Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3)

by Stacy Finz

  “Did you tell anyone back home that you were leaving?” Harlee asked, scanning Sam’s left hand for a wedding ring. Maybe she was running from an abusive husband.

  “No. No, I didn’t. Maybe I will today.”

  Uh, good idea, since it had been five days since Christmas. By now Sam was probably on the back of a milk carton. Harlee wondered if the woman was having a mental breakdown.

  “Are you okay, Sam?” Harlee asked, trying to seem casual and not like Are you freaking insane?

  “You know,” Sam said, and started to turn her head toward Harlee, but Darla stopped her. “I’ve never felt better in my life. Except for my hair, of course.”

  While Darla continued to snip away, focused on trying to save Sam’s hair from the butcher job, Harlee went back to the cash register.

  “Hey, Sam, I’m super anal about Darla’s books, so I’m plugging you in.” She casually held up the iPad. “What’s your last name, hon?”

  “Dunsbury,” she said without hesitation.

  Harlee jumped on Google faster than Danica Patrick could lap the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Just as quickly popped up the headline: Missing Heiress Feared Kidnapped. She read the first few lines of the article, enough to learn that Samantha Dunsbury lived in Greenwich, Connecticut, and her father managed a multibillion-dollar hedge fund, then closed the page.

  “Uh, I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee next door. Anyone want anything?”

  “I’m good,” Samantha said, watching intently as Darla razor-cut sections of her hair at an angle. Darla really did seem to know what she was doing.

  “I’ll take a latte,” Darla the Clueless said.

  “Okay.” Harlee skipped out the door and right on over to the police station. Connie, Nugget’s police dispatcher, sat at the reception desk. “Is the chief here?”

  “Why are you whispering?” Connie asked. Harlee hadn’t realized she was. “I’ll get him.”

  Rhys popped out of his office and waved her back. “What’s up?”

  “Google Samantha Dunsbury,” she said. He looked annoyed, but he returned to his desk and did it, pulling up the same article Harlee had read.

  “What about her?”

  “Read it,” she said. “Because the woman is next door, getting her hair cut at the barbershop, and happens to be staying at your wife’s inn.”

  That got his attention. He read through the article and clicked on a few more. “Is she alone?”

  “She is right now. Her hair looks like someone set a lawnmower loose on it and Maddy told her that Darla could fix it. She said she drove here from New York—just got in her car and kept going, stopping along the way to buy designer clothes. She doesn’t appear to be afraid or anything—just a little cray cray, if you know what I mean.”

  Rhys got to his feet.

  “Where you going?” Harlee asked.

  “I want to take a look at her, make sure she’s the same woman in the picture.” He motioned to the photograph in the New York Daily News article up on his monitor.

  “Trust me, she’s the same woman.”

  “Yeah, I forgot, you’re a private investigator.” He started for the door.

  “Hey,” she shouted after him. “I won a George Polk award for investigative reporting.”

  He returned a few minutes later and she flashed him a good dose of smug.

  “I need you to wait outside,” he said, and picked up the phone. When she didn’t leave, he pointed to the hallway.

  She loitered by his door and tried to listen in, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. The glass must’ve been double paned. Leaning against the wall, she watched as he paced his office, the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. Finally, he hung up and let her back in.

  “The FBI knows she wasn’t kidnapped,” he said.

  “How?”

  “She’s been using her credit cards. The feds have been tracking her purchases. There’s camera footage of her at the Four Seasons in Chicago. She checked in alone.”

  “Why would she just take off like that?” Harlee sniffed a good story here, but more important, she sensed Sam was in a bad way.

  “Didn’t you read all the stories?”

  “Just the one,” Harlee said. “As soon as I saw ‘kidnapped,’ I rushed over here.”

  “Christmas was her wedding day. But at the eleventh hour she called it off. The groom thought it was better to concoct a kidnapping story rather than tell the truth. I suppose he thought it was less embarrassing.

  “She’s an adult,” Rhys continued. “Nothing against the law about leaving town without telling anyone. But, Harlee, if you have any sway with her, urge her to call her folks. They know she’s safe, but just the same, they’re worried about her.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but she doesn’t know me from Adam.” Harlee left the police station, stopped at the Bun Boy to get Darla her latte, and went back into the barbershop.

  “Whoa! Wow . . . You fixed it.” Harlee just about spilled Darla’s coffee. Samantha’s bad hair had been transformed into the cutest layered bob she’d ever seen. It was short and edgy—a style that could easily become the next “Rachel.”

  “So good, right?” Darla said, tweaking the ends with styling gel.

  “Beyond good,” Harlee marveled. The people of Nugget were morons, because Darla seriously had game.

  “I love it,” Sam said, turning her head this way and that.

  “Hey, Sam, you need to call your parents,” Harlee said, growing somber. “They’re really worried about you.”

  Sam let out a sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

  She found her phone in her handbag and took a selfie. Harlee watched over Sam’s shoulder as she tapped out the message: WISH YOU WERE HERE, attached the photo, and hit the send button.

  “You’re a magician, Darla.” Sam handed Darla a hundred dollar tip and they watched her saunter across the square to the inn, stopping every few feet to yank the heels of her Christian Louboutins out of the muddy grass.

  Chapter 13

  “Knock, knock.” Colin opened the unlocked door to Harlee’s cabin and popped his head inside. Her Pathfinder was parked in the driveway, and Max greeted him, barking up a blue streak.

  Colin crouched down and scratched the dog behind his ears. “Hey, boy, you miss me?”

  Max licked his face, his tail thumping so hard on the plank floor Colin thought it would leave a mark. “Where’s Harlee, Max?”

  Max, thinking it was a game, chased his tail in circles before bounding toward her bedroom, barking. She came out, wrapped in a towel, to check on the commotion.

  “You’re home,” she squealed, throwing her arms around him, and for a second Colin thought she’d lose the towel.

  “Hey”—he hugged her back—“you shouldn’t leave the front door unlocked when you’re in the shower.”

  “Why? This is Nugget.”

  “There’s crime everywhere, Harlee.” Like the meth asshole who’d hit him over the head.

  She continued to cling to him, terry cloth molded to her slippery body like a second skin, so he let his hands roam down her back. Then he let them wander a little farther, until he was palming her perfect ass.

  “When did you get in?” she asked, and her voice came out breathy.

  “Late last night. But I didn’t want to wake you.” The whole time in Los Angeles he’d thought about her. Wondered what she was doing, whether she’d be spending the bulk of the holiday with her family—or with Griffin.

  Yet here she was, beyond happy to see him. And man, was he happy too—the evidence of that now pressing hard against her.

  “Colin?”

  “Hmm?” But before she could speak, he kissed her.

  Soft, because he didn’t want to go too far. In good conscience, he couldn’t take Harlee to bed without telling her the truth. And once she knew the truth that would be the end of them. Over before they started. So he went in just for a taste, feeling her cool skin, still slick from her bath, against
his heated body. His mouth moved against hers like a whisper, her lips so sweet that he wanted to take more, like the first time, because he could already feel the earth move and he’d barely touched her.

  Of course, it didn’t help that she responded with fervor, rocking into him, making sexy noises low inside her throat, letting him know in every way that she wanted more.

  “Harlee.” He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve got to talk to you about something.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Her expression went from beatific to worried. “Is everything okay?”

  No. “Yes.” He eyed her towel, which she now held together, because the toga fold had come apart. It was distracting as hell. “It’s important, but I’d rather you got dressed first.”

  “All right.” She disappeared inside her bedroom, and through the closed door called, “The gang is going bowling tonight for New Year’s Eve. I had hoped that maybe you would go with me as . . . you know . . . as sort of a test. And at any time if it becomes uncomfortable, we could leave. Come back here or go to your place.”

  Gang? He was not part of “the gang.” And on New Year’s Eve the Ponderosa would be mobbed. Especially given that it was the only game in town. But after he said what he needed to say, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

  Although a small part of him, a part that went dead after the judge announced his sentence then flared back to life the first time Harlee looked at him with those denim-blue eyes, hoped that she might give him a chance. Not for a minute did he think it would happen, but he sure the hell dreamed.

  “Did you hear me?” Harlee asked.

  “Yeah. I’m thinking about it.”

  “It’ll be fun. Griffin is having problems with Lina. This is a good distraction for him.”

  I bet. “What’s taking you so long?” He wanted to get this over with.

  “I’ll be right out. Jeez. You swear you’re not dying?”

  “I’m not dying. I’ll meet you in the living room.” This way she would stop talking and get dressed.

  Colin rambled around the open room and checked out the Christmas tree. Decorated in colorful balls and tinsel, it looked pretty. Not too overdone. Maybe next year, he’d make wooden ornaments to sell. Miniature rocking chairs, tiny birdhouses, and cutout reindeers. Yep, he could get started early, because as soon as he told her about his past he’d have plenty of free time on his hands. Harlee wouldn’t be coming around anymore. He’d stop with the stupid acupuncture, which was a total time suck.

  The trees swayed outside as the wind picked up speed. He spent a little time gazing out the window at the distant snowcapped mountains. He couldn’t see the Feather River from here, but knew it was just beyond the railroad tracks, rushing west through the Humbug Valley, past Long Valley, through gorges and mountains, until it met up with the Sacramento River, 220 miles away.

  After spending what seemed like a lifetime staring at concrete, chain-link, and bars, these views never ceased to amaze him. He turned from the window. As usual, Harlee’s dining room table was covered in paperwork.

  On the top of the stack sat a letter from the Boston Globe. Even though it was private, he read it anyway.

  Dear Ms. Roberts,

  Thank you for your interest in the Boston Globe. Unfortunately, we have nothing that fits your qualifications at this time. This could change in the future, so we encourage you to stay in touch.

  Sincerely,

  Kelly Reed, Human Resources Specialist.

  Boston. Wow, Colin thought as he continued to stare at the letter. She was willing to relocate clear across the country to hold on to her journalism dream. He didn’t know why that struck him as surprising. Maybe he’d wanted to block the possibility from his head. It also told him how temporary her stay in Nugget was. How temporary she considered him, not that they were anything more than friends. Hell, they’d shared a mere few kisses. But to him, they’d been life-changing kisses.

  She came into the room in tight stretchy pants tucked into boots, a long sweater, and a fringy scarf. He had trouble tearing his eyes off her, but managed to nudge his head in the direction of the letter.

  “You applied to the Boston Globe?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And got rejected by the Boston Globe. And the Washington Post. And the Wall Street Journal.”

  He held up the note. “They said to try back.”

  “It’s a form letter, Colin. They send it to everyone. I was delusional enough to think that at least their recruitment editor would contact me.”

  “You’ll get something,” he said. It killed him to see her dejected like this.

  “What did you want to talk to me about? Let me guess: You think we should just be friends?”

  He swallowed and looked away. “I think we’re on different tracks, Harlee. You’re on your way to some place bigger and I’m satisfied to stay here. You’re social, the life of the party, and I’m a loner who has problems with crowds.”

  He turned to meet her gaze and wondered how soon until she left this little town. Because there was no way he was divulging his secret if she planned to just take off. Colin didn’t need the agony.

  She stood there, deflated. “Okay, this is a little awkward.”

  “Ah, Harlee.” He let out a breath. “You’re so out of my league that I don’t even rate a seat in the nose-bleed section.”

  “Yet you’re the one turning me down for sex.”

  “That’s because I only have meaningless sex, and you’re not meaningless.” You’re everything.

  “Are we still gonna be friends?”

  “Hell yeah.” He kissed the back of her hand and prayed he had the fortitude to make it to the door without scooping her up and taking her to bed.

  Darla had a problem on her hands. A big, fat problem named Wyatt Lambert. She didn’t want him joining them tonight. She didn’t want to ring in the New Year with the old guy. And she certainly didn’t want to have to pretend that all was forgiven and forgotten.

  Because it wasn’t.

  But Griff had invited him and it would look petty and pathetic to uninvite him. So she was stuck. At least Rico had decided to come. The guy was nuts for her, and she, quite fond of him. Who knew, maybe they’d get married and have five kids.

  Before she could dwell on her new life with Rico, Donna Thurston came barreling through the barbershop door. “I just saw what you did to the whack job’s hair.”

  “Who? Samantha?” That was the only person’s hair she’d cut recently. Whack job or otherwise.

  “Whatever her name is. I was in the Lumber Baron when she first booked a room and thought one word: wig. But you, brilliant girl, saved the day.”

  Darla puffed up like a rooster. “Looks so good, right?”

  “It looks fantastic. I tell you, if I didn’t have my gal in Reno, I might give you a whirl. So what’s the deal with that woman? Word on the Internet is that she ditched her groom at the altar and that she’s worth a small hedge-fund fortune.”

  “That’s all I know,” Darla said. “I feel sorry for her. She seems so lost. Like sad and relieved at the same time. And with what she did to her hair, she’s a danger to herself.”

  “She’s booked two weeks at the Lumber Baron.”

  “That’s good.” Darla started to sweep the floor so she could get home to shower and dress in time to meet everyone. “She could probably use some rest.”

  “If I had her kind of money I’d rest in Antigua.”

  Darla nodded. She didn’t even know where Antigua was, but she got the sense that it would be warm—not in the low thirties.

  Donna browsed the product shelves. “Which do you recommend for me? I want to try something new.”

  Darla picked out a moisturizing shampoo that would bring Donna’s pH back to its natural level and a conditioner that would help replenish some of the oils she’d stripped away with whatever crap she’d been using. Her ends were so brittle
they made Darla thirsty just looking at them.

  “This should help rejuvenate your hair,” Darla said.

  Donna took one look at the price tag and blinked. “Jeez. This is a money mint right here.”

  “It’s worth it.” Darla rung her up, gave her a peck on the cheek, and wished her a happy New Year.

  As soon as Donna left, Darla closed out the cash register. Not that there was much money in there. She cleaned and sanitized her dad’s chair, scrubbed the shampoo bowl—not that she’d used it—and started to flip on the closed sign on the door when Wyatt came in.

  He shoved his hands into his police jacket and rocked on his feet nervously. “I’m going tonight.”

  She tried for bland. “Did you want me to alert the media?”

  “For your sake I planned to decline Griff’s invitation. But this is my town too. It’s not like we can avoid each other forever.”

  “For my sake? You’ve got quite an ego on you.” She tossed a few extra combs into the jar of Barbicide solution just to look busy. “Look, Wyatt, I doubt I’ll even notice you’re there.” I’ll be too wrapped up in Rico.

  “Good. Because I’m looking forward to this. It’ll be the first holiday in ages when I’m not on call.”

  She figured Wyatt must be low man on the totem pole compared to Rhys, a former Houston narcotics detective, and Jake, who used to work homicide in LA. “Whatever will the town do without you?”

  He responded with a shake of his head, making her feel silly for being bitchy. And immature. Darla wondered if he planned to bring the blonde he’d been with the other day at the Ponderosa, but wouldn’t dare ask.

  “I was thinking about inviting Connie,” Wyatt said. “No one would mind, right?”

  Connie? Was he seeing her too? “The more the merrier.”

  “She’s fun, but I get the feeling she doesn’t get out much.”

  “Then by all means, invite her,” Darla said, because she liked Connie. She really did.

  “Griffin said the male-to-female ratio needed work. So Connie will help even up things.”

  “Wyatt, you don’t need an excuse to invite Connie. Everyone thinks Connie is great.”