Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3)

by Stacy Finz

  “Great.”

  After Colin left her alone in the room, she sat on the edge of the bed, removed her snow boots, and rifled through her suitcase for her slippers. Good thing she’d left the matching pink flamingo ones at home and brought her Uggs. She’d never hear the end of it.

  In the bathroom, she unpacked her cosmetic bag, washed her face, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and spritzed on a drop of perfume. Why? She had no idea. She looked in the mirror to see if it was obvious that she didn’t have a bra on. Because who wears a bra under their pajamas? She decided to hell with it; she’d leave it off.

  Harlee found him in the living room building a roaring fire. He’d taken off his flannel and was wearing a green henley over his jeans. The man really did have about the best body she’d ever seen.

  “You turned off the lights.” She smiled to herself, noting all the lit candles. Maybe Colin wasn’t such a dud after all.

  “I don’t want to use up the generator. Who knows how long this power outage will last.”

  “Oh,” she said, a little embarrassed for imagining that he might’ve wanted to be romantic. “Want me to make hot chocolate?”

  “Uh, I don’t have chocolate.”

  “Okay. How ’bout tea?”

  “Don’t have that either.”

  Thinking three’s the charm, Harlee asked, “You have wine?”

  “I don’t drink,” he said, and scooted Max down the couch so he could have the arm. Harlee watched him stretch out his long legs. “There’s milk if you’re thirsty.”

  She went into the kitchen and checked the cupboards. Lots of canned soups, chili, and stews. In fact he had more treats for the dog than he did for himself. The refrigerator had a lot of leftovers, milk, and apple juice. “Hey, I can make hot apple cider,” she said.

  “Whatever you want.”

  She grabbed a pot off the rack hanging over the center island, poured in the juice, and put it on the stove top to boil. From the pantry she actually found allspice, cloves, and cinnamon sticks—odd, since Grizzly Adams didn’t seem like the baking type. And tossed that in, too. She grabbed an orange from a well-stocked fruit basket—at least he wouldn’t die of scurvy—and tossed a bit of the peel into the pot.

  As soon as the mixture came to a boil, she turned down the heat and let the liquid simmer for a few minutes before pouring it into two mugs.

  “Here you go.” She put down a napkin on the coffee table and set the cup in front of Colin, who was channel surfing.

  “What do you want to watch?” he asked.

  “I don’t care. What do you usually watch this time of night?” Most of the guys she knew would’ve said porn.

  “Nothing. I’m usually asleep.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say you wanted to go to bed?”

  “Because you seemed like you wanted to hang out.”

  She smiled because for all his weirdness, he really was very sweet. “Drink your cider before it gets cold.”

  He dutifully took a sip. “It’s good.”

  “You really like it? Or are you just saying that because you think that’s what I want to hear?”

  “I really like it.” He took a few more sips. “So you lost your job, huh?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “Please don’t spread it around. Other than Darla, you’re the only person in Nugget who knows.”

  “What happened?”

  She put her mug down. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I was . . . I am . . . a great reporter. But the paper is losing money and they had to reduce staff. It’s a union shop. Last ones hired are the first ones fired, according to the rules.”

  “Did you like the job?”

  “I loved it. It was who I am.” She heard her voice tremble. “I’m looking around. But it’s tough right now. Just about every paper in the country is downsizing.”

  “Why didn’t you move in with your parents while you’re looking?”

  She blew out a breath. “Honestly, it would’ve made me feel more like a loser.”

  “You’re not a loser, Harlee. You lost your job through no fault of your own. These things happen.”

  She sniffled and swatted at her eyes. “Thank you for saying that. This whole thing has taken a toll on my confidence. You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but I used to be really outgoing.”

  She could see him smothering a smile. “You don’t say. What . . . uh . . . How are you getting by in the meantime?” Harlee could tell that he didn’t like prying, but she didn’t mind.

  “I have a business I’m trying to get off the ground. So far it’s going okay. But I sort of lived high on the hog in San Francisco and it’s caught up with me.” A skosh of an understatement, but it was better than saying she was swimming in debt.

  His brown eyes warmed and he smiled at her. Something about that smile melted her insides. She’d never been around someone who was so nonjudgmental.

  “I get the feeling that you’re the type of person who makes things happen. As far as the layoff,” he said, “just a minor setback.”

  “What about you?” She leaned her head against the back of the couch, feeling sleepy. But she didn’t want their conversation to end. “How’d you get into furniture making?”

  He looked away, gazing into the fire. “It’s just something I like to do. And people seem to think my stuff is nice enough to buy.”

  “Are you kidding? Colin, you should be taking your work to trade shows and furniture conventions all over the country. I’m serious. You could make a lot of money.”

  “I’m not all that ambitious,” he said, and she could’ve sworn she saw a flicker of sadness. “I did sell a piece to Della James’s manager.”

  “Get out! I heard she was here for some cookbook photo shoot. Oh my God, Colin.”

  He chuckled. “Emily Mathews, Clay McCreedy’s fiancée, was the editor and she used some of my pieces as props. She said I’ll be listed in the book on some sort of a resource page.”

  “That’s awesome.” He tried to look like no-big-deal, but she could tell he was really proud. “When’s the book coming out?”

  “Christmastime,” he said.

  “Colin, you better be ready. That book’s likely to be a New York Times best seller. You’re going to get orders up the wazoo.”

  “I doubt that,” he said sheepishly. “You tired?”

  “No.” She stifled a yawn. “You?”

  “Nah,” he said, but she could tell he could barely keep his eyes open.

  “Hey, Colin, you want to go bowling with us this week? Darla called and she and some guy named Griffin Parks want to get a group together. Do you know Griffin?”

  “I know who he is.” Harlee got the sense that Colin didn’t like him. “I don’t bowl.”

  “Uh, it’s not like I bowl either,” she said. “It’s just something to do. Get out with people. Have fun. It’s sort of the only thing to do in town and it’s relatively cheap.”

  He started to get up. “I can’t, Harlee. I think I’m gonna hit the hay.”

  “Why can’t you?” She tugged at his arm to pull him back down. “It’s just bowling with a group of people. It’s not like it’s a date or anything. Jeez, Colin, you’re starting to give me a complex.”

  “It has nothing to do with you, Harlee.” He deliberated, then said, “I have demophobia.”

  “What’s that?” But she figured it must be some sort of fear disorder, which explained a lot.

  “I’m afraid of crowds,” he said matter-of-factly, but his face told a different story. Shame. “And while the Ponderosa’s bowling alley isn’t exactly Mardi Gras, there’s enough people to give me a panic attack.”

  “That’s why you wouldn’t let me take you to dinner?”

  “I can’t do restaurants,” he said, his eyes downcast. “Occasionally, I’ll have to meet someone at the Ponderosa for business. It takes me an hour just to work up the courage to go in. Once I’m there, I pretty much feel like I’m going to die from lack of oxygen.”
r />   “That’s awful,” she said, unable to imagine what it must be like for him. “But there must be a treatment for . . . What did you call it?”

  “Demophobia. There are breathing exercises and therapy. I’ve done both.”

  “It doesn’t work?” she asked.

  He shrugged and she reached out to touch his arm. He just seemed so mortified and disgusted with himself.

  “Colin, people have all kinds of phobias. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Maybe, together, we could work on it. I could be your wingman.”

  He leaned into her until he was barely a whisper away. “You’re a nice woman, Harlee. Too nice for me.”

  She thought Colin might kiss her, but he suddenly pulled away. “Time to go to bed,” he said, and for a crazy second she imagined he might have meant together.

  “I’m too tired to move,” she said, sprawling out on the couch.

  And just like that two strong hands slipped under her, and the next thing Harlee knew, Colin was carrying her to the guest room.

  She snuggled her head against his rock-solid chest and let out a self-conscious giggle. “I can walk.”

  “Almost there,” he said, and gently dropped her on the bed. He took off her slippers and pulled the comforter back. “Get under.”

  Harlee crawled under the blankets and patted the side of the bed for him to sit. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. And thank you for telling me about the demophobia. I’m sorry, Colin. I know it must be awful.”

  Tomorrow she planned to research the disorder on the Internet. It certainly didn’t sound like something impossible to overcome. He just needed a friend to help him.

  He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and again Harlee got the distinct impression he wanted to kiss her. “I have to leave early for work,” he said.

  She could tell he was warring with himself, so she tilted her head back in clear invitation. “Me too,” she whispered.

  “For your business?”

  Shut up, Colin, and just kiss me. “Mm-hmm.”

  “What is your business, exactly?” He stretched out on the bed and moved an inch closer.

  She let out a sigh. “I run background checks on people’s girlfriends and boyfriends.”

  “Why?” He propped up on one elbow.

  She rolled into him, hoping to stop all this talking nonsense. “To make sure they’re not already married, wanted by the FBI, or have a criminal record. Boring stuff like that.”

  Okay, she told herself, no more chitchatting. She reached for him, hoping to take matters into her own hands, but he’d gone stiff. And not in the good way.

  Just like that, the man had turned cold. An iceberg would more aptly describe him.

  “Goodnight, Harlee.” He got to his feet and walked out the door.

  Chapter 6

  Colin lay in his bed, staring up at the open-beamed ceiling, hoping that the answers to his messed-up life would magically appear. Specifically, the answer to why he’d been playing kissy face with a woman like Harlee Roberts, when nothing good could come of it?

  He rolled over on his side and reached down to pat Max. “She sure is pretty, though. Isn’t she, boy?”

  She was pretty without knowing it. Well, maybe she knew it a little, Colin admitted. The woman had too much confidence otherwise. And why shouldn’t she? She was classy and educated—a big-time reporter, and come to find out, some kind of investigator, no less.

  Just what he needed.

  Her family was obviously the wholesome sort, like the kind you saw on television sitcoms. Hell, her mother looked like she’d just stepped out of a lifestyle magazine.

  Whereas, his mother had been a drunk. Not always. She’d once been a struggling actress who’d had limited success, but never hit the big time. The antidote to her disappointment became the bottom of a Tanqueray bottle. Then she’d met Sam. Together, they drank themselves into sheer oblivion.

  Sam and his daughter, Fiona, had come into his life when he was ten. Fiona, six years his senior, used to come to stay with them on alternate weekends. But when the couple’s drinking got too bad, his stepsister would load him into her Corolla and drive them to her mom Janis’s cottage in Topanga Canyon. He spent more time there than he did in his own home.

  When he was fourteen, Fiona went away to art school in Rhode Island. He’d thought her moving across the country was the end of the world. Little did he know the worst was yet to come.

  When Colin had first gotten out of Donovan Correction Facility, he’d moved in with Fiona and Steve, her husband. He’d done woodworking in prison as part of his vocational training, but it was Steve who’d taught him everything he knew. While hauling Steve’s cabinets and furniture halfway across the state, there’d been plenty of women. One-night stands he’d met in dive bars and at truck stops. Before the demophobia had set in. They hadn’t been interested in his life story. And the only thing he’d been interested in was making up for lost time.

  When he’d moved to Nugget and built the house, Fiona had tried to convince him to date. She wanted him to find a nice woman, settle down and have a family.

  “Col, everyone has a past,” she’d insisted.

  But his past made other peoples’ skeletons look like dollar-store Halloween decorations. That’s why someone like Harlee Roberts was out of the question. He fell asleep by telling himself that, over and over again, like counting sheep.

  The next morning, the power was back on. Colin shut down the generator, ran ten miles on the treadmill, jumped in the shower, and made himself a green smoothie. He didn’t want to disturb Harlee, so he wrote her a note that he’d cleared a path with the snowplow for her to get home and could she please keep an eye on Max. Ordinarily, he took the dog with him. But the temperature had dipped below freezing again and the ground remained blanketed in snow. Not the best conditions for a dog on a construction site.

  Halfway down Grizzly Peak, his cell phone rang. It was Pat, calling to say that the crew was taking a snow day, but could Colin check the site to make sure everything held up in the storm. It made sense, since Pat lived in Sierraville.

  “You want me to meet with Sophie and Mariah—go over the change orders?” Colin asked.

  “Yeah,” Pat said. “That would save me a trip and at least the whole day won’t be a loss. Thanks, Colin.”

  “No problem.” He clicked off, and continued scraping the snow off the road.

  On his way to the site, he called Sophie to set up the meeting. He managed to convince her that they should get together at the Lumber Baron instead of the Ponderosa. Fewer distractions, he told her. Colin knew that the Ponderosa would be packed for breakfast on a weekday, whereas the Lumber Baron would be practically empty. Probably just a few business travelers who’d gotten stuck in the storm.

  After checking the project, which, other than requiring the reapplication of a few sheets of loose Tyvek, had withstood the weather, Colin headed to the inn. He parked in the square and climbed up the stairs to the veranda, where he paced back and forth, peeking inside the windows.

  Rhys Shepard, the police chief, came out the door and gave Colin a funny look. “You want to come inside? It’s like thirty degrees out here.”

  “Uh . . . I’ve got my work clothes on. Might not be a good idea if there are guests eating in the dining room.”

  “No guests. Last one left a half hour ago. My wife just put on a second pot of coffee. I suggest you get yourself some.” He walked across the square to the police station, shaking his head.

  Colin went inside and not for the first time marveled at the rich beauty of the Victorian. The elaborately carved staircase alone filled him with pride. He himself had stripped the wood down to its natural grain after someone had painted it putrid pink. A year ago, the place had been an absolute wreck.

  “Colin!” Maddy rushed down the hall and enveloped him in a hug. “What brings you here today?”

  “I’m meeting with Sophie and Mariah on the house. We decided it wou
ld be quieter to talk at the inn.”

  “Is everything okay?” She looked worried.

  “Yeah, everything’s great. In fact, we’re ahead of schedule. This is just routine status stuff, like getting them to quit dragging their feet on ordering kitchen appliances and to go over their change orders.”

  “Good.” She sounded relieved. “With Sophie and Mariah’s baby coming, I know they’re anxious to get into the house.”

  Colin smiled. “Speaking of, how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing fine.” She mechanically touched her protruding belly. “All the first-trimester sickness is gone. I can actually look at food without throwing up. Colin, you want some coffee and some of Emily’s banana bread?”

  “I wouldn’t turn it down.” All he’d had was the smoothie.

  Maddy tugged him into the kitchen, another room he’d restored from top to bottom, and told him to sit at one of the island stools while she poured him a cup.

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black’s fine,” he said.

  “How about that storm?” she asked. “Did you lose power?”

  “Yep. But I have a generator.”

  “That’s good. We’ve got one here, and at home. Before Shep died we figured it was a necessity.”

  Toward the end, the old man had been pretty messed up and needed all kinds of medical devices to keep him comfortable. Rhys and Maddy had hired full-time caretakers for him so he could live at home.

  “I was worried about your new neighbor, Harlee,” Maddy went on. “I had Rhys send Wyatt up Grizzly Peak last night to do a welfare check, but he said she wasn’t there. Do you think she might’ve gone home with her mom?”

  “No,” he said, and cleared his throat. “She stayed with me.”

  “Oh?” He didn’t think Maddy’s smile could get any bigger. “Something going on there?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I have a generator and she doesn’t.”

  “That’s all? Because she’s really pretty and obviously very smart. Do you know she’s a newspaper reporter and has her own business?”

  “Yep,” was all Colin said.

  “So? You’re not interested?”

  “We’re friends, Maddy. I don’t think her stay here is too permanent.”