Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I closed my eyes and silently cursed myself for thinking about him yet again.
The man was an asshole. A married asshole. And no matter how it had felt at the time, he would never be mine.
A bead of sweat rolled down my back as the ancient ceiling fan spun lazily overhead. Sometimes July in Wyoming meant scorching days and warm nights, even here in Majestic, where the elevation usually kept things cooler. I’d stripped down to my undershirt hours ago, the uniform shirt hanging on the back of my door.
“You ever gonna tell me who that pretty doctor is on your dartboard?” My cousin and best friend, Waylon Fletcher, leaned against my doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Because if you got bad medical news and are keeping secrets from me…”
I plucked the darts from the board and returned to my desk. “Nope.”
“Better not be.” He eyed me skeptically. “Your mom called. Said you bailed on dinner with Dr. Moore last night. Supposedly, that’s the third setup you’ve ditched in two months.”
I groaned. “Thought I was agreeing to have dinner with my mom. Instead, she bails and sticks me with the new dentist, who, by the way, wears enough cologne to choke a moose.” I shuffled some papers, giving myself something to focus on besides Way’s knowing look. “Soon as I saw him sitting there, I hightailed it home and told her to come clean to the guy that I had no interest in her setup schemes. How’d you find out about it anyway?” As our small town’s mayor with the world’s gossipiest assistant, I wasn’t really surprised so much as annoyed.
“She cornered me at the grocery store.” Way shook his head, amused. “Said, and I quote, ‘That boy needs someone to warm his bed besides that ridiculous dog of his.’”
“Chick is not ridiculous,” I defended, though I couldn’t help the slight smile. My hound dog puppy, all floppy ears and oversized paws at six months old, perked her head up from her bed in the corner and wagged her tail. “She’s just… enthusiastic.”
Way moved over and squatted down to give her a head scratch. “She ate my hat last week. You’d better be glad it wasn’t my favorite.”
“She was teething.”
He stood back up and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the door frame again. “Your mom’s worried about you, Foster. We all are. You haven’t been the same since you got back from Hawaii.”
The mention of Hawaii wiped the smile from my face. I turned back to my computer. “I’m fine,” I insisted, the lie bitter in my mouth. “Just busy.”
Way didn’t look convinced, but he knew better than to push. “Whatever you say. Speaking of busy, another hiker lost their way up near Dead River Canyon. Cole said to tell you the search team’s assembling.”
Relief washed over me. Action. Something I was good at. I stood up and grabbed my shirt, calling out for my dispatcher. “Cole, tell Hanson to meet me at the trailhead in twenty.” I turned back to Way. “Sorry, duty calls.”
Way paused before leaving. His forehead crinkled in concern. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to talk about whatever happened. You’ve been grumbling like a bear with a thorn in his paw for months. Whatever the story is behind Dr. Did-You-Wrong over there, consider it might be time to move on.”
I kept my eyes on my shirt front as I finished fastening the buttons. As much as I usually shared with Way, this time, I was keeping my shit close to the vest. Way had gone to Vegas a couple of years back and struck the jackpot, bringing home a hot, rich husband as easily as playing the slots. The last thing I needed was relationship advice from a man who had it all.
“Nothing happened,” I insisted.
Except, of course, something had happened. Something I couldn’t forget, no matter how hard I tried.
I’d gone to Hawaii and fallen—instantly, ridiculously, and apparently irre-fucking-versibly—for a man I couldn’t have and who didn’t deserve me. Like getting struck with Cupid’s dart when the tip had been soaked in poison.
Six months ago, I’d been sure I’d get over it. But now?
Jesus, now I felt like Tommy Marian with his stupid hazel eyes, his soft fucking smile, and his awful-wonderful way of really listening when I talked had weaseled his way under my skin and burrowed so deeply into the very core of me, even my white-hot anger at his betrayal couldn’t burn him out.
And believe me, I’d tried.
The good news was there was plenty of work this summer to keep me distracted. Tourists like this one were bound and determined to get themselves in trouble on our watch. Lost hikers were as reliable in summer as hot dogs and hamburgers.
I made my way out of the office and hopped in my vehicle, thankful for the distraction.