My Wildest Dream: Whisper Lake #2

by Barbara Freethy

  "I heard about that at lunch. How did you catch them?"

  "One of them was bragging to a friend, whose mother then alerted us. Thankfully, their parents are furious and will hopefully get them back on a better path. They'll also be making restitution to Mr. Rodriguez for the cost of his broken window and his stolen tennis racquet."

  She smiled at that piece of information. "He loves his tennis, so that missing racquet probably bothered him more than the broken window."

  "How are you doing?"

  "Me? I'm fine," she said, feeling a little awkward.

  "I thought I might see if there was any more interesting artwork." His gaze moved to Travis, who had slid behind her during their conversation. "Is this Travis?"

  "It is," she said, putting her arm around Travis's shoulders. "Travis, this is my friend, Brodie. He's a police officer. He works very hard to protect all of us."

  Her words didn't seem to do much to relieve Travis's tension.

  Brodie moved forward and squatted down in front of Travis, giving him a friendly smile. "Hi, Travis. Ms. Cole tells me you're a very good artist."

  Travis didn't reply, but he didn't move away, either.

  "Do you mind if I show Brodie your picture?" she asked.

  Travis slowly shook his head, so she handed Brodie the latest drawing.

  "This is good," Brodie said, as he perused the picture. "This fire looks scary. I was there that night, you know. I was at the fire across the street from your house."

  Travis stared down at his shoes.

  "I didn't see anyone watching the fire, though," Brodie continued. "Did you see someone, Travis? Maybe this guy?" He tapped the picture. "Does he have a name?"

  Travis lifted his gaze. "Watching."

  "He was watching? Had you ever seen him before? Is he a neighbor?"

  Travis shook his head.

  "What about the car?" Brodie asked. "Was it parked in front of the house when the fire started?" When Travis didn't respond, he added, "It's important for us to find the person who set the fire, so if you saw something that might help us do that, we'd be really grateful."

  Travis didn't reply.

  "Your grandpa told us you were both asleep when the fire started. Is that true?" Brodie asked.

  "Sleeping," Travis said, then turned to her. "Can I go?"

  "Go ahead," she said, giving him a nod.

  Travis grabbed his backpack and ran out of the room.

  Brodie stood up, the picture still in his hand.

  "What do you think?" she asked. "The car is a new addition to his picture. I haven't seen it before."

  "Hard to say. Seven-year-olds at their best are not always good witnesses, but clearly Travis has other issues. The picture could mean something or nothing at all."

  "That about covers all the options," she said dryly.

  He grinned. "It does, doesn't it? I do find the flower detail on the vehicle interesting. That doesn't seem like something he would put on a car unless he'd seen it. Can I take the picture? I'll show it to Adam. Get his take."

  "Sure."

  "Are you off work now?"

  "Yes. What about you?"

  "My shift ends at five, so not quite yet. What are you doing this afternoon?"

  "I'm going over to my sister's inn to talk about her upcoming party."

  "That's right. I'm looking forward to that and to the weekend. I've heard that Hot August Nights is a big deal around here."

  "Oh, it is—nonstop fun. On Saturday and Sunday, there are paddleboard races at the lake, an art fair downtown, as well as restaurant tastings, and sidewalk sales. More of the same on Sunday."

  "From what I heard, the weekend also involves a lot of underage drinking, fights, and traffic."

  "The dark side," she muttered. "There's always one, isn't there?"

  "I don't know about always," he said, giving her a thoughtful look. "But sometimes. At any rate, we'll see what happens. Maybe I should go over to the inn with you now. I hear the cookies come out around four."

  "They usually do, and they are good cookies."

  "And it's on the way back to the station," he added.

  "Well, I can't stop you."

  "Do you want to stop me, Chelsea?"

  She drew in a quick breath at the more personal question. "I should want to. I like my life the way it is. I'm better on my own. And you have the potential to mess that up."

  "Why are you better on your own? What happened to you? Why did you quit singing? Why are you reluctant to let anyone into your life?"

  Her gut tightened at his questions. "I don't want to talk about it. I told you that."

  "Maybe you need to talk."

  "Maybe you need to butt out," she said sharply.

  "I think you and I have a lot in common, Chelsea. In some ways we've lived our lives on parallel tracks, racing to the top of our fields, and then having to reinvent ourselves."

  "You were forced to quit. I chose to leave. It's completely different."

  "And yet we both ended up starting over. Navigating a new path is complicated, stressful. Would it be bad to have someone to talk to who understands what you're going through?"

  "You have no idea what I've gone through. And the thing about parallel tracks is that they never intersect. They just keep going. Which is what we should do."

  She grabbed her bag out of her desk and headed toward the door of her classroom.

  "Okay, that was a bad metaphor," he said, following her into the hall.

  "It was your metaphor."

  "And now I'm regretting it."

  "Too bad." She walked down the corridor, pushing through the front doors of the school.

  "So, our parallel paths are not intersecting today, but can they both run through the inn? So I can get some cookies?"

  His charming, pleading, boyish grin was impossible to resist. "Fine. Get your cookies, but don't expect me to entertain you. I'm meeting my sister. You're on your own."

  "Deal. And just for the record, I'm good on my own, too."

  She stopped to face him. "I don't believe that for a second, Brodie. You're a people person. I don't think you're happy alone, but I am. I know you like a challenge. That's probably the real reason you came by to see me today. You're not used to a woman saying no to you. But don't try to change my mind." She paused. "It took me awhile to get where I am now. I'm not going back."

  He gave her a somber look. "Understood."

  She walked away, hoping he was finally getting it, but she knew Brodie didn't give up easily. He wasn't the quitter. That was her.

  He'd pushed her too hard, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. Chelsea was clearly hiding some deep pain, and he wanted to know where it had come from. But he didn't want to look on the internet for an answer. He wanted her to tell him. He wanted to break down the wall she'd built around herself. He'd actually forced himself to stay away from her the last two days. But when he'd had to go to the school anyway, he hadn't been able to resist timing his trip to coincide with the end of the school day. But he'd messed it up.

  He needed to give her more space and then slowly build her trust.

  He'd just never been particularly good at slow. He liked speed. He barreled down mountains, over moguls, past obstacles. But this wasn't a ski race, and she wasn't a mountain to conquer. Chelsea was a beautiful woman, but she was haunted. She was hiding. She was like a turtle tucking its head back in and trying to hide in plain sight.

  He wanted to help her. He wanted to bring her back into the light.

  But it wasn't about what he wanted, and he needed to get that straight in his head. He hadn't appreciated others telling him what to do with his life.

  He frowned at that thought, reminded that he still needed to call his father. He'd gotten two more messages from him today, and Justin McGuire did not like to be ignored. He was just dreading the conversation. Dealing with his dad was always filled with complicated emotions and stress. But he couldn't avoid him forever. He'd call him when he got off work
. But for now, he was going to destress with one of Lizzie's famous cookies and hopefully find a way to smooth things over with Chelsea.

  He turned in to the parking lot next to the inn and pulled into the spot next to Chelsea's car. She barely glanced at him, as she got out of her car and breezed past him.

  He followed her into the lobby, where Lizzie stood behind the front desk with a beautiful Asian woman, whose nametag read Sha.

  "You're here, Chelsea," Lizzie said with delight. "And you brought Brodie to help."

  "I didn't bring him. And he's not here to help. He came for your cookies," Chelsea said dryly.

  "I'd be happy to help you later, but I do have to work for another hour," he put in.

  "Oh, it's fine," she said, waving her hand in the air. "Hunter and Adam are coming by tomorrow to help me hang plants and set up tables and lights on the patio, so I'm good. And I'm always happy to share my cookies."

  "It doesn't sound like you need me, either," Chelsea put in, a hopeful note in her voice.

  "Oh, no, I do need you," Lizzie said firmly. "I'm putting together gift bags for our guests, and you can help me with that. I won't have time for that tomorrow. I'll be too busy with the last-minute prep." She came around the reception desk and walked over to the credenza against the wall. "But first—cookies, coffee, tea? What do you both want?"

  "A cookie for me," he replied, as Lizzie put a chocolate chip cookie on a small napkin and handed it to him. "Oh, man, it's warm." He took a bite, and the sugary chocolate was a taste of heaven. "This is even better than the ones Adam brings into the station."

  "This batch just came out of the oven," Lizzie said with a proud smile. "Raina is making up some other goodies to go in the gift bags. She's the real chef. I just dabble in cookies."

  "Don't sell yourself short. These are amazing."

  "Have as many as you like. Chelsea, what about you?"

  "No thanks. I'm good."

  "Lizzie," Sha interrupted. "Can you take a look at this booking before I confirm?"

  "I'll be right back," Lizzie said.

  "Your sister is very good at multitasking," he said to Chelsea, who was filling a mug with coffee.

  "She has always had the energy of ten people. She dreamed about opening an inn from the time she was twelve years old. She started working at a boutique hotel in Denver when she was fifteen. She cleaned the rooms, worked the front desk, learned every aspect of the business, then eventually grew up and moved on to get a degree in hotel management. This past year, she finally made her dream come true, but the pressure isn't off, because she has family investors, and she doesn't want to let anyone down."

  "I know what that feels like. What about you?"

  "Another personal question? I thought I was clear about that."

  "You have a lot of secrets, Chelsea."

  "Everyone has secrets; even people you think are an open book."

  He wondered if someone's secrets were the reason she was hurting.

  "But I will say," she continued, "I never felt any family pressure to sing. It was my own deal, and, if anything, my parents were probably a little afraid of the path I'd chosen. They thought it would be a rough road. It turned out they were right."

  "Where do your parents live?"

  "Denver. My dad is an accountant. My mom stayed home while her five children were growing up, but she works part-time now for a literary agent. A long time ago, she had a degree in English, and she's always been a huge lover of books. Now, she reads the agent's slush pile and has a fantastic time."

  "There's a lot of love in your voice when you talk about your parents," he said, noting the fond affection in her gaze.

  "They're good people—always supportive, even when I don't make it easy." She sipped her coffee and then gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if I came off rude earlier."

  He was surprised by the turnaround. "You are? Did you just need coffee?"

  She smiled. "Maybe. But it's more that I'm very private, and I need you to respect that."

  "I get it."

  "Good. Thanks for understanding."

  He did understand, but that didn't mean he was giving up. However, since they were having a tentative truce at the moment, he decided not to say that out loud.

  The front door swung open, and a man walked in, rolling a suitcase and carrying a guitar.

  The mug of coffee in Chelsea's hand slipped from her fingers, shattering on the tile floor.

  The sound echoed through the room. Everyone froze, including the blond-haired man with the beard, who looked very familiar.

  "Chelsea," the man said with a happy, somewhat shocked smile.

  "What are you doing here, Austin?" Chelsea asked, her voice tight and pitched high.

  "I came to see you, of course. And I brought you a present." He pulled the strap of the guitar case off his shoulder.

  "No," she said, putting up a trembling hand. "No. I can't do this. I don't want you here."

  "We need to talk. I'm concerned about you."

  "We don't have anything to talk about." Chelsea looked at her sister. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. I have to go."

  Lizzie immediately came to Chelsea's side. "Don't worry about it. Go."

  "You can't just leave without talking to me," Austin complained.

  Brodie instinctively stepped in front of the man, allowing Chelsea to escape through the front door. He didn't know who this guy was to her, but he knew panic and fear when he saw it.

  Austin gave him an irritated look. "Do you mind?"

  "She said she didn't want to talk to you. I think you should accept that."

  "You don't know what's between us." Austin turned to Lizzie. "Your sister needs to talk to me. You told me that she was unhappy."

  "That was almost a year ago," Lizzie said. "You didn't come running then. Why are you here now?"

  "Because it's the right time."

  "Not for her," Lizzie said. "Chelsea is in a good place now. If she wanted to talk to you, she wouldn't have run out the door. You should go back to Nashville or wherever it is you're living."

  "I'm not leaving town until I speak to her," Austin said, a determined note in his voice.

  "Well, you're not staying here, and I doubt you'll find a hotel room. It's a busy weekend."

  "Lizzie, come on. We were friends once. I thought you were on my side."

  "The only side I'm on is Chelsea's. You need to leave, Austin."

  "Fine, I won't stay here, even though you know I'd put this place on the map if I did."

  Lizzie walked over to the front door and opened it. Austin grabbed his bag and guitar and left. As she closed the door behind him, she let out a breath. "Well, this is not good," she murmured, a worried gleam in her eyes.

  "Who was that?" Brodie asked.

  "You don't know? You didn't recognize him?"

  "No."

  "That's Austin Boone. He's a very big country singer."

  "I don't follow country music. He and Chelsea were involved?"

  "Yes. They came up in the business together and then got into a personal relationship. I don't know what happened. She left him at the same time she left music. And don't ask me why."

  "I wouldn't ask you that."

  "Good, because I don't really know why." She gave him a pained look. "Chelsea has given a lot of vague explanations, but she has made it clear she's not interested in sharing, not even with her own sister."

  He heard the frustration in her voice. "I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, it sounds like Austin is in the dark, too."

  "I wish he hadn't come here."

  He nodded, wishing the same thing.

  Chapter Six

  An hour later, Chelsea was still trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. She couldn't believe Austin had come to Whisper Lake. She hadn't seen him in over a year. Their relationship—their complicated, up-and-down, competitive, sometimes great, and sometimes awful relationship—had ended. For him to show up at her sister's inn and bring her a guitar when
he knew she was done with music…she just couldn't believe it.

  Pacing around the living room of her small two-bedroom house, she felt as if her past had just caught up to her, and she didn't like the feeling. Whisper Lake was her safe harbor. And it had been invaded by the past.

  She didn't believe for a second that Austin had come because he was worried about her. No way. He had an agenda. He needed her for something, but she did not need him. She did not want him in her life, or any part of the world he still lived in, the one she'd left behind.

  Running her hands through her hair, she paced back and forth, expecting Austin to show up at any minute. She knew Lizzie wouldn't give out her address, and she'd bought her house under a company name, a name that Austin didn't know. But still, she lived in a small town, and some friendly stranger would probably happily point the famous Austin Boone in her direction.

  Then what would she do?

  She supposed she could just refuse to answer the door, but even having him sitting on her porch felt like a bad idea. He'd draw attention—he always drew attention. That would only get people talking about her, and all that speculation had finally died down; she didn't want it to start up again.

  She paused by the window, as Brodie pulled into his driveway. She ducked back behind the curtain as he got out of his car and looked across the street. He'd changed out of his uniform into dark jeans and a polo shirt.

  He must have even more questions after that scene at the inn. Maybe it was time she came up with some answers. But she hated to lie. It was the reason she'd kept her silence. She couldn't let the truth be made public, and every person who knew made that reality more inescapable, so she'd kept everyone out—her parents, her siblings, her friends, Austin, and now Brodie.

  Thankfully, he turned away and moved into his house.

  Maybe it would all be fine, she thought a little desperately. Austin would realize she didn't want to talk to him and go home. Brodie would respect her privacy. She could continue to live her quiet life out of the spotlight.

  Even in her head, all that sounded unrealistic, but she let out a sigh and walked over to the dining room table where her computer was set up. She had a lesson to plan. She might as well work and keep her mind from moving back into the past.