by Holly Rayner
Yes, he would want her to return the hat to him. She would be doing the right thing by looking him up and trying to get it back into his hands.
The thought made her heart lift slightly. She’d been feeling down all day about the fact that she wouldn’t be seeing Clay again, but now there was hope that she would. And she felt reasonably confident that when he saw the trouble she had gone to, to get his hat back to him, he would be grateful. He would thank her.
She adjusted the hat on her head, went outside, and approached one of the cabs that was waiting in front of the hotel. The driver got out and helped her load her suitcase into the trunk.
“Nice hat,” he said, grinning at her.
“Thanks,” she said. “It belongs to…to a friend of mine.”
“Nice of him to loan it to you,” the driver said. “It looks good.”
Gwen got into the cab and watched the resort disappear in the rear window as they pulled away. Soon, this trip would just be a memory. Everything that had happened on Green Turtle Cay would be nothing more than images in her mind.
But perhaps she could take one thing with her. Perhaps there was one thing she could keep. If she could manage to find Clay, who knew what might happen? Maybe there would be a future for the two of them after all. Maybe they would be able to create a friendship that would endure.
You’re dreaming. Don’t you remember how distant he was as he was leaving?
All right, maybe he would be happy to have his hat back. Maybe he would be grateful to her for tracking him down and getting it back to him. But that didn’t mean he was going to want to be friends. Nothing else would have changed. Whatever had kept him from wanting to exchange information as he was leaving, it would still be true.
He’s a loner, she reminded herself. He’s not a guy who’s looking for friends.
Well, that was true. But that didn’t mean it was impossible for him to open up to somebody, did it? He had been aloof and distant when the two of them had first met at Jahni’s tiki bar, but by the end of the day, they had been as thick as thieves. Maybe he just didn’t realize yet that he had made a friend worth keeping.
Maybe.
Her thoughts persisted all the way to the airport. She checked in for her flight and turned in her luggage. Free of the heavy suitcase, she decided to go to the airport bar and get a drink. She had nearly an hour left to kill before the plane was due to board.
She found a bar close to her gate, sat down, and ordered a Bloody Mary. While she waited for it to arrive, she fiddled absently with the coaster, spinning it on its edge like a coin.
“Cool trick.”
She looked to her right. A man sitting next to her was watching her spin the coaster. He picked up a coaster of his own and gave it a try, but this coaster fell flat after only a few wobbles.
Gwen laughed. “You have to spin it faster,” she said and showed him.
He tried again. This time, his coaster went whizzing off the bar and into a tray of dirty glasses like a car whose brakes had been cut.
“Oh, well,” he said, chuckling. “I guess we can’t all be great at everything. Where are you headed today?”
“Home,” she said.
“Where’s home?”
“Louisiana.”
“You’ve been on a Christmas trip?” he asked.
“I have. You too?”
“Yeah,” he said. “My ex-wife has the kids for the holiday, so I like to get away.”
She nodded. “I can understand that.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“I have one coming already.”
“Let me pay for it,” the man suggested.
For a moment, Gwen was tempted. What better way to forget about Clay than to flirt with another man? And by the way he was looking at her, she had a feeling that he wouldn’t hesitate to link up with her on social media.
Maybe this would be the story she carried away with her. Maybe in ten years, she and this man would be laughing together about how she had believed her friendship with that random cowboy at her resort would be the one to last.
But when she looked at him, all she could see were the ways in which he wasn’t Clay. His hair, two shades too light and an inch too short. His facial hair, neatly trimmed but obscuring his jawline. His hands looked soft and well-manicured, as though he had never worked outside a day in his life.
He seemed friendly enough. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to get over Clay so easily.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m…involved with someone.” She wasn’t, of course, but it was the easiest way to decline his offer without the potential of hurt feelings.
The man smiled easily. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “He’s a lucky guy, whoever he is.”
Gwen’s drink arrived. She settled up with the bartender and put down a couple of dollars as a tip.
The man got to his feet. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Get home safe.”
“You too,” Gwen said. “It was nice to meet you.”
She watched as he wandered off. He was certainly attractive enough. Under ordinary circumstances, that would have been a pleasant flirtation.
It was so annoying that Clay was the only man she felt like thinking about. How long was that going to last?
She reached up and adjusted the cowboy hat that still rested on her head.
The connection between Clay and herself had been real. She was sure of that. It had been years since she’d felt such a spark. There was no way she could have imagined it.
So even though he didn’t want to see me again, I have to think he at least felt some conflict about that decision. I have to suppose that there was a part of him that wanted, at least a little bit, to stay in touch.
He had been incredibly awkward when he’d refused her attempts to exchange contact information. If he’d just been trying to ghost her, he could easily have given her a fake phone number or email address. Or he could have told her that he didn’t care to stay in touch without detailing his reasons. If he hadn’t cared about seeing her again, that wouldn’t have had to be an emotional conversation.
But he had seemed emotional. He had seemed like someone who was doing something he didn’t want to do.
Gwen had interviewed her share of suspects. She knew how to read someone’s mood and how to interpret their actions. And Clay had been acting like someone who didn’t want to be doing what he was doing.
Was it possible that he had wanted to keep in touch with her?
The one thing she could count on, the one thing she was sure of, was that their connection had not been imagined. He really had liked her. And those nights they had spent together—there was no way Gwen could have been reading into that.
She read people for a living. She knew what was real and what wasn’t.
She had to believe, then, that when she eventually found Clay again, he would be happy she had tracked him down. Not just because he would be getting his hat back, but because it would mean their story wasn’t over after all.
She finished her drink and returned to her gate. Her plane was there, and people were lining up to begin boarding. Gwen joined the line.
“Cute hat,” the woman in front of her said, smiling. She had the familiar New Orleans accent that Gwen hadn’t heard since leaving home, and hearing it now made her feel as though her trip had officially come to an end.
“Thanks,” Gwen murmured.
“You look Texan,” the woman said. “You flying on to Texas?”
“No,” Gwen said. “New Orleans is my final destination.”
The woman nodded and turned around as the line began to move.
Once on the plane, Gwen found her seat. She thought about stowing the cowboy hat in the overhead bin, but decided against it. It might get crushed up there, with suitcases and bags sliding around. She wanted to take good care of it so that she could return it to Clay in pristine condition.
But she did take it off her head as she sat down. She turned it ar
ound in her hands, feeling the well-worn material, wondering how long Clay had owned it and whether he was already missing it. Wondering whether he would be reaching out to the resort to try to track it down.
If he does that, someone will probably let him know I have it.
It occurred to Gwen that, by comparison, she would be very easy to track down.
Clay knew that she worked for the New Orleans Police Department. With a little digging, he could find her name on their website.
Also, she was pretty sure she had given him her last name when they had first met. It was possible he would remember it.
He hadn’t wanted to stay in touch with her, so under ordinary circumstances she wouldn’t have expected him to look her up. But if he found out she had his hat…was it possible he would be the one to find her and not the other way around?
She couldn’t rule it out and the thought made her heart flutter.
But she also knew she couldn’t count on it. The hat seemed nice, but Gwen didn’t actually know what it was worth to Clay. He might be willing to let it go. It was possible he wouldn’t bother.
So she would hope that he would reach out to her, because she knew it would be easier for him to find her than it would for her to find him. But in the meantime, she would do whatever she could to locate him and to see the hat safely delivered back to him.
After all, a cowboy had to have his hat.
Chapter 10
Clay
Clay peered through the curtains at the sound of a truck rumbling its way up the driveway toward his house.
He had been particularly skittish since Dave had skipped town and the information about their real estate venture being a scam had come to light. Two and a half weeks had gone by since he had returned home from the Bahamas, and still nobody had come looking for him, but it was difficult to believe that he was just going to get away with this.
He needed to think about evidence. What evidence was there to tie him to the crime Dave had so recklessly involved them in?
He had no idea whether his name was on the documents Dave had signed when he had made the purchases, but he supposed it must be. He hadn’t been there to physically sign, but he thought Dave must have listed him as a financier or something. There would be something in those papers that would point to where the money had come from.
And anyone who took an in-depth look at Clay’s accounts would quickly notice that a huge sum of money had gone missing. And discover that there was no explanation for its absence.
Clay had done his best to think of some way to justify the fact that so much money had gone missing. He had just been on a pretty expensive vacation. He could have spent some of it there. He could pad his records a bit to account for the missing money…
But every time he started to think like that, he was struck by how hopeless the situation really was. He wasn’t going to be able to nickel and dime his way out of this, to claim that he’d spent the money on fancy hotel rooms and expensive dinners. This was a loss of hundreds of thousands of dollars. And there was no paperwork to back it up. There were no receipts. If someone were to accuse him of financing Dave’s purchases, he wouldn’t be able to point to anything else he had done with the money.
The only thing he could think of was to try to put the money back somehow.
There was no way he was going to be able to make up the entire loss. It was too big. He would have had to sell everything he owned. But if he could make up a significant portion of it, at least his deficit would no longer match the amount that had been spent on the illegal properties. It would make Clay look less suspicious.
He went outside as the truck pulled up in front of the house. A woman in jeans and a button-down flannel shirt got out. Her clothes were dusty, but Clay could tell by her haircut and the quality of her boots—not to mention that truck—that she had money. This was the kind of person he had been looking for.
She crossed the drive and held out her hand to him. “Mr. Murray?”
“Clay,” he said, accepting the handshake.
“Clay,” she said. “I’m Melissa Morgan. You can call me Melissa. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” he said. “I guess you’ll be wanting to see the land?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We might as well drive,” he said. “It’s about half a mile out. You want to take the truck? Or I could go get my car.”
“Truck’s fine.” She got back behind the wheel, and Clay climbed into the passenger seat. “Can I ask why you’re selling? I don’t mean to pry, but looking at this place, you don’t strike me as someone who’s hurting for money.”
Of course, there was no way he could explain it to her. She would never accept the truth. And he couldn’t risk it getting out. So he went with a lie.
“My father and I used to work this land together,” he explained. “But since he died earlier this year, it’s more than I can handle by myself. I just hate to see it go to waste.”
“Oh,” Melissa said. She sucked her teeth. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Clay felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t believe he had brought his father into this.
But I had to tell her something, he told himself firmly. I had to come up with a story other than the truth.
His father wouldn’t have wanted to see Clay land himself in jail over this. He would have understood that Clay hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He would have approved of what his son was doing now.
At least, Clay hoped that was true. He needed to believe that he wouldn’t be letting his father down.
Dad loved two things, me and this ranch. As long as I’m doing everything I can to protect both, I’m sure he would approve.
He directed Melissa around the bend in the path to the parcel of land she had come to see and told her when to stop the truck. They both got out.
“What have you been using this for?” Melissa asked.
“Running the cattle, mostly,” he said. “I might need to start keeping a smaller herd after my next sale.”
She nodded. “You have a lot of land,” she observed. “It’s hard to see you missing this piece. How much are you talking about selling?”
“To the fence over there.” He pointed. “And to the highway in that direction.”
“How much do you want?”
He told her.
“I could do anything I want with it?”
“As long as you keep it fenced off,” he said. “I don’t want my cows getting into your soybeans, or whatever you decide to put here. You can keep the fence I put up, or you can build a new one, but maintaining the fencing would be your responsibility after you buy, assuming you do.”
Melissa nodded. “That’s fair,” she said. “I’ll take it. What do I need to sign?”
“I have papers back at the house,” Clay said, trying not to let his relief show on his face. “Let’s head back. I’ll get you a glass of lemonade, too, if you’d like.”
“That would be fantastic,” Melissa said.
Back at the house, they sat at the kitchen table with two tall glasses of Clay’s homemade lemonade, and Melissa signed the papers that Clay had drawn up.
Clay pulled up his banking app on his phone and looked at the number in his account, visualizing what it would look like when the money on the check Melissa was writing had been deposited. He would feel much better after that money was in place, after he could stop worrying about how suspicious the number that wasn’t there looked.
But this is only a temporary fix, he thought as Melissa pushed the check across the table. I’m covering up some of the most damning evidence, but people are still bound to come asking questions. I’m sure my name is somewhere on those contracts.
How would he explain what had happened? He couldn’t hope to cover up the fact that he and Dave had been friends. He doubted there was any chance of obscuring the fact that he had given Dave a substantial amount of money.
Maybe it was a good thing that Dave had fled
the country. He wouldn’t have to worry about his story matching Dave’s if Dave wasn’t going to be speaking to the authorities at all. And if Clay told them that Dave had bought the properties without telling Clay exactly what he was doing, wouldn’t Dave’s absence make that easier to believe?
It would. But could he really bring himself to throw his friend under the bus like that?
He threw me under the bus by leaving me here to clean up this mess.
True. But that didn’t mean Clay could do the same thing. He wasn’t that kind of man.
“Hey.”
He looked up. Melissa was waving the contract in front of him.
“Do I keep this, or do you?”
“I’ll make you a copy,” Clay said, getting to his feet. The printer/copier had been his father’s, and Clay had always found it a bit old-fashioned, but he couldn’t deny that it was coming in handy now. He ran off a second copy of the contract and handed it to Melissa. “The land is yours as soon as the check clears,” he said.
“Great,” Melissa said. “It was nice doing business with you. I’m sure I’ll see you around from time to time, now that we’re neighbors.” She winked.
Was she flirting? Clay was pretty sure she was.
“See you around,” he said.
She flashed him a winning smile, turned, and made her way out the door and across the porch toward her truck.
Clay watched her go through the kitchen window. She was pretty. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Maybe it would be the start of something new, sharing his land with a good-looking woman. She seemed to share his willingness to get her hands dirty, his love of the land…
But she isn’t Gwen.
The thought popped into his head unbidden, and he frowned. What a strange thing to think. Surely he wasn’t still hung up on Gwen? It had been weeks. They hadn’t spoken to one another. He had been clear with himself, upon leaving Green Turtle Cay, that their fling would have to come to an end.