by Tawna Fenske
She sighs, and the look that flits across her face looks like genuine remorse. “I’m not sure that’s going to work right now.”
Disappointment drags my heart down like an anchor. “Is it because of the cop thing or something else?”
“Neither, exactly.” She sighs and gestures toward her phone. “I know it sounds like an excuse, but I’m kind of freaking out about work stuff right now.”
“What’s wrong?” Maybe I can help.
She shakes her head and knocks over her pen cup. I start to reach for it, but she’s already scooping them back into place. “I’ve got all these travel journalists here right now, which should be a good thing,” she says. “But nothing’s going the way it’s supposed to.”
“The FAM tours, right.” Do I get bonus points for remembering what they’re called? I lean against her wall, careful not to bump the mirror. “What’s going on?”
Bree’s eyes flick across my chest then back to my face. It’s so fast I almost missed it, and my ego swells just a little. “I have three couples here as part of a FAM trip that’s all about romance and couples’ travel,” she says. “That’s their schtick—they all write about traveling as a pair.”
I nod so she knows I’m listening. “One of them is your college buddy and his husband.”
She smiles, and I can tell I’ve scored brownie points for remembering. “That’s right. You were paying attention.”
She sounds amazed, like it’s not a given I’d be hanging on her every word. “That’s Donovan and Sam, and they run the Nomadic Dudes travel site,” she says. “I guess they ran into some homophobic crap at the Dandelion Café yesterday, which sucks from more than just a PR standpoint. He’s my best friend, and I hate that they have to deal with hurtful comments. Everyone in town is normally so nice.”
I hate it even more than she does, since there’s a good chance I know whoever’s responsible. It’s a small town, and that’s my regular breakfast spot. “Who was it? Not one of the servers?”
“No, just a customer,” she says. “I wrote the name down somewhere. Anyway, that’s only one of the things falling apart right now.” She glances at the door, then leans across me and pushes it shut. It’s everything I can do not to respond when her breast brushes my arm on the way back.
“There’s some drama with the other two couples,” she says, lowering her voice. “Chris and Shawna are with the Wandering Hearts travel blog. Sweet couple—he’s Australian, and I think she’s from California. Apparently, there’s some tension with the other duo.”
“Tension like fighting over pizza deliveries?”
“No, the opposite.” She grimaces, and I try to imagine what the opposite of a pizza fight might be. “Graham and Gigi—that’s the other couple, from the Lovebird Journeys travel site—they’ve got a reputation for having more of an open relationship.”
I study Bree’s face as her cheeks flush with color and she glances down at her hands, suddenly very interested in her manicure.
“You mean they’re swingers? Wife swapping or whatever?”
She winces. “That’s the rumor. Anyway, Gigi is this sleek, beautiful Instagram blonde who’s always posting provocative photos. Stuff like ‘oh, here I am looking out over this lush mountain vista and, oops, I forgot my pants.’”
I’m not on social media much, but I think I get the gist of what she’s talking about. “My sister, Meredith, is on Instagram. She shows me stuff like that sometimes. Women who are all, ‘Doesn’t everyone lounge in the backyard hammock wearing nothing but a thong?’”
“Exactly,” Bree says. “Or last night it was, ‘I’ve forgotten how to eat ice cream, so I’ll just deep-throat the cone.’”
My brain swerves a little at the deep-throat reference, but I force myself to stay on track. “So you’re worried about her covering her naked body with honey and posing by your pool or something?”
“That, too, but I’m more worried about the other couple—Chris and Shawna?” She shakes her head, and a curl flops over her forehead. “One of my brothers saw Gigi alone with Chris in the game room last night. I guess he looked a little too enthusiastic about teaching her to play pool.”
“Yikes.” I may know nothing about Instagram, but even I can guess how this could lead to bad publicity. It only takes one pissed off blogger and a viral post to ruin the reputation of a new business like Bree’s. “You don’t think Chris’s girlfriend is in on it? Like maybe they’re swingers, too?”
“Shawna?” Bree shakes her head. “No. I had breakfast with her this morning. She seemed aware of Gigi’s reputation, but convinced Chris would never act on it. I can’t say anything because I don’t know if something’s happened yet, but I feel an obligation to make sure nothing does happen. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
I can’t imagine having to deal with this sort of PR crap. Supervising deputies and chasing down bad guys is more my speed, but managing a bunch of horny millennials with a habit of posting every meal, every bodily function online would make me want to hide under a rock. “What can you do?”
Bree bites her lip. “I’m thinking maybe I can send each couple out on some excursions, little day trips that get them away from each other.”
“Ah, the hot springs.” I just admitted to eavesdropping on her phone call, but Bree doesn’t seem bothered. “That’s a good one. Or Crater Lake. The Painted Hills are nice, or Smith Rock.”
“These are great, keep them coming.” She turns and scribbles on a notepad beside her phone. “Gigi and Graham have this whole series they do about hot springs around the world, so maybe you could tell me more about that one you mentioned. The place where you found Virginia?”
“Summer Lake Hot Springs.” I like where this is going. “You want me to take you out there to see it?”
She blows a curl off her forehead, and I try not to fixate on her mouth. “Would you mind?” she asks. “I don’t want to send them there if I haven’t seen it myself, but I thought—”
“Done,” I say. “Your timing’s perfect. I’m actually off for the next two days.”
Bree looks up at me with a question in her eyes. “You said it’s just a day trip?”
I’m not sure what the right answer is here, so I play it safe. “It can be if you get an early start and don’t mind coming back in the dark. Or there are cabins and tent sites you can rent. Totally up to you.”
She nods, looking thoughtful. She hesitates, like she’s considering something a lot bigger than a road trip. Like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.
“I’d like that,” she says slowly. “I’d like to spend the night.”
I study her face, trying to read between the lines. She didn’t say “spend the night with you,” and maybe I’m a presumptuous prick for thinking what I am.
But I can’t help going there, can’t help picturing her beneath me or hearing those soft little sounds she made the other night as she came apart in my arms.
“Do you want to camp, or should I check into cabins? They’ve got one bedroom, two bedroom—”
“Maybe camping.” She bites her lip, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I’ve never done it before.”
“I’ll see if I can get a campsite reservation,” I offer. “If you’re up for that.”
“I’m up for it,” she says slowly, squaring her shoulders like she’s just decided something. “I’m ready to try something new.”
Chapter 10
BREE
My whole adult life, I’ve been a fixer. I doled out tough love and maraschino cherries when Brandon hit a rough patch with Jade. When things blew up with Sean’s hot mess of a mother, I gave him warm tea and a soft spot to land.
But I’ve never been on the receiving end of it. Sure, my father swooped in with a checkbook now and then, but most things can’t be fixed with money.
That’s why it feels so good to see Austin in action right now. It’s the first time anyone’s taken charge of some catastrophe in my life and said, “I’ve go
t this” without hesitation or financial agenda.
If I had any hope of resisting my feelings for him, it vanished with those three words.
“This won’t take long.” He’s steering the truck with one hand as Virginia pants happily at the window, her breath fogging the glass. “Bob Mosely’s ranch is just off the highway as we’re headed south.”
“Are you sure we should do this?” I fiddle with the zipper on my jacket and hope I haven’t made a mistake in telling him what happened to Donovan and Sam at the Dandelion Café. Maybe I should have left things alone.
“I want to handle this,” he says. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, I know the guy. My dad and I go hunting with him every fall.”
“Maybe it’s not a big deal,” I murmur. “I’m still new in town. Maybe I shouldn’t start pissing off the good ol’ boys club or—”
“It is a big deal,” he says. “This is my hometown, and it matters to me how people are treated here.” He reaches across the seat and rests a reassuring hand on mine. “Leave the good ol’ boys to me. I know how to handle them.”
I’m jumping out of my skin, but Austin’s posture is relaxed and easy. He’s driving like a guy who grew up navigating these desolate country roads in his sleep. In all my public relations courses, this wasn’t something I learned. I understand crisis management in a corporate setting, but not like this. Not when it involves my best friend and a grumpy rancher.
But I trust Austin to know small town politics better than I do. “Okay.”
“You can wait in the truck if you want.”
“No, I want to be there,” I say. “This involves my business. My friends.”
It takes us less than five minutes to turn off the highway and wind our way along a gravel road that leads to Bob’s ranch. Two spotted farm dogs come trotting out, barking their heads off. Virginia sits up and growls beside me.
“Stay here, girl,” he says. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
Austin leaves the windows cracked for her as he gets out. I’m grateful he’s driving his truck today instead of the Volvo or even a cop car. I know he said the truck does best on the dirt roads we’ll be traveling, but I can’t help thinking there’s another reason. If optics are everything, it helps that Austin kinda looks like a good ol’ boy right now. He saunters up the walkway and my girl parts do a pleasant squeeze. Apparently, they’ve got a thing for the badass, superhero side of Austin.
He strides up the walkway like he’s on duty, and I can almost see the gun clipped to a heavy utility belt around his waist. It isn’t there, but he moves like it is. Austin Dugan makes jeans and a baseball cap look like a cop uniform.
“Morning, Bob.” Austin touches the bill of his hat as a gray-haired man ambles out onto his front porch.
The guy wears cowboy boots and worn jeans with creases ironed at the front, and he’s holding a blue and white enamel mug. His gaze flicks to me, and I manage a small wave before he turns back to Austin.
“Howdy, son.” He adjusts the brim of his hat. “Heard about the promotion. What can I do you for?”
I’ve never understood that bizarre turn of phrase, what can I do you for, but I keep my happy PR smile pasted in place as Austin grips the guy’s hand in a firm shake.
“Have you met Bree Bracelyn?” He gestures to me, and that’s my cue to step up and extend a hand.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say. “My brothers and I own Ponderosa Ranch.”
I deliberately leave out the “Luxury Resort” part of the name, figuring that might earn me some points. It’s the same reason I mentioned my brothers. I might be new to small-town life, but I’m not new to classism or sexist viewpoints.
Or to homophobia, which is why we’re here this morning.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Bob says, and I wonder if he knows the reason we’re standing on his front porch. “You’ve got everyone gabbing about that place.”
“That’s actually what we want to talk to you about.” Austin’s tone is friendly and even, but there’s an edge to it now. I wonder if Bob hears it. “I understand you ran into a couple of resort guests at the Dandelion the other day. Travel writers Bree’s been working with.”
Bob frowns. “The two fruits?”
Austin doesn’t react to the slur, but I feel him tense beside me. His body’s still loose and casual, but there’s a coiled-spring energy radiating off him now. “They’re journalists with a huge international following,” Austin says. “And they’re friends of Bree’s.”
I nod and keep my mouth shut. Austin is handling this, and I trust him to know the best way to do it.
Bob scrubs a hand over his chin, his brow still furrowed. “Couple’a fellows together like that,” he says. “Just walking around like it’s no big deal.”
“Actually, it isn’t.” Austin’s tone is all velvet-voice cool, but his jaw is rigid. “They travel all over the world writing about places that are friendly to visitors. All kinds of visitors, towns like ours.” He clears his throat and looks Bob dead square in the face, blue eyes unblinking. “Only it sounds like you might have said some things to make them feel unwelcome.”
The tips of Bob’s ears go red, and he kicks his boot through a cluster of dried weeds on the porch. “Aw, we were just joking around.”
My blood starts to simmer, but Austin reaches for my hand. I’m not sure if it’s a signal to me or to Bob, but one thing’s clear—Austin is in charge here.
“Doesn’t sound like the guests found it all that funny,” he says. “Is it true you made crude comments about someone else’s sex life in a café filled with kids?”
Bob’s ears get redder, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or embarrassed. “I just asked ‘em who was the guy and who was the girl,” he grumbles.
I can’t bite my tongue this time. “I believe the way you phrased it was ‘who does the fudge packing and who gets his fudge packed?’”
“Bob,” Austin says, giving my fingers a supportive squeeze. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you wouldn’t like it much if you and Lucinda walked into the Dandelion and someone asked about whether the two of you like getting freaky with whips and a horse bridle.”
Bob’s face turns the same tomato red as his ears, and he sputters a little before answering. “But that’s no one’s business but—”
“Exactly.” Austin’s still smiling as he cuts him off, and I realize this is his version of cheerfully-angry. It’s a skill I wish I possessed. “What people do behind closed doors is none of anyone else’s business, and it’s sure as hell not something to talk about in front of women and kids, is it?”
Bob doesn’t answer at first, but he does an infinitesimal little head shake. “It’s not right,” he mutters.
I don’t know if he’s talking about sex in general, or just gay people, but maybe it doesn’t matter. “It’s not our place to judge, is it?” Austin’s voice is so good-natured it’s like they’re talking about crops or the latest golf scores, but the sharp edge to it makes me glad he’s on my team. That he’s standing up for me, for my business, my friends.
“It’s up to us to treat people with kindness,” Austin continues, scratching one of Bob’s dogs behind the ears. “Newcomers, old-timers, visitors—we treat ‘em all with respect so our kids learn that from us. You’re the one who told me that, remember?”
“Yeah,” Bob mutters. “But I didn’t mean—”
“Everyone,” Austin interrupts, and this time there’s no mistaking the steel in his voice. “In this town, we don’t bully people. We don’t throw stones, and we sure as hell don’t go out of our way to publicly embarrass people about their sex lives. You hear what I’m saying?”
I get the sense there’s more to this conversation than I realize. That theory solidifies as Bob winces, then gives a grudging nod.
“Sure,” he grunts. “Whatever you say.”
“Good.” Austin claps the other man on the shoulder in a gesture that looks downright brotherly. “We still on for t
he elk hunting in a few weeks?”
“Yeah,” Bob says, not meeting Austin’s eyes. “Your dad said he got a new jerky gun?”
I have no idea what a jerky gun is, but this is why Austin is so good at this. He speaks the language in a way I can’t. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but Austin has somehow managed to speak to this guy with both respect and authority, mixing in a tiny bit of humor and intimidation while he’s at it. I’m in awe.
And a little turned on, if I’m being honest.
“I’ll give you a call about target shooting next week,” Austin’s saying, and I realize I may have missed part of the conversation, while mentally undressing the cop. “Good seeing you, Bob.”
“You, too.” Bob touches the brim of his cowboy hat, and I almost wish I had a hat of my own to return the gesture. “Nice meeting you, ma’am.”
“You, too.”
I wait until we’re back in the car and halfway down the driveway to throw my arms around Austin’s neck. “Oh my God, that was amazing.”
He looks at me and smiles. “Aren’t you supposed to be buckled up?”
I flutter my lashes and plant a kiss beside his ear before planting my butt back in the seat. “Are you going to arrest me if I don’t obey the seatbelt law?”
“Maybe,” he says, both hands on the wheel as he heads back out onto the highway. “I do have a pair of handcuffs in back.”
I know we’re both teasing, but I do one of those full-body sex shivers as I clip my seatbelt into place and fold my hands in my lap to keep myself from groping Lieutenant Luscious. “Seriously, that was incredible,” I tell him. “I can’t believe how well you handled that. You sure you don’t have a degree in public relations?”
He laughs and slides on a pair of sunglasses that make him look ten times hotter, if that’s even possible. “Nope. Just a degree in criminal justice, a little small-town sensibility, and a lifetime of memorizing everyone else’s secrets.”
