Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

“Where’d you hear that?”

Maggie waved her hand. “Around.”

Around. Sometimes I hated living in a small town.

I took another sip of the now-cold coffee, nodding casually. “Things just ran their course.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Huh,” she said. “Just like that?”

I shrugged. “Relationships fail all the time, Mags. Just because you and Norm have been together since the ice age, doesn’t mean everything lasts as long.”

Maggie glanced back at Norm scraping grease off the griddle, the bald spot on the top of his head gleaming in the fluorescent lights, his large gut hanging over his belt. “It’s true you’re no Norm,” she said, turning back to me, and giving me a teasing wink. “But you do have your good points. You know I’m here if you need someone to talk to, right?”

“I do, Maggie. Thank you.” Maggie had always seen the good in me, even when I didn’t deserve it, and had tried her best to take up where my own mother left off. I felt a tightening in my throat and swallowed around it, tapping Spencer on his arm. “We should get going.”

“Yes, boss.”

“You don’t have to call me boss, Spencer. Travis is just fine.” Spencer bobbed his head. He was a good guy, just young and a little too eager to please, socially . . . challenged, and he could be so damned literal sometimes. But . . . he was the grandson of a couple in town, the Connicks, who owned a number of cottages on the lake, people I’d known all my life. I remembered Spencer as a kid, holding a toy police car in his hands and watching the now-retired chief stroll by in his uniform with a look of awestruck wonder on his face. When he’d applied to be an officer and I’d called and told him he was hired, I’d known I was granting a long-held dream. And it was obvious that Spencer had transferred the hero worship he’d held for the retired chief to me.

Spencer downed the last of his coffee, and I put some money on the counter, said a goodbye to Norm, and smiled at Maggie. “Be safe,” she called as the bell sounded over the door and we stepped out into the warm June day.

We turned into the lot where the cruiser was parked, almost colliding with someone. “Oh shit. Sorry, man. I wasn’t looking—”

The man stopped talking suddenly, his mouth hanging slack. I pulled back, my blood freezing, eyes narrowing when I saw who it was.

Him.

“Urrr . . .” he choked, his eyes darting from my face, to my gun, and back again as we stood at the side of the diner, staring at each other.

I smiled, a slow, cold tipping of my lips as I reached down and rested my hand on my weapon. I saw Spencer frown in my peripheral vision, stepping back to get a better view of the interaction, his own hand going to his weapon.

The guy—Easton—took a step back, his expression filled with surprised terror. “Listen, man, it wasn’t what you think.”

I tilted my head. “Really? So you weren’t fucking my girlfriend when I walked in on you two naked in her bed? You hadn’t seen the photographs on her nightstand of the two of us? You must have asked. Did she tell you about me? Did it make it more exciting?”

He swallowed. I could see by his expression that I’d hit the nail on the head. If anything, those pictures had sweetened the deal, upped the challenge. And then there was likely the fact that, because she’d had—past tense—a boyfriend, Phoebe wasn’t a girl who was going to demand anything of him after the deed was done.

You’re the best! The best!

That pinching again, humiliation cooling my blood several more degrees. Speaking of ice ages. I felt like a walking glacier.

I was cheated on with this . . . kid? This pretty-boy club employee, vacationing in my town for the summer? I’d seen him the day before when I’d been sitting at the refreshment bar talking to smoothie girl.

The kid opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. “Here for the summer, I assume?”

“Urrr . . .”

“Maybe it’s time to call it an early season,” I suggested.

His eyes narrowed minutely. “Yeah . . . sorry. I can’t do that.”

“What’s your last name, Easton?”

He hesitated, the wheels of his mind obviously turning. After a moment, having clearly worked out that I could find out his name easily enough if he wouldn’t give it to me, he answered, “Torres.”

“Torres,” I repeated. Why did that sound familiar?

“Yeah. It’s really Torres.”

For several moments we engaged in a stare-off. Finally, his gaze skittered away.

“This is Travis’s town,” Spencer interjected.

I shut my eyes briefly and huffed out a breath. Talk about melodramatic. “Listen, Mr. Torres, you might have just arrived, but I think we can both agree that you’ve burned the wrong bridge here in Pelion. I wouldn’t expect this to be an enjoyable summer if you stay.”

“You should leave before we run you out of town,” Spencer threatened.

“Spencer,” I said between clenched teeth, not glancing his way. Spencer had obviously watched far too many reruns of Gunsmoke in preparation for the job.

“What are you going to do?” Easton asked warily.

I chewed at my bottom lip thoughtfully, a slow smile unfolding. His gaze widened. “Nothing,” I drawled. His chin jerked minutely, eyebrows lifting. “Nothing until you least expect it,” I clarified, my smile growing. I stepped out of his path so he could pass by.