Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3)

by Stacy Finz

  She gave him a you’re-so-full-of-bull look, but let the topic of his romantic life drop. But not the topic of Harlee Roberts.

  “What do you think of DataDate, her business? I told Rhys about it and he wasn’t too keen on it. Then again, he’s a cop. They think they’re the only ones qualified to investigate people. Although, I have to say, what if she gives someone her stamp of approval and he turns out to be a murderer?”

  The conversation had veered into intensely uncomfortable territory, so Colin just shrugged. “I think I hear Sophie and Mariah.”

  Sure enough, the two women entered the kitchen, putting a merciful end to the discussion.

  Ninety minutes later he drove back up Grizzly Peak, passing Harlee’s cabin. Smoke rose from her chimney and he wondered if she had his dog. When he got home, a big basket sat on his kitchen counter. Before looking inside, he read the card.

  Thanks for rescuing me last night and letting me stay in your ab-fab guest room. A little something to return the favor, because, dude, you live like a freakin’ monk.

  XOXO

  Harlee

  P.S. Max is at my house.

  He pawed through the basket, finding powdered cocoa for hot chocolate, marshmallows, a box of assorted tea bags, a jug of organic apple cider, mulling spices, microwave popcorn, and a tin of shortbread cookies. Colin put everything away, jumped in his truck, and went down the hill to Harlee’s.

  She answered the door wearing a pair of tan skinny pants, a long, clingy sweater, and furry boots that came up to her knees. Her hair was fixed and she had glossy stuff on her lips. Max was sacked out in front of the fire. At the sound of Colin, the dog lifted his head, cocked it to one side, and came loping toward him.

  “How you doing, fellow?” Colin gave the dog a good rubbing.

  “Hi,” Harlee said. “I guess you want Max back.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for the care package. Totally unnecessary, but very nice.”

  “It was my pleasure. You off early?”

  “The crew didn’t want to work in the snow. How ’bout you?” He wondered why she was all dressed up and what was with the pile of paperwork on her dining room table. It hadn’t been there the night before.

  She followed the direction of his gaze and blew out a puff of air. “Those are bills I’m trying to sort out. You want a drink or something to eat?”

  “Water’s good.”

  It was unusual for him to ever make himself at home at someone else’s house, but for whatever reason, Colin felt comfortable here. He grabbed a seat at the dining room table while Harlee poured him a glass of water, and furtively glanced at the bills.

  Apparently not that slyly, because she said, “I’m trying to decide which ones I should pay now and which ones can wait.”

  “I would suspect phone, electric, and propane can’t wait,” he said.

  “Yep.” She sighed. “I’m thinking more in terms of Nordstrom versus Macy’s.”

  “You mind if I take a look?”

  “Go ahead, knock yourself out,” Harlee said. That’s what he liked about her; she was an open book. Nothing like him.

  He examined the bills, which she’d put into some semblance of order, based on due dates. “Whoa.”

  “I know, right?”

  He looked up at her sympathetically and went back to the mound of late notices. “Harlee, you’re paying five hundred bucks a month on your car.” Which, by the way, is a piece of crap.

  “Yeah, that’s how much cars cost,” she said defensively. “And San Francisco has a parking shortage. The Mini fits into teeny, tiny spaces where no other car can.”

  “Okay, but you’re in Nugget now. Plenty of parking. And the Mini doesn’t have all-wheel drive.” He pointedly looked out the window where a layer of frost still blanketed the forest. “Sell it—hell, return it—and buy a used vehicle for cash that will get you around in the snow. One less payment.”

  “But I love that car. It’s so cute.”

  He held up the bill. “Not cute. Sucks.”

  To that she let out a laugh. Colin liked the girly sound of it. He pretty much liked everything about her.

  He held up one of the department-store bills. “Pay this one first. They’re charging you eighteen percent interest. The other one is twelve. But, honestly, you should try to get a debt-consolidation loan. One payment for everything, with a lower interest rate.”

  “Without a job? How am I going to get that?” She handed him the glass of water and stood there with her hands on her hips. Colin noticed she had nice hips. Nice legs. Nice butt. Nice breasts. Nice everything.

  “What about your business?” he asked.

  “I’ve sort of been doing everything under the table.” She sat across from him.

  “Maybe your parents would cosign for you,” he said.

  “Uh-uh. I don’t even want them to know. I’ll figure it out.” She looked at the clock in the kitchen. “Shoot, I have to go. I told Darla I’d hang with her at the barbershop. We’re going to plan that bowling outing I told you about.”

  “Okay.” He got up and took his glass to the sink. “You want to take my truck? I really don’t recommend you drive the Mini Cooper in the snow.”

  “Isn’t most of it plowed?”

  “Yes. But the roads are slick and icy.”

  “It’s just to town. I’ll go slow. Oh, and Colin, I read up on demophobia. You need cognitive behavioral therapy. It’s a special kind of—”

  “I know,” he said.

  She frowned. “You’ve done it and it didn’t work?”

  “Yeah.” Nothing had worked.

  “What about acupuncture?” She came into the kitchen and locked on him with those big baby blues. God, a man could drown in those eyes.

  He gently maneuvered her out of the way so he could get by. “I don’t think so, Harlee.”

  “Are you afraid of needles?”

  “No.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I just know it won’t work.”

  “You can’t know until you’ve tried it. I read on the Internet that they’ve had really good results. We could find a reputable acupuncturist in Reno.”

  “Harlee, why is this so important to you?” he asked.

  “Because you’re my friend and I want to help you.”

  That left him with a lump in his throat. In his entire lifetime the only people who’d ever helped him had been Fiona, Janis, and Steve. Not even his own mother.

  “I could go with you,” she said. “Hold your hand.”

  He might do it for that reason alone. “We’ll see,” he said, knowing that he could handle the needles.

  The problem was handling the woman and not letting her make him wish for things that he couldn’t have.

  Chapter 7

  “Jeez, how much longer do we have to do this?” Darla whispered to Harlee as she tried to hold her downward dog position.

  “Suck it up, girlfriend. You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to sign up.”

  “I need exercise,” Darla said. “I’m like a total gut queen. All I’ve done since I’ve gotten here is eat.” Because every day was snack day in Nugget. She hadn’t had one client since Griffin. Not unless you counted the blue-hair who’d wanted Darla to shampoo and comb out her shih tzu. So she ate out of boredom. Out of frustration.

  Pam, the too-perky yoga instructor, had the class move into a downward-dog split. “Not you, Maddy.” Apparently, pregnant women weren’t supposed to do downward dogs of any kind. Darla suddenly wished she were pregnant.

  “For the rest of you, I want to see that leg straight up in the air.” Pam demonstrated like she was a freakin’ contortionist.

  “I swear I’ll kill her,” Darla said, and Harlee began to laugh.

  “You girls okay back there?” Pam asked, and told everyone to assume the dolphin pose.

  Darla nodded as she brought her forearms to the ground and stuck her ass up in the air.

  “I’m going back there with them.” Donna Thurston picked
up her mat and lined it up next to Harlee’s and Darla’s. “What’s so funny?”

  Harlee started to laugh again, this time so hard Darla thought she might choke.

  “You’re going to get us kicked out of the class,” Darla muttered.

  There were a few titters at the front of the studio from Maddy and Emily. Soon everyone in the class, except for the instructor, was laughing like hyenas. It reminded Darla of when she’d been in grade school and had to leave class for getting the giggles.

  “For God’s sake,” Pam said. “Should we call it a day?”

  “Hell yes,” Donna said.

  “Fine.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harlee said. “I don’t know what came over me. I really didn’t mean to interrupt the class.”

  Pam brushed her apology off with a wave. “Don’t worry, it happens sometimes.”

  Maddy and Emily were wiping tears off their faces, trying to control themselves. The rest of the women sat cross-legged on their mats while Pam did a few quick stretches. Darla was a little awestruck by how limber the woman was. She had to be in her forties, though you’d never know it from her body. Or from her stamina. Darla had seen Pam many times running herd over half a dozen little girls in tutus. It probably beat running herd over five obnoxious adults who couldn’t keep from getting the giggles.

  “You and Clay pick a date yet?” Donna broke the silence.

  “June,” Emily said, and her whole face lit up. “We’re doing it at the ranch, under a big white tent with lots of good food.”

  “And an open bar, right?” Donna scooted closer to Emily.

  “Yep,” Emily said, and Darla had never seen anyone look so happy. “Maddy and Sophie will have had their babies by then. Lots of babes at this shindig.”

  “Let’s do something at the inn,” Maddy said. “A shower or a bachelorette party, where we can take all the rooms and have a sleepover. My gift to the bride.”

  “Ooh, I like it,” Pam said.

  “I’ll burger us, compliments of the Bun Boy,” Donna chimed in. “Gracie and Ethel will want in, too.”

  “Of course,” Emily said. “We can’t have a party without the entire Baker’s Dozen.”

  Darla knew that the Baker’s Dozen was a local cooking club. Maybe she and Harlee should join. God knew she could use some cooking lessons. She and her dad pretty much lived on frozen fish he’d caught. It was the only thing Owen seemed to know how to make and she was getting serious steelhead and salmon fatigue.

  “I could do all of your hair,” she exclaimed, wanting so badly to fit in. But her offer was met with silence.

  And more silence.

  Harlee came to the rescue. “Darla is an amazing stylist. Did you guys see the fabulous cut she gave Griffin Parks?”

  Harlee hadn’t even met Griffin yet. She only knew about his haircut because Darla had told her. Of course she’d meet him when they attended his open house at Sierra Heights on Saturday. Darla had volunteered her and Harlee to help show the models. Afterward they planned to go bowling.

  “You cut Griff’s hair?” Maddy asked, obviously sensing the awkwardness in the air.

  “Mm-hmm,” Darla said, wanting to change the subject before she felt completely humiliated.

  “Have you seen all the great hair products she carries now?” Harlee asked, pimping Darla like she was Paul Mitchell. She loved Harlee for her loyalty, but her gushing rang a little desperate. For Darla.

  “What brands do you carry?” Donna seemed genuinely interested.

  Darla ticked off lines Donna had never heard of. Most of her products were new on the market. Only very contemporary metropolitan salons carried them. The companies were pretty snotty about whose shelves their items went on. Luckily, she’d become friendly with quite a few reps during her internship and they’d been willing to let her sell their merchandise in the barbershop.

  Darla couldn’t help but run her hands through Donna’s hair. “You could use a little moisture. Your ends are brittle from color treatments.” The color was good, but she needed a protein treatment, and fast.

  She could feel Donna bristle and wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “How does mine feel?” Emily asked, leaning her head toward Darla.

  Better than Donna’s. “Fine. But make sure you’re only applying your conditioner from the ears down. Not on the scalp. That makes your hair dull.”

  “Really?” Emily said, and the other women gathered closer.

  “I switch my shampoo brand every six to eight months,” Pam said, clearly wanting validation.

  “That’s important,” Darla said. “Also try to use milder shampoos—something with a lot of fatty acids and protein.”

  “Darla knows everything about this stuff,” Harlee bragged.

  “The thing is,” Donna said, “we all get our hair done in Reno at a place I’ve been going to for fifteen years.”

  “I totally understand.” It was starting to look to Darla like if she wanted to make inroads in this town it would have to be with the male population. Her dad’s old clients. Basically, all that time she’d spent studying at a fancy salon would be wasted on giving ranchers and railroad workers buzz cuts.

  After they left the yoga studio, Harlee said, “Don’t get discouraged, Darla. There are other women in Nugget. Not everyone wants to travel forty-five minutes for a great stylist.”

  Darla let out a sigh. “I know. It’s just that they’re the popular girls.”

  “The popular girls?” Harlee laughed. “Where are we, in high school?”

  “You know what I mean. I’m starting to think it was a mistake coming here.” For far bigger reasons than her lack of business.

  Every day she saw Wyatt coming and going from the police station. The sight of him, so manly in his uniform, was torturous. Not to mention that she thought about him every day—of what might’ve been, but would never happen now.

  “Maybe I should’ve gotten a chair in a low-rent Sacramento salon until I built up a good clientele. Then I could’ve moved to a nicer one.”

  Harlee stopped in the middle of the square’s greenbelt and put her hands on her hips. It was colder than the North freakin’ Pole, so they both burrowed deeper into their down jackets. “You are so not giving this a chance. Businesses take time to get off the ground, Darla.”

  “Okay. Okay,” she said, knowing that it would be easier to agree with Harlee than tell her the real reason she was having second thoughts about having moved to Nugget.

  They walked the few remaining yards to the barbershop and Harlee pulled her car keys out of her purse. “You want to drive together to the open-house deal on Saturday?”

  “Sure,” Darla said. “I can’t wait to see the development. My dad says the homes are like mansions. Last time I saw the place, they were just being built and the whole town had their panties in a bunch over it.”

  “Why?” Harlee asked.

  “They were afraid Nugget was getting too built up. That it would lose its down-home charm.” Darla made a noise of exasperation. “Anyway, you’ll love Griffin, the king of hotness.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Even the bowling.” Harlee laughed. “I haven’t been out out since I left San Francisco. I might even wear my Jimmy Choos.”

  “Well, come early and I’ll straighten your hair for you.”

  “Darla, I can’t afford you. Otherwise, I’d come in for the works. Colin is even trying to talk me into selling my Mini Cooper.”

  “The straightening is on the house, hon. And Colin is right. The car is precious, but totally impractical for the Sierra. So you and Colin hanging out a lot?” Hopefully one of them was getting some.

  “Just friends,” Harlee said, and Darla didn’t press further. She had her own man trouble to figure out.

  When she got inside the barbershop, the Nugget Mafia was there, lounging around the waiting room, drinking coffee and discussing the big topic of the day: Griffin’s open house.

  “I tell you, that boy is up to his as
s in alligators,” Owen said, “between the gas station, his custom bike business, and that Sierra Heights fiasco he wasted his money on. Who’s gonna buy one of those fancy-pants houses in this economy?” Apparently her dad hadn’t gotten the memo that the economy had shifted—people were spending money again. Just not on her services.

  Dink, the mayor, piped up, “You been by the Gas and Go lately? He’s ripped the place to shreds. He’s even going through with that idiotic car wash.”

  Owen kissed Darla on the top of her head. “Can you hold down the fort, missy? We’re grabbing some lunch at the Ponderosa.”

  “Sure, Dad.” She kissed him back.

  After he left, she tidied up, swept the floor, and rearranged the magazines. The place sure could use a facelift. The checkerboard floor had been dulled by the sun. The walls were a drab off-white. And the art consisted of a Josey Wales poster featuring Clint Eastwood, and a row of plaques and letters thanking Owen for buying local 4-H kids’ prize-winning livestock at the county fair.

  No wonder women never stepped foot in the place.

  Darla had gone to the back of the shop to find a new bulb to replace one of the recessed lights that had burned out, when she heard the door chime. Wyatt stood just past the threshold, his hands jammed into his police jacket, red faced from the cold.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, committed to her promise to always stay professional.

  “Darla”—he let out a breath—“are we ever going to talk about it?”

  Nine years had passed and not one word from him. Not one goddamn word about what they had lost. Just a lousy note that said he’d joined the army. Then she’d never heard from him again. Even after he came back and she’d occasionally visit, he never uttered a peep. She’d been living in Nugget for more than a month now and the most she’d gotten out of him was lingering looks. At the Ponderosa the other day she thought he’d finally worked up the nerve to approach her. But no. He’d walked across the room toward her and Harlee’s table, only to change direction to the men’s room.

  It was a little late for talking.

  “I have nothing to say to you.”