“I’m here, ain’t I?” I set my guitar case down.
“Yeah, you are.” She eyed me up and down. “Alone.”
“I’m always here alone. What does that have to do with anything?”
She poured a beer from the tap for one of her customers. “Just an observation.”
I didn’t respond. Just grabbed my water and took a sip.
No surprise that it was packed on a Friday. A few grizzled old-timers sat at the bar, nursing whiskeys and faded memories. A group of summertimers took up a couple of tables. Locals—including a handful of Bodines—took up the others.
Rhett Ginsler sat on a stool at one end of the bar, hunched over his drink, his trucker hat pulled down low. Misty Lynn was here, too, unfortunately. Judging by Rhett’s dejected posture and Misty Lynn’s seat on the opposite side of the bar, those two were still broken up.
I gave it a week, two tops, before they were back together. As far as I was concerned, they deserved each other. Misty Lynn kept leading him on, but he kept taking her back. Wasn’t my fault he was a dumbass and she was a shitty human being.
Misty Lynn glanced up at me and at least she had the decency to look guilty. I ignored her. I was still pissed she’d stolen my wallet—even more so that she’d turned it in—but I didn’t want to talk to her, even to tell her off. Bad enough I had to share this town with her.
I picked up my guitar case and took it to the little stage where Hung and Corbin were setting up. Put my water on a table nearby and got out my guitar. Corbin looked past me a few times, like he was watching the door.
“You waiting for someone?” I asked, lifting the guitar strap over my shoulder.
“Me? No,” he said. “I just thought you might have brought…”
“I might have brought what?”
He shut his mouth and shrugged. “Never mind.”
As predicted, the rumor mill had been churning. After Millie had stopped by with brownies, Sallie Mae Brickman had brought over a loaf of fresh bread, followed closely by Tanya Varney with a bag of pepperoni rolls. She’d claimed she had extra, and why not go see if Gibson Bodine could use a hot meal?
I knew their game. No one brought me food. Most people stayed away from my place, if they knew what was good for them. Seemed the allure of my supposed secret girlfriend was enough to make people brave.
That was going to become a problem real quick. Now that Bootleg smelled a juicy story, they wouldn’t leave me alone until they got to the bottom of it.
“That’s not what I heard,” someone said behind me. Sounded like Moe Daily. “I heard he rescued her out on the lake and carried her all the way back to his place. She’s there recovering now.”
What the… were they talking about me?
“Why would he carry her? He has a truck.” That was Randy Jenkins.
“I don’t know, that’s just what someone was saying over at Build-A-Shine earlier.”
“There ain’t a lick of truth to that,” Randy said. “I heard from a very reliable source that he got himself a mail-order bride.”
“No shit?”
“Swear on my Granny Patsy’s grave, god rest her soul.”
“May she rest in peace. How does that even work?” Moe asked.
“Well, I don’t know how Gibson did it,” Randy said. “But my great-uncle Earl got a mail-order bride back in the day. He and my great-aunt were married forty-odd years ’fore he passed, god rest his soul.”
“May he rest in peace. Ain’t that something.”
Mail-order bride? Where in the hell had he gotten that idea? I was about to turn around and set them straight, but Hung interrupted.
“Ready, Gibs?”
I scowled over my shoulder. Sometimes the men in this town were as big of gossips as the women. “Fine, yeah.”
We started in on our set, but something was off. My guitar was in tune, and Hung and Corbin played well, as usual. It wasn’t the music. Our songs felt right.
It was the crowd.
They were watching me, but not the way they normally watched us when we played. People leaned in to talk to each other, their conversations animated, their eyes focused on me.
Who else thought I’d brought home a mail-order bride? What other stories were circulating around town?
Scarlett sat with Devlin, Cassidy, and Bowie at a table off to the side. Three of them were having a good laugh about something, but not Scarlett. Nope. Her eyes were on me. Scrutinizing. What was that girl thinking?
We played some more songs, but my heart wasn’t in it. I kept thinking about Callie. Was she still at my place? Had she decided to run again? Would someone recognize her if they caught a glimpse?
I didn’t think so. If she came out and said she was Callie Kendall, I reckoned people would believe her eventually. But she looked different enough, she could get away with pretending to be someone else. I’d barely recognized her. Thought I was crazy until she’d showed up on my doorstep. People wouldn’t know.
Problem was, my oh-so-neighborly neighbors were gonna keep trying to find out the truth about who was staying at my place.
And if Scarlett was involved, she’d play dirty.
Our last song ended—finally—and I put my guitar away. Downed the rest of my water. I glanced over and Scarlett was glaring at me. She raised her eyebrows and curled her finger, motioning for me to come to her table.
Ah, hell.
I left my guitar behind the stage and went to the table she shared with Devlin, Cassidy, and Bow.
“Hey Gibs,” Cassidy said, giving me what she probably thought was a subtle wink. “How’d that lavender shampoo and conditioner work out for you?”
I groaned. I already hated this conversation.
“Gibson Bodine, I’m ashamed of you,” Scarlett said.
“What the hell did I do now?”
“How could you leave that girl all alone while you go out to a bar?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb with me.” She hopped off her stool and poked me in the chest. “I know she was there this morning because you had a strange car in front of your house, and I saw her pretty sandals in your living room. And I know she didn’t leave because Cassidy caught you buying girly shampoo at the Pop In. So why on earth did you leave her at home?”
I glanced around. “For fuck’s sake, Scar, lower your voice.”
“Why are you trying to keep this from us?”
Damn it, she was going to make this a bigger deal than it already was. Half the bar was leaning closer, trying to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping.
I could tell Scarlett the truth—I trusted her—but I didn’t want to without asking Callie first. “I’m not keeping anything from you. I told you already, she’s just a friend. She’s got some stuff going on in her life and she needed a place to crash.”
“So you don’t like her?” Scarlett asked.
Goddamn, I really fucking do. “Yeah, I do, but that’s not—”
“See,” Scarlett squealed. “I can tell. I know you better than almost anyone, Gibs. I can see it in your face. I don’t care what you say, you’re sprung on this girl.”
Bowie was looking at me with a sly grin on his face. He and Devlin shared a meaningful glance. Cassidy had a very distinct I know the truth about you smile.
Grinding my teeth together, I clenched my fists. They were seriously pissing me off. Why couldn’t they just leave well enough alone?
“Look, it’s complicated—”
“What’s her name?”
“Maya, but—” I closed my mouth. Damn it. At least I hadn’t said Callie. Crap, I needed to calm down. I was getting too angry to think straight.
“That’s pretty,” Cassidy said. “Maya what? Or do you not know her last name?”
I glared at Cass. “Yes, I know her last name. It’s Davis. And I don’t appreciate what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything,” Cassidy said.
“But rea
lly, Gibson, what bar were you at last night?” Scarlett asked. “I didn’t think y’all were playing out of town again this week.”
“I didn’t pick her up at a fucking bar,” I said. “She works for a record company in L.A. And whether or not she’s my secret girlfriend is none of y’all’s business.”
Damn it. Now I was making it worse. I needed to cut my losses and get out of here.
“Just stay out of it,” I said and stomped back to the stage to grab my guitar.
Without bothering to look back, I muscled my way through the bar and out the door. Fuck, I was stupid when I was angry. I hadn’t meant to say anything. I should’ve canceled tonight’s gig and stayed home. Made it up to Hung and Corbin somehow.
I got in my truck and put my guitar case on the passenger’s seat. My tires squealed on the pavement as I tore out of the parking lot, headed for home.
By the time I got back to my place, I’d calmed down. I parked in front of my house and let my head fall back against the headrest. I’d screwed that up pretty good. Now they really thought I had a girlfriend tucked away in my cabin. And it wouldn’t matter how many times I denied it—especially as long as Callie was still essentially in hiding.
I had a feeling she wasn’t going to like this. I’d just have to go in there and tell her I’d made a messy situation that much messier.
11
MAYA
A nudge to my leg and a quiet voice woke me with a start. I gasped, blinking, trying to see in the dim light. For a second, I had no idea where I was.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Gibson whispered.
Right, I was at Gibson’s house. I’d fallen asleep on his couch, waiting for him to come home.
“It’s okay. What time is it?”
“Almost eleven.”
I sat up and stretched my arms overhead, the blanket I’d grabbed sliding down to my lap. “It’s not even late. I must still be jet-lagged. How was your night?”
He lowered himself to the edge of the couch next to me. “Okay, I guess. But there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
His tone made me a little nervous. He sounded so serious. “Sure, what’s up?”
“I told you people were gonna talk, and they were.”
“About your secret girlfriend?” I reached over and poked his arm.
He scowled at me. “Yeah. Scarlett’s convinced of it. She was asking me questions and I think I might have made it worse.”
“What did you say?”
“I don’t even remember, now. I said your name’s Maya and you work for a record company. And I tried to tell them you’re not my girlfriend, but I got frustrated and I don’t think I did a very good job of it.”
Could this man be any more adorable? He sat on the edge of the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, his head bent forward. It was like he’d just told me he’d blurted out that Callie Kendall was back.
I rubbed a few circles across his back. Maybe I was being a little too familiar, but he didn’t flinch away or tell me to stop. Just glanced at me over his shoulder, a groove between his dark eyebrows.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I said. “What’s the worst that will happen? People will say your girlfriend is staying with you? There’s no real harm in that.”
He abruptly stood. “No, the worst that will happen is we’ll have half the town camped out in front of the house by tomorrow afternoon, everyone waiting to get a look at you. Hell, Cassidy’s probably already researching Maya Davis.”
“She won’t find much. I’ve never used social media and I try to keep my picture off the internet as much as possible.”
He grunted and walked into the kitchen.
I fiddled with the edge of the blanket. I wasn’t worried about the town’s curiosity because I’d made a decision while Gibson had been out. I wasn’t going to run again.
I was still afraid of where this road led, but as I watched him pace from the kitchen and back, I knew it was the right choice. People had protected me for a long time. They’d put themselves at risk to keep me safe. Gibson’s parents, Quincy and Henna, even Jenny Leland.
And since my case had been re-opened, that list had only grown. All those people—the Bodines, the Tuckers, the others in town who were trying to find out the truth—had become targets. And most of them had no idea they were in danger.
There was no way I could leave them to face that alone. Not when I could help. It was time I did something to protect the people who’d done so much for me, regardless of the risks.
“Gibson, I need to come forward and tell the truth,” I said.
Gibson stopped in front of me. “Tell people that you’re Callie?”
I nodded.
“No.”
“Yes.” My hands trembled and I felt as if I were dissipating into mist. Maya morphing into Callie, then back again. Fear swirling with resolve. I balled my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “You said yourself, people are going to dig. You have to understand, the judge is dangerous, and not just to me. He could… I don’t want to think about what he could do to you. To a lot of people.”
“I’m not worried about anyone else. I’m worried about you. You told me you stayed away because it wasn’t safe. It’s no different now. In fact, it’s probably worse.”
“That’s exactly why I have to come forward.”
He crouched in front of me, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“Gibson, I have to do this.”
His eyes held mine, his gaze intense. A part of me wanted to shrink away, hide from his scrutiny. Another part wanted to wrap myself around him and beg him not to let me go.
He stood again and rubbed his chin. “Fine, but if you’re going to do this, we need to be smart about it. You can’t just show up on Lake Drive tomorrow and start saying hi to people.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Start small. We’ll tell my family first. We can trust them, and it’ll get them off my ass.”
There was reassurance in that idea. Safety. “Okay.”
“That kinda means more than just my brothers and Scarlett. We’ll have to tell Cass, and that means Sheriff Tucker. It also means Juney and George. And Shelby.”
“That seems like a good start.”
“But to the rest of the town, you stay Maya,” he said, pointing at me. “At least until we figure out what to do about the judge.”
“I can live with that. But if I go out, do you think people will recognize me? Or should I just stay hunkered down here?” Truthfully, the idea of hiding out in Gibson’s cabin for a while sounded nice. I liked it here.
“No, if you stay here, it’ll just make everyone more curious. They’ll assume we’re hiding something. We’ll just need to sell everyone on the story that you’re Maya Davis. People might think you look familiar, but you’ve changed. And after Abbie Gilbert, no one’s gonna be quick to believe the real Callie is back.”
Absently, my fingers went to the thin ridge of scar tissue on my cheek. It was the strangest thing. Gibson didn’t seem to notice it at all.
“Okay, so we tell your family. And we tell the rest of the town that I’m Maya Davis.”
“Right.”
Without meaning to, I tongued the notch in my lip. I tended to do that when I was nervous. “And that Maya is your…”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It would probably help if we went along with the girlfriend story. That’ll be gossip enough for the town to chew on for a while.”
I grinned at him. “I take it Gibson Bodine with a real girlfriend isn’t something they’re used to seeing.”
He shook his head and grunted.
God, this guy. So adorable. I realized that probably meant his body count was high. A man like him would have no shortage of willing women. But it didn’t bother me. I’d had my share of flings and brief relationships. It had been a while since I’d been with anyone, but I’d never stayed with one guy for long. Mostly be
cause I never stayed in one place.
And there I went again, thinking about Gibson all wrong. This pretend girlfriend thing was already going to my head. But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t typically go for men who were so surly and brooding. Usually that was because they were a client I was trying to coax back into productivity.
But Gibson’s gruff demeanor, brooding looks, and gravelly voice were irresistible. It was probably a good thing he’d gotten up from the couch or I might have crawled into his lap.
“I can play along,” I said. “Record producer Maya Davis meets Gibson Bodine, sexy carpenter by day, country bar singer by night. Sparks fly and the next thing you know, Bootleg Springs has a new couple to whisper about.”
He gave me a quick nod and I couldn’t tell how he felt about this plan. Did he hate the idea of having to pretend we were together? Or was he just frustrated that his neighbors wouldn’t leave him alone? It was hard to be sure.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if we tell all those people, but keep it from the rest of the town, will it stay quiet? Like you said, this is Bootleg Springs. Secrets don’t stay secret for long.”
“Sometimes they do,” he said. “And if they tell anyone, I’ll…”
“You’ll what?”
He scowled. “I don’t know, but they won’t like it.”
* * *
Gibson’s truck bounced on the gravel road, the early morning light filtering through the trees. It wasn’t long after dawn, but he’d said the Bodines always did their business over breakfast. I hugged his flannel shirt around me, my stomach churning with nerves. I’d barely slept last night. Seeing Gibson was one thing. But I was about to step in front of nearly a dozen Bootleggers and tell them the truth about who I was.
These people had kept hope alive for almost thirteen years. Left my missing-persons posters up long after the case had gone cold. Held onto the belief that I’d one day be found. This entire community had mourned when they’d heard I was dead.
It both broke my heart and made me furious at the Kendalls.
He stopped, although I couldn’t tell why. There was nothing out here. Just trees.
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 8