Hometown Girl

by Courtney Walsh

  Drew half listened. His mind raced through something—anything—to justify his keeping this from her. It was a small thing, really. Why hadn’t he just told her the truth? Was trusting her that difficult?

  They reached the gravel road leading to Fairwind, and Beth finally quieted.

  “Maybe you’ll like her.” Drew tried to sound optimistic.

  Beth scoffed. “She’s a thief.”

  He snapped his mouth shut.

  “Sorry. I’m just a little bent out of shape.” She glared at the road in front of them.

  “Maybe I should talk to her.”

  She glared. Wrong thing to say?

  “Why, because you’re a man?”

  “No, because you’ve practically got steam coming out of your ears.”

  She crossed her arms again and harrumphed back onto the seat. “You think I’m overreacting.”

  He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb but didn’t answer. He did think she was overreacting, actually, but only because he’d met Birdie. She’d grown on him. Their early evening chats had become a semiregular thing, and though she was certainly in her own world, he’d begun to enjoy the moments she invited him to be a part of it.

  “I am. I know. I’m just stressed out,” Beth said. “The money thing, it’s—well, it’s really hard to manage this place. Right now we can’t afford to give anything away for free.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t go in there half-cocked. Maybe she’ll be a great tenant.” He knew better, but what else could he say? There was always the off chance that Birdie loved the natural light enough to pay for it.

  They ambled up the gravel road in silence, giving his mind room to roam.

  They’d been interrupted, but knowing Molly was digging into Jess’s case only added more stress to the morning. He’d been assured his own record would be sealed, but the longer he stayed at Fairwind, the harder it would be to keep his identity under wraps. Between Birdie and the cold-case files, it was just a matter of time.

  Tell her, you idiot.

  He glanced at Beth, who was still worked up over the “thief” in their barn. It wasn’t the right time. Yes, he would tell her, but not right when she was already upset about something else. She needed him at the farm. Maybe she’d overlook his dishonesty? Or maybe something would finally fall into place and he’d get the answers he needed so he could go back to Colorado, though judging by the unanswered voicemails on his phone, he was pretty sure he’d be looking for a new job once he did.

  “I’m guessing she’s probably in the old barn on the east of the property,” Beth said. “Have you been in that one?” She didn’t let him respond—thankfully. “I haven’t. It wasn’t important because I knew we didn’t need it ready by fall. Obviously that was a mistake. Why didn’t I walk through every single inch of the property before I signed those papers?”

  “That would be quite a walk.”

  “Still.”

  Drew drove out onto the grass, stopping near the would-be art barn. He’d grown so familiar with the space and with Birdie. He liked her. Maybe because she was full of conspiracy theories and no ability to censor herself. It was hard to find people who said what they really thought without any concern for how it sounded. Plus, she’d known Jess. She’d mourned her death and still thought about what had happened to her. They had that in common.

  Beth pushed the door to the barn open, and he listened for Birdie’s music. Instead, all he heard was silence. Good, maybe she wasn’t even there. He stood back while Beth explored the dark space. It felt more honest than pretending he hadn’t been there before.

  Who was he kidding? He was up to his neck in dishonesty. Why pretend otherwise?

  Beth started up the stairs, and he followed, thankful that unless the old woman was sleeping on her sofa, she wasn’t in the barn.

  When he reached the top, he let out a sigh. “No one here.”

  Beth studied the art supplies haphazardly strewn across the two long tables against the wall. She moved on to the artwork, some hung, some propped up, some still waiting to be finished on easels in the center of the room.

  “Wow,” Beth said quietly. “I’m almost jealous.”

  He watched as she leaned in closer, studying the piece of art Birdie had been working on the day he’d discovered her. Abstract flowers that looked a little bit incredible now that they were done.

  “This is an amazing space,” Beth said.

  He nodded, looking around, wondering if there was any evidence he’d ever been there. When he turned back, she stood with a faraway look in her eye. “What is it?”

  “The art. It feels like we’re reading her diary or something.”

  “You would know, being an artist.”

  She laughed. “I traded in my paintbrushes a long time ago.”

  “For business?”

  When she nodded, she almost looked sad.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her, trying to focus on what she said instead of the way she looked when she said it.

  He didn’t talk much, but that gave him plenty of time to listen—and the guys he’d hired had plenty to say about Beth Whitaker. Homecoming queen. Voted Most Likely to Succeed. To hear them talk, it seemed she’d always been out of this town’s league. He could see why.

  Her blue eyes alone could make a man forget his own name.

  Maybe that’s why she’d always felt she was supposed to have done more than what she had—because everyone told her she should. Same way everyone had told him he should remember.

  Did she feel like a disappointment?

  He knew a little something about that.

  Maybe that’s why Kent Tanner had gotten under her skin like he had. Maybe what he’d said spoke to some part of her that thought he was right. Maybe some part of her believed, after the things she’d done, that she was unlovable.

  Drew had practically dragged the guy out into the yard, and when he had, he’d made sure Tanner knew never to step foot on the property—and never to insult Beth Whitaker—again.

  “Are you into her?” Kent had let out a wry laugh. “Unbelievable, man.”

  “Shut it, Tanner—just go.”

  Kent stumbled away from him. “Don’t get your hopes up, buddy. That chick is now and always has been a prissy little princess who thinks she’s too good for guys like us.”

  Drew stormed toward Kent, grabbed him by the collar and rammed him into the nearest vehicle. “That’s because she is too good for us, you idiot.”

  Kent squirmed from Drew’s grip, shouting and cussing all the way to his car. Drew stood outside, calming himself down and waiting until Kent’s truck drove away.

  When he’d gone back into the barn, he’d found Beth broken and near tears. And he’d had the impression he was seeing her in a way very few people ever had.

  She wasn’t bulletproof. What Kent said had hurt her, and when Drew saw her hurt, something inside him ached. He wanted to take all of the pain away. Maybe it was leftover guilt from not being able to save Jess, but there wasn’t much he wanted more than to pull Beth into his arms and keep anything—or anyone—from ever hurting her again.

  “You look like you’re somewhere else.” She turned to him from the other side of the loft.

  Drew shook himself back to the present. Now was not the time to leave his thoughts unattended. “I was just thinking you should ask the old lady to have a booth in your barn sale.”

  Beth’s eyes scanned the finished pieces along the wall. “She is really good.”

  “Maybe you could go easy on her.”

  She eyed him. “You think I wouldn’t?”

  “Well, the way you were talking before we got here—it was kind of icy.” He’d meant it as a joke, but by the look on her face, he could tell she hadn’t found it amusing.

  She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  She held up a hand. “No, I get it. It’s fine.”

  “Beth.”
r />   But she’d already turned away and started down the stairs, done with the conversation. Done with him.

  And he supposed it was probably better that way.

  Beth didn’t even know why she was upset.

  Maybe his use of the word icy had set something off inside her. The Ice Queen lives again.

  Why did she care so much what Drew Barlow thought of her? Why did it matter if he looked at her the way everyone else did—like a cold rule-follower who couldn’t admit when she was wrong? Why did it matter if he looked at her at all?

  Maybe because she’d opened up to him. She’d let herself feel naked and vulnerable, and now she wished she could take it all back. She shouldn’t have told him about any of that. She knew better than to let her guard down.

  But Drew was different.

  She watched him working sometimes. Stood behind the sink in the kitchen and stared out the window while he cut and stacked wood, dragged branches to the burn pile or pulled the weeds behind the main barn. It embarrassed her how many times she’d admired his shirtless figure as he tirelessly worked to save them from financial ruin. If they survived this restoration, it would be only because of him.

  They’d spent weeks together now. Sometimes they ate together. Sometimes they sat on the porch at the end of the day and went over the plan for the morning.

  Always businesslike and professional.

  But always, always, she hesitated to say goodbye.

  Oh, she played it cool and pretended not to notice when his hand brushed hers as he took his morning cup of coffee. She even whipped out her professional voice every chance she got, but inside, when he looked at her, she went weak.

  And she hated being weak.

  Now, as they sat in his truck, headed back to get her car in the high school parking lot, she begged herself to let go of this stupid insecurity.

  “You’re quiet.” He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb.

  “Am I?” She stared out the window.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you back there.” His eyes stayed on the road.

  She waved him off. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Drew pulled into the lot across from Beatty Park, where the carnival was now in full swing. He parked alongside her Audi.

  “It’s a big deal to me.” He put the truck in park.

  When he looked at her, her breath caught in her throat. “It shouldn’t be. I think I’m just tired. I’m not usually oversensitive.” She gripped the door handle. “Thanks for taking me out there and driving me back.” She didn’t want to leave. When had this happened?

  Hadn’t she told herself she’d never do this again?

  “You have plans for lunch?” Drew folded his hands on top of the steering wheel.

  She begged herself to play it cool. “I don’t, actually.”

  He stared out the front window. “We could cook out?”

  She watched him, smitten with the twitching in his jaw. “We could do that.” She kept her tone nonchalant, but inside, her stomach bounced like a kid on a trampoline.

  Drew looked at her. “Race you there?” His eyes glimmered like a child’s.

  She studied him. “Are you challenging me?” Did he know how competitive she was?

  “Scared?”

  “Not a chance, buddy.” She opened the door and got out. “Wait till I get in.”

  He grinned. “What, do you think I’m a cheater?”

  She shut the door, threw her purse in the passenger seat and started her engine, hoping, probably a little too much, that Drew Barlow was not, in fact, a cheater.

  And devising a solid plan to leave him in the dust.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Beth sat on the steps, trying to calm her competitive self down after the adrenaline rush of racing Drew back to the farm. If she could look like she’d been waiting a while by the time he finally arrived, all the better.

  When his truck appeared on the gravel road, she steadied her breathing, certain it would be her last chance to do so until she left the farm that night.

  “What kind of crazy driver are you?” He flashed one of his rare, genuine smiles. A part of her felt honored he’d saved it for her.

  Unlike Beth, who was serious by nature, Drew had a playfulness about him. She saw it sometimes in their back-and-forth banter, but he always seemed to catch himself and shut it down. Like he didn’t think it was right to show her (or anyone else) that side of himself.

  But then, didn’t she do the same, always insisting on being professional and proper? Hadn’t that earned her the Ice Queen nickname? She drove people away.

  “My dad used to drag race.” Beth attempted to keep her tone light. “You challenged the wrong girl.”

  “I guess so.” He stopped when he reached her, hands on his hips, and took a moment to size her up. “You knew a shortcut, didn’t you?”

  Beth couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across her face. “Who knew being a hometown girl would have its advantages?”

  He shook his head. “I want a rematch.” He stepped closer, as if challenging her to a duel.

  She steeled her chin, stubborn as she was. “Anytime.”

  His eyes searched hers, then found her lips, sending a rush of nerves through her entire body. She hadn’t dated anyone since Michael. Told herself she preferred it that way, but the truth was, she was scared. She couldn’t go through that kind of heartbreak again.

  Then there was the fact that nobody had asked her out.

  Molly said it was because she was too intimidating, but Beth had begun to wonder. Was she really so unlovable?

  Not the time to think about that. She should worry about much more important things, like whether or not she even remembered how to kiss—because she very much wanted to kiss Drew Barlow right now.

  But as the thoughts swirled around in her head, he looked away and started toward the house. “Burgers okay?”

  She swallowed her disappointment.

  Get it together, Beth.

  “Sounds good to me.” She followed him inside.

  There, she watched Drew wash and dry his hands, then begin preparing the burgers for the grill.

  “Do you like roasted vegetables?” she asked, begging the heat in her cheeks to cool down.

  He glanced at her, but his smile seemed forced. “Sounds great.”

  An awkwardness passed between them. Did he regret asking her to lunch? Why did she have to overanalyze this? Why couldn’t they be friends and be fine with that? Did it matter that she’d never in her life had a male friend she was so attracted to?

  Maybe that was the problem. She needed to figure out a way to be less attracted to him.

  “I’ll get the vegetables.” She made a beeline for the refrigerator. Her mind searched for something wrong with him. Something that would make him seem less perfect. There had to be something.

  She peeked into the living room, hoping for a mess, but everything was in its place. At the kitchen window, where she washed and peeled potatoes and carrots, she caught a glimpse of him standing at the grill. Chiseled features. Dark hair. Blue eyes. And then there was the way he’d listened as she’d unloaded her whole humiliating admission.

  He now knew more about her than her own family.

  And that scared her to death.

  Because while a part of her seemed to need this man—something she absolutely hadn’t planned on—a part of him still seemed so far away.

  “You okay?”

  He’d come back in through the side door. She looked down and realized she’d been standing in the same spot, holding the same potato for probably two full minutes.

  “Fine.” She hurried up and peeled the rest of the vegetables, cut them, tossed them in olive oil, salt and pepper, then spread them out on a cookie sheet to bake.

  Drew leaned against the counter, finished off a bottle of water and tossed the empty container in the garbage can.

  “I wanted to thank you for all the work you’ve been doing around here,” Beth said
, anxious to fill the silence.

  “You’ve thanked me plenty. I’m happy to do it.” He looked comfortable with his arms crossed in front of him, his worn gray T-shirt fitted enough to show the definition in his arms. Silence didn’t seem to unnerve him the way it did her. In fact, he seemed to prefer it.

  Maddening when she wanted nothing more than to hear what he thought about as he was hauling, painting, finishing, restoring . . .

  She shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. “I’m trying to be better about appreciating people who deserve it.”

  He studied her, almost too intently. “Better than what?”

  She swallowed. This was called stupid conversation. She didn’t need to get into every single one of her fatal flaws in the same day.

  He waited until their eyes met again. “I feel appreciated.”

  She nodded, searching for something—anything—to say, but the only question she really wanted answered was one she wouldn’t ask again.

  Why are you here?

  He’d tell her when he was ready.

  Or maybe never.

  Either way, she couldn’t force him to trust her with whatever it was he wouldn’t say. Some things a person had to work out on their own. Even if they didn’t know it at the time.

  And some things, a person didn’t want to admit to, no matter how much time passed.

  Drew seemed to understand that. He never made her say more than she was ready to say. She would try to offer him the same courtesy.

  “The grill should be hot enough,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’ll get the burgers on.” He vanished onto the patio through the side door, giving her a few minutes to compose herself. She pulled two plates down from the cupboard, gathered silverware and two cans of Coke and headed outside.

  “I thought we’d eat out here?” Beth stood on the patio, wondering if Drew knew how handsome he was or if he was one of those guys who didn’t think about it. It all seemed pretty effortless—his clothes, his hair, his five o’clock shadow.

  A refreshing change.