Borrowing Trouble

by Stacy Finz

  “They don’t want to eat, they don’t have to,” Donna said, muscling him out of the way while she put together her famous bean dip. “But this is the right thing to do. Those poor people shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

  She got busy chopping tomatoes for the salsa. “And you, Brady Benson, I’m pissed at you. Just because you no longer have a stalker, doesn’t mean you can just up and leave. I’ll stalk you all the way to Oregon, and you don’t want to mess with me.”

  Emily winked at Brady and whispered, “Do you really have to go?”

  Brady didn’t answer. “Hey, crazy women,” he called. “Huddle together.” With his phone he snapped a few pictures. He’d never forget these ladies.

  That night he went home to a dark duplex. Sloane must’ve been fast asleep because both her SUV and Rav4 were parked in the driveway. He and the Baker’s Dozen had made enough food for a proper memorial. The ladies wanted to make sure that not all of the Fagans’ memories of Nugget were bad. It was tragic what happened to their son. Not knowing where he was for four years and then him dying alone like that. What he’d learned through the town grapevine was that the kid had suffered from depression. Brady assumed he was using the drugs to self-medicate. Terrible.

  He stared at Sloane’s door before dragging himself through his own. It hadn’t been that long and he already missed sleeping with her. Tomorrow he planned to go to the service at the cabin. Not for the Fagans, who he didn’t know, but for Sloane.

  Practically the whole town had turned out by the big tree near the river’s edge to pay their respects to the Fagans. The crowd stood back, giving the couple plenty of room to say their goodbyes and prayers in private. Sloane couldn’t be more proud of her kids. Skeeter had dropped them off. Rose in a dark dress and the boys in suits. They behaved so respectfully that Sloane’s heart filled with pride. Rhys and Maddy had gotten there early and set up chairs for the Fagans and their son Lucas, letting them know they should take as much time as they needed.

  Even the Nugget Mafia, the Baker’s Dozen, Griffin, and Lina had shown up. Harlee was there too, but in an official capacity as a reporter. Darla and Wyatt stood off to the side. The only ones from the department who hadn’t come were Jake and Connie. Someone had to hold down the fort. But it was Brady who Sloane noticed the most. He kept looking over at her like he wanted to make sure she was okay. Between that and the mac and cheese he’d left in her fridge, she wrestled against her pride, wanting so badly to wrap her arms around him and beg him to stay.

  The Fagans took turns eulogizing Kevin. Mrs. Fagan read a Native American prayer and each laid a rose on the spot where she and Rhys had found Kevin’s clarinet. The family then shook everyone’s hands and thanked them for coming. Mr. Fagan nodded at Sloane, who escorted them to her SUV so she could drive them back to the inn.

  Before getting into the backseat, Mrs. Fagan took Sloane’s hands in her own. “Thank you for finding our son. Chief Shepard told us how hard you worked on this case and I just want you to know that you’ve given us our lives back. All those years of not knowing whether Kevin was dead or alive was slowly killing us. You’re a very dedicated officer.”

  Sloane’s throat clogged. All she could say was thanks.

  Brady and the Baker’s Dozen must’ve raced back to the inn, because when Sloane and the Fagans got there a full spread had been laid out. Rhys, Maddy, and Sloane’s pilot-program kids were just seconds behind.

  “This is absolutely lovely,” Mrs. Fagan said, taking in the table loaded with food.

  “We understand that you’re grieving and are under no obligation to mingle,” Sloane told her. “In fact, if you want to take plates up to your room everyone would understand.”

  Sloane gazed around the dining room. All these people had come first to the cabin and now here to help total strangers through their sorrow. What a special town Nugget was. And what a fool Brady was for leaving.

  Right then and there Sloane decided she wasn’t going anywhere. Like Rhys had said, this was where she could make the most difference. All she had to do was look at the faces of the Fagans, who wandered through the crowd as Dink, Owen, Mariah, Sophie, Lucky, and so many others offered their condolences. All she had to do was look at Mrs. Fagan hugging Rose, Simpson, and Rudy to know that she’d made a contribution. That she’d left a mark, even a small one.

  “You okay?” Brady sidled up to Sloane.

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Thanks for doing this. It was incredibly thoughtful. And thanks for the mac and cheese. Only you would’ve known how much I needed that.”

  She walked away. Out of the dining room and out of his life. Lina and Griffin sat in the living room sharing a plate of food.

  “You want to hang out with us?” Lina asked her.

  The two of them looked so happy together Sloane didn’t want to intrude. “Nah, I’m heading home.”

  On her way out she bumped into Rhys. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but you’re the best boss I’ve ever had.”

  He scrutinized her. “You’re quitting, aren’t you?”

  “Nope. You’re stuck with me, Chief.”

  Brady woke early the next morning. Lying in bed, he listened for any sign of movement next door. Last night, like the night before, Sloane’s lights had been out by the time he’d gotten home. He could tell that the last couple of days had been exhausting for her.

  Before jumping in the shower he went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. He’d tank up on more at the inn. The Lumber Baron, unlike the rest of Nate’s hotels, had good brew. Brady had made sure of it. Coffee was one of the first things he’d have changed at Breyer Hotels. No one in a great city like San Francisco should be forced to drink swill.

  After showering, he dressed and sat out on the porch to enjoy the morning. He didn’t have to leave for a while and wanted to take advantage of the sunrise and the quiet. Other than the river rushing and the birds chirping, it was as peaceful as you could get in civilization. Perfect for contemplation. Boy, would he miss it.

  Sloane’s door creaked open and she stepped out. Early day at the office, he supposed.

  “Hey,” he said, the sound of his voice clearly startling her.

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “Just taking a moment before I head to the inn.”

  She’d swapped out her uniform for a pair of jeans tucked into boots, and a suede jacket. Her blond hair was down and she looked heart-stoppingly beautiful. His first impulse was to forget work, forget that he was leaving, and drag her to bed.

  “You off today?” he asked.

  “No. But the kids and I are going to Lucky’s cowboy camp today for our first riding lesson.”

  Rays of sunlight backlit her, and from where Brady was sitting she looked like an apparition. An angel. She embodied everything he’d ever wanted in a woman—beauty, kindness, and kickassness—and here he was walking away.

  He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw and got to his feet. “I better get going.”

  At the inn he went through the breakfast routine in a haze, reaching for ingredients by rote and popping dishes in and out of the oven without a lot of conscious regard. Luckily, Lina had school, Maddy was out, and Nate and Sam were meeting with a vendor in the conference room. He had the kitchen to himself with only a few guests to serve. The Fagans had left early in the morning to catch a flight home.

  He took a couple of French-toast soufflés to the dining room and quickly escaped back to the kitchen. The phone rang and Brady figured Andy would get it. When he didn’t, Brady forced himself to pick it up.

  “Lumber Baron Inn.”

  “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” Tawny asked.

  “Didn’t want to.” Brady smiled. “I heard Sloane’s coming over to the ranch with her pilot kids to go horseback riding.”

  “I heard you’re an imbecile. Furthermore, if you don’t cater our wedding, I will never speak to you again.” There was a long silence. “Some people searc
h a whole lifetime to find what you’ve got here. Cowboy up and stop running.”

  Click.

  Brady couldn’t believe she’d hung up on him.

  For the rest of the morning he cleared and cleaned in the same blur he’d cooked in. There wasn’t much to do for the afternoon wine and cheese, so he took off his apron, grabbed his jacket, and got in his van. He drove the backcountry, taking any road that looked interesting. Despite the drought, the Sierra was awash with color. Greens, purples, oranges, and browns.

  In a blink of an eye, the landscape changed from forest to high desert and everything in between. A person, he realized, could never get bored here because nothing ever stayed the same. The land was a constantly evolving canvas. He thought of all the places he’d been, the people he’d known . . . the women. And his mind kept coming back to Sloane.

  Somehow he’d wound up on the highway, just before the turnoff to Sierra Heights. He pulled in through the gate. No security guard this time, and he cruised the streets aimlessly. Last he’d heard, Griffin had sold three more houses. He parked at the clubhouse, took the flagstone path past the swimming pool and tennis courts, and found himself peeking in the window of the model with the pimped-out kitchen. Sloane’s words came back to haunt him.

  We go to Sierra Heights to look at those houses and even playing around you made sure to let me know that the idea of us living together was out of the question.

  “What’s up?” Griffin came up behind Brady and he jumped.

  “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. Will you sell me this one?”

  Griffin looked at him like he was joking. “It’s the model. I thought you were leaving town.”

  “Change of plans. I want this one, Griff. Will you sell it to me?”

  Griffin just kept staring at him. “I guess I can turn one of the others into a model. Are you just yanking my chain?”

  “Nope. Who do I have to talk to? Dana? Carol?”

  “Sure. But we’re friends. If you really want the place, we’ll work something out.”

  “I’ve got a few things to do, but I’ll get back to you.”

  “Okay.” Griffin shoved his hands in his pockets, dumbfounded.

  Brady ran to the van, floored it out of the parking lot as fast as he could, and tried not to break any traffic laws on the way back to the inn. Andy was checking a couple out of the Lumber Baron as Brady came through the door.

  “Where’s Nate?”

  “His office.”

  He nearly collided with Sam as he jogged down the hall.

  “Where’s the fire?” she called to him.

  “I need to talk to Nate.” He knocked, then burst through Nate’s door. “I need to talk to you.”

  “So I heard. They also heard you in China.”

  “The job for Breyer Hotels . . . is it still open?”

  Nate swiveled his chair away from his desk. “Hell yeah, it’s still open.”

  “I’ll take it then.”

  Behind him someone shouted, “Yes.” Brady turned around to find Sam loitering near Nate’s doorway. She wrapped her arms around him and jumped up and down.

  “I’ve gotta go,” Brady said, and pulled loose from Sam’s grasp and kissed her on the forehead.

  “We have to talk salary,” Nate called after him.

  “I want your last dollar offer, four weeks paid vacation, and complete creative control over anything food- and beverage-related.”

  “Within reason.” Nate followed him to the front door.

  “Nope. It’s my way or the highway.”

  “Sounds fair. Come back later and sign the paperwork.”

  “Sam, you heard what he just said. Complete creative control. You’re my witness.” Brady took off across the square to the police station and pushed through the office. “Where’s Sloane?”

  “She’s on her way to Lucky’s cowboy camp,” Connie said.

  “It’s not even three. I thought she was taking the kids.” He rushed for the door.

  “They have half—”

  Brady didn’t let her finish her sentence, just ran for his van and started the engine. Halfway to Lucky’s ranch, he hung a U-turn. That’s when he realized he was making a huge mistake.

  Chapter 26

  Sloane’s radio went off just as Lucky taught them how to put the bit in the horse’s mouth.

  “What’s your 10-20, Officer McBride?” Connie knew what her location was. Sloane had been talking about the cowboy camp all day.

  “I’m at Lucky’s,” she said, not bothering to hold back her annoyance.

  “We need you to go to 1240 Pine Cone Lane for a house call.”

  A house call? What the hell was Connie talking about?

  “I don’t copy you.”

  “The chief says when you get there to stand by. That’s a direct order.”

  “Ten-four.” What the . . . Couldn’t they send Jake, who was already on patrol? Unless something big was going down. Then, of course, Sloane didn’t want to miss it.

  “Hey, guys, I just got called out,” she said to her group now huddled around Lucky’s daughter, Katie, who was demonstrating how to put a saddle on the horse.

  “I’ll make sure they get home safely,” Lucky said. “Do what you got to do.”

  Sloane headed to her SUV. She didn’t even know where Pine Cone Lane was, and turned on her GPS. It seemed to be taking her on a circuitous route away from town, past McCreedy Road, to Sierra Heights. Sierra Heights? Nothing ever happened there. She drove through the gate, following the GPS’s instructions, wondering if she was lost. Now wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

  “You have arrived at your location,” the disembodied GPS voice said. The location happened to be the clubhouse and pro shop parking lot in the planned community.

  Ah hell, this couldn’t be right. Just to make sure, she hopped out of her truck and followed the flagstone path past the clubhouse, the pool, and tennis courts to catch an address. Sure enough, she stood on Pine Cone Lane. Tracing the addresses she found 1240—the model she and Brady had liked so much. The one he didn’t want to live in with her.

  Stand by, Connie had told her. Impatient, she radioed back. “I’m here. What am I supposed to do?”

  “The chief says to go inside but stand down. This is not an emergency. I repeat: This is not an emergency.”

  Sloane signed off and cursed. What was it then, a freaking scavenger hunt? She went inside. It was still a breathtaking house with its soaring ceilings, huge picture windows, and polished hardwood floors, but quiet as a library. And a bit unnerving. Despite the chief’s command to stand down, Sloane’s hand automatically reached inside her purse for the butt of her gun.

  “Anyone here?” she called, and the words echoed through the big space. “Hello?”

  She walked through the front room, down the long dining room, and into the kitchen. A giant bouquet of red roses had been arranged in a crystal vase on the counter. Next to it was a champagne bucket, filled with ice and a bottle of bubbly. Two glasses stood at the ready.

  Someone in the corner cleared his throat. Sloane jerked up and did a double take.

  “What is this?”

  “Crappy champagne because it was all I could find at the Nugget Market on short notice.”

  She wouldn’t know the difference between André and Dom Pérignon. “Brady?”

  “Sloane?” He came for her, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her close. “Change of plans.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m staying, I’m buying this house, and I’d appreciate it if you’d at least allow me to make the loft my man cave before you fill the rest of the place with your frilly, floral stuff.” His lips were so close to her ear it tickled.

  “You can’t afford this house.”

  “Says who?”

  She pushed away to read his face. “What’s going on, Brady?”

  “Today . . . maybe yesterday . . . hell, I don’t know when. Maybe I knew all along that I couldn’t live witho
ut you . . . that if I ran away, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Be with me, Sloane. Make a life with me and I promise to love you forever.”

  Sloane choked on a sob. “I love you, Brady Benson. So if you’re messing with me, I swear I’ll shoot you. Don’t test me.”

  He kissed her, bent her over the miles of granite countertop, and continued to kiss her into sheer oblivion. “This is the only kind of messing with you I want to do.” His hand went for the zipper on her jeans.

  “Wait a minute. Are we really buying this house?”

  “If you want it, I’ll buy it. I’ve been saving forever for a restaurant, which I’ll use for the down payment. With my new job as executive chef of Breyer Hotels, we should have no problem making the mortgage. What do you think?”

  “Executive chef of Breyer Hotels.” Her eyes grew big. “You’ve been busy. When did this happen?”

  His hand reached for her zipper again. “I’ll tell you all about it as soon as we’re done initiating these countertops. One question first: Will you have me?”

  Sloane stifled a sob. “That was never in doubt.”

  Epilogue

  “You promised that the loft and the kitchen were my domain,”

  Brady said as he blocked Sloane from bringing one of her frou-frou chairs up the stairs.

  “There’s no room for it downstairs and I really like it.” She pouted.

  “It doesn’t go with the leather stuff.” They had something like five thousand square feet of space. She couldn’t find a spot for the chair?

  “But it could be my chair when I come up here to watch TV with you.”

  “All right,” he said, giving in without much of a fight. He was finding that he had a hard time saying no to her. “I draw the line at the kitchen, though, Sloane.”

  Ah hell, who was he kidding? If she wanted to put up lacy curtains and block their fantastic views, he’d let her. That’s how much he was in love with her.

  Sloane climbed to the loft landing, handed Brady the chair, and let her gaze drift around their new house. “Are you sure we can afford this?”