by Kate Kisset
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 name, 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.”
“Okay, now you guys have met”—Becca tugged Harrison’s sleeve—“I’ll see you inside, Boone. Come on, honey,” she cooed, taking Harrison’s hand. “Walk me in. I don’t want to be late.”
Harrison nodded, not budging. “I just love your new song, ‘It’s Just a Matter of Time.’” He cleared his throat. “Honey, be miiiinnneeee,” he sang, “it’s just a matter of time.”
Boone nodded, not wanted to be rude, but holy hell, this guy—He’s singing full blast in the parking lot. “You’ve got it. That’s exactly how it goes.”
“C’mon, Harrison,” Becca nudged, but Harrison was apparently on a roll and gave her a be-right-there look.
“Aww, Becca. You interrupted him.” Boone eyed her mischievously. “I was enjoying the song.”
“You did? Really?” Harrison beamed. “I don’t like to brag, but I was in chorus in high school.”
Boone kept a straight face. “I can tell.”
“And what about that guitar lick you do during the chorus? Wow!” Harrison slapped his leg. “I used to play a little guitar. I don’t know how you do that progression, man.”
“I’m going to be late, Harrison,” Becca pleaded, tugging on him again.
Boone shot Becca a look and held back a smile. “You said you used to play guitar? Why’d you quit?”
“I fractured my wrist surfing.”
Boone’s smile turned to a straight line. “Oh no. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s how I met Becca,” he gushed, practically drooling at her. “We both went to Jerry, the same physical therapist. See?” Harrison waved his wrist. “Getting stronger every week.”
“Hey,” Becca interrupted. “Really, I need to sign in now, or Linda will be ticked off.”
Harrison turned back to Boone and shook his hand again. “Really, just a pleasure meeting you, Boone. I’ll catch you later.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Boone answered, not knowing what to think as he observed the couple stroll to The Owl’s back entrance.
Harrison turned, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t forget about my offer, because I’m serious. Royal treatment. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”
Boone waved the business card and stashed it in his pocket. “Will do,” he said, strolling to his truck’s passenger side, where he opened the door and grabbed his guitar from the back seat.
He waited a little longer than he needed to before heading into The Owl.
Chapter Four
The next few nights working with Becca were uneventful. Uneventful, as in Boone hadn’t kidnapped her and stolen her from Harrison. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d thought about it. And it wasn’t easy keeping an eye on Becca from the stage every night, watching how men interacted with her, ready to protect her at a moment’s notice if anyone got out of hand.
On the up side, his shows were improving, his band tightening with every performance. Soon he’d be on the road. And as a bonus, he hadn’t seen surfer boy since the afternoon in the parking lot.
Colt pulled another bottle of Sandbagger Ale out of the ice chest and tossed it to Boone, who had the opener. He popped the cap of his bottle and threw the opener back to Colt in one seamless move. The brothers kicked back in lounge chairs on Boone’s newly installed flagstone patio, watching the grass sway in the breeze and the mountains in the distance.
“This is the life.” Colt’s usually caramel eyes were tinged with green in the pre-sunset, apricot sky.
“Dream Maker’s keeping you busy, huh?”
“Oh, hell yeah.” His eyes widened. “I did all the research, worked every angle, anticipating everything that could come up.”
“Of course you did. You wouldn’t know how to exist any other way. That’s why you’re the mogul you are.”
“Pfft. Surprises pop up every day. Expensive surprises. Dream Maker Ranch is a whole new ball game. I’ve never been in a service industry before, where you need to rely on customer reviews and word of mouth to make a living. I won’t even go into what the media team is charging for their promotional plan.”
Boone shifted, trying to get a better read on his brother. Was he genuinely concerned, or only venting?
Colt met his eyes, giving Boone his typical easygoing grin.
“Don’t worry about me. Dream Maker Ranch is going to be spectacular. It’ll all work out.”
The massive circular fire pit emitted toasty warmth, taking care of any late February, cold-beer chill. “Nice job, by the way,” Colt gestured to the flickering flames and then pointed to the house. “It’s a little sterile, though. Never imagined you living in a place like this.” Colt tipped his brew to Boone and then leaned back on the lounger’s plump cushions.
“It’s called ‘turnkey.’ Zero maintenance. I can be on the road for a year and not worry about it. They did a good job.” Boone sipped. “Fair price too.”
“So are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” Colt shifted.
Boone dodged his brother’s invasive stare, looking off in the distance at a ramshackle barn that needed to be leveled. They’d been tiptoeing around the subject of Becca all afternoon. “Linda’s closing The Owl on Thursday and arranged an employee picnic beca
use she hired so many people.” Boone sighed. “She wants everyone to get to know each other, so I’ll be forced to make nice.”
“You’re hardly an employee.” Colt angled his head, catching his eye. “Seriously. You technically don’t have to do anything except play there.” Colt winked. “Thanks to the contract I had the presence of mind to draw up.”
“Linda asked me to go, though. Thinks it will be good for morale, so I’ll do it.”
The horizon evolved from shades of apricot to dark tangerine while the stress from the past week finally began to dissipate.
Colt interrupted the peaceful view with a soft voice. “Becca sure looks good. How are you handling having to see her every night?”
“How do you think I’m doing?”
“By your tone, I’m guessing not well, but what the hell do I know? I’ve never dated anyone as long as you two were together. I think my longest was...maybe seven months?”
“Commitment-phobe.”
“I just know when to cut my losses. Another beer?” Colt sauntered to the cooler, jostled around through the ice, and plucked out a bottle before pivoting to Boone. “You?”
Boone nodded. “I can’t wait for the day you lose your shit over someone. It’ll be fun to watch.”
Colt passed him a fresh brew, waited for him to open it and took the opener with him back to his chair. “Cut to the chase. What’s it like working with her?”
“I liked it better when she didn’t live here. I knew from her mom that Becca was fully recovered and fine months ago. I just wasn’t planning for her to waltz back into town and work right under my nose.”
“And her having a new boyfriend can’t be very pleasant.”
“Hell no, it isn’t.” Boone agreed, flashing a look at Colt before taking a swig. “I was expecting Becca to apologize, so...I don’t know. I thought maybe someday we’d get back together.”
“I know you did, brother. There sure was a whole lot of crap going on with Harlan when Becca got hurt. It was an awful time.”
“Harlan didn’t mean to cause any shit, though, and Becca should’ve known I’d never let her down. That I’d take care of her, no matter what.” Boone’s stomach turned. He shifted his focus on the setting sun. “After all those years we were together?” he whispered.
“What you need, my brother, is a diversion, and I might just happen to have one for you,” Colt said thoughtfully. “As for now, my work here is done.” He pushed off the lounger and stashed his empty in the cooler.
“Who is she?”
Colt spun to him. “You can tell I have a date tonight?”
“Don’t you know by now? I can read you like a book. And your smirk is a dead giveaway. Besides, when do you not have a date?”
“The Millers’ granddaughter, Christy. She’s here for the summer, helping out at the Old Brick Hotel.”
“Thought you were tied up getting Dream Maker ready to open.”
“Not too busy for this gorgeous woman. Christy has an equally stunning sister, by the way, if you ever get tired of moping around your palace by yourself.” Colt eyed him contemplatively. “You know, Wyatt and Naomi are getting serious, so he’s off the market, not going out anymore.” Colt and Wyatt had been best friends since third grade.
“What about his little sister?” Boone sent him a shit-eating grin. “You were always into her. I know there was something going on between you two. I know it.”
“Mariah? No way in hell. Wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
“I don’t know why.” Colt was too much fun to tease.
“You know why. If Wyatt didn’t kill me first, one of his four brothers would, not to mention his dad. No, best friend’s little sister is off the table. Can you imagine? I was over there almost every day. Mr. Walker treated me like a son while we were growing up, and I take up with his only girl as a thank-you present?” Colt rubbed the back of his neck. “No. Besides, Mariah moved a long time ago… Once she took off for Europe during her gap year—” Colt gave Boone a second look, finally coming around to the fact that his brother was only trying to get a rise out of him. “Never mind.”
Boone peered up at him and then hoisted himself up off the lounger. “Hey, if you need a wingman, I’m in,” he offered, walking Colt through the open French doors into the living room.
“You can’t back out if I set up a double date.”
“I won’t. It’s time for me to move on.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” Colt eyed him, nodding slowly. “I’ll talk to Christy tonight.” He ambled to the kitchen island, picked up the contract Boone signed earlier, and headed to the foyer. “You know, Christy asked me to ask you if you want to go out with Nicole. It’s a win-win.” Colt chuckled, opening the front door. “We’ve never dated sisters before.”
Boone laughed and called after him down the walkway. “You’ve got my schedule in your hands, so set it up, brother.”
“I’ll call you,” Colt shouted back, waving the contract before getting into his truck.
Boone waited until Colt was out of sight before he closed the door. As the sound echoed over his barren walls and slick, newly-installed floors, Boone strolled into the living room and peered out the doors, trying to relish the quiet. He hadn’t been enjoying much of anything since Becca came back to town, and felt a little hollow now Colt had left.
He wandered back out onto his new patio for another look at the sherbet sky. Sunsets and sunrises usually made him feel grateful to be alive, but tonight he brushed off the spectacular display of colors as just another ho-hum light show. He shut off the gas to the fire pit, lifted the cooler, turned his back on the view and carried the ice chest inside.
Something else was gnawing at his bones and digging into the marrow, making it impossible to shake off. Boone placed the cooler next to the sink and strode down the wide hallway, turning into the guest bedroom.
Fresh paint and new carpet smells assaulted him as he went straight to the closet and flung open the doors. He eyed the inconspicuous file box on the shelf, then steeled himself and grabbed it.
He needed to get this over with.
It would be just like ripping off a Band-Aid, he coaxed himself, while taking long, quick strides back down the hall to the kitchen.
Boone reached the new island he’d spent twenty grand building for this empty house, for him alone to enjoy, and plunked five years of his life on the gleaming marble.
There was enough pink light streaming in through the patio doors to leave the overhead kitchen lights off.
Why had he held on to this shit for so long?
Without a second’s hesitation, Boone opened the box, reached inside, and grabbed the first thing he felt. He stared down at the soft, fluffy pink elephant she won for him at the Missoula County Fair, then brought it to his nose and sniffed.
Damn, he hated himself for doing it. The stuffed toy didn’t smell like Becca, though, not the way he had hoped. Sighing a heavy breath, Boone shook off the memories of Becca’s cotton-candy kisses that night, grabbed a giant-sized garbage bag from the drawer, and tossed the plush toy into it.
Next he pulled a crumbling, crinkly beige rose out of the box. The rose’s faded interior petals had once been red, and the stem was snipped, boutonniere-sized, so it must have held significance. Before he flung it in the bag, a small smile crossed his face.
Even though he and Becca knew each other in high school, they didn’t get together until they were twenty, which meant they missed going to any proms together. Which was why Becca surprised him with tickets to Lonesome’s Sweetheart Ball and insisted he wear a tux, even though everyone else wore jeans. He remembered the way her eyes sparkled when she pinned the rose on his jacket—and then tossed the dead memory into the bag.
But what was he supposed to do with the bundle of twenty-five Christmas, birthday, and would- you-be-my-Valentine cards?
Boone ran his fingers over the back of a red, heart-shaped card, temp
ted to flip it over and read the message. But then what? Would reading it help him get Becca off his mind? Would it help him in any way at all?
Once he flipped the card over and read the front, the door would be open and, sure as hell, he'd open the card, then he'd see her handwriting, and then imagine how she looked writing it, back when he was her world.
And then he’d remember how invincible he felt with his soulmate beside him, because that's what Becca was... He’d been so sure of it then.
But now? She’d traded him in for Harrison.
He threw the cards in the trash, trying to shake off the dull ache in the pit of his stomach.
Why the hell did she have to come back?
Boone opened his new mammoth stainless-steel fridge and pulled out another beer, going back to lean against the counter, sipping on his drink, studying the still half-full box.
The hell with it.
He should throw the whole box out. Why was he torturing himself, going through each item, bit by bit? Was it because he was still holding on to that sliver of chance they'd be together again?
If I could’ve held her that night at The Owl, when she first came back... If only she’d been mine to hold.
He forced himself not to remember the way Becca’s skin felt like velvet—how she tasted—how she sounded when she cried out his name, begging for more.
She has a boyfriend now, he reminded himself. She'd gone out of her way to introduce him. If Boone ever truly loved Becca, he should want her to be happy, regardless of his feelings. He owed her that.
Boone flipped the file box over, shaking the contents into the garbage bag. A three-by-five glossy card floated out of the box, fluttering and flipping faceup on the counter.
Becca squinted up at him with her bare shoulders and the sun in her blue eyes. The crystal river sparkled with dappled sunshine behind her. Boone paused, staring at the photo he took the first time they made love.
He snatched the memory and shoved it in his back pocket, but something else caught his eye. Something he’d written, he couldn’t remember when. Boone scanned the lines, and folded the paper, deciding to save it with the photo. Then he tied up the black garbage bag and dumped it in the can outside.