by Kate Kisset
“Becca.”
The sound of her name in his deep, resonant voice sent her swirling through forgotten emotions. Memories of their past bubbled up to the surface. Excitement surged in waves deep in her stomach and then raced through her veins, as if her whole body had been shaken awake from a deep sleep.
How could she have forgotten Boone’s dangerous eyes, with their ability to strip away layers of time, and make the earth stop spinning on its axis?
“Your mom said you were better. You look good.”
“Thanks, so do you.” She held her breath as he shifted his gaze away from her face and roamed her body instead, setting off spot fires wherever his attention landed.
And oh, his smell. Like linen left outside to dry in the sun—and fresh oranges. Just like she remembered. Just like always. Becca halfheartedly searched the bar for a diversion.
“What brings you back to town?”
How would she explain this tactfully? Did they have to go there so soon? “Um, my boyfriend got transferred here...well to Billick,” she explained cautiously, checking Boone’s reaction. “I’m living at my mom’s for now.”
Boone’s head snapped back like she’d shot him.
“Right,” he said, in almost a whisper, as if translating a foreign word. “Anyone I know?” He straightened, shifting away from her, taking another swig of beer.
“No.” She shook her head, surprised he’d ask. Becca wouldn’t date anyone he knew, or anyone from Lonesome for that matter. “I met him in California.”
“Oh, a surfer boy,” Boone commented, in a tone that made it hard to tell what he was thinking.
“He’s a manager at that new Holiday Inn in Billick,” she added, just to fill the numbing silence.
“Nice,” he said softly. “Well it’s good to—” The sentence faded into oblivion. Propping an arm on the gleaming bar’s wood surface, Boone leaned against the counter biting his lip, like he was trying to hold himself back from saying something while figuring out his next move.
“Uh, that’s why I’m back. Because of his new job,” she explained.
“Becca, you’re looking well. How’ve you been?” She swiveled at the familiar voice and bumped against Harlan. Had he been standing there the whole time? Harlan glanced at Boone and wedged himself between Becca and her ex.
“Ahhhh, great. Good as new.” And she had been okay—until a few seconds ago, when she made the rookie mistake of approaching Boone. He now had his back to her and was talking to Colt. Becca guessed she shouldn’t be surprised that both brothers would be here to cheer Boone on. She’d gotten to know them well during the years she and Boone dated. “And you? How’ve you been, Harlan?”
Harlan’s eyes were almost the exact same shade of blue as Boone’s. She should’ve avoided this bar like the plague tonight.
“Busy. A lot has changed since the last time I saw you. Meet my wife, Georgia.”
The pretty, very pregnant blonde extended her hand, and Becca shook it, still trying to find her composure while faking a hopefully pleasant smile. She knew from all the press coverage that Georgia, an award-winning music journalist, met Harlan while doing a story on Boone. In the process, Georgia uncovered the real story about Harlan’s stalker and saved his reputation.
Harlan was one of the reasons she and Boone broke up, and seeing him obviously happy in a monogamous relationship was a blatant reminder of one of the worst times of her life.
Harlan ended up with the happily ever after while she and Boone crashed and burned.
But it was all in the past.
Boone caught her staring and shifted, aiming his chiseled cheekbones and square jaw straight at her before dismissing her with his back again.
God, she hated having any awkwardness between them. Nights at The Owl were going to be agonizing. Becca glanced at the back of Boone’s head again. He was only a few feet away, still talking to Colt. “I’m happy for you, Harlan. Do you know what you’re having?”
Harlan put his arm around Georgia and they shared a private, loving look. “No, we’re keeping it a surprise. Hey, it looks like Linda will be closing soon, so we’re going to head out, But it sure is good to see you again looking so well.”
Harlan and Georgia said their goodbyes, leaving Becca uncomfortably alone, twiddling her thumbs in her hometown bar, which was ridiculous. Lonesome was as much her town as it was Boone’s.
She cleared her throat, and smoothed the front of her skirt, deciding to get it over with and clear the air. The longer she waited, the worse it would be. She’d spent months in California recovering and putting Boone behind her.
And there was no way she’d be able to avoid him. The town was too small, and so was the bar.
Becca quickly covered the few feet between them.
Colt saw her coming first, giving her a charming, “Long time, no see. You look great.”
“Hey, Colt, thanks. So do you.”
Boone snapped to attention, sending her an unreadable expression.
“So, you’re back, huh?” Colt glanced at his brother and eased the tension with an off-the-charts smile, looking like he just stepped out of the pages of Esquire. Colt wasn’t wearing a hat, so his thick brown hair was in full view. His caramel-green eyes, zeroed in on her.
“Yeah, I’ve missed this town. I heard you’re building a dude ranch, some sort of city slickers tourist thing?”
“Not exactly,” Colt laughed. “It’s Dream Maker Ranch, it’s outside of Lonesome city limits, close to our property. We’ll have a spa, pool, chuck wagon sing-alongs, everything anyone could want in a resort.”
“That sounds like quite the place. I had no idea.”
“It’s a project, I’ll tell you that. You should come by when we open. We’ll have a party.”
Boone cleared his throat and shot Colt a dirty look which she tried to ignore.
“I’d like that, thanks.”
“Yeah, be sure to make the plus one your Surfer Dude.” Boone snickered, while Colt frowned pulling out his phone.
Colt checked the number. “I have to take this,” he explained, eyeing the screen. “I’m so glad you’re better, Becca. It was good seeing you.”
He’d always been so nice. The whole town had a crush on Colt. “Thanks, you too. And good luck with Dream Maker.”
“Catch up later?” Colt asked, but before she could answer, he brought the phone to his ear and took off, leaving her alone to fend for herself with Boone.
Becca gulped a deep breath and tipped her chin up, looking Boone in the eye. “I had no idea you’d be here tonight. I really hope there won’t be any weirdness between us.” It was surreal to be saying those words to the man she'd spent so many years with.
“There isn’t.”
She nodded. “Okay. I just, I didn’t mean to blurt out that I have a boyfriend the first time I saw you. Like I said, I didn’t think I’d run into you. Not tonight, anyway.”
“And you think you having a boyfriend makes me feel—what?” Was Boone being sarcastic? Becca couldn’t tell for certain what he was thinking. She used to be able to read him like a book. “What is it you’re asking?”
“Nothing.” Becca backpedaled, now wondering if she was blowing the situation out of proportion. Of course Boone would be dating someone new by now too. “No, we’re good. I just wanted to clear the air.”
“Nothin’ to clear, darlin’” Boone said, in the tone he used for strangers. He peered at her from under his brim and polished off his beer.
Becca breathed a sigh through the heavy silence, shrugging, trying to come up with something light and breezy. “I thought for sure you’d be on the road with your band, touring,” she said finally. “But I haven’t been keeping track.” She pointed to a poster announcing Boone’s appearance hanging near the entrance. “Don’t know how I could’ve missed that.” She chuckled nervously, fiddling with her blouse.
Boone shifted his weight from one boot to another, taking a beat, as if deciding whether to continue the con
versation. “I’m headlining Stagecoach in April, and then starting a tour. I decided to finesse the show for a few months here and stay close to home for Harlan’s baby.”
“Right.” Boone was always so dedicated to his family. “So, um, you’ll be playing at The Owl every now and then?” Becca threw a smile over her shoulder at Linda behind the bar.
“I’m here for the next three months.”
She peered over the empty dance floor to the darkened stage, “So, once a week?”
“No, full time, just like a tour schedule. We’re playing here pretty much every night.”
Becca’s heart plummeted.
Why didn’t Linda tell her she’d booked Boone? When Linda mentioned she expected The Owl to get busier, she never said it was because Boone was headlining. Becca groaned. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then. Linda just hired me full-time as a cocktail waitress.”
“Here? You’re cocktailing these days?” he hissed. “What happened to being a physical therapist?”
“Hey, you don’t have to get mad at me,” She swatted. “It’s not like I’m thrilled you’ll be here either.”
He shook his head like he didn’t believe her.
“I finished my degree in California. I have my license. I’m just waiting for the right job. I needed the mon—"
“So you took a gig here?”
“Yes,” she started to fume, then thought better of it.
“It isn’t like this is my dream job. I had to talk myself into doing it,” she whispered, turning away from him, feeling the weight of a thousand regrets come crashing down on her. “You know what? Forget it. If you’re going to be mad at me every night, I can quit.” She hated offering, because this was the highest-paying waitress job in town and the only temporary gig she could find without a major commute.
“No, don’t quit, especially if you need the cash.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “But I can’t believe we have to deal with this situation. When did Linda hire you?”
“This afternoon. Why?”
“Will you excuse me?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, stormed off toward the kitchen.
Chapter Three
TWO WEEKS LATER BOONE tapped the brakes and navigated the narrow driveway. Shaded by The Owl’s building on one side and Fresh as a Lazy Drycleaner on the other, the patch of asphalt was wide enough for a few horses to get through comfortably, but that was about all.
The city of Lonesome wasn’t keen on messing with the past. Boone guessed the awkward entrance was because the buildings were landmarks, so they must’ve laid asphalt over an old footpath.
Boone guided his truck into The Owl’s back parking lot without a scratch. He and Colt had been going at it for the past twenty minutes on the phone.
“I’m still ticked off with Linda lying about Becca working here.”
Colt let out an exasperated sigh. “You told me Linda apologized and said she didn’t realize you’d be bothered by Becca working there.”
“Well then she’s clueless.” He peered at the broken-down fence through his bug-splattered windshield. Shit, he just washed the damn thing. “Answer this. How many times did Linda see us over the years? A thousand? Five thousand? She isn’t blind.”
“Want me to cancel?” Colt scoffed, clearly about to lose his patience, which was rare for Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected. “Call this thing off? We can. You haven’t signed anything yet.”
“No.” Boone wasn’t going to throw down the gauntlet. “I’m not going to back out on Linda, she needs the money.” He groaned. “And the contract isn’t the point. It’s the principle of the thing. I don’t even understand the need for a contract. It’s ridiculous—and more than that, it’s insulting.” Boone turned off the ignition.
“It’s par for the course,” Colt countered. “Linda won’t mind signing an agreement. We should’ve had it in hand before you started.” Colt’s tone was perfunctory, as usual. “This will ensure there won’t be any misunderstandings over the next two and a half months. It will protect your friendship. Linda will know what she’s getting, and you’ll know what to expect from her.”
“There’s no money being exchanged here, Colt. What’s there to agree to or debate?”
“Duration of contract. Schedule of days off, length of shows, extra promotional appearances she may request from you. Look—” Colt took a deep breath. “You’re on the precipice. Your career might explode in the next few months. You need to shield yourself from potential problems. I’m just trying to help, but if you don’t want me to get involved—”
“I do.” Colt wasn’t telling Boone anything he didn’t already know. He looked after everyone in the family. Followed rules to the letter and was a genius with numbers. His level head for business protected everyone. After their father died, Colt was the one who handled the medical bills and set up investments for their mother, who’d dubbed Colt her Dream Maker. “I appreciate it, you know I do. I was just...I don’t know...surprised to see Becca? Pissed? Look, I’ll sign whatever you think I should.”
“Good call. And don’t forget, you and Harlan are playing on opening day of Dream Maker.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Feel free to draw up a contract for that too,” Boone added sarcastically. “I’ll even sign it if you need me to.”
“Funny. When’s your next free day?”
Boone eyed the puffy white clouds floating against the bright blue sky. “Sunday.”
“You going to be around if I stop by?”
“The only thing I’m planning to do is enjoy the house I just spent a fortune remodeling. Come by with the papers.”
“Will do. Have a good show, and I’ll see you then.”
“Thanks.”
They signed off and Boone ended the call, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders even though his situation hadn’t changed. Unless he wanted to ruin his friendship with Linda—something he had no desire to do—he’d just have to deal with seeing Becca Barclay every night, but it had felt good to blow off a little steam with Colt.
Boone opened the door to exit his truck just as a shiny, boat-sized Lincoln Continental slid into the space next to him, leaving about a foot between the two vehicles. Boone wedged out sideways, trying not to bang his door into the car next him.
He peered into the Continental, wanting a good look at the driver. With five empty parking slots for the taking, there wasn’t any need to park so close.
Becca waved from the boat’s passenger seat as he slid past her.
Great. Perfect.
Boone sucked in a breath, debating whether to walk the few yards to The Owl’s back door entrance without stopping. But as much as he didn’t want to chitchat, the fact that Becca had seen him made it impossible to ignore her. And shit, he hated even having to stop and think about this crap. If she wasn’t going to be with him, why did she have to come back to Lonesome?
He paused behind the Continental, then decided to wait.
A lanky blond guy wearing a button-down shirt and tie exited the boat. He threw Boone a wave before rushing to the passenger side door, where he awkwardly navigated between the cars and opened the door for Becca.
Tell me this isn’t her new boyfriend.
“Hi, Boone,” Becca greeted cheerfully, effortlessly shimmying out between the Continental’s body and the door.
Boone took in her short skirt and bare, tanned legs.
Christ. Did she have to look edible? She filled out the Owl T-shirt all the servers had to wear perfectly, better than the rest of them. “This is Harrison Scott,” Becca bubbled, gesturing to the blond man. “Harrison, this is Boone.”
Harrison extended his hand with one of those blinding white California smiles. He had a friendly yet unexceptional, perfect hotel manager’s face. Not that there was anything wrong with being bland. Becca was obviously into safe these days. And she couldn’t get anything more boring—and unlike her—than this guy.
“Harrison, Harrison Scott,” the man repeated his na
me, shaking Boone’s hand a little too vigorously, like a tall, nervous chihuahua.
“Good to meet you.”
“Becca’s told me all about you,” the man gushed. “It’s just a pleasure. An honor, really. You’re a legend in this town, man.”
Boone raised his brows at Becca. Even the idiot knew he was a good catch. Her loss. “Congratulations on your new hotel gig.”
“You heard about that?” Harrison asked, wide-eyed. “Well, it’s nothing like your job, Boone, but it’s a challenge. My first full-scale hotel. Pool, sauna, weight room, two restaurants, bar, coffee, gift shop. Well I won’t bore you with the details, but let me just say, I have my work cut out for me in Billick.”
“Too bad there isn’t much surfing in Billick.” Boone bit his lip and eyed Becca, who returned an unamused stare.
“Ha! Good one.” Harrison laughed, looking like he’d double over. “Becca told you about that too? No, I’ll miss it, but I still have my board in storage in Cali.”
So he actually was a surfer? This was getting better by the second. Boone held back a laugh and let Harrison drone on uninterrupted.
“You know what they say,” Harrison chuckled, “if they Bill-ick, they will come.”
“Haven’t heard that one.” Boone mused along with him uncomfortably, although the reference to Field of Dreams, one of his favorite movies, missed the mark by a long shot.
“Yep, and look,” Harrison explained, leaning in. “You have a connection with me. I want you to know that. If you ever have any friends coming to town for a show, or family visiting, whatever, call me anytime.”
Harrison reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “I’ll give them the family rate,” he whispered, acting like he was breaking some sort of rule.
Boone glanced at Becca, who seemed to be taking it all in, and turned back to Harrison.
“Trust me,” the guy boasted, puffing out his skinny chest. “I’ll give them the royal treatment.”
Boone accepted the card. “Well thank you. I appreciate it.”