if I would. And as I sat there, breathing deeply, my mind calm, I realized I was glad. He hadn’t insisted I stay or pressed me to tell him what I planned to do. He’d just bought me breakfast food—and lunch, and dinner, and bathroom toiletries—and told me to make myself comfortable while he went to work.

  He wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but I felt welcome. Like if I told him I wanted to hide out here for the next few days—or weeks, or even longer—he’d just shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal.

  The door opened, and I heard Gibson’s heavy boots on the floor. Slowly, I let my eyes drift open. He stood just inside, as if he’d paused mid-step to look at me.

  God, that brow furrow was sexy.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I took one last cleansing breath. “Fine. Great, actually. I was just meditating.”

  “Huh. Hungry?”

  “Is it lunchtime already?” I uncrossed my legs and stretched them out, wiggling my bare toes.

  “Yeah.” Something dinged and he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. With a roll of his eyes, he put it back.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Scarlett’s just being… Scarlett.” He went into the kitchen, so I got up and followed. “It’s fine, I’ll handle her.”

  “Handle her?”

  He got out a loaf of bread and set it on the counter. “She saw your sandals this morning, so now she thinks I have a girlfriend I’m hiding from everyone.”

  Gibson’s secret girlfriend? I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Why did that thought make me so giddy? God, I wasn’t a little girl anymore.

  But it was still fun to imagine.

  “Are you known for hiding women out here?”

  He scowled down at the sandwich he was making. “No.”

  I nudged him with my elbow. “Uh-oh. Should I have checked to see if you locked me in from the outside?”

  That earned me a smile. “Yeah, I barred the door so you couldn’t get out.”

  “I had a feeling you were evil.”

  A knock at the front door made me jump. Gasping, I grabbed Gibson’s arm. His solid muscle flexed in my grip and he looked down at my hand. I was about to snatch it away and apologize, but then he gently laid his over mine.

  “Wait in the bedroom. I’ll get rid of them.” He squeezed my hand.

  I nodded and he let go. I cast a quick glance around to see if there was anything obvious sitting out that someone might see from the doorway. The blanket I’d used for meditating was on the floor, but that wasn’t incriminating. I picked up my sandals, letting them dangle from my grasp, and tiptoed down the hall to Gibson’s bedroom.

  A woman’s voice came from the front of the house, but I couldn’t quite make out what she said. Hi, Gibson, most likely. I stood by the bedroom door, leaving it open just a crack, and strained to listen.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Um… well, I just…” She trailed off, her voice soft. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Brownies,” she said.

  “Why did you bring me brownies?” Gibson sounded genuinely confused.

  “Oh, you know, just being neighborly.”

  There was a slight pause. “Did Scarlett put you up to this?”

  “Scarlett? No, not at all. She might have mentioned something about you having company. And if you did—have company, that is—I thought she might enjoy some brownies. I baked four batches this morning, and they needed a home. So, there you are.”

  I could practically feel Gibson’s irritation all the way back here. I bit my lip again to keep from giggling.

  “Thanks, I guess?” he said.

  “Sure, it’s my pleasure. If y’all are needing anything else, you can just let me know.”

  “Bye, Millie.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Let your girlfriend know she’s invited to book club. First meeting is at the library tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Right, of course. Secret girlfriend. Sorry, I forgot. In that case, she can come in a disguise if she wants. And tell her not to worry if she hasn’t read the book yet. Some of us haven’t had a chance. We’ll start by discussing the author, so there won’t be any spoilers while the rest of the ladies catch up.”

  “Bye Millie,” he growled, and I heard the door shut.

  I hesitated a few seconds before coming out. “Is the coast clear?”

  He stood near the door, a foil-covered dish in his hands. “Yeah.”

  “Was that Millie Waggle?”

  “She brought brownies,” he said, looking down at them, his expression bewildered.

  “Is it unusual for Millie to bring people brownies?” I lifted the foil and inhaled. “Oh my god, these smell amazing.”

  “No, she delivers them all over town. Just never to me.”

  I pinched a bit of the crispy corner and popped it in my mouth. It tasted like chocolate heaven. “Wow, that’s good. I guess having a secret girlfriend has some unexpected benefits.”

  “You’re not my—” He growled in frustration and took the brownies into the kitchen. “This is how it starts. You know that, right? First it’s Millie with brownies. Next it’ll be someone with a casserole and pretty soon I’ll be answering the door every hour to someone new with a dish in their hands.”

  “Why is this bad?” I followed him in and took another pinch of brownie—a bigger one this time. “That sounds like nice neighbors bringing food.”

  “They ain’t doing it to be nice,” he said. “They’re doing it to get up in my business. And to find out who you are.”

  “Did Millie really hear the secret girlfriend thing from Scarlett already? She was here like four hours ago.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “You remember this is Bootleg Springs, right? Half the town knows by now, and the other half will by sundown.”

  I leaned against the counter, picking at the brownies. Why was I being so indecisive? I should go. I could figure out what to do about the investigation and the Kendalls from my motel fifty miles away. Or from L.A. I could put three thousand miles between me and this place. Disappear again. What was I waiting for?

  “Look, don’t worry about it,” Gibson said. There was that softness in his voice I’d heard last night. It made me feel all gooey—like Millie’s brownies. “We’ll just keep your stuff in the bedroom, and if anyone comes knocking, you can hide back there while I get rid of them.”

  The question hung in the air between us, unspoken. Then what?

  I didn’t know the answer to that, and he didn’t seem to either. And maybe for now, that was where we needed to be. Here, in his house, not knowing what to do.

  Because the truth was, now that I was here, I couldn’t seem to make myself leave.

  10

  GIBSON

  I hated—hated—leaving Callie at my place alone. I’d given her Jameson’s number—I trusted him to keep his mouth shut—in case of emergency. Closed all the curtains, checked the doors half a dozen times to make sure they were locked, and left her a crowbar and a hammer near the door.

 
; What was I so worried about? Hell if I knew. There was a lot she hadn’t said—hadn’t needed to say. I could figure it out. She’d stayed away because she was afraid of her father. She still was; I’d seen the fear in her eyes. Jayme had said Judge Kendall was dangerous. Sheriff had too. I reckoned they were right. And the urge to protect her from him was overwhelming.

  I’d failed her thirteen years ago. I wasn’t going to fail her again.

  I wasn’t sure if the Kendalls were still in town. They were usually here during the summer, but the season was winding down. And with the recent announcement that he was up for a federal judgeship, they might have gone back to their main home in Virginia. It wouldn’t be hard to find out. And I’d sleep better knowing they were gone. But until I could be sure, I wasn’t taking any chances.

  Reluctantly, I pushed open the door to the Lookout, my guitar case in hand. Noise spilled out into the darkness. Music. Voices. Hung and Corbin were already here, setting up. The fact that we were supposed to play tonight was the only reason I’d come. Otherwise, I’d have shut off my phone—shut out the world—and spent the evening at home with Callie.

  We seemed to have an unspoken understanding, Callie and me. I knew she was still trying to work out what to do. Whether she could come forward, and what that would mean for her. I also knew she had one foot out the door, ready to disappear again. This time for good. But for now—however long now lasted—she’d stay. I hadn’t told her she should, and she hadn’t asked if I minded. That would have felt too much like making a firm decision.

  Maybe I didn’t understand women, but I understood this. She needed a little time to figure this out. The least I could do was give it to her.

  Tonight, that meant showing up at the Lookout and acting like nothing was going on.

  Nicolette nodded to me from behind the bar. She already had a water for me—mason jar, no ice, with a straw.

  “Evenin’,” she said, pushing the water across the bar. Tonight she was wearing a shirt that said, I know what you did, sincerely, karma. “Cutting it close tonight.”