by Zoe Chant
Except that she couldn’t get Tex’s face out of her mind. That gorgeous, stunned smile, those clever-looking fingers. The perfect laugh crinkles around his big brown eyes.
No, she thought fiercely. Done with men.
Tex was behind the bar, handling the light traffic of the sweltering afternoon. Laura couldn’t see him from the pool deck, but she knew he was there. It was hard to pretend that she wasn’t irresistibly drawn to him, but he’d been impeccably professional when she had returned to the bar the evening before. He’d clearly been confused by her, and Laura hated the longing hurt in his eyes, but chivalry seemed to be his first order of business. He’d filled her drink order without grilling her or pressing her further, keeping conversation to the business at hand.
That was how it was going to be, then. She would pretend there was nothing there, and he would respect the distance she was insisting on.
Laura was wryly aware that this plan would not have worked with anyone less than a perfect cowboy like Tex.
“Can I get you anything, Mademoiselle?”
Laura sat up to find that a young dark-haired woman in a crisp white housekeeping uniform had a tray full of bottled water, one of them open.
“Thank you, no,” Laura said, settling back on the lounge. She indicated the half-full bottle she had contemplated throwing at the photographer.
To her surprise, the woman didn’t move on right away. “You are enjoying your stay at Shifting Sands, I hope?” she asked leadingly.
Laura considered. If she hadn’t been stressing so hard about maintaining her cover, this would have been a perfect vacation spot. The bar was well-stocked, the hotel was comfortable and well-appointed. She loved the aesthetic of the whole place, with its copious tile and riotous jungle gardens. The restaurant could get crowded between the Mr. Shifter events, but Laura recognized that this was a temporary state of affairs, and had learned to schedule her visits to the services during times when most of the guests would be busy with the pageant affairs. If Jenny had been with her, she might have wanted to spend more time watching them like so many of the other visitors, but without her, if felt empty and disappointing.
That, and she kept comparing the contestants to Tex.
It was all too complicated to explain to the maid, so Laura simply said, “I’m having a great time.” It wouldn’t have been a lie if she hadn’t been working so hard to hide her true identity.
“And you know Tex, I think?”
Laura was trying so hard to figure out what kind of accent the maid had — it didn’t sound Spanish, she thought - that she wasn’t expecting Tex’s name, and she started. “I… er… we met once a few years ago. In Austin.” It was mostly the truth.
“I see.” The woman’s icy tone surprised Laura, but as quickly as she recognized it, it was swept away in a bubbling laugh. “He is a great bartender! We love his juggling!”
Taken aback by the pendulum swing of the woman’s demeanor, Laura laughed hesitantly along. “Yeah, he’s great at it.”
“He plays and sings so beautifully, as well, you have heard him?”
Laura shook her head.
“Always with the saddest songs. You are sure you do not want a fresh eau?”
“Ew?” Laura said, then her brain caught up with her ear. “Oh, eau, water, no, no thank you.” A French accent, then.
“Another time,” the housekeeper suggested firmly, and her shoes clicked across the tiles firmly. Laura thought it was odd that she didn’t pause to offer one of the other sunbathers any water, but perhaps she simply hadn’t heard her talking to them earlier.
The poolside sun brought her no comfort after that, and after a few more moments trying to get comfortable in the chair, Laura abandoned her magazine and decided to return to her room.
Jenny’s laptop was sitting on the desk, and Laura sighed and opened it, emotions in a jumble. She was desperate for some kind of closure, some closeness with her lost sister. She probably had some of their email exchanges, neatly filed. Maybe reading over them would make her feel better.
Jenny’s wallpaper was a serene tropical scene with a white beach, which made Laura smile crookedly. If only she could see the view out Laura’s own window now.
Before she could open the email program, Laura was stopped by a shortcut on the desktop labeled finances — will and life insurance. Of course Jenny would be so organized. When Jenny was halfway through law school, she’d insisted that Laura file a will. Laura had left everything to Jenny, and Jenny had done the same in return. Was there a life insurance policy that named her? But no, they thought it was Laura that was dead, and she’d never taken out a life insurance policy, and she didn’t have any money to inherit.
Did Jenny have a policy that named her? Jenny was always looking out for her.
Laura wiped away a tear and clicked on the shortcut. It opened a folder with more links - Jenny’s bank, copies of legal-looking documents...
A tap on the door startled her, and Laura had to take a deep breath and remind herself that it wasn’t like she was stealing Jenny’s money.
She ignored the person at the door, hoping they would go away, until there was a scratching at the lock that made her realize it was probably housekeeping.
“Oh, thank you, no,” she said hastily, getting to her feet. “You can come back later. Or not at all. I can make my own bed, really.”
She went to the door, not sure if they’d heard her, and pulled it open to find Fred putting something in his pocket.
“I was worried,” he said. “You’ve been so distant, and have so much to deal with. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He stepped towards her and Laura instinctively moved back, inadvertently inviting him into the room.
Laura smothered a sigh. Would tears only encourage him to stay and try to comfort her? She settled for trying to feign a brave face.
“I’m okay,” she promised. “It’s hard, and sometimes I just need a break. There are so many people here, you know. It’s sometimes a little overwhelming.” She gave a trembling smile. “Laura would have loved this place.” Too thick?
Fred patted her arm, a strictly paternal and comforting move that still felt awkward. Jenny may have been good friends with him, but Laura hadn’t seen him since she moved out on her own nearly ten years ago.
He glanced around, as if he found the moment as awkward as she did, and his eyes fell on Jenny’s open laptop. Laura suppressed her urge to leap for it and close the lid.
“There aren’t too many people in the restaurant right now,” Fred said coaxingly. “There’s some kind of photo thing down at the beach, so we could go now and get a good seat for dinner and make an early night of it tonight.”
As if sleep would make everything better.
Lacking a good excuse, Laura agreed, closing the laptop as unobtrusively as she could manage before reluctantly following him out.
“Are you enjoying the resort?” Fred asked carefully, as they were served a generous plate of baked fish slathered in a creamy sauce, topped with fresh herbs and served on a bed of fluffy rice.
The restaurant usually only had two gourmet meal selections, but what it lacked in choice, it made up in quality. If she wasn’t in the mood for what was available, the buffet always had sandwich ingredients and a few staple dishes to choose from. But Laura had never been less than delighted with what she was served.
“It’s lovely here,” Laura said, though she knew her tone was lack-luster.
“You’re not… sorry you came?” Fred pressed. “I know you haven’t been enjoying the pageant events as much as you thought you would.”
Laura put on a brave smile. “I’m not sorry I came,” she promised.
Fred drew an exaggerated hand over his forehead. “Whew,” he clowned. “I would hate to be responsible for convincing you to go on vacation and have it turn out terrible.”
Laura felt for him. He was trying so hard to make sure she had a good time, and had been such a good friend of the family. She remembe
red how he’d been there when their parents had died, making bad jokes to try to cheer them up, and handling all the paperwork and finances that they’d floundered with.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do next?” he asked unexpectedly.
Laura froze, and then reminded herself that he was undoubtedly not talking about her plan to disappear in a foreign country.
She toyed with the fog on her water glass and looked down at the suddenly unappetizing fish. “I haven’t thought about it,” she lied.
“You’ll need to have a memorial,” Fred told her gently. “I know neither of you would want a fancy funeral, but you should have something.”
Laura took a sip of the ice water to try to loosen the sudden lump in her throat. Jenny deserved a fancy funeral. Probably her lawyer friends would come, all in business black. Her neighbors would turn out, with their neatly-dressed offspring.
Who would come to her memorial? Ex-boyfriends? Her grouchy landlady? The guy who delivered her favorite Chinese take-out?
The cartel?
Not for the first time, Laura was certain that the wrong person had been in that car.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she agreed faintly, knowing she looked sick.
Fred patted her hand. “You leave all the details to me, sweetie. I’ll arrange a nice, quiet memorial and can take care of all the paperwork.”
It was an echo from years ago, and Laura felt like she was seventeen again, lost and afraid and adrift.
The only difference was that Jenny wasn’t here to cling to.
There was a sudden rise in the hum of conversation at the restaurant as guests began to arrive en mass, laughing loudly about the beach-side sunset photoshoot.
Laura choked down the last of her fish and told Fred she planned to head to bed early. “There’s a marathon kick-off pretty early tomorrow that I’d like to catch,” she said, mostly meaning it.
He gave her a fatherly hug that she couldn’t politely dodge, and stayed for dessert while she fled.
Chapter 8
“What’s next on the Mr. Shifter schedule?” Travis asked, collapsing onto a stool at the end of the bar. “I got the generator for the laundry room back up again, but I have no idea how long it will keep working. Tell Breck that the second washer needs his special kick.”
Tex poured him an orange juice. “I see a bed in your schedule,” he suggested.
“One more stop,” Travis protest, downing the orange juice. “Broken fan in cottage three.”
“Hasn’t that fan been broken twice this week already?” Bastian, just off lifeguard duty as the sun went down, slid onto a recently abandoned stool. Most of the post photo-shoot crowd had milled off for dinner at the restaurant, and Tex could hear them on the deck above, laughing and carousing. He’d just sent a tray of fancy drinks up with one of the waitresses who was running her tail off.
“I’m beginning to think they’re breaking it on purpose,” Travis said darkly.
“Probably, they’re just enjoying watching you climb up on that ladder,” Bastian teased. “Everyone’s in the Mr. Shifter mood for a little show.”
Tex served Bastian a shot of cinnamon whiskey, neat, and consulted the resort schedule. “To answer your first question, Travis, it looks like early tomorrow morning is the Mr. Speed event, the marathon to the airport and back. And tomorrow evening is the Mr. Fur, Fins, or Feather animal event.”
“How does that even work?” Bastian asked, tossing down his shot. “I mean, how would you judge between all the different animals? Cage match?”
Travis laughed, pushing his glass back over the counter. “I think they are evaluated against species ideals and assigned values by expert judges. I know Lydia’s got her girls booked for the entire afternoon for grooming services. Guests are grumbling about how hard it is to get any spa services.”
“I know we should be grateful that business is so good after a long dry spell, but I will be very glad to have things back to some kind of normal,” Tex said wearily. He glanced longingly at his guitar, leaning in the corner of the bar. Most days, he had plenty of opportunity to sit behind the bar and play. This week, between the madhouse of guests and assisting Travis in getting the resort into top working order, he hadn’t touched the strings. Every spare moment was spent restocking, or cleaning, or repairing.
“Speaking of normal,” Bastian said, raising an eyebrow.
Tex looked at him blankly.
“What’s up with your mate?” Travis finished for him.
Tex was glad that a guest sidled up and requested a drink, but when they wandered off to the pool deck with it, Travis and Bastian were still staring at him expectantly.
“Aren’t you too busy for gossip?” he asked crossly. “I am.”
Travis and Bastian exchanged knowing looks.
“She still denying it?” Travis asked pityingly.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Tex said, knowing he sounded as whiny as he felt. “I mean I’ve always felt unlucky in love, but this is ridiculous. How can she not feel this?”
“Why do you always say that?” Travis asked. “That bit about being unlucky in love.”
Tex shrugged. “It just always seemed that way. I’d get my courage up to ask a girl out… right after she got asked out by the high school jock. Or that date where my truck broke down on my way to the restaurant and she ended up marrying the waiter.”
“Brutal,” Bastian agreed. “And now your own mate is pretending there’s no bond between you.”
Tex let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t get her face — or her body — out of my mind. I don’t sleep without dreaming about her.”
“Sounds like those songs you love to sing,” Travis teased kindly. “The sadder the better, right?”
Tex groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.
“Another round of margaritas!” one of the tables called.
The harried looking waitress scrambled through the back door with a tray of empty glasses. “I need a sidecar, a ginger snap, two blended margaritas and one on the rocks, no salt. Two pilsners, one Guinness, and a Budweiser.”
“Who the hell goes to a tropical luxury resort and orders a Budweiser?” Bastian asked, getting up from his stool to let Tex get back to work. “Come on, I’ll hold your ladder, Travis, and make sure no one tells you about anything broken before you can get a decent night’s sleep. Breck can kick the generator if the laundry room goes black again.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Travis said darkly. “He can handle the machines, but I don’t like him doing the electrical stuff. I’ve seen what that man can do to a fusebox!”
They left Tex to mix drinks and think dark thoughts about things sadder than any country song he’d ever sung.
Chapter 9
Sunrise yoga in the recreation center hadn’t even started when Laura joined the growing throng at the very top of the resort.
Laura yawned and wished she’d thought to swing by the restaurant for a latte before coming to the start of the marathon. Several smarter guests carried steaming to-go cups.
The view was arguably worth the early morning. To one side was the vista down over the terraced resort, with it’s charming cottages and grand architecture. The pool from here was a huge blue jewel, and the ocean beach beyond was a sliver of white caressed by turquoise water. The early morning sun set silver light in the jungle treetops, casting dappled shadows everywhere.
The other side was a sea of beefcake. The finalists were all wearing the barest of running shorts, and only one of them had opted for a tanktop, and it was one so tight and scant it was barely worth the effort.
There was more gleaming manflesh, stretching and warming up in provocative positions, than Laura would expect to find in a playgirl magazine.
She found her cheeks heating, just watching the spectacle, but she kept thinking about what the bartender, Tex, would look like. She hadn’
t gotten a glimpse of his ass, but she could imagine that it was much like Mr. Brazil’s, given their similar body build. Mr. Brazil obligingly bent over to stretch his hamstrings and gave her an amazing view of his spandex-clung ass, and the barely contained package beyond.
The girls next to Laura giggled and fanned themselves.
It suddenly occurred to Laura to wonder if Tex had a pair of assless chaps, to match his other over-the-top cowboy accessories, and then, of course, it occurred to her how much fun such a garment might be.
We could find out, Laura’s wolf suggested.
We could not, Laura replied sternly.
One of the celebrity hostesses, a little bottle-blonde woman named Jessica Linn, looking more than a little hungover, banged on her clipboard. “Are you rolling?” she asked the cameraman.
“When you’re ready,” he said.
“I’m ready to get this over with,” she snapped. “Why would they schedule this so early?”
“Gets too hot later,” Mr. Canada guessed over his sunglasses. He looked as dragged out as Jessica did.
Mr. Ireland, by contrast, was bouncing in place, obviously eager to go.
“Alright,” Jessica said. “Listen up, studs. We’re going to go over the rules before we turn on the cameras and I don’t want to have to say things more than twice.” She pointed down the road behind them. “You’ll be running down that road to the airport, and back up. It’s about two miles each direction, lots of winding, lots of hills, mostly under jungle cover. We’ve got cameramen in several key spots, and the video camera will be in a Jeep behind you for part of the way. There’s also a drone that will be following you. There is no shifting allowed, this is human legs only.”