by Stacy Finz
“You bringing anyone?” he asked.
“Besides Rico, you mean?”
“Who is Rico?” He asked it innocently enough, but Darla couldn’t meet his eyes.
“He works with Griff at the Gas and Go.” And he worships me.
“You seeing him?” That too, he asked casually. Like, “Hey, no big deal, just curious.”
“I hardly see how that’s your business,” Darla said, knowing that she’d sounded a tad too defensive.
“Sorry, Darla. I was just trying to make conversation. Part of this”—he waggled his finger between them—“is so it won’t be awkward tonight.”
“It won’t be,” she promised, because she had every intention of ignoring him, even though he looked more handsome now than ever before. And he seemed to have his life together. Good job. Pillar of the community. Too mature to resort to snarky banter.
“Good.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want the past to make us bitter.”
She flinched. How could he say that so cavalierly? As if their past had been a frivolous summer romance. It might’ve started that way, but that’s not how it ended. He’d promised to marry her, take care of her, love her until the end of time. And then, without so much as a backward glance, walked. Ran was more accurate. As if someone held a gun to the back of his head.
That whole summer had been a fairy tale for Darla. She’d been helping her dad in the barbershop, making appointments, working the cash register, and sweeping. Mostly grunt work. Wyatt had come in for a haircut, his eyes tracing her every move. When it came time to pay, he’d forgotten his wallet.
“You live around here, don’t you?” she’d asked. He’d nodded, his ears turning bright red. “Then just go get it and come back. We trust you.”
He’d run out of the shop, clearly mortified, only to return ten minutes later with the cash and a handful of snickerdoodles. “My mom baked them.”
“Thanks,” she’d said, wondering why he hadn’t at least wrapped the cookies in a napkin. They still felt sweaty from his hand.
“Would you consider going out with me?” Again, his ears had turned a bright red.
She hadn’t been that attracted to him, but she’d also never had a real date. For that reason alone she accepted. And two weeks later, knew she’d fallen head over heels in love with Wyatt Lambert. Her dad had warned that it was puppy love—that it wouldn’t last.
“It probably won’t even survive the summer,” he’d warned.
But she’d known instinctively, the way animals that mate for life do, that he was the one. And she’d been right, because to this day, Darla had never gotten over him. She still yearned for his kisses, the ones that had started out wet and sloppy, but with much practice had progressed to the gold standard. The benchmark by which she measured all others.
No one had ever loved her the way Wyatt had. And Darla would never again let someone leave her in pieces the way he had.
“Bitter?” she said. “Our past was a child, Wyatt. We made a baby. We lost a baby. And then you left.”
Chapter 14
Everyone was having a perfectly miserable time, except for Rico and Connie, who appeared to be oblivious to the sour vibe permeating lane two of the bowling alley.
Harlee couldn’t help but notice that Darla and Wyatt were doing their best to avoid one another, occasionally stealing glances when he or she thought the other wasn’t looking. Lina, home for winter break, was a no-show and Griffin silently sulked. And if Harlee suffered any more rejection, she’d have to go on Prozac.
Everything Colin had said, with the exception of her being out of his league—because please, he was the kindest, sexiest, and most honorable man she’d ever known—rang true. Nugget was just a stopping station until she could reconnoiter, pay off some bills, and find another big newspaper job. Whereas Colin had made a fine life here. He had a big, beautiful house to prove it and a business that was on the cusp of taking off. And here, where trees outnumbered people, he could skirt his phobias.
Despite the fact that he was trying to save them both a lot of heartache, Harlee still felt raw disappointment, like maybe she had found someone worth hanging on to.
“Who wants nachos?” Connie asked. She seemed so grateful to have been included that Harlee didn’t want to ruin her night, and tried to snap out of her funk. Harlee got the distinct impression that the thirty-something police dispatcher didn’t get out much.
“Nachos sound good,” she said. “I’ll go with you to the snack bar.”
But a line spanned the length of the bowling alley. Half of Plumas County had jammed into the Ponderosa to ring in the New Year. Earlier, she’d seen Rhys, Maddy, Emily, and Clay in the restaurant having dinner. Clay’s sons and Rhys’s little brother were here somewhere, either bowling or playing arcade games. Darla’s dad and his posse had commandeered a table for the night for their annual pinochle tournament. Pam—Harlee and Darla’s yoga instructor—and her husband sat at the bar with the Thurstons.
Nate, filling in for Sophie and Mariah, who had just had a baby girl, served drinks. The festive atmosphere, which included a garish amount of streamers and enough party hats and blowers to go around, had even attracted a good number of tourists looking for party central.
Harlee wished she had stayed in bed with a gallon of ice cream.
“Maybe the line is shorter at the bar,” she suggested to Connie. They headed for the restaurant side of the Ponderosa and pushed through the crowd waiting for seats, only to find that the bar also had a considerable queue.
“Can you believe this?” Harlee gave silent thanks that Colin hadn’t come. For a demophobe this would be like Times Square before the ball dropped.
“See that table at four o’clock?” Connie nudged her head at a group of men in camouflage. “They’re checking you out.”
Great, Harlee thought, a bunch of rowdy hunters. “How do you know they’re not checking you out?”
“Puhleeze. No one checks me out.”
Harlee shot Connie a look. “Of course they do.” Although it might help if she lost the thick, black-framed eyeglasses. They detracted from her pretty brown eyes. And her clothes—baggy cargo pants and a shapeless sweater—could use a little tarting up. Something for her and Darla to work on.
“We may as well get the nachos here,” Harlee said. Although the line was just as long, it seemed to be moving faster.
“Roger that,” Connie said, and they joined the cattle call, while someone played Cracker’s rendition of Ray Wylie Hubbard’s “Redneck Mother” on the jukebox.
“Don’t look now,” Connie said, “but one of those hunters is coming over here.”
Harlee turned away, waving to Donna and Pam, acting distracted in hopes of avoiding the guy. No such luck.
“Hey, gorgeous, why don’t you and your friend here join me and my buddies over at our table.” The man had onion-and-beer breath.
“We’re here with a group,” Harlee said. “But thanks for the invite.”
“Suit yourself, honey.” He gave her a once-over, then lingered on her breasts long enough to memorize her cup size. “But we’ve got beer. With this wait, it’ll be 2015 before you get a drink.”
“Yeah, we’ll take our chances,” Harlee said. “And like I said, we’ve got people waiting for us.”
He looked around the dining room as though he didn’t believe her, then stuck his face an inch away from hers, like he was moving in for a kiss.
Connie wedged herself between them. “Back off, bub.”
He looked down at Connie, who barely reached his chest. “You two lesbos?”
“As a matter of fact, we are,” Harlee said, and pulled Connie by the hand back into the bowling alley. “What a colossal douche.”
“I think we could’ve taken him,” Connie said. “Should we tell Wyatt? Let Hunter Boy meet the long arm of the law?”
“Nah,” Harlee said. “Let’s just get our nachos and have a good time.”
“I’m hav
ing a great time.” Connie punched her in the shoulder.
Nate must’ve sent reinforcements to the snack bar in the bowling alley, because the line moved faster now. They got their nachos and a bucket of kettle corn. Harlee wanted to get a couple of pitchers of beer, but because the snack bar servers were underage, they would have to get alcohol back in the bar. Later, Harlee told herself. They’d already been gone too long.
When they returned to the gang, the mood had swung from glum to glummer. Griffin was off in a corner on his phone, having a heated discussion. Harlee assumed that Lina was on the other side of that conversation. Darla had paired off with Rico and they flirted outrageously. Harlee thought all of Darla’s hair flipping and boisterous laughter rang a little false. Especially given that every few seconds Darla would dart a glance at Wyatt to see if he had noticed. As soon as Harlee could get Darla alone she planned to find out what that was all about. Since the beginning of the night, Wyatt had painted a permanent scowl on his face and was the only one bowling.
“Wow, you’re pretty good at this,” Harlee said, watching him roll his third consecutive strike. “Do you bowl a lot?”
“I’m in a league,” he said.
Connie put the food down on a bench so everyone could share. But she and Harlee seemed to be the only ones interested. They stood there stuffing their faces.
“Let me try,” Connie said, heading over to the ball return.
“At least clean your hands first,” Wyatt said.
Harlee searched through her purse and came up with a Wet-Nap. It had probably been at the bottom of her bag, among the flotsam, for more than a year—since the last time she’d eaten Dungeness crab on Pier 29, back when she still had her job at the Call. She’d been celebrating that night with friends from the paper, after breaking a big story. It turned out that San Francisco was the only city in the state that had hydrants that wouldn’t fit a standard fire hose. The city’s firefighters, overly attached to their big hoses, had managed to get exempted from a law that required smaller hydrant fittings. Residents had been kept relatively in the dark on this, despite its having to do with public safety.
Bottom line: While the city went up in flames in a catastrophic earthquake—because they were known to happen in the Golden State—firefighters from other counties who had come to help wouldn’t be able to hook up their equipment. San Francisco’s brilliant solution was to run around the city handing out adapters while the place burnt to the ground, like it had in 1906.
Jerry had liked the article enough to reward her with his box seats for a Giants-Dodgers game. He did that occasionally with reporters he liked, causing much animosity in the ranks. God, Harlee missed it.
Connie tore open the square package, wiped her hands, then inserted her fingers in a speckled ball and tossed it down the lane. Wyatt squeezed his eyes shut and cringed as the ball made loud thumping noises while it bounced across the polished floor into the gutter.
Harlee howled with laughter as heads popped up from neighboring lanes to watch.
“Ah, crap,” Connie muttered.
Griffin sauntered over. “What did I miss?”
“Connie’s mad bowling skills,” Wyatt said.
“Let me try again,” she said.
“I think we should let the floor heal first.” Wyatt handed a ball to Harlee. “You try.”
She had only slightly better success than Connie. The ball actually rolled quite gracefully down the lane, only to veer into the gutter at the last minute. Rico went next and did some kind of fancy hip-shake boogie move that got him four pins. He got to go again and knocked down the remaining pins.
“Spare, baby.” He turkey-walked back to the bench and Darla hugged him like he’d just won the Elias Cup. Acting much?
Harlee seriously wanted to grab Darla by her clip-in extensions, drag her to the back of the room, and ask her what the heck was going on. But they’d just started having fun, and she didn’t want to break the momentum.
Wyatt gave Griffin some tips on form. “It’s all about the geometry,” he kept saying.
“Yeah, well, I flunked geometry,” Griffin said, aiming and releasing the ball, only for it to zig to the left and wind up in the gutter. “Dude, I suck.”
“Yes, you do,” Rico said. Again, more over-the-top giggling from Darla.
“Come here, Connie. I’ll coach you.” Wyatt waved her over, showed her some moves, and stood behind her as she took a step toward the target and swung the ball onto the lane.
Holy cow, the woman got a strike.
“Woohoo!” Connie cheered.
“Beginner’s luck,” Rico said, and grabbed a ball from the return.
“Hey, I get to go again,” Connie said.
“You got a strike,” Wyatt said in exasperation. “Your frame is over.”
“Oh,” Connie said. “I knew that.”
Harlee noticed an older couple in the lane next to them giving their group dirty looks. But since they were wearing ridiculous bear appliqué sweatshirts, Harlee didn’t take them too seriously. Annoyed that they kept staring, she finally whispered to Darla, “Who are those people?”
“Those are the Addisons. They own the Beary Quaint motor inn outside of town.”
“They’re glaring at us,” Harlee said.
“Yeah, they’re kind of dicks. Just ignore them.”
Harlee slid them a sideways glance to see if they were still staring, but the couple appeared to have gone back to their bowling game. “I’ve got to use the restroom,” she told Darla.
“Want me to come? We can use the one in the dining room and grab a couple of pitchers of beer.”
“Okay.” It would give Harlee the opportunity to ask Darla what in the world was going on between her and Wyatt.
They told the others where they were going. Griffin and Wyatt shoved a wad of cash into their hands for the beer, while Rico and Connie fought over who got to bowl next. Of course there was a line at the ladies’ room.
“What’s the deal with you and Wyatt?” Harlee asked as they waited.
Darla hitched her shoulders. “Nothing. What do you mean?”
“Give me a break, Darla. You’re so obviously trying to make him jealous with Rico. Why?” And then it suddenly dawned on her. “You guys used to have a thing. Didn’t you?”
Darla let her gaze fall to her wedge boots. “A long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s why he was staring at you at the Ponderosa that first time we had lunch.”
“You were going through your own stuff with your money situation and everything. Besides, it’s ancient history now.”
“Obviously it isn’t,” Harlee said. “If you want him back, stop with the game playing and go for it.”
Wyatt at least had been an adult by making it clear that he was interested.
“He did something really bad to me,” Darla said in a soft voice.
“What?” Harlee got her hackles up. No one messed with her friends.
“I can’t talk about it here. Later,” Darla said.
“He didn’t hit you or anything?” Because with all the background checks she’d done for DataDate, nothing would surprise her anymore.
“Nothing like that. I’ll tell you when we’re not in a crowded restaurant.” Someone came out of one of the stalls and it was Darla’s turn. “I’ll meet you over at the bar when you’re done.”
Harlee waited for the next stall to open. When she came out there was no more line. Wasn’t that always the way? she mused. She started to head for the bar when she was approached again by the jerk-off hunter who’d bothered her and Connie earlier.
“Hey,” he said, giving her another one of his perverted once-overs, making her skin crawl. “You looking for me?”
“Nope. I’m looking for my friends.” “One of them is a cop,” she wanted to add, because for now they were alone in the corridor and he made her nervous. “See ya.”
She quickened her pace, but he grabbed her arm. “What’s your hurry?�
� He pulled her into an alcove where linens were stored and pressed her against the wall. From his breath and bloodshot eyes she could tell he was three sheets to the wind. “I thought we should get to know each other.”
Stay calm, she told herself. Someone was bound to come soon. It was the bathrooms, for goodness’ sake. But he had shoved his knee between her legs and she felt pinned. And particularly vulnerable since she was in a dress. At least she had on tights.
She pushed against him hard, but he weighed at least two hundred pounds. “Would you mind?”
“Actually, I would.” He bent down and shoved his nose into the crook of her neck. “You smell good.” Licking his way to her ear, he muttered something about it being close to midnight.
She turned her head away from him and tried to shove his concrete chest with her arms, but he held her so tight she could barely move. “Let me go!”
Harlee started to scream, but he covered her mouth with his. God, she was going to vomit. He tasted like booze, onions, and chewing tobacco. On top of that he was working his knee between her legs until she could feel him hard up against her. Pelvis to pelvis. His hands reached up her dress as she struggled to free herself, which only made him more aggressive. Like this was sport to him.
Then suddenly she felt him being lifted off of her. Colin stood there, holding the cretin by the collar of his camo jacket. If Harlee didn’t know Colin, she’d have been more frightened of him than her attacker. A flat glint filled his eyes, which made him look a little savage and his body had gone taut and strained, like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey.
“You came,” she croaked, wondering how he’d managed to materialize out of nowhere. And thank goodness he had.
He spared her a momentary glance to make sure she was okay, then slammed Hunter Boy’s head into the wall. Hard. The man’s nose spurted blood like the Old Faithful geyser. Colin pulled the hunter’s head back until Harlee was afraid that his neck would snap in half.
“Colin, don’t,” she called.
So overcome by rage he must not have heard her, he was preparing to slam the man’s head into the wall a second time. Fortunately, Chief Shepard heard the commotion, and the next thing Harlee knew he was pulling Colin off the man.
