Just Say Maybe: A Thistle Bend Novel

by Tracy March

  Maybe she can help me with more than that.

  Holly had surprised him in so many ways. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been entranced by a woman as quickly, and found himself attracted so fast. His romantic tendencies had always been the opposite of his approach to adventure sports. Give him a rugged trail to ride, an angry wave to surf, or a jagged rock to climb, and he was immediately all in. But when it came to women, he’d been way more averse to risking his heart. He’d fallen for Whitney little by little, but somehow Holly had had him at “Are you okay?”

  His initial reaction to her had been so uncharacteristic that he’d been reluctant to call her after she’d put her number into the contact list on his phone. He had wanted to carefully think through everything he did in Thistle Bend. Acting on impulse and calling a girl who had so thoroughly turned his head around hadn’t seemed like the wisest move. Then there she was—the real estate lawyer who George had recommended—and he couldn’t resist her a second time.

  “This box is missing some bullets,” she said softly. “Think we’ll find the gun they went in?”

  Bryce wished they would find it, with all the missing bullets chambered inside. “Hard to say.” He strode over to the couch and tossed the cushions, testing their weight and shape in case a gun—or anything else—might be hidden inside. Same scenario with the side chair. “Nothing there.” He took the box of bullets from Holly, pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of it, and returned it to the corner of the cabinet, behind the Halloween diorama.

  “Let’s have a look in the bedroom and bathroom and get out of here.” He’d had enough of the lodge for now. At least of this suite. The next time he stepped inside, he wanted it to be during his final walk-through, just before he began transforming it into someplace gorgeous and good.

  And he wanted to take Holly somewhere else—anywhere else. A place they could relax and enjoy each other without the specter of his father shadowing them.

  Bryce had managed to pry only one side of the plywood away from the huge picture window in the bedroom, so they grabbed their flashlights and each picked up a work light. Now that the sky had gone gray, very little natural light seeped in. Adding the work lights alone made everything appear surreal and artificial, and feel that way, too.

  Bryce drew in a deep breath and squinted. “I hate to say it, but the woman who stayed here wore some awful-smelling perfume. Thank goodness there’s only a hint of it in the air, but it’ll get worse when we open those drawers again.”

  “I wondered if it was just me that it didn’t appeal to,” Holly said. “But you gotta give it to the woman, she sure got her money’s worth with that scent—it clearly has some staying power.”

  “Lucky us.”

  Holly kneeled in front of the bureau, getting started with the remaining bottom drawer.

  “Don’t be surprised at what you find in there,” he said, curious to see her reaction to what was inside.

  She lowered her eyebrows and wrinkled her nose, then pulled out the drawer, undeterred.

  That’s my girl.

  Holly stared into the drawer, then switched on her flashlight, illuminating the collection of tawdry lingerie ensembles that Bryce had seen yesterday—garish getups made with faux leather, fishnet, or cheap lace—styles that probably hadn’t changed much over the last five years. She gazed up at him, a wisp of an amused smile on her lips, eyebrows raised. “I guess this stuff had your imagination running wild.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “It’s not really my style.”

  “That’s a relief.” She lifted out a filmy black bra with red velveteen lips embossed in the middle of each cup. “Because this would not flatter you at all.”

  He laughed, low and rumbling, and it eased his tension. “Correction. That style of lingerie doesn’t really do it for me.” But the sliver of light blue lace he’d seen on Holly’s bra definitely did.

  Her gaze met his, and lingered. “Good to know.”

  Bryce took a long look at the lingerie. He was all for being playful and naughty when it came to sex, but his stomach clenched when he thought about the woman in the picture wearing those outfits for his father. “My instincts may be off, Miss Birdsong, but I can’t picture you wearing anything like that.”

  Holly absently licked her lips, a move that was sexier than anything in the drawer. “So you’re picturing me in lingerie?”

  “Damn right I am.” And his body was all stirred up. It wasn’t the heat of the work lights causing sweat to prickle on his skin. He sat on the end of the nearby bed, within arm’s reach of her. “It’s only natural since you’re sitting there next to a drawer full of the stuff.” He combed his fingers through her silky ponytail and tugged the end gently. “But you strike me as the kind of girl who wears sexy lingerie with class—shimmery silk, soft lace. It’s slaying me just thinking about it.”

  She glanced at him shyly, then her eyes sparked with mischief. “And here I am debating about you, totally stumped between boxers and briefs.” She winked.

  He shot her his sexiest look. “Let me know when you’re ready for the big reveal.”

  Holly grinned and opened her mouth to reply just as her phone pinged. Her eyes widened. “Maybe that’s Lindsey.”

  While Holly checked her phone, Bryce reluctantly pushed thoughts of her in satin and lace from his mind. He opened the jewelry box on top of the bureau, and scanned its contents again, his gaze drawn to the monogrammed silver ring. Against his conscience, but in case he might need it, he pulled it from its spot and tucked it in his pocket.

  VRS.

  The initials still meant nothing to him. But if they ever found VRS, he would gladly return the ring.

  “Lindsey identified the man in the old photo out there.” Holly tipped her head toward the living area. “It’s Warner Montgomery III, the guy who brought the railroad to Thistle Bend back in the late 1800s and helped make it a thriving mining town. Most people agree that the town wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for Warner Montgomery.” She stared at her phone, looking perplexed. “I have no idea why there’d be a picture of him in here—unless pictures like that were used as décor in all the rooms as a way to root the lodge in history, by showcasing some of Thistle Bend’s early movers and shakers.”

  No doubt Bryce was more perplexed than Holly, considering he had more pieces of the puzzle to try to fit together. And Warner Montgomery was an outlier, for sure. “Too bad all the other rooms and suites are stripped bare. George and I checked out every one of them a month ago when I was here looking at the property. There were a lot of random items left behind in the rooms—lampshades, mirrors, stuff like you and I saw yesterday—but we would’ve noticed a framed, old-timey picture of someone.” In hindsight, he and George should’ve noticed that a suite was “missing” too, but they hadn’t.

  “I could ask around if you’re really interested to know if pictures like that were in the rooms,” Holly said. “There’s a fair number of people in town who used to work here.”

  The last thing Bryce wanted was for people to be talking and thinking about the lodge the way it used to be, or for them to wonder why Holly was asking questions about it. “Thanks, but I’d rather you didn’t. It’s more important for people to focus on the future of this place, not its past.”

  Holly gave him a thumbs-up.

  A thorough check of the rest of the bureau drawers and the closet revealed only women’s clothing, shoes, and accessories, most of them of cheap quality, as far as Bryce could tell. He’d even looked under the mattress, an obvious hiding place—where he hadn’t expected to find anything, and didn’t. Nothing to help him flesh out the bony skeleton of a story that was developing—and no gun.

  The only thing left in the bedroom to search was the nightstand, which Bryce hadn’t done yesterday. He’d been too eager to get the framed picture of his father and the mystery woman zipped into his backpack before Holly came in and caught him. “I’ll finish up in here,” he said, not willing to risk h
er having the first go at the nightstand. “How about grabbing a light and checking out the bathroom?”

  She did as he asked and Bryce stepped over to the nightstand, a Craftsman-style table with one drawer and a lower shelf. Holding his breath, he opened the drawer, hoping he’d see a loaded .38 Special inside—the only thing he could imagine finding that might settle his imagination. Again, he didn’t find a gun. But he did find seven years’ worth of wire-bound calendars stacked in the drawer, alongside a dark green ink pen with The Lodge at Wild Rose Ridge embossed on it in white. He exhaled, disappointed, yet still curious about the calendars.

  Bryce glanced toward the bathroom where Holly kneeled in front of the open main cabinet of the vanity. He quickly flipped through the stack of calendars—the kind issued by businesses and organizations, with scenic photographs for each month on the top half, and a box grid of days and weeks on the bottom. They had all been issued by the Thistle Bend Bank, with various themes each year. But all of them had notations made on them, written in similar tight, cursive handwriting that was difficult to read at a glance.

  His pulse picked up pace. He hadn’t found the revolver, but these calendars might be the next best thing. The newspapers would tell an objective story about the history of the lodge, as Holly had said, but the calendars might reveal the personal, biased story that he was really looking for.

  I’ll have to take these, too.

  Bryce checked to make sure Holly was still occupied then grabbed the calendars and tucked them under his arm. Flicking off the work light, he cast the bedroom into near darkness in case she should happen to glance behind her. He strode into the living area and stowed the calendars in the large compartment of his backpack—the same place he’d put the picture of his father and the mystery woman yesterday.

  Guilt tugged at his conscience. He hated to hide things from Holly since she seemed eager to learn what had happened there as well. But what would she think of him if she found out he was Adam Evanston’s son? She’d given off the vibe of being open-minded and fair. But if she’d known right off about his relation to his father, would she have given him a chance at all?

  Despite his work removing the plywood from the door and windows, the light had dimmed measurably in the living area. Outside, a blanket of angry clouds darkened the sky. A storm was brewing, and he and Holly needed to get down the rugged road to the lake before the rain made it more difficult to pass.

  Bryce collected the work light from the bedroom then ducked into the bathroom, where Holly peered into a cabinet of girly products—everything from lotion to hair spray. “Find anything interesting?”

  Holly stood; pulled out the top drawer of the vanity; grabbed a small, light pink rectangular plastic case from the front corner; and handed it to him. “Birth control pills. But it’s a sample, not a prescription, so no luck getting a name for this woman.” She gestured toward a couple of shiny light pink packages labeled in black nestled in the corner of the drawer. “There are a couple more sample packs here. All of them are expired now, but they would’ve been fine when she was likely taking them five years ago.”

  Bryce tapped his thumb against the top of the plastic case in his hand, and pills rattled inside. “Anything else?”

  Holly met his gaze, an are-you-ready-for-this look in her eyes. She dipped the bill of her cap toward the case. “Open it.”

  He clicked open the case. Four rows of pills had once filled the plastic bubbles lined up inside, yet nearly two rows were gone, leaving a row and a half of pink pills, and a full row of white ones. “She stopped taking them.”

  Holly gave him a pointed look. “Mid-cycle.”

  His stomach pitched. “So she wasn’t around to take them.” He shook his head as he pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the rows—empty and occupied—and tossed the pill case into the drawer. “This doesn’t look good.”

  Her eyes told him she agreed, yet she said, “You never know. Sometimes a few odd coincidences lead us to assume one thing, but time reveals something totally different.”

  He appreciated her positive outlook, but could hardly say that he shared it. “I don’t have a lot of time to wait for a revelation. We’re moving forward with the sale, and inspectors will be in here within days.” He pressed his hand over his mouth and dragged it down under his prickly chin. “Either I figure out what happened here myself, or I alert the authorities and let them have at it. Then a couple of things are likely to happen. One”—he grabbed his index finger and pressed it down—“they classify this place as a possible crime scene and likely hold up the closing. And two”—he pressed down another finger—“people in town get all stirred up over another salacious story about the lodge.” He stared up at the ceiling and blew out a long breath. “I just can’t risk getting off to a start like that.”

  For the first time, Bryce began to second-guess his decisions to come to Thistle Bend, to buy the lodge, to try to make something good out of the rotten mess it had been. He gazed at Holly, who gave him a sincere look of concern, her lips pressed together tightly. Maybe she was the reason he was meant to come here, not the lodge. But why did it have to be one or the other? He wasn’t about to give up on the lodge because of some circumstantial evidence wrapped around a rumor.

  Holly squeezed his biceps, trailed her fingers down his upper arm, and rested them in the crook of his elbow. “I understand.”

  He liked that she knew when to turn on the positivity, and when to keep things real. “And we can’t risk staying up here any longer.” He took her hand and led her out into the living area and onto the balcony, where they checked out the gathering storm. The temperature had dropped, and the wind had picked up enough to whip Holly’s ponytail across her shoulder. A loose piece of plywood clattered against a window below.

  Squinting against the wind, she faced Bryce. “All the locals who hike up here know how important it is to get down to the lake before a storm. I don’t need to tell you about the condition of the road between here and there. It can get treacherous during and after storms—even impassable. We need to go now.”

  As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, renewed concerns about his road-repair budget piled on top of all the others. “Let’s grab our stuff and get out of here.”

  They gathered the tools, their gloves, the bagged newspapers, and the lights; left the suite; and replaced the huge sheet of plywood over the hole in wall.

  Just in case…

  Holly clutched his arm, and they went downstairs, following the path they’d taken on the way in, since the floor had proven sturdy all the way. Bryce carried everything but one work light, his backpack seeming much heavier than it had before he’d stealthily stashed the calendars inside.

  His chest tightened as they neared the side exit. Once he left the lodge and locked the door, he’d have to return the keys to George. If he asked for them again, it would probably raise eyebrows, and George might insist on joining him on any return trips. So this was likely his last visit until the final walk-through. Had he found enough in the suite to figure out the fate of the woman who’d stayed there? All he could do was hope as he turned the key in the lock and the bolt clicked into place.

  Raindrops ticked on the warped, sun-bleached decking. One glance up the mountain told him that a deluge was coming, the hazy cloud of moisture already obscuring the view of the rugged ridgeline. Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled in its wake.

  Holly winced and clutched his arm tighter. “We better hurry.”

  They jogged out to the Jeep, tools clamoring in the bag Bryce carried. He unlocked the doors and they stowed everything inside, quickly buckling themselves in for the bumpy ride ahead.

  No sooner had Bryce started the engine than the clouds unleashed a downpour that hammered the roof of the Jeep. He switched on the windshield wipers but each sweep provided little visibility, seeming only to slosh the barraging water from side to side. He could only imagine what it was doing to the unpaved and already damaged road. “This isn�
��t going to be pretty.”

  Holly cast a wary glance at the lodge and scrunched her face. “But we don’t want to get stuck up here.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  She smiled a little, challenge in her eyes. “So show me some of your badass daredevil moves and get this thing down to the lake.” She playfully made a point of checking that her seatbelt was secure.

  Rental or not, Bryce had no choice. Being stuck somewhere overnight with Holly had a hell of an appeal, but not if it was up here at the lodge. Right now, the place was too eerie, even for Halloween.

  He put the Jeep in gear and headed down the pocked and puddle-covered road, squinting to see past the waterfall on the windshield. Another flash of lightning turned everything nearly white, and thunder rumbled just a blink behind the brightness.

  “Man, that’s close.” Bryce’s heart ricocheted off of his ribs as he gripped the wheel, getting a workout just trying to keep it steady as he took the road at a risky speed. The Jeep pitched from side to side, and up and down, over rocks and through water-filled pits. He avoided them if he saw them, but only if the narrowing road allowed him the space. Otherwise, he took it straight as it came. With a jagged rock wall on one side, and a steep drop-off on the other, he had little choice but to stay on track, and take the beating it gave them. At least he’d had plenty of practice riding rugged roads, keeping his body loose and giving in to the back and forth.

  Holly was going with the flow pretty well herself. “You’re no stranger to four-wheeling.” He almost had to shout so she could hear him above the rain.

  “I love it—when I can see where I’m going.”

  Which was clearly not the case this time. Bryce was running on a little bit of memory and a whole lot of hope that he wouldn’t make a bad decision. At any moment, the wheel might whip out of his hands, sending the Jeep lurching in an unintended direction.