by Stacy Finz
“What’s Justin? About fourteen now?”
“Yup. Cody just turned eleven. The biggest little shit you ever saw.”
Rhys smiled, but quickly turned serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Jen’s funeral. I was in the middle of a big case and—”
Clay absolved him with a wave of his hand. “You came for Tip’s. I didn’t expect you to come back six months later.”
“I should’ve come for you . . . for the boys.”
“Things were pretty much over between us when she had the accident.” Clay stretched his legs down the length of the staircase. “But it’s been hard on the kids. Apparently even a bad mother is better than no mother.”
Rhys had met Jennifer only a couple of times in San Diego. She’d seemed nice enough—though a little overdone for his taste. Unlike Clay, he didn’t go for women who put their wares on parade. And Jen with her low-cut tops, her too-short skirts, and that mane of bottle-blond hair was a veritable window display. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been satisfied with men just looking.
“The kids like living on the ranch?” Rhys used his car key to pop the cap off one of the Sierra Nevadas and took a long drag.
Clay also grabbed a beer from the pack, but seemed more intent on peeling the label off the bottle than drinking from it. “It took them a while to adjust. They liked San Diego and missed their friends. But they’ve made new ones and I think they’re sort of tickled by having dogs, horses, and cattle. So stop changing the subject. What’s the plan for Shep?”
Rhys pulled his hood over his head. Damn, it was getting chilly. “Del suggested an assisted-living-type deal.... Thanks for the referral, by the way. Good guy . . . So I guess I’ll check out a few in Sac and a few in Reno, see which ones I like best.”
Clay nodded. “Sounds like a viable plan. He have insurance for that sort of thing? I hear they can get pretty expensive.”
“Shep’s never been too open about his finances.” He eyed the dilapidated duplex warily. “I’d say it’s not great—probably a pension from the railroad and social security. But he had pretty good benefits. Hopefully that carried over into retirement. I’ll have to check.”
Clay opened his beer and took a swig. “Any way you’d consider sticking around? Maybe hiring one of the ladies from town to help out with him?”
“No can do.” From the time he’d landed in Reno and had crammed his six-three frame into a compact rental car, he’d counted the hours until he could get back on that plane and hightail it out of here. “I’ve got a job in Houston, a good apartment, and a nice schoolteacher I’m seeing. Besides you, there’s nothing for me in Nugget.”
Clay continued tearing strips of the label off his bottle. He stuffed the shredded paper in his pocket and leaned toward Rhys. “Hear me out on this. There’s talk of hiring a new police chief. Ever since Duff retired, the town’s been contracting with the sheriff’s department out of Quincy. Folks here aren’t happy at all with their response time. Sometimes it takes a deputy forty-five minutes to get here. In an emergency . . . hell.”
Rhys had to laugh at that one. “Emergency? What around here amounts to an emergency? Floyd Simmons getting stuck in the mud? Someone stealing eggs from Tessa Barnes’s chicken coop?”
“That’s bullshit now, Rhys. With the weekender population this town’s grown to nearly six thousand people. We have our fair share of crime. Maybe not the same caliber of crime you have in Houston. But look at it this way: the less law enforcing to do, the more time to fish.”
Rhys smiled. “You got me there.” He lifted his chin. “What about Frank or Deets? They still with Nugget’s finest?”
Clay tilted his head back and laughed. “Rhys, they were old even when we were kids. Frank died six years ago and Deets is in some retirement home near Las Vegas.” Clay pulled another beer from the six-pack, but didn’t open it. “Now we’re completely reliant on the sheriff’s department. So if you took the job, you’d get to hire your own staff.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Rhys said. “But it ain’t happening.”
Chapter 2
Two weeks later
The place was modest to say the least. Maddy had to walk through the bedroom to get to the kitchen, and the bathroom was in the back of the house.
But with a little imagination, she could probably make it habitable. Maybe even cute. Since deciding on her move to Nugget she’d put off house hunting until the last minute. At least this little duplex apartment would only be temporary. As soon as the contractors spiffed up quarters in the soon-to-be-renovated Lumber Baron Inn, she’d move in there so she could supervise the entire overhaul. In the meantime, she could walk to the inn from here.
“So you taking the place?” The guy who’d introduced himself as Rhys Shepard, the duplex owner’s son, leaned against the doorjamb.
“Maybe,” she said, noticing the way his shoulders filled the doorway. Maddy suddenly wished she’d put on makeup, maybe even worn her hair down instead of piling it up on top of her head like a mop.
She gave the apartment one last walk-through, staring out the windows at the breathtaking views. She could see the river, snow-covered mountains, and the town, which from here looked almost quaint.
“Did the Donner Party come through here?” she asked. Ever since her brother, Nate, had found her holed up in her Pacific Heights Edwardian, inconsolable over her husband’s deception, and had dragged her to Nugget, she’d become obsessed with the tragedy. She stared out at a distant mountain peak and thought maybe it happened there. Maybe that’s where the snowbound pioneers started feasting on the dead.
She’d have spatchcocked Dave, that’s for sure.
She turned to face Rhys. “Is that why this street’s named Donner Road?”
“Yeah . . . I think so. If you’re not interested—”
“I’ll take it.” She reached in her purse for a checkbook. “Deposit and first month’s rent, right?”
“That’ll do you.” He continued to stand there while she wrote the check. “So, you’re fixing up the old Lumber Baron place?”
“Yes. How’d you hear about it?” she asked.
He grinned, showing a nice set of white teeth against his tan skin. “The whole town’s talking about it. No secrets in Nugget.”
She caught him checking out her wedding ring as she handed him the payment.
“Let me get you the key.” He disappeared into his dad’s side of the building and returned a few minutes later. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. I probably won’t need it until Monday,” she said, stashing the key in one of the zippered compartments of her handbag. “That’s when the movers are bringing my stuff.”
“You know what time? Mine’s also coming Monday. I don’t think there’s enough room in the driveway for two trucks.”
Her curiosity must’ve shown, because he gave her a tight smile and said, “I’m your new neighbor.”
“I thought your dad lives here?” The apartment barely had enough space for one person, let alone a second, tall, really built one.
“Me, too, now.” He didn’t elaborate, just jutted that strong square jaw of his at her in a way that said, Wouldya answer my original question?
“Hopefully in the morning. What time’s yours scheduled?”
He shrugged. “They’re coming from Houston, so whenever they get here. Maybe it won’t be a problem. We’ll have to play it by ear.”
“Texas, huh?” Curiosity was killing her. “Job transfer?”
“Something like that,” he said, and Maddy thought she detected a tint of bitterness in his voice. “When’s your husband arriving?”
When he’s done screwing our best friend’s widow. For all Maddy knew Gabby had already joined Dave in Paris. “I’m not sure yet,” she answered, gazing out at the railroad tracks. “Do the trains run frequently?”
“Only every four or five hours.”
Super!
As if reading her mind, he said, “Don’t worry, you’ll ge
t used to it,” and flashed those pearly whites again.
Maybe it was just Maddy, but the smile seemed slightly sadistic. She got the feeling that moving here didn’t rank high in his top picks of places to live and you know what they say . . . misery loves company.
“Well . . . I guess I better get going. I have a meeting with the contractor and the carpenter.” Folding the rental agreement, she stuffed it in her purse.
He pushed himself away from the door. “I’m on my way to the bowling alley, too. Want a lift?”
She jerked her head up in surprise. “How’d you know the meeting was at the bowling alley?”
He grinned again. “I told you: no secrets in Nugget. You want that ride?”
She looked over at her new Subaru. The locals told her she’d need all-wheel drive for the rough winters. So she’d traded Dave’s right-out-of-the-showroom Porsche Carrera for an Outback and kept the change for her divorce fund.
What the hell. She’d take a ride with a stranger. It was just a short walk back and Maddy could certainly use the exercise. Ever since finding Dave and Gabriella’s emails she’d been eating nonstop, lying on the couch, watching the Shopping Channel, stuffing her face with Cheez-Its. At one point she’d thought about taking a pair of scissors to her husband’s designer suits, scattering his pant legs and jacket arms across the front lawn. Instead, she’d just wolfed down another morning bun. The Porsche had been Nate’s idea. All that business acumen had turned her brother vicious.
“Thanks,” she said and got in the passenger side of the Ford Focus while he held the door open.
“It’s a rental,” Rhys said. “My truck’s coming with the movers.”
Maddy tried not to roll her eyes. “You grow up around here?”
“Yep.”
She fastened her seat belt and waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “So what was that like? Growing up here?”
A deep chuckle rumbled through his throat. It was a good manly sound that gave her a little tingle. “I left as soon as I turned eighteen. So that should tell you how much I liked it.”
“Is that when you moved to Texas?”
“Went to Alaska first to work on a fishing boat. Heard through the grapevine that Houston PD was hiring, so I moved there a few years later.”
“Oh. So you’re a police officer?” Maddy thought his ruffled hair and five-o’clock shadow looked a little scruffy for law enforcement.
“Narcotics detective, actually. After Katrina, I got promoted to sergeant.”
“So what brings you back to Nugget?”
He let out a breath. “I found out a couple of weeks ago that my dad has Alzheimer’s. I took a six-month leave of absence from the department so I can work things out here.”
She reached out and touched his arm as it rested on the console. “That’s awful about your dad. I’m so sorry. What about your mom, siblings, can’t they help?”
“Don’t have any, it’s just the two of us.” He turned onto the square, parked the car, but left the engine running. “So what’s your story?”
“Well, not so much to tell. My brother and I are planning to rehab the Lumber Baron and turn it into a luxury inn.”
He looked skeptical. “Luxury and Nugget. Now there’s an oxymoron.”
Her thoughts exactly. But she stuck to Nate’s spiel. “This place is a dream for outdoor enthusiasts. But other than the campsites in the state park and a few motels and rustic cabins, there are no higher-end lodging options. Not unless you schlep all the way to Reno, Truckee, or Tahoe.” She removed her safety belt and turned sideways in her seat. “It’s not like we’re building a Ritz or anything, just a more comfortable alternative to what’s already available. Not all adventurers want to rough it.”
He made a face. “Y’all know what you’re doing?”
Disarmed by his brusqueness, she laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we do. My husband’s family happens to own one of the largest luxury hotel chains in the world.”
“Didn’t hear you mention him being involved in this little venture of yours. Just your brother.”
He was blunt. And perceptive. “My brother owns one of the best known hotel management companies in San Francisco. And my parents operate high-end boutique inns in the Midwest. Does that work for you?”
Rhys cut the motor and turned to face her. “I didn’t mean to offend you, sugar. It’s just—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she stopped him. “Do I look like a sugar to you?”
He gave her a cheeky grin. “Excuse my Texas . . . What I was trying to say, Miz Breyer”—he drew out both the “Miz” and the “Breyer”—“is have you looked around this place?”
Unfortunately, he had a point. Half the storefronts on the square were boarded up. But if she and her brother wanted the inn to be successful, they had to sell this place as if it was the next Lake Tahoe.
“Maybe we’re exactly what this town needs,” she said. “Something to kick it in its pants. If everyone came together and spruced up the place and created a clever marketing campaign to attract visitors, Nugget could be a major destination vacation spot. And that would be a win-win for the whole town.”
Rhys held his hands up in surrender, looking so contrite that it made Maddy laugh again. They just sat there for a few minutes, not saying anything, until Rhys opened the car door. She followed him into the Ponderosa, where they went their separate ways—Rhys to join a handsome man in a cowboy hat and she to join her brother and their builders, Colin Burke and Pat Donnelly.
Pat was a popular contractor in the area, but Colin was a bit of an enigma. Strapping, scruffy, intensely shy, and very private. His carpentry, however, was exemplary. He’d done much of the restoration for Sophie and Mariah, bringing the Ponderosa’s vintage woodwork back to life. In his spare time, he worked on his own home and ran a small Internet furniture business—with rocking chairs as his specialty.
He’d agreed to help restore the Lumber Baron for a very fair price. Because Nate paid cash for the Victorian and its owner couldn’t wait to unload the decrepit building, they’d closed escrow in record time. The mansion was theirs—rats, bats and all. Nate, a world-class finagler, had also managed to sprint through the licensing and permitting process to turn the one-time family residence into a hotel. It helped that the vacant Victorian—built by a wealthy timberman in the late eighteen hundreds for his bride—sat on nearly one quarter of Nugget’s commercial square. Now all she had to do was make the Lumber Baron beautiful again, fill it with guests, and turn a tidy profit.
The prospect of leaving San Francisco and taking up residence in this dusty, depressed town held about as much appeal as chugging battery acid. But Nate had wheedled, pleaded, and finally convinced her to at least oversee the hotel’s restoration and opening.
“After that we’ll take it one day at a time,” he’d promised.
But she’d known full well that he’d conceived this whole inn idea just for her. Two months ago they’d stood in this very square, in front of the broken-down Victorian, and Nate had told her the painful truth.
“I think you wasted the last five years of your life trying to be the perfect wife, standing on the sidelines so Prince Dave Wellmont could be the hotshot. When you, little sister, used to be amazing.”
Tears rolling down her cheeks, she’d turned to him. “I’m not amazing anymore?”
He’d shaken his head. “But we’re going to get you back. We’re going to buy this place, polish it up to its former glory, and turn it into a five-diamond inn.”
“But I don’t like it here,” she’d sniffed.
Nate had shrugged off her aversion to the town. “It’s as good a place as any to find yourself.”
At the time, his words had hurt, made her question the kind of person she’d become. But the challenge of starting this project from scratch, and the chance to finally use her innate skills—the ones that had made her family, the Breyers, among the most respected names in hospitality management—gave her hope that bre
athing new life into the old mansion would somehow make Maddy new again, too.
It also scared her to death.
“Who’s that?” Clay drew circles with his finger in the condensation left on the table by his coffee mug.
“Maddy Breyer, new owner of the Lumber Baron mansion and Shep’s new tenant.”
“Pretty.”
“Married.” Although Rhys got the impression that there may be problems on that front. Why would she move to the middle of nowhere to renovate a piece-of-shit building without her husband?
He grabbed the menu and scanned the list of lunch items. On his few occasions eating at the Ponderosa, he’d found the food decent. Unfortunately, the restaurant’s Western-style saloon décor—dark paneled walls, Victorian light sconces, red velvet curtains, and pleather banquettes—reminded him of a Nevada whorehouse. At least the other half was a modern bowling alley. Ten lanes, shoe rental booth, video-game arcade, and food concession stand.
“You taking the job?” Clay closed his menu.
“Yep. Seems to be the best temporary solution.”
“You don’t look too happy about it.”
Rhys just shrugged. “It’ll give me the time I need to work things out here. Either find an assisted-living-type situation for my dad, or . . . something.” He didn’t know why he cared. It wasn’t like Shep had ever given a rat’s ass about Rhys. But when Rhys’s mom had run out on them, Shep had at least kept him fed and put a roof over his head. That had to be worth something. Or so Rhys told himself.
“Houston’s giving you a leave?”
“Six months under our union contract for family care. The department’s okay with me taking the interim chief position. I told them it’s more of a consulting gig to get Nugget PD up and running again until they can hire someone permanent.”
“The lady?” When Rhys drew a blank, Clay said, “The schoolteacher you’ve been seeing?”
“Christy? She wouldn’t last one day here.” He chuckled, thinking about how crazy she’d go without her weekly Galleria fix. “That was more of a casual thing.”
