Best Worst Mistake

by Lia Riley

  Better to stick to black and white though. Grey wasn’t really her color.

  “I realized it’s not far to walk back into town.” She reached for her purse.

  “Less than a mile.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Sullenness dulled his gaze. “My keys are—­”

  “Truth circle? I want to get some exercise and clear my head a little. The last ­couple days have been out of the ordinary. And then all this.” She waved her hand at the empty space between them, plus the disordered bed sheets and tangled comforter. “I wasn’t looking for anything like this.”

  He was a master of the humorless smirk. “So you keep saying.”

  “Look, I know you weren’t either. We’re like two ­people walking fast with our heads down who ended up smacking into each other.”

  “What we did felt a hell of a lot better than that.” He yanked on his own shirt and all those beautiful muscles were covered back up, but somehow that didn’t make it easier to bear because now she knew they were there. She knew what they felt like. God help her, what they tasted like.

  “I have an appointment that I can’t miss in a few hours.” She buttoned and zipped her jeans, having to try twice because of her dang trembling fingers.

  He gave her a closer look. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Sorry, honey.” The lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “I’m calling bullshit.”

  She tied her hair into a quick ponytail. If she was going to leave with post-­sex bedhead, she owed him the truth. “Fine. Actually, no. I’m not okay. I’m not even orbiting in okay’s solar system. But I also don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  He paused, eyes darkening, before giving a single nod. “Fine.”

  “See you around then.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait.” His tone was ragged.

  She closed her eyes and grimaced. Why was it so hard to go? “Mm-­hmm?”

  “I’d like to see you again.” How did he make that voice, all rough and snarling, have such a tender bite?

  She tried to arch an eyebrow, go for casual, even as her mouth dried. “It’s a small town. I don’t have a Magic 8 Ball on me but your outlook is good.”

  He shook his head, ignoring her lighthearted tone. “You know that’s not what I mean, Trouble.” His smile was dry, but hey, it was a start.

  “Trouble?” He’d called her that before.

  “That’s your new name. You’re welcome.”

  “Good trouble or bad?”

  “Depends on the situation.” That wolfish look he gave her. God, she was ready to drop her drawers again. Time to run before she sent her better judgment packing for a one-­way vacation on a remote tropical island.

  He cleared his throat. “I had a real good time with you.”

  Those weren’t words of poetry, anything romantic, poignant, or even memorable. But the absolute sincerity in the words weakened her knees. Surely her better judgment would enjoy a mai tai and beach cabana.

  The thought was dangerously tempting. This cottage did make a perfect love shack and—­no! Retreat. Now. Don’t drag him into your medical drama-­rama.

  Sigh. Too true. Being a responsible adult was no fun but those were the apples.

  “Me too. Okay. I’ll show myself out.” She patted her hair. The ponytail felt like a wild rat’s nest. She must look absolutely feral. “Goodbye, Wilder.” There wasn’t a clock in sight but she must have grabbed her coat and purse and been out the door in a world record time.

  She walked up Castle Lane, her breath coming out in small white clouds as she puffed up the steepest bit. Add getting regular cardio to her “to do” list as well. Maybe a kettle ball. Or Zumba?

  Or tantric sex?

  After ten minutes she hit the stop sign at the top of the hill, where the freshly shoveled sidewalk began next to the Welcome to Brightwater sign. It was there that she finally allowed herself the luxury of two tears, one escaping out each eye before she swiped the rest away. No need to overspend her sorrow allowance. Time to pull the plug on the pity party. She didn’t want to medal in the Pain Olympics.

  But really? Really, universe? She finally met someone she connected to, finally felt that indefinable spark she’d read about her whole entire life, and it was right now, when her life was a veritable shit storm.

  “No fair!” She kicked a snowdrift, wincing as a cold wash of snow slipped into the top of her ankle boot.

  Temper tantrums were pointless, especially as she might be unable to recall any of this in a few short years. She could forget all about this man, what he did, how she felt when near him. And suddenly that scared her more than anything.

  WILDER GRIPPED HIS phone, pacing across the kitchen. Sawyer answered on the third ring.

  “Kane.” His younger brother sounded distracted.

  Wilder coughed into his fist. Maybe this was a bad idea. He wasn’t a guy known to give in to impulse. “It’s me. You busy?”

  “What? No,” Sawyer said quickly. “I’m always here for you, man, just a bit sidetracked is all. There was another fire this morning at dawn.”

  “Shit.” Wilder froze. “Where?”

  “New place set up the hill from the old depot on the edge of town.” Sawyer didn’t elaborate but there was no denying this was a troubling development.

  “Want to talk it out later?”

  A pause. “You’re freely offering to have a conversation?” Incredulity crept into Sawyer’s stoic voice.

  “Yeah, guess I am.” He cleared his throat. “And there’s another thing, the reason I called in the first place.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I want to go buy a new vehicle. An automatic. I’m sick of being stuck. I need to get out more.” After Quinn left this morning, he went out and chopped as much firewood as he could pile into the kitchen. Then he tried whittling and cut himself four times before he tossed the knife across the table, cursing his distraction. Something had shifted in him during the night. He didn’t know what, not exactly, but suddenly the four walls of this cottage felt too damn confining by half.

  He wanted to get out in the world a little. It seemed like there was a hell of a lot that he might be missing.

  “That’s good news, great.” Sawyer caught himself, tried to sound a little less eager. “About damn time.”

  Wilder’s mouth quirked. “Don’t get any big ideas about hugging me or anything.”

  “Course not. But this is me saying that I’m proud of you, big brother.”

  “Hanging up now.” His cheeks flexed. Where had this full-­blown smile come from? Quinn. Forty-­eight hours ago he had nothing and now . . . what? As quick as it came, his beam faded.

  Facts were still facts, stubborn bastards. This morning she couldn’t leave fast enough. You could almost hear the sound of burning rubber as she fled his house. But one thing niggled at him despite all his attempts at distraction: the look in her eyes the moment before she bolted, more regret than relief.

  He should know. He’d seen that particular expression staring back in the mirror enough.

  His features twisted into a glower as another thought whispered. Or was it pity?

  “Fuck.” He tilted back his head and exhaled a drawn-­out breath that came out closer to a growl. His guts were tied in an impossible knot.

  Maybe he should tell Sawyer to forget it. Bid the memory of Quinn good riddance. Still, another stubborn part of him couldn’t deny the pleasurable chill he got every time Quinn so much as glanced in his direction.

  Shit. He was in trouble, big trouble over this woman, but his instincts wavered between flight and fight.

  But fight for what?

  And how did she feel?

  When did life get so damn confusing?

  The tangled, mixed-­up feelings remained well into the af
ternoon, even after he paid for a new 4Runner SUV, trading in the Jeep.

  “Your ride handles well,” Sawyer said as they pulled out of the dealership. “Got to love that new car smell.”

  “Yup.” Wilder turned onto the road, easing into traffic. There were three cars on the road, which meant it was busy out.

  “Hungry?” Sawyer rested his elbow on the armrest. “Want to go grab a beer and burger at The Dirty Shame?”

  “Don’t you have to get on home?” Annie and Atticus were no doubt waiting for him. He didn’t want to keep his brother from his new family.

  “No one’s there. They went to San Francisco to visit Annie’s sister and do some holiday shopping.”

  “Gotcha.” Wilder wasn’t all that hungry. Confusion killed his appetite. “How about you take me by the site of the morning’s fire?” Work would refocus him. It always did.

  “Sure thing.” Sawyer fired off a few quick directions. “Same situation as last time. Empty place, but new, only built last summer. One of those McMansions, a five bedroom, three bathroom job.”

  Wilder didn’t respond, just tightened his grip on the wheel. “You have a lot of unexplained fires in town?”

  “Not really. These have been the first in a while. Why?”

  “No reason.” Wilder stared straight ahead, ignoring Sawyer’s probing gaze.

  “You’re not the sort to say anything without a reason.”

  “Let’s have a look, then we’ll see what I have to say.” Wilder flicked on a country station, so music filled the cab and drowned out the silence.

  They parked halfway up the driveway. The air still smelled of smoke even though the fire was out. The house was gutted. Wilder and Sawyer slammed the truck doors and walked the property line perimeter. Wilder left his stick in the car. The snow wasn’t too deep and he wanted the practice. His limp was pronounced but he managed to stay mobile and upright.

  Small victories but he’d take them for once.

  “This the garage?” he called out. Sawyer had stopped to survey the mountains. Place had a hell of a view, positioned to catch sunrise and sunset.

  “Yes—­a three-­car deal. Owner said the place was empty. Think it could be faulty wiring again?”

  “Nope.” Wilder walked forward, scanning the ground, kicking here and there at bits of char. Shit. There it was. His heart sank. “Come over here and take a look at this.”

  Sawyer walked over. “What’s that?”

  “Part of a sock.” Wilder brushed a light dusting of new-­fallen snow from the perimeter. “That’s where the fire started. Didn’t the guys do a check?”

  “The volunteers got it under control fast. I didn’t quiz them.”

  “Should have.” He pointed. “See, someone started this, probably poured gasoline into a milk jug. Check out that bit of melted plastic too. The sock helped ignite it, burned like a wick.”

  Sawyer squatted and whistled low. “Shit. You’re thinking arson.”

  He mashed his lips together and thought a moment. “Yeah. I’d say the likelihood is pretty fucking good.”

  “I’ll call the boys at ATF.”

  “Good thinking. It’s not going to be easy to catch him. It’s usually a him by the way. But they’ll be of use helping to build a profile. We’ve had a ­couple arson cases in Montana over the years. A few were arrested but most eluded justice.”

  “I’ll brief Leroy and Kit,” Sawyer said, referring to his deputies. “Request they keep a sharp eye out for any suspicious activity during their patrols.”

  “Could be anyone.” Wilder hooked a hand over the back of his neck, rubbing the thick cords of tight muscle. “Don’t want it to be a place with ­people inside next time. Also, you might want to see if the gas station and Save-­U-­More will help keep track of who is buying two-­gallon milk jugs.”

  “Be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

  “True, but it’s a start at least. Could be a loner. Or someone seeking attention.”

  They stared at the fresh cinder and ash. “You ever think about that one night?”

  Wilder didn’t have to ask which night his brother referred to. He knew. The worst night of his life.

  “I don’t remember any of it,” Sawyer said. “Weird, isn’t it? Like I should recollect something.”

  “No,” Wilder replied firmly. “Consider it a very good thing.”

  “Do you remember?”

  Wilder shrugged, unable to face him.

  “Shit, you do, don’t you?”

  He wasn’t going to say he could still hear the deafening groan from when the roof caved in. The crash cutting off the scream. Their mother’s scream. He remembered the thick smoke cloud, clogging his lungs, burning his eyes. He remembered more too, from earlier in the night. How he couldn’t sleep because Dad had his weekly poker game, all the men were laughing too loud, drinking lots of beer. His brothers both fell asleep fast, but he’d tiptoed down the hall, peeked into his parents’ bedroom and saw Mom reading by lamplight.

  He almost went in. She always went to bed with a book and didn’t mind giving him a snuggle. She’d rub his back, call him “my big beautiful boy.” She smelled like rose water and baby powder. But tonight he was curious about the men so kept going down the hall, perched on the top stair, listening to crass jokes he didn’t understand, followed by loud booming laughter.

  Eventually, Mom turned off the light and the guys began to leave. He waited for Dad to stumble upstairs, scoop him up, tuck him in.

  But he didn’t come.

  So Wilder decided to find him.

  “Hey, man.” Sawyer clasped his shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Wilder said, turning. That far-­off night something happened to his soul. For a long time he thought it was burned away but the last few days revealed little shots of green in the black barren wasteland. But what if he didn’t have the right to regrowth? Hadn’t he lost the right to most everything good in this world?

  He took Sawyer back to the station, dropped him off with a tense handshake. Next, he found himself driving slowly past A Novel Experience as if that might be a way to curb this restless sensation in his gut. Maybe he was a damn fool, but he couldn’t extinguish the small light inside him, fragile as candlelight that murmured, “Maybe.”

  A woman walked by the bookshop window but it wasn’t Quinn. She was older, had long black hair, parted down the middle, and wore a flowing silk outfit that seemed to fit into the new Brightwater. Not so much the old. Things were changing around here. This wasn’t the hardscrabble Western town of his youth.

  But he wasn’t sure if he fit in back then, and he sure as hell didn’t now.

  What was he going to do?

  Kit and Archer’s trucks were parked out in front of The Dirty Shame. He didn’t want a beer or to go shoot the shit over a game of darts or pool, and hell if he wanted to go home to an empty house. He didn’t even have Quinn’s number or know where she lived. Instead, he parked and went into Higsby Hardware to buy cracked corn for the deer. On the way out he stared at a few tulip bulbs. They might come up pretty in spring.

  Hell, now he was thinking about flowers? What was going on?

  On his way back to his parking spot, he paused, peering into Haute Coffee’s big plate glass window. Edie’s bakery shop. He’d never gone in but right now, on this cold, grey late-­autumn day, the warm and cozy atmosphere called out to him.

  The bells rang as he walked in. The tables were mostly empty as closing time approached. Shit. No chance of anonymity. He turned to beat it when Edie appeared behind the counter, gave him a double-­take followed by an enthusiastic wave.

  Trapped.

  “Howdy, stranger.” Edie’s hair was caught up in a bun and there was a dusting of flour on the tip of her freckled nose. Archer, the playboy of Brightwate
r, had finally settled down and it didn’t surprise Wilder one bit. Edie was marriage material: beautiful, smart, and could cook in the kitchen like she was conducting an orchestra, a symphony for the taste buds.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee on the house? And how about a muffin. No, wait . . .” She gave him an appraising once-­over. “I know just what you’d like. Take a seat. Any seat.”

  He did as he was told, not minding getting Mom’d around when she had such a kind smile. Plus he was starving. He glanced out the window. A few snowflakes fell.

  If he concentrated hard enough maybe Quinn might walk by.

  How pathetic could you be?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Edie said, returning with a piping hot cup of coffee and a giant bear claw.

  “Jesus, look at the size of that thing.” He eyed the plate. “That pastry could go toe-­to-­toe with a polar bear.”

  She smiled. “I got caught up listening to a podcast and made this one a little too big, wasn’t sure what I’d do with it. But then you came in and, hey . . . got to love serendipity.”

  He picked up the flaky, buttery bread and bit down, sugar and almonds flooding his taste buds. Impossible not to moan.

  “Oh yay.” Edie clapped her hands. “You like it!”

  “Good.” It was all he could say while shoving another bite in his face.

  She sat down across from him, staring out the window. “This will be my first winter in Brightwater. I’m excited. It will be a real Christmas this year.”

  “You don’t miss the big city life?” Archer had mentioned she came from New York.

  “Oh, sometimes. Mostly the little things, like getting salted caramel macarons delivered to my apartment door, that iconic skyline, or the lit-­up marquees along Broadway. But mostly, no. Turns out I’m a small town girl at heart.” She propped her chin in her hand. “And what about you?”