The Sugar Queen by Tess Thompson

4

Trapper

The guys were waitingfor me in the outside area of Puck’s. Located in the building where the first saloon had been, Puck’s served bar food and any kind of beverage a person could want. The interior had been gutted and made into an open, industrial-style space. They’d kept the brick and used wood from the original bar to make a new one.

I passed through to the patio, consisting of round tables with umbrellas and a small stage for live music.

Breck waved me over to where he and Huck were working through a pitcher of beer with two guys I didn’t recognize. Breck Stokes and Huck Clifton had been my best friends since we started kindergarten together. If you go back far enough, most of us in town come from four families: Barnes, Depaul, Higgins, or Strom. Huck’s great-great-grandmother Josephine Barnes and my great-great-grandfather Flynn Barnes were siblings, which made Huck and me distant cousins. Breck was a Depaul. Brandi was a Strom. None of it mattered much to us, but the stories of the early settlers were infamous in Emerson Pass.

“About time,” Huck said, glancing up at me with his intense dark eyes. He’d been a war correspondent for a big news organization before moving home to buy the local newspaper. I often felt as if he were about to interrogate me. Brown curls and a shadow of a beard added to his mysterious and dramatic appearance.

An empty glass and an empty chair waited for me. As I sat, Breck introduced me to the other guys at the table: Darby Devillier and Garth Welte.

“Nice to meet you guys.” I took a seat next to Breck. He’d carried on his family’s tradition and become a veterinarian. Last fall he’d finished his schooling and moved home to take over the practice from his mother.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “I had some business over at the rink.”

“I heard you closed on the deal,” Huck said. “You’re crazy to take on a dilapidated ice rink, but congratulations.”

“You’re one to talk,” I said. “Last I checked, you’d bought the town newspaper. Didn’t you get the memo that print journalism is dying?”

Huck gave me the finger. Since I’d been home, Huck seemed even grumpier than usual. Breck thought he’d suffered some kind of breakdown while covering the war in Afghanistan. If that was true, he wasn’t ready to talk about it. Knowing him, he might not ever tell us what really happened over there.

Breck, on the other hand, had the personality of a puppy—friendly, loyal, and a fierce protector of those he loved. He punched me on the arm as he looked over at me with his eyes that were sometimes dark blue and sometimes gray, but always kind. “Damn, it’s good to have you home.”

“Good to be home.” I fought the ache in my chest. This man was like a brother to me, and I’d missed him. “Can’t believe we’re finally back where we belong.”

“Amen to that,” Breck said.

Not wanting to exclude the others, I turned to Darby and Garth, who sat together on the opposite side of the table. “What brings you guys to Emerson Pass?”

“I’m heading up the English department at the high school.” Darby’s thick dark hair fell over his forehead but was cropped close on the sides. Black glasses gave him a hip, nerdy vibe. He played with a silver ring he wore on a chain around his neck.

Garth wrapped long fingers around his glass of beer. “I practice family law. Opened an office here in town when I moved here last year.” He has kind eyes, I thought. Brown and soft, as was his hair. A little too pretty. I hoped Brandi didn’t know him.

“Welcome, gents,” I said.

“Breck’s trying to convince me I need a rescue dog,” Darby said.

“Everyone needs a rescue,” Breck said. “All mankind needs at least one dog and two cats.” Breck, in addition to taking over his family’s vet practice, ran a dog rescue outside of town. At any given time, they’d have anywhere from a few dogs to twenty, depending on shipments from other places. There were always cats, as well.

“Maybe a cat?” I asked. “They’re low-maintenance.”

“A cat might be a better choice, given my small apartment,” Darby said.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Back to your job, Darby. Does that mean Mrs. Williams finally retired?”

“Principal Douglas didn’t say.” Darby pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “All I know is the job came out of nowhere. One day I’m worried about rent in LA and licking my wounds over getting majorly dumped. Next thing I know I land a job here in the most beautiful town in America.” He grinned, raising his well-defined cheekbones. “And my mom thought my Dickens PhD wouldn’t pay off.”

I chuckled. “Well, you’ve come to a good place to be a teacher. They’re revered here. Traces back to the very first schoolteacher, Quinn Cooper. My great-great-great-grandfather Alexander Barnes hired her to be the town’s first schoolteacher, then they fell in love.”

“She refused to bow to convention and welcomed students of color,” Huck said. “A trailblazer.”

“She must have been important if they named the high school after her,” Darby said.

“True enough,” Breck said.

“I hope you’ll be happy here,” I said. As a Barnes, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for the residents of Emerson Pass, as if we could influence people’s contentment. “I’ve been away ten years, but this town doesn’t change much. Dead quiet in the months without snow. The minute the slopes open, all hell breaks loose.”

“Garth here is an Olympic skier,” Breck said. “You might have competition for town hero for the first time in your life.”

“I’m hardly a hero.” I shoved Breck in the ribs.

“Tell that to your thousands of fans,” Breck said as he shoved me back.

“Last season they didn’t love me so much,” I said.

“Shoot, fans are fickle,” Garth said. “I sure learned that with my fifteen minutes of fame.”

I studied Garth Welte for a moment. He was dressed in cargo shorts and a faded Luke Bryan T-shirt. With those brown curls and doe eyes, it was hard to imagine him speeding down the slopes or behind the desk in a law office. Add the country-boy drawl, muscular torso, and the cross he wore around his neck, I could imagine him on a ranch instead of the mountain.

“The Olympics, though,” I said. “That is way cool.”

“To clarify, I’m a former Olympic skier,” Garth said. “Now I’m an attorney. I came here to ski and practice law on the side. I’m all grown up and boring with an ex-wife who’ll tell you just how much. I moved here for the powder, fly-fishing, and some peace.”

“Where are you living?” I asked Garth.

“Southern sister.” Garth gestured toward the mountain. “Up a ways.”

“He built a killer house near the Lake House,” Breck said.

I shook my head as memories flooded my brain. “I haven’t thought about the Lake House in years.”

“Remember the parties Lake’s son used to throw there?” The Lake kid had been a few years older than us and old enough to buy beer. Brandi and I had spent more than one night under the stars by their pond. My chest tightened, remembering how soft her skin had been under my hands. “Do they still live there?”

“Mrs. Lake died a while back,” Breck said. “A woman bought the place last summer. What’s her name again?” he asked Huck.

“Crystal Whalen,” Huck said in his quiet way, then recited the facts as if he were reading from a newspaper article. The man never forgot a detail. His career choice was no surprise. “Her grandparents lived here—Joy and Marvin Whalen—descendants of the horse breeders Harley and Merry Depaul. Her mother was named Jennifer. My mother used to say she was quite a character and not in a good way. Don’t you remember Crystal? She spent summers here. She and Brandi were tight.”

“Was she the tall, super-skinny one?” I asked. “Didn’t I hear she became a model?”

Huck flashed me a rueful smile that bordered on condescending. “She did become a model for a short time. Of further note, however, was her marriage to the billionaire tech guy, Patrick Wilder.”

“No way,” Darby said. “Wasn’t he one of the richest guys in America?”

“His widow, Crystal, is one of the richest people in America,” Huck said. “He died a couple years ago.”

I snapped my fingers. “Right, yeah. The helicopter crash on some ski expedition.”

“Sad thing,” Garth said. “It shook up the ski community when it happened. The outfit did these intense ski experiences for amateurs. On their way out for the day, the helicopter burst into flames and crashed over some mountain in Alaska. No survivors.”

“I wonder why she came back here?” I asked.

“Same reason I did,” Garth said. “To find some peace. She owns the kitchen shop next to the bakery.”

“You know her?” I asked.

“Just to say hello to,” Garth said. “I get the sense she isn’t interested in company. Last winter I trekked over to her house after we lost power to make sure she was all right. She’s a city girl, so I worried she might not have enough wood for her fireplace.”

“Did she?” Huck asked.

“Yeah, man. Stacks of it in the woodshed. I felt like a fool. She made it quite clear she didn’t need a man to check in on her. But heck, where I’m from that’s just what a man does.”

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Montana.” A shadow crossed his face. “Until my parents split up, that is.”

Huck looked over at me. “Garth’s agreed to an interview for the paper. Former Olympic star moves to Emerson Pass.”

“You’re a good sport,” I said to Garth. “Not much happens here, as I’m sure you’ve already figured out. The good people of Emerson Pass will eat that stuff up. Olympic hero and all.”

“I’m a has-been. You, on the other hand, are kind of a big deal,” Garth said. “Not to sound like a kid, but I’m a huge fan.”

“Thanks,” I said, pleased. This good ol’ boy was my type of guy. “As of the end of last season, I’m also a has-been.”

“You going to be okay?” Garth asked. “The transition back to the normal world can be rough. It was for me, anyway.”

I shrugged as I poured myself a beer from the pitcher. “We’ll see.” So far, I’d been home only a few days, and my heart felt newly battered all over again. “Have you met my parents?” I asked Garth. “They own the ski resort and slopes.”

“Yeah, dude. Your mother introduced herself to me on the sidewalk one day,” Garth said, as he shifted in his seat. “She’s what my mom would call a spitfire.”

“Rose Barnes is that,” I said. “And more.” Often “more” meant a little too much.

“She asked if I wanted to become a part-time ski instructor,” Garth said. “I had to politely decline.”

“Mama has no sense of boundaries,” I said. Why would she think a former Olympic athlete would want to teach children how to ski?

A group of three women came outside and took the table next to us. Three gorgeous women. “Who are they?” I asked Huck.

Huck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recognize the blonde. But the one with the short hair and bangs is a photographer—Stormi Collins. I use her occasionally at the paper.” He made a face as if he’d tasted something bitter. “I’ll simply say that her name suits her. The other one is your parents’ new wedding planner over at the lodge, Tiffany Birt. Fresh from a farm in Nebraska.”

So that was Tiffany. Mama was right. She did look as sweet as sweet tea.

I glanced at Breck. He was staring at Tiffany. Maybe my dad’s instincts were right.

“Dude, stop staring at her,” I whispered to him. “She’ll catch you.”

Breck blinked and turned to me. “But seriously. Look at her.”

Before I could reply, I noticed that Darby had gone still and pale.

“This is bad. Very bad,” Darby said, under his breath.

“What is it?” Garth asked.

“I know the blonde,” Darby said. “I had the hottest sex of my life with her one night during a visit to Cliffside Bay. Not that I could tell you her name.”

“How is that possible?” Huck asked.

“In my defense, earlier that night, I’d asked a girl to marry me in front of an entire restaurant—and she said no. Shortly thereafter, hot blonde sat next to me at the bar and we hit it off. We went back to my hotel room, where she did many unspeakable things to me.”

“A little something to soothe the pain of rejection,” Breck said. “Totally understandable.”

“Maybe she won’t see me.” Darby partially covered his face with his hand.

Too late. The girl without a name had her gaze locked on Darby. Clearly, she recognized him. I wonder if she knew his name?

“She’s coming over here,” I said under my breath. “Let’s see if she knows your name.”

The girl was a beauty, with honey-colored hair, bright blue eyes, and curves in all the right places. With a sure gait, she crossed over to us, then planted herself at the end of the table.

“Well, this is weird. It’s the Dickens guru,” she said. “Darby Devillier. What are the odds?”

She did know his name. From the flush that rose to her cheeks, I’d bet money the sex had been good for her too. Who would have thought nerdy Darby was a king in the sack?

“Hey,” Darby said. “How you been?”

“Peachy. I just opened an inn on the river,” she said. “It took me years to save the money, and I had to sell my soul to the devil to get a loan, but here I am.” Perhaps responding to our silence, she laughed. “Just kidding about the devil.”

“That’s great,” Darby said. By the blank stare, I could see he had no idea about her dream or otherwise. One of us needed to save him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Darby.

“I took a job teaching English at the high school,” he said.

“Right. Dickens. Very cool.” She grinned as she placed her hands on her hips. “What are the odds of us both ending up here?”

“I’m not a math guy, but I’d say a billion to one,” Darby said.

“Anyway, I’m Jamie Wattson.” She stuck out her hand for me to shake. “I know you from hockey, Trapper Barnes. Big fan.”

I thanked her as we shook, somewhat taken aback by her obvious self-confidence.

“Too bad about last season,” she said. “I wanted you to make a comeback, but I guess your knee didn’t agree.”

“Something like that,” I said, drily, before introducing Garth, Huck, and Breck.

“What’s up with your names?” Jamie asked. “Do you have to have a weird name to join your group?”

Breck chuckled. The man was incapable of taking offense. “Yeah, weird name required.”

Jamie tented her hands and narrowed her eyes, clearly thinking through this name thing in further detail. “Actually, you guys sound like heroes in a romantic movie. Well, maybe not Garth. That sounds more like a country star.”

“My mother named me after Garth Brooks,” Garth said.

“I love that,” Jamie said. What she lacked in subtlety she made up for in enthusiasm. No question she was gorgeous, but her personality was a little over-the-top. She reminded me of my mother.

“And what do you do, Garth? You’re not a singer, are you? Did your mom doom you to a life of a poor musician?”

Garth shook his head, smiling. “No, ma’am. I’m an attorney.”

“A country-boy lawyer, given that accent,” Jamie said.

“You got me there,” Garth said.

“And you run the paper, right?” Jamie asked Huck.

“Correct,” he said.

“Stormi works for you sometimes,” Jamie said.

“Also correct,” Huck said.

“What about you?” she asked Breck. “Wait, don’t tell me. I’ll guess. You own the bookstore?”

“Um, no,” he said. “I’m the local vet.”

“I thought the vet was a woman,” Jamie said.

“That’s my mother,” Breck said. “Why did you guess bookstore owner?”

“You just seem like a guy who would be into books,” she said. “Maybe it’s your sensitive eyes.”

“I’m the book guy,” Darby said.

Her eyes darted to her former one-night stand. “Hell yeah you are. I mean, come on. You’re named Darby. Anyway, that’s not all you are, Darby Devillier, but I think I’ll keep that secret to myself. There are quite a few single ladies in this town who would love to know what I know.”

Darby flushed red and ducked his head, staring into his beer. I stifled a laugh. Score one for Jamie Wattson. If Darby played this game well, he was sure to have another night of hot sex. Maybe more.

She tossed her glossy hair behind her shoulders. “Okay, I’ve got to get back to the girls before they start to wonder what I’m doing.”

“Invite them over to sit with us,” I said, impulsively. “The more the merrier.” I ignored Huck’s death stare. This night was about to get interesting.

“Oh my gosh, they would love that.” Jamie lowered her voice. “I have to warn you, though. Tiffany’s super shy. So don’t sit her next to him.” She pointed at Huck. “Can we say awkward silence?”

Huck’s eyebrows came together, but he didn’t say anything.

She trotted off to the girls’ table.

Huck, once again, shot daggers at me with his eyes. I further infuriated him by grinning. I’ve loved messing with him all my life. It was good to be home. Screw Brandi, I thought. I was out on a summer’s evening with my best buddies. A group of beautiful women were about to join us. This was the reason I’d come home.

Darby took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses with a corner of his T-shirt. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Get super laid,” I said.

“Yeah, she made that pretty darn clear,” Breck said. “And now that you know her name, you’re all set.”

“Hilarious,” Darby said before taking a draw on his beer.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” I said to Huck. “When was the last time you talked to a woman?”

“I don’t need to talk to women,” Huck said. “Especially one named Stormi Collins.”

“Given the way that Jamie chatters away, I don’t think you have to worry about it,” Brett said.

“What do you have against Stormi?” Garth asked in a voice just above a whisper.

“She thinks a lot of herself,” Huck said.

“So do you,” Breck said. “Match made in heaven.”

“Very funny,” Huck said.

They were upon us now. I stood to grab a few extra chairs, as did Garth.

That’s when Brandi walked out to the patio. I froze, chair in hand. She was with a tall, slender woman with honey-colored hair. Did I know her? I placed her a second later—Crystal Whalen. Gangly and skinny had transformed into ethereal beauty. White shorts and a silky pink blouse draped effortlessly on her slender frame. High-heeled sandals showed off her long legs. I could easily imagine her walking down a runway in Paris in the latest couture summer wear. However, my glance her way was fleeting. I only had eyes for Brandi. As I always had.

She was dressed in a light blue halter dress and flat sandals, and her light blond hair hung in loose waves down the middle of her back. Womanly curves that had been hidden under her apron back at the shop were quite evident under the thin cotton material of her dress. The physical work at her bakery had sculpted her shoulders and arms.

We made eye contact as I stood there with the stupid chair in my hands. A flicker of irritation crossed her face. She didn’t want me here. Not in this bar or this town. That fact cut me to the core. To hide my feelings, I simply nodded at her and focused back on my friends. Huck, who never missed a detail of human behavior, shot me a sympathetic look. He knew I still loved her. Would my hopeless feelings ever go away? Again, I wondered if I’d made a mistake to come back here. No. This was my home. My home as much as hers. My family was the heart of this town and had been for over a century. I had every right to be here. That said, could I live here with the pain of her rejection around every corner?

Jamie, Stormi, and Tiffany had settled in at our table. For the next few minutes, Jamie told us about how she’d renovated the old Higgins home down by the river into a small inn. I knew the spot well. Clive Higgins and his brother, Wayne, had opened the town’s first butcher shop back in the days of Alexander Barnes and Quinn Cooper. Clive had married Quinn’s sister, Annabelle, and they’d built the house on the river. She’d been a wedding dress seamstress, famous in these parts for her craft. Brides came from all over Colorado to have her make their gowns.

I asked Jamie if she knew the story of Clive and Annabelle. Her face lit up. “Oh yes. In fact, I named the master suite after them. It’s the most romantic of the six rooms.”

When I left ten years ago, an older couple had been living at the house. I remembered it seemed run-down the last time I drove past. “Did you have a lot of renovations?” I asked.

“I did,” Jamie said. “But my brother’s an interior designer and he works in a firm with a contractor and architect. They gave me their work for free. I just had to come up with the money for all the repairs. I took out a big loan. Now I just have to pray people will come. It’s more of a romantic place, like for couples or honeymooners, than your parents’ lodge. I’m hoping to attract those looking for an intimate experience.”

“It has the good vibes of Annabelle and all those wedding dresses she made there,” I said. “That has to mean something.”

Jamie smiled at me. “That’s what I told my brother.”

“You know, my mom might have some old newspaper articles about Annabelle,” I said. “She might even have some photographs of a few of the brides you could frame and hang on the walls.”

“I would love that. Thank you,” Jamie said, eyes sparkling. “The history in this town is one of the main reasons I fell in love with the house. The old brick buildings of downtown and your parents’ lodge and the pretty white church with the red door are the best.”

“My dad knows more about the history of this town than anyone. He has a whole display at the lodge with stories of the Barnes family. You should drop by there and offer to buy him a beer. He could regale you with stories.”

“Is the old rope swing still there?” Breck asked Jamie. “We used to go out there and swim all the time when we were teenagers.”

“Oh, totally,” Jamie said. “I couldn’t get rid of the rope swing. I about died from happiness the first time I ever drove up and saw it. In fact, if you guys ever want to come swim, just head on over. I put a few picnic tables on the grass there. When my brother and his buddies were out here helping earlier in the summer, they made good use of it. They acted like a bunch of thirteen-year-old boys, shouting as they dropped into the water.”

“That sounds nice,” Tiffany said, so quiet I almost missed it.

She started when we all turned toward her, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud.

“Did you have a place like that back in Nebraska where you’re from?” Stormi asked.

Tiffany nodded, avoiding eye contact. She was an odd match with the other two. Jamie was outgoing and blunt and Stormi intense and unapologetic. I liked all three of them. Could I be interested in any of them? I wished. I had to physically restrain myself from turning around to see what Brandi was doing.

“We swam down at the lake.” Tiffany tugged on her long ponytail and directed her large and remarkably light blue eyes toward Stormi. She had a soft, sweet voice that matched her shy demeanor. “It was our treat after helping with chores. All the kids in town would meet up down there. I wasn’t allowed to go after dinner, though.”

“Why not?” Breck asked, in his usual curious way that was so genuine, most people succumbed to his questions and spilled their innermost thoughts. Somehow, he’d never learned to hone that skill to get a girl.

“My daddy says nothing good ever happens after sundown.” Tiffany’s thick eyebrows knit together. Her dark hair and brows were in deep contrast to her ice-blue eyes.

“Oh, so it was like the make-out place?” Jamie asked.

Tiffany flushed pink and stared into her glass of pink bubbly. “I guess so.”

“I’m from Brooklyn,” Stormi said, obviously wanting to help her friend out by diverting the attention away. “We didn’t have spots on the river to swim. The kids from my hood would’ve had their minds blown to think of such a thing.”

“Did you guys open fire hydrants like they do on TV?” Jamie asked.

Stormi chuckled. “No, that’s just on television.”

“Damn, that’s too bad. I always wanted to do that,” Jamie said. “I grew up in San Diego and was lucky to have the beach, but there’s something so cool about New York City.”

Brett lifted his face toward the sky. “Is it just me or do you guys smell smoke?”

“There’s a small fire on the other side of the southern sister,” Huck said. “One of my reporters is up there covering the fire.”

“Should we be worried?” Stormi asked.

“Will it come here?” Tiffany asked. “To the town?”

“We haven’t had a fire in this town since 1890,” I said. “The river protects us.”

“They jump rivers,” Huck said. “We’ve had a hot, dry summer.”

“Climate change,” Breck said.

The sound of a helicopter overhead distracted us momentarily.

“My guy said it’s contained, but if the wind changes direction, it could head toward us,” Huck said. “We should all be prepared for evacuation if that happens.”

“Evacuate?” Tiffany’s stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. “Will that happen?”

“Hasn’t before,” Breck said. “But you never know.”

“How do we get out of here all at once?” Stormi asked. “There’s only one road out.”

“The cops will keep order,” I said. “Might be slow going, but if we get the call, don’t hesitate. They’ll tell you where to go.”

“In California, we’re accustomed to this,” Darby said. “Have a bag packed with stuff, just in case.”

“Good plan for here, too,” I said. “In fact, if you have camping gear, have it handy.”

“Camping?” Stormi asked. “Good God, are we in the wilderness?”

“Kind of,” Darby said. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“I’m not sure awesome is the word I’d use,” Stormi said.

“I think it is,” Jamie said to Darby.

Darby blushed again.

We continued talking and drinking. I enjoyed myself, but I never lost awareness of Brandi’s presence across the patio. A sharp pain stabbed my chest very time she laughed.

Around nine, a guy with a guitar and a microphone began to play covers of seventies and eighties songs. Emerson Pass has always been a little stuck in the past.

A few people got up to dance. Breck was the first from our table to take the leap, asking Tiffany. She appeared so startled that I thought she’d refuse him. Instead, she held out her hand and he lifted her to her feet. Seconds later, they were dancing like two eight-year-olds at their aunt’s wedding, stiff-armed with a good five inches between them. Jamie looked over at Darby, who was studying the saltshaker as though it had the code to unlock the secrets of the universe.

“Hey, Dickens, how about a dance for old times’ sake?” Jamie asked.

“We’ve never danced before,” Darby said. “Have we?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, no, I don’t.”

“I’m just messing with you.” Jamie pushed back her chair and spread her hands on the table. “Come on, don’t make me beg.”

“I’m not a good dancer,” he said. Regardless, like a lamb to slaughter, he followed her onto the dance floor. Unlike Breck and Tiffany, they danced close. I’m a guy and even I could see the heat between them. I wondered how long until they were making their one-night stand a regular thing.

That left Huck, Stormi, Garth, and me.

“Well, shoot, I think I’ll ask my neighbor to dance,” Garth said. “Break the ice so she knows I’m harmless. I worry about her living all alone in that big house.”

“Would you worry about her the same if she were an old lady?” Huck lifted one wry eyebrow.

Garth smiled as he pushed out from the table. “I surely would. A neighbor’s a neighbor. Where I’m from a man takes care of a woman, no matter if she’s yours or not.”

“Are you for real?” Stormi asked.

“Yes, ma’am. About as real as they come.” He tipped his head toward her and traipsed across the wooden deck toward Crystal.

“Stormi, I know we just met, but would you like to dance?” I asked.

“Do hockey players know how to dance?” she asked, peering at me under her fringe of bangs and smiling. Those full lips of hers were as sassy as her mouth. She looked down at her feet. Her toes were painted a coral color and encased in low sandals. “I kind of like my feet.”

“Skating is a dance,” I said. “I promise to take good care and not break any of your bones.”

“Fine, then. I accept.”

We went out to the dance floor. Of average height, Stormi came up to my shoulders. She had one arm around my neck and the other in my hand, and we swayed easily to the music.

“Do you have places like this in Brooklyn?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. This place is what we’d call rustic. I swear I can feel the ghosts of gold miners and cowboys in this place.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked.

“Maybe.” Her thin shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. “Ever since I arrived here, I’ve felt the presence of those who’ve come before. Not in a creepy way, but like they’re supportive and encouraging.”

“You like it here, then?” I asked.

“For sure. I’ll never leave if I can help it. When I went to art school, I didn’t think I’d be making my bread and butter from weddings, but it isn’t too bad. At least I’m working, like I dreamed of. I can do my art photos for myself. Eating and paying rent have to take priority over creating art.”

“Absolutely.” Do not look in Brandi’s direction, I ordered myself. This is how it will be from now on. You knew this moving back here. She will be everywhere, and you have to suck it up and deal with her.

I didn’t listen. My gaze skittered to her anyway. She sat alone, staring into her glass of wine.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Stormi said. “You’re kind of a legend in this town.”

“Only in my own mind,” I said.

“Even Huck talks nicely about you, and he’s pretty much a prick about everyone.”

“He was always serious, but he’s different now. Whatever he saw overseas changed him.”

“He’s a bear to work for. For some reason, he hates me.”

“It’s probably not personal. He’s just a little rough around the edges.”

“I think he enjoys sending me out to take pictures of the town Fourth of July festivities for the paper or whatever, as if it’s a punishment. Little does he know, I love it. I’m all about this small-town vibe. What could be more joyful than taking pictures of people having fun? Don’t tell him, though. He likes the idea that it’s torture for me to report on something as mundane as a picnic. If he’d ever bothered to ask, he’d know that after the experiences of my childhood, I welcome anything that hints at happy, normal families.”

“I’m not sure there’s any true ‘normal’ families,” I said.

“That’s probably because you’re from one,” she said.

“Touché,” I said.

“Do you and Huck go way back?” she asked.

“We’re distant cousins,” I said. “And best friends.”

“I’ll keep my opinions to myself then.”

“In his defense, he’s gone through a lot,” I said.

“Haven’t we all?”

Despite her obvious dislike for my friend, I liked her. She was refreshingly raw and honest. I sensed how much she’d overcome to get where she was, which I admired.

“I work with Brandi some, too,” she said.

“That right?”

“I hear you guys have a past?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“Good to know.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“In a small town, it’s nice to know who is off-limits.”

“We were together ten years ago. In high school. Does that mean all the women in this town are afraid to date me? For fear of losing rights to shop at her bakery?”

Stormi laughed. “Those cookies are serious, dude. No one with monthly PMS wants to be cut off.”

“For the record, she broke up with me.”

“That’s the word on the street. But that was back in high school. Everyone breaks up before college. Now, however, is a whole new era. You’re back. She’s still here. Why don’t you get in there and stoke that old flame?”

I shook my head. “I’m a simple guy with a soft heart. Getting it stomped on isn’t my idea of fun.”

“She hasn’t taken her eyes off you since we walked onto this dance floor. You don’t have to dig too deep to know what that means. I’d have to be an idiot to make a move on the hot hockey player newly returned to town when the Sugar Queen still has a thing for him.”

“You think?” I asked.

“Trust me. I study faces for a living. That’s a woman who still loves you.”

“Should I ask her to dance?”

“If I were you, I’d dance with everyone but her. Get her jealous. Make her come to you.”

“You’re kind of a badass,” I said.

“Brooklyn, baby. What can I say?”

I followed her advice, dancing with Jamie, who entertained me with stories about the inn’s renovations, including the family of raccoons she’d found in the attic. “They scared me so bad I almost peed my pants,” she said.

“They’re scary, no doubt. Those claws.”

“Right?”

Next, I danced with Tiffany. She avoided eye contact and stayed a good distance from me. Instead we talked about how she was adjusting to town and how much she enjoyed working for my mama. “She scares me, though,” Tiffany said.

“She scares me too,” I said. “Like one of those small dogs with supersharp teeth.”

That made her giggle. “Is it true that you and the Sugar Queen were high school sweethearts?”

“Sure is.” Did everyone know about us? Who was I kidding? This was Emerson Pass. Gossip was more entertaining than television.

“I had a high school sweetheart,” she said.

“What happened?”

“He died the summer after we graduated. My whole life changed in an instant.”

“I’m sorry.” The pain in her voice made my heart ache.

“It’s been eight years, but not a day goes by I don’t think about him. We had our whole life planned out, and then in a blink of an eye he was gone. I had to find the will to go on without him.”

“I felt the same after I lost Brandi,” I said. “I thought until the day she broke up with me that we’d get married.”

“I’m sorry,” Tiffany said.

Before I could thank her, the song ended and Breck appeared. “One more with me?” he asked Tiffany.

She shook her head. “I’d best be going. I have a meeting with a bride and groom early tomorrow morning.”

“Do you have a way home?” Breck asked her.

“I live in one of the apartments in the building behind the library,” she said. “I’ll walk.”

“That’s four blocks away,” Breck said. “I’ll walk you there.”

“But you’re not ready to go yet,” Tiffany said. “It’s still early.”

“I’ve got dogs at home that need a bathroom break,” Breck said. “I should go too. And I don’t want you walking home alone.”

That was a lie. His mother was at home. She could let the pooches out. Did Breck like her? I glanced at him. There was no way to tell. He had the same placid, benevolent expression he always had.

“If it’s no trouble, I’d like that. Even though it’s perfectly safe here, isn’t it?” she asked, sounding nervous.

“Most likely,” Breck said. “But why take chances?”

She scurried off to gather her purse. I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow. “Smooth, asking to walk her home.”

“Just being a gentleman,” he said under his breath.

“Why’d you lie about the dogs then?”

“You’re annoying,” Breck said. “She’s really pretty, and I like how she’s quiet and polite.”

“Be gentle and don’t push. I get the feeling she’s a slow-burn type of girl.”

“I’m the king of the slow burn,” Breck said. “So slow it never ignites.”

“You never know.” I slapped him on the back. “When the right woman will appear.”

“Wish me luck.” He punched me lightly on the shoulder.

“Always.”

Closing time came too soon.I hadn’t been out late very often. Hockey meant a strict training regimen and curfews. Not that I’d needed any outside edict to keep me focused. The game had been my sole purpose since I left Emerson Pass. A professional therapist might say I hadn’t had the proper balance in my life, but I hadn’t cared. I’d understood that hockey was a season in my life. Like everything that matters to me, I gave it my all. Now that I was home, I planned to put effort into the rink but also to spend time with friends and family, making memories and having a heck of a good time. I had plenty of money to last me the rest of my life, especially since my family owned land and buildings in town that generated income without any of us lifting a finger. Still, the work ethic of Barnes men and women ran thick in our blood. We lived to serve others and to give back to our community. I was clear about my new purpose.

The aspect I hadn’t factored in was how much Brandi’s presence would shake me.

Case in point? Now, as I hit the button to unlock my truck where it was parked in front of the bar, I saw her and Crystal on the sidewalk. The very sight of her unnerved me. My pulse quickened. She wakened my libido as no woman ever had. I imagined scooping her up and hauling her into the cab of my truck the way I had when we were in high school and kissing her until our lips were bruised. Back then, she’d wanted me. Present day was a different story, and it hurt more than it should. For heaven’s sake, it had been ten damn years.

I got into the truck and watched as she left Crystal at her car and headed toward her apartment above the bakery. I should have driven away, but the old protective instinct kicked in like a yoke on a stubborn mule. I couldn’t leave until she was safely inside.

To my surprise, she stopped at the side entrance to her building and turned her head in my direction. I immediately went hot. Totally busted.