Читать книгу Bad Boy Rancher - Karen Rock - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

“MY FAVORITE PIZZA toppings are pineapple and jalapeño peppers,” pronounced one of Fresh Start’s patients during their first group therapy session later that week. Brielle jotted down the unusual pairing on a stand-alone whiteboard then turned back to the speaker. He’d introduced himself earlier as Paul, a former artilleryman who’d served in Mosul. Per his intake, he suffered from PTSD and depression.

Paul took up most of one of the chairs circling the center of the converted ranch house’s living room. In his midthirties, he had wide ears, a round, expressive face and a stooped posture that seemed to be apologizing for the sheer size of him. Six inked names scrolled across his forearm.

Lost brothers in arms?

Names of fallen soldiers spun in Brielle’s mind then stopped on one, the thought like an ice pick to her brain.

“Dude. That’s the worst pizza topping combination ever,” a slouchy teenager said. Maya. She was a skeletal, black-haired girl with bruise-purple skin underlining eyes that looked up from the bottom of a deep well. She hailed from Denver and, according to her mother, had spent most of her life in facilities that’d failed to manage her bipolar and eating disorder.

Hopefully Fresh Start would succeed where others had failed. With its real-world immersion program through ranching experiences, it was designed to build confidence and end self-defeating behaviors. The clinic now housed fifteen residents, half its capacity, with eight more expected at the end of the week.

“This is a judgment-free zone,” Craig, the group leader, intoned, mock serious.

Brielle crossed one leg over the other and smiled encouragingly at her latest hire. At fifty-eight, Dr. Craig Sheldon brought decades of experience as well as a deep personal understanding of what it was like to survive a war after his service as a gunner in the second Gulf War. He sported a pointy goatee, long sideburns and thinning hair he’d pulled into a ponytail at the back of his neck. An enamel yin-yang symbol on a leather cord appeared in the open neck of his golf shirt.

“Lame.” Maya flicked her hand. A shower of tinkling silver bangles slid down her forearm and revealed a freshly healed wrist scar.

“Do we get pizza here?” asked a man with white hair that looked electrified. Stew’s children had tracked him down in an Aspen homeless shelter last week and admitted him for heroin addiction treatment. He’d stopped taking his mental health medications and had been suffering from hallucinations.

“Every Friday,” Brielle supplied and the group slowly turned her way, their eyes wary. She hadn’t spoken this whole hour save for a brief introduction. While Craig took the lead and built rapport, she’d stayed at the whiteboard and jotted down group responses while taking mental notes about her charges. “We’ll make them, so you can have any toppings you want.”

Pizza night was one of several activities she and Craig had brainstormed to build trust, confidence and self-esteem. Yet Fresh Start needed to add ranch skills to reach the potential envisioned by its owner. Thus far, no one had responded to her ad seeking a cowboy to run those activities. Did her lack of applicants stem from the disapproval locals had expressed about the clinic?

“Sweet!” Paul quirked an eyebrow at Maya. “If you’re lucky I’ll let you try mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’d kill myself first.”

An appalled silence descended. First-time group therapies needed to stay light and upbeat as the clients learned about each other and built trust; Maya’s statement was anything but that.

“Kidding. Jeez,” she muttered, then slid even farther into her seat. Her stick-thin arms crossed against her chest.

“Hey, if you can’t joke about suicide here, where can you?” Craig put in, a twinkle in his hooded blue eyes.

A twentysomething woman with Tourette’s syndrome giggled then clapped a hand over her mouth. Paul mouthed “what?” and guffawed. Stew joined in with an infectious belly laugh that got the rest of the group going, including Maya, who perked up enough to resume picking the rubber soles off her Converse sneakers.

Brielle stood, crossed the room and shot Craig a thumbs-up at the door. Very nice. Exactly the right touch of levity and reality, she thought as she strode back to her office. Her plans were finally coming together.

During the last three weeks, she’d fallen into a comforting routine with predictable schedules and specified activities. Now that she’d inserted order in her world, she’d begun to feel, for the first time since her discharge, she fit in...at least within these walls. Her days flew by at breakneck speed as she conducted staff interviews, oversaw patient admissions, supervised daily operations and provided individual therapy sessions to lighten Craig’s load.

She rounded a corner and her receptionist, Doreen, a petite redhead wearing oversize glasses, waved at her. Half a bologna sandwich dangled from her fingers.

“Call,” she mumbled around a mouthful, then pointed at Brielle’s office. “Mayor.”

The mayor?

Brielle hustled around her desk and snatched up the handset. Outside her open window was a domed blue sky, the mountains crystal clear around the valley. A light wind carried the scent of wild sage. “Hello, Mr. Cantwell. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Ms. Thompson. I hope your first week’s going well.”

She thought of the missing paper supply order and the wrong-size bedsheets that failed to fit their overlong mattresses.

“Couldn’t be better.” Her eyes wandered to a picture of her parents from a cruise they’d taken during her first deployment. They stood barefoot in sand, their faces red and their smiles wide. She’d been surrounded by sand, too, back then. It hadn’t been a photo op, though. Not that she needed a picture to remind her. She could still see, feel and taste that sand. Grains of it clung and scraped inside her, out of reach.

“As you might have seen in the paper, some of our residents have raised concerns about your facility.”

“I’ve read them.” The one delivered to her house, the one delivered to the center, even the one sitting on the diner’s counter when she ordered her coffee this morning—each one reminding her of how unwelcome her facility was in this close-knit town.

Doreen appeared and set a glass of iced tea and a pile of mail on Brielle’s desk. She smiled her gratitude, passed Doreen completed applicant forms for data entry and picked up the welcome refreshment.

“The town council has taken an interest.”

The iced tea sloshed over the side of the glass and splatted her desk blotter. “And what does that mean exactly?”

“They’re calling a meeting to allow residents to air their grievances.”

“Grievances?” she echoed. “I don’t understand. We haven’t caused any problems...”

“You haven’t, and believe me, Carbondale is happy to have you,” the mayor soothed, then—“Hold a moment, I’ve got to get rid of this other call.”

“Not all of Carbondale’s pleased,” she muttered under her breath, thinking of Justin Cade as she awaited the mayor’s return. A sip of her sweet, lemony caffeine jump-started her jittering knee.

Despite her burgeoning responsibilities, she found herself thinking often about her dark rider, as she’d begun calling Justin after one particularly blushworthy dream. He’d taken her on a moonlight motorcycle ride to a secluded spot and then... She’d woken up.

Luckily.

Her full-to-bursting life, one she needed to succeed at, didn’t allow for romantic fantasies about some tragic Brontë-esque hero in cowboy boots. Her attention and focus needed to be on the clinic and its patients, not an angst-ridden bad boy with possible suicidal tendencies...especially one who might soon be a resident here.

Would he accept the challenge she’d issued after the hearing?

“Sorry about that,” the mayor said, back on the line. “More business about this year’s Halloween parade. Some are requesting a costume ban because they may scare the children. A Halloween parade without costumes? Can you picture it?”

She made a sympathetic noise, and the man continued, “Anyway, if you would attend the town meeting and present your case...?”

“Is Fresh Start on trial?” Her fingers traced a cross pattern in the condensation beading her glass. She’d expected a bit of pushback from a few of the old-time residents and figured it would just blow over in a few months...a town meeting was way more than she’d bargained for.

“No.” The sound of rustling papers crinkled in her ear. “But Fresh Start’s charter is conditional and can be revoked. It’d be helpful if you’d discuss the good work you do to help some of the more—” he cleared his throat “—cautious community members understand there’s no reason to fear your patients.”

“They’re just trying to get their lives back together. The only harm my clients pose is to themselves.” Her eyes swung to the dog tags stowed in a paper clip holder beside an overwatered spider plant. A discolored ring encircled the pot’s bottom.

“I know. But keep in mind this isn’t a big city like Chicago. We don’t have those sorts of problems here...”

They had those problems everywhere, she thought wearily. Carbondale just might be a bit too close-minded, too proud, too much in denial to acknowledge it. Maybe they believed a problem wasn’t a problem until you identified it.

“What about Jesse Cade?” she blurted, her mind zooming back to Justin.

Neither he nor his family had contacted her about admission. Given his impending sentencing tomorrow, did his silence suggest he’d chosen jail over the clinic?

Clearly, he wasn’t ready for therapy’s hard work. He’d refused to thank her for helping him or admit he’d endangered his life. And with more protest letters to the editor appearing in this morning’s paper, the last thing she wanted were resistant, negative residents during her center’s opening. He didn’t see the program’s benefit and refused to be saved.

So why did she still yearn to do just that?

She’d helped save his life already. The night on the side of the road, when he’d stared up at her dazed and confused, his body bloodied and battered from the impact. In that moment he’d reminded her of the soldiers who’d arrived at her army base on stretchers, crying in pain, asking for their mothers, their girlfriends, their kids. Yet Justin had requested no one, a lone wolf like her, without someone to turn to who’d understand the pain. Was their collision a sign she should help him, despite her reservations?

Her mind whirled, circling a dark hole; she made it stop and tuned back into her phone conversation.

“I believe he’s precisely the reason some locals are concerned,” the mayor said.

“They’d rather act like problems don’t exist than get people the help they need?”

“I’m sure it’s not as drastic as that. More a lack of understanding.”

She sighed. Lord. Give me the strength. “When is the meeting?”

“Next Wednesday at 8:00 p.m. in the town hall.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks.”

Brielle hung up and drummed her fingers on the side of her glass, making the ice cubes clink, her mind in overdrive.

Would her tenure at Fresh Start end before it began? Her chance to help others cut off again? The questions twisted in her stomach. She pressed her palms together, rested her chin atop her fingertips and eyed the dog tags. This time she wouldn’t leave quietly. Or easily. She was stronger now, able to bottle her dark emotions and fight for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves.

She’d made little headway with Justin Cade, but she’d do everything in her power to sway the rest of Carbondale.

No matter what it took.

* * *

“PLEASE, JUSTIN. GO to Fresh Start.”

Justin pulled his mother close in a quick hug. Her scent, lilac mixed with something powdery, rose from her neck and made his nose itch. He breathed in the familiar fragrance then forced himself to let her go. She had better things to worry about than him.

“I’ve made up my mind.” He dropped to the living room floor beside the family’s obese tabby, Clint, and rubbed his round belly. A fire, the first of the season, crackled in the floor-to-ceiling, two-story stone hearth. Javi’s train set and miniature village, once his and his brothers’, dominated a corner of the open living space.

“Wanna play with me?” Javi waved a piece of track.

“Sure.” He crawled over to join his nephew. “Looks like you’ve got some major remodeling going on, bud.”

“Yeah. I’m making room for the Halloween parade.” Javi ripped up more track.

“Like the one here in Carbondale?” His mother perched on the edge of the couch, her knees pressed against their glass-topped wagon wheel coffee table.

Javi nodded; his tongue poked through the gap between his front teeth the way it did when he concentrated.

Justin grabbed a handful of tiny plastic pumpkins and set them in front of the miniature buildings. “Are you going to change it up this year or go as Batman again?”

Javi’s dark eyes rolled up at him, exasperated. “Everyone expects me to be Batman.”

“You don’t have to do what people expect.” Justin balanced a couple of pumpkins on some church steps.

Javi pointed a connecting track piece at Justin. “Yes, you do.”

“Why is that?”

Javi shrugged. “So you don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“What about your own feelings?” Justin grabbed a couple of musty, pint-size hay bales from a Ziploc bag and stacked them in front of the town hall building.

Javi frowned. “I like Batman.”

“Got it.”

“You’re gonna break Grandma’s heart if you go to jail,” Javi said offhandedly as he realigned the tracks to circle his tiny town.

“Javi,” cautioned Sofia, joining them.

Justin stole a quick look at his ma and caught her wiping her eyes with her sleeve. The sight struck him like a punch in the gut. Sofia stopped at the edge of the sofa, pinwheeled her arms, then collapsed onto the cushions with an oof.

“I’m as big as a whale,” she laughed.

“A blue one,” Javi shouted. “Because they’re the biggest! Mrs. Penway told us.”

“Tell Mrs. Penway thanks,” Sofia observed drily.

“And she’s hugely beautiful, too,” James called from the kitchen. He shed his coat and hat, strode around the granite island, then paused to kiss the top of Sofia’s head.

“Emphasis on the huge.” Sofia exchanged a tender smile with James that filled Justin with a strange sense of longing. He’d never be loved like that. Not that he’d let anyone close. He’d had and lost his better half. No one could occupy that spot again.

“What’s that behind your back? Is it a present?” Javi abandoned the train set and flung himself at his stepfather. James dropped a bag and caught Javi in a bear hug.

“More dresses for our little one?” Sofia passed Javi a light-up Batman mask then held up a glittery pink garment.

Something twisted in Justin’s gut. He’d miss seeing her and James’s child born while he was behind bars. A couple months ago, they’d revealed the baby’s gender—a girl, rare in his male-dominated family. Jewel, who could outride, outrope and outshoot any of her brothers, was the least feminine of any of them, especially pretty-boy Jared.

Since then, James had compulsively bought tiny dresses, flowered headbands, ruffled hats and lace socks with ribbons, each item frillier than the one before. The nursery resembled the inside of a Pepto-Bismol bottle, the walls practically oozing pink. The house hummed with hope and joy, leaving Justin feeling at odds whenever he entered it. He no longer fit in with his family—if he ever had. His head drooped.

“This one has rhinestones,” James protested.

“So do about twenty of the other dresses you’ve bought her.” Sofia smoothed a hand over her stomach.

“Those were sparkles and some had sewn crystal beads. Big difference.”

Justin had to give it to James—he considered himself the absolute authority on just about everything, from bioenvironmental engineering down to the trimmings on a child’s dress.

Sofia and his ma exchanged amused glances, and Justin’s throat constricted. What did happy feel like exactly?

He couldn’t remember.

“Yeah, big difference,” exclaimed Jewel as she swept down the open spiral staircase from the loft above the living room. She’d freshened up some from this morning’s cattle drive, her hair tucked back into her usual braid and her dusty Wranglers swapped for a cleaner pair. “Don’t know why you’re trying to ruin your daughter with all this girly-girl stuff. Good thing she’ll have her aunt Jewel to set her straight.”

“Oh, her father’s going to spoil her rotten.” Sofia sighed.

“Am I spoiled?” Javi, wearing his glowing Batman mask, bumped into his miniature village then tumbled to the wide-planked pine floor.

Justin snatched him close before he hit the ground, protecting Jesse’s son the way he should have shielded Jesse. “Never. You care too much about everybody.”

Javi pushed up his mask and peered at Justin. “How come you don’t?”

Justin shook his head, feeling his family’s judgmental eyes on him. “I do.”

“Then how come you’re gonna break Grandma’s heart and go to jail?”

“Javi,” Sofia warned again.

“You told Daddy that,” Javi huffed.

“The decision might be out of his hands anyway.” James settled on the couch beside Sofia and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Heard the town’s holding a meeting next week to discuss revoking the facility’s conditional charter. Place might close.”

“Why?” An image of Brielle flashed in his mind’s eye. He could tell she was committed to Fresh Start, and it bugged him that she’d lose it. Darned if he could say why exactly, but it did.

“Just what we read in the paper. Folks are worried property values will go down, and crime rates will rise from attracting the wrong kinds of people.” James dropped his ear to Sofia’s belly.

Javi joined them and placed a hand next to his father’s cheek. “What makes people the wrong kind?”

Sofia slid her fingers through Javi’s hair. “Some people don’t like drug addicts or people going through tough times.”

“We had bad times, and the shelters let us stay. Why won’t they let them stay?” The color blanched from Javi’s normally tan skin. “Does that mean people don’t like Mama and me?”

Justin felt a lasso cinch his chest and squeeze. Javi had a point. “Everyone loves you, bud.”

James pulled Javi onto his lap. “You have a home now. A family. No more troubles.”

“But Mama was an addict,” Javi continued, his voice rising. “And my first daddy, too. They needed help. How come people won’t help them like they did for Mama and me?”

“Because they’re idiots,” Justin bit out. He wanted no part of the facility personally, but the idea of the town shutting it down irked him. Places like Fresh Start gave people hope, a second chance, a refuge. Jesse had sobered up before he’d been gunned down for an unpaid drug debt. Who knew how long he would have stayed clean that time? Each period of sobriety extended Jesse’s life. If not for the murder, he might be here today, setting up a train set with his son... Of course, that’d mean James and Sofia wouldn’t have a baby on the way, but...

Did it mean Jesse’s death was one of those “meant to be” curveballs life threw at you? He’d bet the godly chaplain Brielle Thompson would think so.

“Thought you hated clinics like that,” Jewel drawled. She passed him a beer on her way back from the kitchen.

“Hate’s a strong word.” His thumb traced the tab’s sharp, metallic outline. “Just don’t see it helping me.”

“They’re dragging Jesse’s name into this,” James put in, grim.

“What? How?” his mother exclaimed.

“Javi, go to your room,” Sofia ordered.

“But—” he protested.

“Now.” James pointed at the stairs, and Javi scurried up them.

When they heard his bedroom door shut, James said, “They blame Jesse for bringing those murderers to town and claim the Fresh Start residents might do the same.”

Justin swore a blue streak, finishing with, “Of all the small-minded, hypocritical, overreactionary talk I’ve ever heard. We need to stop this.” His thumb twitched over his beer’s tab, but didn’t bend it back. It felt like a grenade—pull the pin and boom.

He needed to be alert for this conversation. Not numb.

“We’ll speak at the meeting.” James swept Sofia’s swollen feet onto his lap and rubbed them.

“That might help, but I’m not sure it’ll be enough,” worried Ma. “The lady who’s running it—what’s her name?”

“Brielle Thompson,” Justin supplied, thinking of the saintly warrior he’d gone toe to toe with days ago. She was a fighter. He set the beer down on the coffee table.

“Right.” His mother pulled off her glasses and polished them with the bottom of her yellow shirt. It coordinated with the polka dots in her headband and on her socks. Some people collected dolls. Some were into antique cars. His mother obsessed about matching her outfits, her furnishings, even her car accessories right down to the ocean-blue air freshener in the same shade as her sedan. She called it a lifestyle choice. “As a stranger,” she continued, “and a city girl, I’m not sure our neighbors will listen to her.”

Fired up, Justin bolted to his feet. “I’ll make them listen to her.”

“How are you going to do that?” Sofia asked, her eyes closed as James kneaded her insoles.

“I’m going over to Fresh Start to figure that out. Can anyone give me a ride?”

“Me.” Jewel bussed their ma on the cheek then hustled to join him. “I have plans in town anyway.”

“Wouldn’t be to hear Heath Loveland play at the Barnsider?” James teased.

“I’m going for the wings,” she huffed, then grabbed her coat and flounced out the door.

Justin and James grinned at each other. They loved tweaking their tough, tomboy sister about her supposed crush on one of their archrivals. Dubbed the “sensitive cowboy” by swooning ladies who flocked to his local gigs, Heath was the youngest in his family, like Jewel. Sometimes, given her extreme defensiveness, Justin and his brothers wondered if they might be right about Jewel liking Heath after all, crazy as that’d be.

“Take care now,” he heard his mother call as he jammed on his hat, shoved his arms in his jacket and flung himself out the door. Beer forgotten.

Fifteen minutes later he tromped up the steps to the old Greyson place. Its owner had raised a few cattle as a hobby and stabled horses, until recent years when hard times forced him to sell. The new owner, an investment banker looking to shelter money, rumor had it, had bought the place lock, stock and barrel. And it most recently had become the home of Fresh Start.

“Anybody here?” he called, opening the front door when no one answered his knock. He stepped inside just as Brielle emerged from a room to his left.

“What are you doing here?” Then—“Was the door unlocked?”

For some contrary reason, her hostile tone slapped a wide smile on his face. He swept off his hat and bowed slightly, all old-school, country-boy charm. “Yes, it was. And it’s nice to see you, too.”

“Can’t say the same, but come in. Doreen, please contact maintenance to have them check and reset the security keypad,” she called then turned back the way she came.

He followed her into a small, sterile-looking room, admiring the sway of her trim hips beneath a modest skirt that flowed nearly to her ankles. Today, the silky lavender material of her shirt buttoned at each wrist and twisted into a bow at her neck. With all this covering up, maybe it was a wonder he found an inch of her to be attracted to. Yet his eyes stuck to her like she was flypaper. He stroked his beard, his own form of concealment.

“Please. Sit.”

He folded himself into a chair and watched as she strode behind her desk and sat, her back so straight, he bet he could plumb an entire building off it. A hectic red colored her cheeks and brought out the mint of her magnetic eyes.

“What can I do for you?”

“It’s more what I can do for you.”

Her lips quirked, and he found himself mesmerized by the fuller bottom lip, imagining its softness...its taste...

“And what would that be?”

“Heard about the town hall meeting next week, and I wanted to help.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Seemed like you thought the clinic was a waste of time last time we talked.”

He dropped his eyes at her piercing gaze. With one look, she turned him into glass, see-through and potentially breakable. It was a damn uncomfortable feeling.

“It is for me. But other people...”

“If you don’t believe in what we do, how can you convince others?”

“I—I do believe you can make a difference. Just—you know—not with me.”

“And you’re in the habit of pronouncing judgments on things you know nothing about?”

His mouth dropped open. No. That was know-it-all James. “Look. I’m just beyond help is all.”

Her expression softened. “No one’s beyond help unless they put themselves out of reach.” He followed her eyes to a set of dog tags stowed in a paper clip tray.

“Are those yours?”

Suddenly she hurried from the room, rubbing her eye as if she’d gotten something in it. He glimpsed the anguish, the inner torment he’d spotted the night of the accident. It stirred his protective instincts. What kept her up at night?

Curiosity overruled politeness, and he leaned forward, grabbed the metal discs and read the inscription.

Pelton

William R.

4763888912

O Pos

Protestant

A brother? Friend? The need to know seized him.

“Who’s William?” he asked when she returned, blowing her nose.

“No one.” She snatched the tags from his hand, yanked open a drawer and dropped them inside.

“My brother Jesse died almost four years ago,” he heard himself say.

What was he doing? He knew better than to talk about Jesse. Yet something about Brielle’s pain made him want to share his.

Her stiff expression slackened. “I’m sorry. I heard he was your twin?”

“Identical. We even liked the same mustard. The brown spicy kind, not the yellow stuff.” He nearly kicked himself. Why was he telling her this nonsense?

Her smile revealed two enchanting dimples on either side of her mouth. “I hate the yellow kind, too. Much too watery. What else did Jesse like?”

“Kids. No mother was safe around him.” His shoulders lowered as he relaxed into the tale. No one ever talked about Jesse except in tragic terms, if they spoke of him at all. His family tiptoed around Justin’s grief like it was a land mine.

Yet undaunted Brielle waded right in without hesitation. It felt good to have an unbiased ear, someone who’d let him focus on positive memories, unfiltered by the bad. “Jesse begged to hold babies every time he came within fifty yards of them, and he had to be bribed to give them back.”

“He sounds like a special guy.”

Justin’s eyes burned for a moment. How long since he’d cried over Jesse? He hadn’t allowed himself tears at Jesse’s funeral nor a day since, and he’d be damned if he was going to start now, in front of a beautiful woman whom he never wanted to view him as broken. “He wasn’t a bad element like they’re saying.” He jerked his head toward Carbondale, visible through her window.

She nodded. “I know.”

Two words. Simple and direct. They carried such conviction that they reached inside and stirred his heart.

“So that’s why I want to help you.”

“You won’t be able to do that from jail.”

He let that sink in. She was right. He’d be behind bars when the meeting took place and couldn’t speak up for Jesse.

“Unless...”

He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Unless?”

“You came here instead.”

When he opened his mouth to object, she held up a hand. “Hear me out. I know you don’t think we can help you, and maybe we can’t, but you could do us a lot of good. I haven’t found someone to lead the patients’ ranch activities yet. You could take that over temporarily, as a volunteer, while you’re staying here to fulfill the court ruling. It’d help my case and impress the local ranchers at the meeting. Plus, I’d have more time to recruit another cowboy to take on the job permanently. What do you say?”

The room spun around him for a moment. “I—I’d have to think on it.”

“What’s to think about?” she challenged with that same give-no-quarter directness that backed him up and kept him off balance. “What are you afraid of?”

That snapped his spine straight. “Nothing.”

“Then prove it. I dare you to spend the next six weeks here.”

“Dare?” Was she joking? This wasn’t kid stuff...it was life or death. And the way Brielle got under his skin, opened him up, was downright dangerous. If he accepted, he’d need to keep his distance. “I’m not going to any group talks.”

She pondered that a moment then sighed. “Fine. Go only if you want to, which I’m betting will be plenty.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am.”

He found himself smiling. When was the last time he’d smiled for no reason? He liked Brielle’s gumption.

“So,” she pressed, looking so flushed and vibrant he wagered touching her would be like grabbing hold of an electric fence. He could feel the spark from where he sat. “Do we have a deal?”

He shoved back his chair and held out his hand. “Dare accepted.”

As he left the facility to meet his sister for a ride home, thoughts ran through Justin’s head. He hadn’t been able to save his brother, but perhaps it wasn’t too late to make some sort of amends and help others, even though he had little faith it’d make a difference with him.

And deep down, he had to admit that the choice between spending the next one-plus month with Brielle Thompson versus Sheriff Travis Loveland wasn’t exactly hard to make.

His lips curved as he pictured her fired-up expression.

Nope.

Not a difficult decision by a long shot.