Jeannie Maguire, our school’s most notorious pothead, stumbles out of a stall, her blue eyes glazed and bloodshot. “Pike. What’s up?”
“You okay, Jeannie?”
“I’m great.” She smiles and leaves the bathroom.
I tried pot once with Jeannie and my cousin Jordan. I didn’t feel a thing, and I certainly don’t relish the idea of looking anything like Jeannie Maguire, walking around in a stoned haze.
But what else is there to do in Snow Creek?
Jeannie’s a townie.
I’m not. I live on my parents’ ranch, and there’s always something to do. My brother, sisters, and I don’t dare ever say we’re bored or Dad will put us to work.
I don’t mind helping out, but I never get bored. When I’m not busy with something else, I read.
My nose in a book.
Being invisible has its perks.
“Hi, Callie.”
I’m jolted out of my flashback by Donny’s voice.
He stands next to my table. His long and muscled legs are clad in black pants, and he wears a white button-down with a perfectly Windsor-knotted burgundy-and-blue striped tie. In his fingers, he crumples a black suit jacket. His hair is slightly unruly, but it only adds to his charm.
My heart starts to pound.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Same as you, apparently. Coffee run.”
“I could have gotten it. Why didn’t you text me?”
“Because I’m perfectly capable of getting my own coffee, Callie.”
He looks tired. Gorgeous, as usual, but tired. His eyes are heavy-lidded and slightly bloodshot.
He didn’t sleep any better than I did.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll walk with you to the office.”
I drain the last of my coffee.
“Can I get you another?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s a three-coffee kind of morning.”
“You too?”
I nod. Our disagreement last night is part of the issue, but only a bit. Donny doesn’t know about my past with Pat Lamone, and I’m hoping I can keep it that way. Rory and I will figure something out. She’s going to reach out to Carmen and Jordan today. The four of us will get together as soon as possible and put this to bed for good.
I hope we can.
“Cal…” Donny says.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about…”
I smile weakly. “Yeah, me too.”
“So much is going on,” he continues.
You don’t know the half of it.
I simply nod. “I know.”
“My dad had an episode during the night.”
My jaw drops. Here I am feeling sorry for myself, when Donny’s father is still not fully recovered. I vow to get over myself. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah. His blood pressure dropped, and they thought he might have an infection, but it looks good now.”
“I’m sorry, Donny.”
“It’s all good.” His tone doesn’t indicate belief in his words, though.
“Shouldn’t you be at the hospital with your mom?”
“Yeah, I should be, but she wants me here, making sure the city runs smoothly.” He shakes his head. “This tiny town, and she’s worried about it. Go figure.”
“Did you sleep at all?” I ask.
“I think maybe an hour? You?”
“Maybe an hour. Maybe not.” In fact, not.
“Look,” he says, “we’ll work this out. I love you, Callie.”
“I love you too.”
“There’s just a lot of shit going on in my life right now. I don’t want it to touch us, but how can it not? I’ve brought you in on it. I need your help.”
“I understand.” I want to help. I’m thrilled he trusts me with what he’s doing.
Do I dare trust him with what’s coming back to haunt me?
I trust him to take a bullet for me.
But this… Pat Lamone… It goes so far beyond high school drama.
It’s in the past. I’d truly thought it buried. Why has he shown up back in Snow Creek?
“Come on,” Donny says. “Let’s get to the office. Lots to do.”
I rise and follow him to the counter where he orders another coffee for me. Then we head to the office.
The city attorney’s office.
Where justice is served.
Hot or cold.
My own thought makes me shudder.
Chapter Three
Donny
Troy has Callie working on some research, so I leave her to it. That’s what she wants—to actually do real work pertinent to her interests. I can’t pull her off to do Steel bidding. There will be enough of that to come.
Ten o’clock comes and goes. Nothing from Lambert yet.
I fully expect Brendan and his dad to come to me once it’s done. They’ll think I can intervene or something.
This is a state issue. I have no control over it.
Yup, I already have my canned speech ready, despite the self-loathing in the pit of my gut.
I thread my fingers through my hair. Man, I need some shut-eye. Except all I’d do is toss and turn, as I did for the few hours I was even in bed last night.
Fuck.
Buzz.
I nearly jump out of my chair.
It’s done. Want me to
stop by your office?
I text Lambert back.
Yeah. Maybe you should. To
make the whole thing look legit,
as if you’re letting me know.
Got it. Be over in a minute.
The last thing I want is to see John Lambert, but I’m in too deep to back down now. May as well make it all look good. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzes.
“Donny,” the receptionist downstairs says, “there’s a Mr. Lambert from the state energy board here to see you.”
“Send him up.”
A knock on my door a few minutes later.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and John Lambert’s bald head peeks in. “Hey, Don.”
“John, good to see you,” I say for show. “What brings you by?”
“I wanted to give you a heads-up on a situation here in your town,” he says.
“Sure. Come on in. Close the door.”
Once he’s seated across from my desk, I ask, “How’d it go?”
“He’s not happy, but it went fine.”
“Good.”
“He wanted to know why it’s just the bar and not the whole block. I told him there was a specific gas line under his place that was at issue. Not sure if he bought it.”
“He doesn’t have to buy it if you had the paperwork.”
“I did.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“I’ll be thinking about how you can repay me.”
“I know you will, John. For now, enjoy the rest of your stay at the Carlton.”
“Will do.” He salutes and stands. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I’ll keep in touch, though. Make sure you’re available if I need you.”