Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3)

by Stacy Finz

  “Why couldn’t you just tell me that?” Colin’s face was red. “Why the hell should I hear it from Griffin?”

  “Griffin just happened to be around when Leah called. He overheard most of it. I didn’t purposely keep you out of the loop, Colin. It was a lead that didn’t pan out. Not worth talking about.”

  She also had her pride, and all the rejection stung. By now she surely thought she’d have her pick of jobs, and the humiliation of being constantly passed over wasn’t something she wanted to share.

  Colin let out a breath and gathered Harlee in his arms. “Do you feel bad that you didn’t get it?”

  “No . . . Yes.” And just like that she started to cry. “I’m a really good reporter, Colin. I know you think I’m delusional because if I was so great, why wouldn’t I have a job by now? But it’s . . . it’s just really hard out there.”

  Words of the famous crime reporter Edna Buchanan popped into her head, “Never let them see you cry,” and Harlee wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You probably think it’s an excuse. But it really is hard out there.”

  “Give me a little more credit, Harlee. I may not be a journalist, but I know that newspapers have been hit hard by the economy and the Internet. And I know you’re a great reporter.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “I’ve Googled your stories.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “You did?”

  “Of course I did.” He kissed the tip of her nose and dabbed a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “You’re a great writer.”

  Actually, her editor was the great writer. He’d definitely got his money’s worth out of Columbia, because he still had a job and she didn’t. But he couldn’t find half the dirt she could dig up. The man didn’t even know how to use Nexis. “Thanks,” she said, and sniffled.

  “Harlee, did you keep this job from me because you were embarrassed?” Colin asked gently.

  “Colin, I didn’t tell you because it’s a nonissue. Can we not talk about it anymore?”

  “I’ll stop talking about it, but just for the record, you can tell me anything.”

  “Yeah,” she said, “because you’re such a sharer.” Harlee was teasing, but Colin was looking at her strangely. “What? I just meant that you don’t talk about yourself much.”

  His eyes dropped to his boots and Harlee could’ve sworn there was something he wanted to say. “Colin?”

  “I told you about my phobias.” Colin swallowed uncomfortably. “I haven’t told anyone about that except for Fiona and Steve.”

  “I know,” she said, and hurt for him, because having fears like that had to be emasculating for a guy as proud and alpha as Colin. “And I’ll never forget the fact that you overcame the demophobia to protect me. That’s hot for a woman, you know?”

  “Yeah?” He pressed her against the kitchen counter where they’d been doing dishes together and kissed her.

  The man was incredibly affectionate. Always hugging, kissing, and touching her. It made her feel perfect. As his lips worked their way down her neck, she nearly blurted that she loved him. Recently, her feelings for him had been building with the velocity of a gale force. Now it swept her up like a tornado. Although plenty of men had looked, no one had ever looked at her the way Colin did. It was always right there in his face. To him, Harlee was the be-all and end-all, the most spectacular individual on God’s green earth. The best part was that she saw Colin the exact same way. He was goodness personified, and she’d never met a man who matched him.

  But she sensed that Colin would be skittish about her declaration of love. So she kept her newfound feelings to herself and let him continue with the nuzzling.

  “Wanna take this into the bedroom?” Colin whispered in her ear as he scraped his teeth against her lobe.

  “Uh-huh.” She could barely stand. But then her cell phone started playing the Beach Boys’ “Wendy,” and the mood was shot.

  Colin chuckled. “That’s your ringtone?”

  “Only for Wendy. She’s one of my best friends at the Call.”

  “Clever,” he teased. The phone stopped ringing. “Looks like you missed it. You better call her back.”

  “You don’t mind? We were sort of in the middle of something.”

  Colin’s lips inched up into a lascivious grin. “We’ve got all night.”

  Harlee kissed him. “Okay, then I’ll just call her back real quickly. She usually just texts or emails, so this might be important.”

  Colin gazed down at her chest where her nipples had hardened through her sweater. “Hurry.”

  She tapped Wendy’s number, pressed her cell against her ear, and walked into the great room. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Jerry quit.”

  “Get out,” Harlee said. “I thought he was a lifer.”

  “He got a job at the Seattle Times. Executive editor.”

  “You’re kidding me?” The Times had a slightly smaller circulation than the Call, but it was the paper of record for the state of Washington, and the executive editor was top dog. “San Francisco is Jerry’s town—the Giants, the politics, the cioppino.”

  “The layoffs broke his heart,” Wendy said. “There’s a rumor that corporate has ordered another round. Jerry wants no part of it, says you can’t run a great newspaper with so few reporters, so he’s leaving.”

  “You guys know who will replace him?”

  “Lots of rumors, but no one knows for sure. Probably some corporate toady who’s cheap.”

  “I’m sorry, Wendy.” Jerry was the kind of editor people walked through fire for. Not a lot of those around anymore, mostly drooling dullards who spouted the company line and only cared about how many clicks your stories got on the Internet. Those being photo galleries of celebrity offspring and the best boy bands, ever.

  “The place won’t be the same. But it hasn’t been since you left, anyway.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.” Harlee couldn’t help being touched.

  “Look, this could be good for you,” Wendy said. “Everyone knows you were Jerry’s pet. Maybe he’ll hire you in Seattle.”

  “Jerry’s pet? The guy was constantly haranguing me about my spelling and grammar.”

  “That’s the way he shows affection. You should call him.”

  “Okay,” Harlee said. “I’ll do that. Thanks for letting me know, Wendy.” Seattle would be a good place to land. The paper was respected and at least she’d still be in the Pacific Northwest.

  When Harlee got off the phone, Colin was waiting to get the skinny. They both sank into the leather sofa and Harlee sat sideways, draping her legs over Colin’s thighs.

  “My old managing editor quit to go to the Seattle Times,” she told him. “Wendy thinks I should call him about getting a job.”

  Other than a slight twitch in his right eye, Colin’s face remained impassive. “You think this guy would hire you?”

  “Possibly. Wendy thinks he will. But who knows. The Times has plenty of good reporters.”

  “Would you want to work at that newspaper?”

  “Absolutely. It’s very well thought of.”

  “Then you should definitely call him,” Colin said.

  Harlee’s stomach pitched in disappointment. It was ridiculous, since all Harlee had done since she’d gotten to Nugget was obsess over getting another newspaper job. But a small, impractical part of her wanted him to ask her to stay. To keep running DataDate, help him with his furniture business, get him past his phobias, and take her to Emily and Clay’s wedding this summer. And to love him, which she already did.

  But he didn’t and he wasn’t going to, because Colin Burke had made it perfectly clear that he was a solitary man.

  “Darla, do you have time to give me a cut and highlights today?” Emily stood at the entrance of the barbershop, one foot out the door. “I have to tell Clay. Otherwise he’s going to run me to Reno.”

  Darla looked around her empty shop. “Uh, yeah. You want to do it now?”

  “That would be great.
Let me just tell Clay. He’s waiting in the truck.”

  Darla nodded and waited for Emily to return, thrilled that she’d soon have one of the town’s revered citizens in her chair. Emily was the kind of client who could turn business around for Darla.

  “I’m back.” Emily tugged off her ski jacket and hung it on the coatrack.

  Darla sent her into the bathroom to take off her wool sweater and put on a cape; she didn’t want to get color on Emily’s nice clothes.

  “I thought you used Donna’s stylist,” Darla said to Emily when she came out, tying the belt of her cover-up.

  “I do, but it’s such an ordeal going to Reno, especially when the weather’s bad. I’ve only been going to her for a few months. I don’t have the same loyalty as Donna, who’s been going for years. And I love what you did with Sam’s hair. I didn’t see it before you fixed it, but from what I’ve heard . . .” Emily made a face.

  “It was bad,” Darla said, playing with Emily’s hair. She had a nice cut, but the layers were a little heavy for Emily’s bone structure. She was a small woman. “I think we should thin it out a little and do some lowlights. What you have now is a little brassy. You okay with that?”

  “You’re the boss,” Emily said, which gave Darla a boost of confidence. “Clay and I just had breakfast at the Ponderosa and Sophie was there with Lilly. She’s getting so big.”

  Darla wondered if it was difficult for Emily, having lost her daughter. “She’s a cutie-pie.”

  “She sure is. How’s business been?”

  “Still slow,” Darla said. “Although my dad still has his regulars.”

  “I hear the fellows are hanging out over at the Gas and Go these days.”

  Darla snorted as she mixed Emily’s color. “Thank God. They aren’t exactly good for business, at least not at an upscale salon.” The place might not look like one yet, but Darla was working on it.

  “How’s Griffin?” Emily asked, and they both knew what she was talking about.

  “Holding up.” Darla wanted to kill Lina for breaking Griff’s heart. The man was a hunk of burning love. Who gave that up for some college dweeb?

  “That’s good. He’ll find a nice girl.” Emily suddenly turned in her chair to look at Darla. “How about you?”

  Weird as it was, Darla felt nothing for Griffin other than friendship. He was the best-looking single man in Nugget, richer than an Arab sheik, and sweeter than apple pie. But if she wanted to be honest with herself the only man who did it for her these days was Wyatt Jerk Lambert, because Darla was a glutton for punishment.

  She handed Emily a stack of square foils, told her to hand them to her one at a time, and swiveled the chair so it faced the mirror again. “He’s a good friend. That’s all.”

  “You never know, things could change,” Emily said.

  “You never know,” Darla agreed, but knew they wouldn’t.

  Through the mirror, she watched as Wyatt slid into his police rig. This week he worked the night shift. She didn’t need people to know how she knew. It’s not like she was proud of her methods. But Harlee wasn’t the only one who knew how to get pertinent information. Darla finished wrapping strands of Emily’s hair in the foils and had her sit under a hair dryer with a magazine.

  When the timer went off, Darla spent a good hour trimming and reshaping Emily’s hair. The results were subtle, but Darla saw a marked difference in how the now thinned layers highlighted Emily’s delicate face.

  “It’s a gorgeous cut, Darla.” Emily stared at herself in the mirror. “I hate to say this, but you’re way too good for Nugget. My goodness, woman, you could be cutting hair for the stars in Hollywood.”

  The praise pleased Darla to no end. “Do me a favor, Emily. Spread the word, please.” I’m dying here.

  “Of course I will. In fact I’m going to march on over to the Lumber Baron right now and show Maddy. She goes to Donna’s woman too. However, I happen to know for a fact that she’s sick of the schlep, especially as pregnant as she is.”

  “I appreciate it,” Darla said.

  “Before I go, tell me which products I should buy.”

  Darla picked out a shampoo and conditioner that she knew would be color safe for Emily’s lowlights, rung her up, and waved goodbye. With her confidence riding high, she walked to the back of the shop and sent Wyatt a text.

  “DROP BY DURING YOUR DINNER BREAK. WE NEED TO TALK.”

  February rolled in and the weather got colder. The Nugget Unified School District had already called two snow days in a row and Harlee had yet to call Jerry. She supposed a part of her was afraid of more rejection. And maybe another part of her didn’t want to leave Nugget, and most of all Colin. The two of them had settled into a cozy routine: meeting at each other’s homes after work, cooking meals together, and spending the nights making love. Sometimes in the evenings, Harlee would join Colin in his wood shop, huddle next to the potbelly stove, and watch him build his beautiful furniture.

  While they had never discussed the depth of their feelings—Harlee’s went as deep as the Mariana Trench—she sensed that she was important to Colin. He’d made a place for her in his life, which she suspected he’d never done for any other woman before. But that elusive connection was all he seemed capable of giving. There had never been a firm commitment or even the words Harlee longed to hear. And he’d never once asked her to stay. The independent Harlee told herself she should go. Ask Jerry for a job and take DataDate, which had finally started to generate a living wage, with her. But the wimpy Harlee couldn’t seem to pull the trigger.

  She stared out the window, watched the snow fall, and wondered if Colin would come home early on account of the weather. Most of the work left on Sophie and Mariah’s house was on the interior, so it was highly unlikely. And even if the crew decided to quit for the day, Colin would head over to McCreedy Ranch to finish Emily and Clay’s kitchen. The man had an amazing work ethic. To think that he ran a construction site by day, picking up side jobs along the way, and operated his furniture business at night and on weekends, boggled the mind. In her newspaper days, Harlee had pulled many long, exhausting hours, but it was far from physical labor.

  Harlee went back to her computer, signed off, and went downstairs to rummage through the refrigerator. Not so much hungry as she was bored, she closed the fridge door and decided to brave the snow and go into town, check her post office box, and stop off at the barbershop to visit Darla.

  Bad idea.

  Halfway there she had zero visibility, and despite her studded tires she was sliding all over the road. She wanted to turn around and go back, but she couldn’t distinguish where to pull off to hang a U-turn. The inability to see anything but white was terrifying, like walking a tightrope blind. She’d had a similar sensation once, driving over the Bay Bridge in the fog. It had felt as if she would suffocate in the thick shroud of vapor that hovered over the upper deck like a smoke bomb. At least then she’d had other motorists’ lights to guide her to the other side.

  Here, her equilibrium was off. She couldn’t tell east from west or north from south. Riding her brake, squinting into the snowy downpour, she tried to make out a safe place to pull off. Up ahead, she spied what she thought might be a driveway where she could wait out the storm. She’d lost track of where she was, and without any discernible landmarks couldn’t tell what the empty stretch of land was. Harlee carefully veered off the road, nosed slowly into the alcove, and bang, she hit something hard.

  The last thing she remembered was her airbags going off. When she came to, a man in a green uniform had the door open and was leaning over her.

  “Is that you, Wyatt?” she asked in a weak voice she barely recognized.

  “I’ve been following you for the last two miles. You okay?”

  “I think so. Can you get this thing off of me?”

  “Yeah. You’re bleeding, Harlee.” Wyatt went back to his SUV and returned with a first aid kit, using a towel to stanch the bleeding on her forehead.

 
; “I’m not sure if I got the wind knocked out of me or if I blacked out. What did I hit?” Oh God, what if she’d plowed into another car or a person.

  “A tree,” Wyatt said. “You feel nauseous, dizzy, blurry?”

  “I don’t think so. Is my Pathfinder okay?”

  “Never mind that. How many fingers am I holding up?” He held up four.

  “Twelve,” Harlee said. Wyatt was not amused.

  “I want to get you over to the hospital just in case you have a concussion. How’s your neck?”

  She leaned forward as Wyatt managed to clear the airbag, and twisted her neck from left to right. “It’s fine. It’s mostly my stomach and ribcage that hurt.”

  “You think you’re okay to ride in my rig?”

  “I think so.” She started to get out of the truck, but Wyatt lifted and carried her to his passenger seat. He seemed pretty used to walking in the snow.

  He buckled her in and made sure the strap wasn’t too tight. “This okay?”

  “I’m good,” she said. “I didn’t see you behind me.”

  “I kept flashing my lights, but in this”—he motioned at the snow pounding his windshield—“you can’t see dick, especially in daylight.”

  “You think we should wait it out before going to the hospital?”

  “I’ll call it in, but I don’t want to wait too long in case you have a head injury or a couple of broken ribs from that airbag.”

  Wyatt got on his radio and Harlee could hear Connie responding on the other end. There was something comforting about living in such a small town where even the emergency dispatcher was a friend.

  Rhys got on the radio and told Wyatt to stay put until he came to escort them in his own rig, although Harlee didn’t know what good that would do. They sat there listening to the wind make whistling noises through the trees, the sound eerie, like a howling train gone amok.

  Harlee began to shiver. Wyatt turned on the engine and flipped on the heat, letting out a blast of warm air that filled the cab of his police SUV.