Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3)

by Stacy Finz

  But hell if it didn’t rock his world anyway.

  So far, the fireman had checked out. No wife waiting in the wings, pretty good credit history, and his chili had won first place at the Sonoma County fair five years in a row.

  This could be The One for Alex, Harlee hoped as she filled out her report. Like Frances Guthrie, Alex Bean had become one of Harlee’s regulars. Like them all, she was desperate to find love.

  Harlee was starting to believe that love was as unattainable as a department store in Nugget and that there were no good men. At least most of the ones she’d investigated hadn’t been good. In fact, they’d been bad to the bone. Her dad and brother seemed to be the exception. And Colin, who despite his quirkiness and reticence had an amazing spirit. Even though she hadn’t known him long, she could feel it. The way he took care of Max. The way he helped people. And the fact that he was the carpenter of choice for everyone in town. People trusted him.

  Unfortunately, he was either asexual or completely not into her. Because she had literally thrown herself at him—shoved her body so tight up against his that a piece of paper wouldn’t fit between them. Most guys she knew would’ve gotten the message by now. And she was pretty sure that Colin had. But nothing. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her back when she’d pecked him on the lips last night.

  It was weird, because she’d so gotten the impression that he liked her. Like really liked her. Like he thought she was a goddess.

  Maybe she scared him. People had warned her before that she came off a little aggressive. Hey, that’s how you got the big stories.

  It’s not like she scared everyone. Take Nate Breyer. He seemed perfectly at ease with her and had even asked for her number after the open house. On paper, Nate had more going for him than Colin. He was a big San Francisco hotelier, an excellent conversationalist, and dripped with sophistication. Like a numbnuts, she’d politely turned him away. She just wasn’t looking to get involved right now, not even casually.

  That’s why this little torch she carried for Colin was crazy. She didn’t understand it, but the man did something to her. Perhaps it was the vulnerability she sensed under his rough exterior. Or maybe she just wanted to fix him. Anyway, it didn’t matter, because he’d made it abundantly clear that he just wanted to be friends. All for the best, she told herself, as she hit the button on her computer, sending the firefighter’s CV to Alex.

  Next, she took a quick peek at Journalismjobs.com, perusing the board for anything that looked interesting. The Bozeman paper wanted a political reporter. She supposed she could just as easily freeze her ass off in Montana as she could in Nugget. Then again she got free rent here. In Calgary, they were looking for an energy reporter. Getting a Canadian work visa would be a bitch. And she didn’t know anything about energy, unless you included energy bars, Harlee’s breakfast of champions. Her favorite was an ad wanting a “slick city reporter,” in Temple, Texas.

  That would definitely be her. She was so slick that she’d gotten herself culled from the herd.

  Downsized.

  Reduced.

  Fired.

  For the next hour she distracted herself by researching acupuncturists. She found two—one in Reno and one in Truckee—who were members of the American Academy of Medical Acupuncture, which required two hundred hours of training. Both were affiliated with the National Certification Commission for Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine. So definitely not quacks.

  She printed their backgrounds and literature from their websites, then checked Yelp for the hell of it. Both acupuncturists got rave reviews, so she printed those too, wanting to give Colin plenty of information before he made his choice. She contemplated running Colin through a few of her databases just to see if anything stood out that could shed some light on his phobias. But Harlee shut down the computer instead, deciding she’d stalled long enough. It was time to go into town and make the dreaded trip to her post office box. She’d been avoiding her mail like a kale juice cleanse. Bills, bills, and more bills. In her closet, she found her parka, bought for half price at the outlet store, thank you very much, and shrugged into it. Today she opted for her fleece-lined rubber boots because it looked like snow. On her way out, she grabbed a scarf, hat, and gloves, before cranking the heat in the Mini.

  Brrr!

  Cold didn’t even come close to describing the temperature. Nugget was only four hours away from San Francisco, yet it may as well have been the frozen tundra. Located in the Sierra Nevada, near the southern border of the Cascade Range, Nugget was one of the snowiest towns in America; a fact that people had trouble believing, given that this was California. But on a day like this, Harlee believed. And it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet.

  She pulled up to the post office, which was a few blocks from the square, and got that leaden feeling in her stomach. In the lobby, she found her box, unlocked it, and pulled out piles of envelopes. It seemed like just yesterday she’d filled out the change-of-address card. Still, her creditors seemed to have found her.

  She quickly sifted through the stack, throwing the junk mail into the recycle bin, and despite the folly of it, kept the Neiman Marcus and Bloomingdale’s catalogs. She just wanted to look at the pictures and sniff the perfume ads. That’s all. At the bottom of the pile was a large square envelope that didn’t feel like a bill. She pulled it out, scanned the front, and smiled. The return address read: The Ninth Circle of Hell, San Francisco, CA.

  Inside, was a “missing you” card signed with little messages from each remaining member of the staff. Even Jerry had written: “Legs, give ’em hell.”

  She’d pulled up stakes so fast that there hadn’t been time for a party, or even drinks. And while Doofus One and Doofus Two were marching her out of the building there definitely hadn’t been time for Costco cake—a newsroom tradition when someone left, because the Call spared no expense.

  She felt her eyes well up and wiped them with the back of her hand. God, she missed it. The long days. Her snarky colleagues. The cluttered newsroom that always smelled like ass. It had been her life.

  Well, she had her start-up now, and according to her P&L, the business was headed for profit in the next month or two. Given that she was the sole employee and had zero overhead, she didn’t see how this could be such an impressive feat. But according to all the business books she’d read, it was huge. Like seriously epic. So yay for her, she silently celebrated, while blowing her nose in an old Starbucks napkin she’d found at the bottom of her purse.

  In the meantime, her checking account continued to dwindle and the bills piled up, she thought as she weighed the stack of mail in her hand. It really would help not to have such a sizable car payment. With that in mind, she got back in her car and drove to Main Street, where she hoped to find Griffin at the Gas and Go.

  He was there all right, along with Darla’s dad and a few old men she didn’t know, but figured they must be the legendary Nugget Mafia she’d heard so much about. They’d set up lawn chairs around a space heater inside one of the garage bays, drinking coffee and watching Griffin and Rico install smog-check equipment.

  “I don’t think you’re doing it right,” one of the men said, and Harlee saw Griffin’s jaw clench.

  Griffin caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, grinned, and waved. “Hey, Harlee. You come to check out the place? It doesn’t look like much now. But soon it’ll be awesome.”

  He seemed way more enthusiastic about the gas station than he was about Sierra Heights. Supposedly, he was a wiz mechanic, so she guessed it made sense that this was where his passion would lie.

  “I wanted to see the place, but also talk to you about trading in my car, if you’re still interested in helping me do that.”

  “Absolutely.” He winked at her and came over. “You have the Mini with you?”

  She pointed to the street, where she’d parked in front of the station. “Colin doesn’t think it’s a good snow car.” Nor could she afford it, but she didn’t need to tell him that.

/>   “Actually, they’re front-wheel drive and with studded tires they do okay. But he’s right that you could probably do better with something more durable.”

  The old guys had come out and were walking around her car. One of them shouted for her to pop the hood. She looked at Griffin.

  “Just ignore them.” He turned to the men. “There’s nothing wrong with Harlee’s car. She’s thinking about getting something more heavy-duty.”

  They nodded their heads in approval and went back inside the garage to warm themselves at the space heater. Griffin scrubbed his hand over his face. “They are such a pain in my ass.” But Harlee noticed that he said it with affection.

  “You think I should trade it in?” she asked.

  “You’ll get crap for it at a dealership. Let me try to sell it for you, and in the meantime I’ll look around for something with all-wheel drive. How much you want to spend?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “Honestly,” she said, “not a lot. Like maybe three thousand dollars.” She still had to pay what she owed on the Mini, but a used car would save her money in the long run.

  “It’s doable,” he said. “It’ll probably be a beater. But up here, that’s all you need.”

  “Do you, uh, take a commission?” she asked, wondering if she’d be better off doing it herself. Selling it probably wouldn’t be difficult. But she’d need a mechanic to check out the new car.

  “Hell no.” He looked up when an old SUV pulled in. Harlee recognized Lina behind the wheel and she didn’t look too thrilled to see her and Griffin together. “I’m just helping you out, Harlee. That way you’ll feel honor bound to have me service your vehicles in the future.”

  Lina didn’t get out of the truck and Griffin told Harlee to hang on a second. He walked over and talked to Lina through the driver-side window. From the looks of it, their conversation wasn’t going too well. Harlee pretended not to be trying to eavesdrop, though she couldn’t hear much anyway. She did see Griffin try to kiss Lina, who jerked away, rolled up her window, and drove off.

  Uh-oh.

  When Griffin came back, Harlee said, “I hope I didn’t make any problems for you.”

  “Nope,” he said, looking miserable. “Lina is having problems keeping to a deal we made. It has nothing to do with you.”

  Luckily, the old guys were immersed in an argument over the exact size of a steelhead Dink had caught over the summer, and hadn’t witnessed Griffin and Lina’s quarrel.

  “I’m sorry you’re having issues,” Harlee said. “She seems like a really nice girl.” Just way too young. While bowling, Lina had told Harlee and Darla that she’d just started her first semester at USF and was up visiting for the weekend. Her brother was the police chief and she lived with him and Maddy when she wasn’t going to school.

  “I need to get home,” Harlee told Griffin, who had gone sort of vacant, obviously upset over his disagreement with Lina.

  “All right. I’ll put some feelers out on selling your car and finding you another one. By next week I should have something to report.”

  “Thanks, Griff. I really appreciate this.”

  “No worries,” he said, and returned to the garage to rejoin Rico on connecting the smog apparatus.

  Harlee considered swinging by the barbershop to see Darla, but she decided that it would be prudent to get home before the weather turned bad. Just in the last hour, she’d felt the temperature drop and could feel snow coming. Hopefully this time the power wouldn’t go. But Harlee had prepared by stocking up on flashlights, batteries, and candles at the Nugget Market.

  Maybe she’d check on Colin to see if he needed any of her extras. Just being a good neighbor.

  Chapter 9

  Darla’s cell phone was missing and her entire life with it. Every one of her contacts and pictures, not to mention important text messages, was on that phone.

  “This can’t be happening,” she muttered, checking and rechecking the counter, hoping that maybe it had accidentally been pushed to the side of the barbershop and was now blending into the woodwork.

  One minute it had been sitting next to the cash register and the next minute gone. Poof. Like it had vanished into thin air.

  The more she searched, the more she realized that the only logical explanation was that someone had stolen it while Darla had gone to the back of the barbershop to retrieve her latest shipment of hair products. She’d spent the entire day stocking new shelves with shampoos, conditioners, and styling gels so the display would be the first thing people saw when they entered the shop.

  She must’ve been too preoccupied to hear the bell chime over the door or to notice a person coming in. Apparently even Nugget wasn’t safe from thieves, who by now were probably calling Finland on her tab. She grabbed Owen’s old wall phone with the curly cord and called the Nugget Police Department.

  After the third ring, Connie, the 911 dispatcher, answered. “Nugget PD. Is this an emergency?”

  “Yes, it’s an emergency,” Darla said. “Someone stole my cell phone.”

  “Hey, Darla,” Connie chirped into the phone. “I’ve been meaning to come over for a haircut, but haven’t had the chance. I was thinking some layers might be nice.”

  As much as she wanted a customer, she wanted her phone back more. “Great. Come over anytime. Now, about my phone . . .”

  “Where and when was it stolen?” Connie wanted to know.

  “At the barbershop. As far as the time, maybe in the last few hours?”

  “Okay. I’ll send someone over.” Connie hung up.

  And Darla paced, consoling herself that at least the phone could only be activated by punching in her four-digit security code. Otherwise the thief would’ve had access to all her personal information, including her dad’s home address.

  Wyatt came in the door a short time later, dusting snowflakes from his police jacket. It was warm in the barbershop, so he took the jacket off and hung it on the coat rack. For the first time Darla noticed how broad his shoulders had gotten. Even his arms had become ropey with muscle and he’d gained a couple of inches in height. Or maybe he was just holding himself taller these days. Either way, his once rangy frame had filled out since the time they’d been engaged. Engaged. What a joke.

  Why couldn’t Connie have sent Jake, the older officer who looked like Clint Eastwood? Or even the chief?

  “Connie says you had a burglary,” Wyatt said, walking to the back of the room, opening and closing closet doors, peeking into the bathroom.

  Clearly, he thought whoever stole her phone was still here, hiding out. Right. Like who would be stupid enough to do that?

  “Not a burglary,” she said. “Someone stole my phone. Just walked in and grabbed it off the counter. Right here,” she pointed. “Next to the cash register. Maybe you should dust for prints.”

  “Did you get a look at the person?” He came over to the cash register, gave it a quick perusal and pulled out a notebook.

  “No.”

  “Did you actually see anyone take it?”

  “No. As if someone would snatch it right in front of me.” She may as well have said, “Are you new?”

  “Why’s your hair purple?” His upper lip inched up into a half grin. She noticed that he had a five-o’clock shadow and his eyes were still as mossy green as ever.

  “Because I like it purple,” she said, a little heavy on the attitude even to her own ears.

  He came closer and sniffed. “It smells good. Like apricots.”

  “Are you going to find my phone or stand around snorting my hair?” She backed up a good three, four inches. Hadn’t the man ever heard of personal space?

  “Did you leave the barbershop at any time today?”

  She blew out a breath and thought about it for a few seconds. Sometimes she ran out to get a fountain drink or fries from the Bun Boy. “Nope. Not today. I was here the whole time.”

  “So the person who took your phone was a ghost?” He scraped the top of his lip with his bottom teet
h, trying not to laugh.

  “You don’t need to be sarcastic, Wyatt. This is very traumatic for me. My whole life is on that phone.”

  “Didn’t you back up all your data on the cloud?”

  “Well, of course I did.” Didn’t her phone do it for her automatically? Uh-oh. No way in hell was she asking him.

  “Why don’t you walk me through your day?” he said, flipping his notebook open.

  “Um . . .” She nodded at her display. “I spent most of the time stocking these shelves.”

  He whistled through his teeth, gazing at the rows of bottles and jars, picking up a few to read the labels. “So you’re in the shampoo business now?”

  “All salons sell product. Good profit margin.”

  “But this is a barbershop,” he said.

  “We’re in a transitional phase.” Except no one in this town seemed to accept that Owen planned to retire and she was his replacement. His only replacement. “Wyatt, do you think you could focus on the crime?”

  He let his eyes roam down the top of her fitted wrap dress all the way to the toes of her boots. “You look good, Darla. I’m not really into the purple hair, but you grew up real pretty. You always were, but now—”

  “You don’t get to say that to me, Wyatt. You lost those privileges when you walked away nine years ago and left me with nothing but a Dear John letter. Just stick to my phone, please.”

  He at least had the decency to look contrite. “Go ahead and walk me through your day.”

  “Okay,” she said, leading him to the back door, where her shipment had been delivered on a wooden pallet. “I was here a good amount of the time, unpacking and inventorying products.”

  The room was longer than it was wide, with Owen’s chair and a waiting area at the front, two shampoo bowls that Darla had added in the middle, and a small desk, storage space, and the bathroom toward the back.

  She bent over the pallet to show him how easy it would’ve been for someone to sneak in unseen. But Wyatt seemed more interested in her ass than he did in surveying the crime scene.