Despite the little voice that told her it was a terrible idea, Aubrey went to town. A person could only lay low for so long. Now she knew why they called it cabin fever. For the last two weeks, she’d stayed inside, cleaning and decorating the small log house on Dry Creek Ranch, making it home.
Strangely enough, she liked it better than the three-story mini mansion Mitch had built for her, though the huge house was certainly beautiful. Just big and ostentatious, like a pretty Sunday dress that showed too much cleavage. The cabin didn’t have all the modern conveniences the house did. It needed a lot of work, but she loved the hand-hewn logs and the open rafters and the fact that it had been there for a hundred years. But there was her irritating neighbor, though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit she was intrigued by him from an anthropological perspective. Since moving in she’d rarely seen him leave the cabin. Most of the time he napped on his front porch with a cowboy hat covering his face or shot beer cans or Jim Beam bottles off the fence post. She supposed that was part of the reason she’d assumed he was a drunk.
Today, though, he’d appeared quite sober.
First, in the morning, with the target practice incident. She hadn’t smelled a lick of alcohol on his breath. Then later, Aubrey had watched through the window as he’d ridden the tractor mower in perfect straight lines, making yet another racket. At least the job was too methodical for him to have been drunk. And he had finally cleaned up that mess of a yard.
Later, when he’d stripped down to his birthday suit and jumped in the creek…well, Aubrey had had to stand under the ceiling fan. For a man who spent his days sulking on the front porch, he was in extraordinary shape. Tall, dark, and brooding wasn’t her jam—and the guy was a major pain in the butt—but Cash Dalton was quite a specimen of a man. Broad shoulders that wouldn’t quit and a six-pack that made her want to join a gym.
She pulled into a parking space in front of the coffee shop and cut the engine. After lunch she planned to go to Reynolds Construction and collect the rest of her stuff. She knew Mitch wouldn’t be there, which would make it easier on both of them, though they had plenty to talk about. Plenty.
Aubrey was just about to get out of the car when Brett Tucker rolled his wheelchair down the sidewalk ramp and opened her door. “Hey, good-looking. Haven’t seen you in town for a while.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and let out a sigh. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Mitch and me.” She prayed Brett didn’t ask too many questions. She’d never been a good liar.
He nodded. “Like my dad used to say, ‘Don’t believe everything you hear and only half of what you see.’”
“Part of it’s true. Mitchell and I are through.” She grabbed her purse and slung the strap over her arm.
He backed up his chair so she could get out of the car. “I’m sorry, Ree. I’m sorry for both of you.”
She nodded. “Thanks.” Brett was and had always been a wonderful friend. Not just to her but to everyone in Dry Creek. That’s why she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth.
“I’m not gonna ask about the rest of it because Jace and Mitch are my best friends,” he said. “Don’t want it to tarnish the brotherhood.”
Good, they could change the topic.
“Enough about me.” She leaned against the hood of her car, which desperately needed a wash. Dry Creek Ranch was dusty in summer. “How are you?”
“Fair to middling.” He grinned that megawatt smile that had made him the most popular boy in Dry Creek. And the sweetest.
Aubrey knew Brett was only putting on a good face. He’d gone from captain of the high school football team and a war hero to sitting in that chair, a paraplegic. A mere month ago, Jace had to talk him off a ledge. Brett had gone from depressed to…Aubrey didn’t want to say suicidal, but somewhere really dark.
She suspected he hadn’t rebounded, despite his pretense that he had, and supposed they were both keeping secrets.
“Glad you’re doing well, Brett.” She pushed herself off the car. “Where are you off to?”
“VFW Hall to meet the boys.” He did a quick spin in his wheelchair and popped a wheelie. Show-off.
“Be sure to enjoy this fine day.” She tipped her chin up to the sunshine.
“Roger that. You take care of yourself, you hear?”
“Roger that.” She winked at him and went inside the coffee shop, where she was greeted by a refreshing rush of air-conditioning.
Perhaps it was her own insecurity, but it seemed as if a hush fell over the restaurant as soon as she entered. She knew she hadn’t imagined it when Laney James, Jimmy Ray’s wife, threw her shade.
Small towns.
She’d lived here her entire life, except for the years she’d left to go to college, and nothing had changed. Everyone was still up in everyone else’s business, including her. Only a few hours earlier she’d gotten in Cash Dalton’s face about his drinking when she didn’t even know the man.
Jace sat at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee, and gave her a smile of encouragement.
She turned to Laney, who hadn’t made a move to seat her. “I guess I’ll just take my usual table.”
“It’s Mitch’s table,” Laney shot back and scowled.
“Then I’ll take this one.” Aubrey scooted into the small booth at the front of the shop, noting that it hadn’t taken long for people to take sides. Then again, Mitch was prettier than her, and whenever the coffee shop needed a repair Jimmy Ray couldn’t manage on his own, it was Mitch to the rescue. He never charged, taking his pay in Jimmy Ray’s legendary chicken and waffles.
It took ten minutes for one of the waitresses to get around to taking her order, even though the coffee shop wasn’t that busy. Jace slid off his stool and snagged the bench across from her.
“Bad idea, don’t you think?” she said with a slight scowl.
“Let’s give ’em something to talk about.” He flashed that signature cocky grin of his, and Aubrey could see why half the women in Mill County wanted in the sheriff’s pants.
She shook her head. “It’s your election next year, not mine. How was your meeting?”
“Same old crap, different day.” He signaled the waitress for a refill on his coffee. Funny how she rushed to do his bidding when she’d made Aubrey wait. “I talked to Cash about cooling it with the target practice.”
“I know; he apologized. Again. And now he thinks I’m high-maintenance. And crazy for accusing him of being a drunk.”
Jace laughed. “He’s not a drunk. He’s actually one of the most responsible people I know, but he’s got a lot to deal with right now, including a daughter who’s coming to live with him in a few days.”
“He has a kid?” She didn’t know why she was surprised. Cash was about the same age as Jace, and he had two beautiful boys. Jace nodded. “What happened to the wife?”
“Never married. The girl’s mother died last week. Stage four breast cancer.”
“That’s awful.” It made Aubrey realize her problems were minimal in the grand scheme of things. “No wonder Cash seems so depressed.”
Jace shook his head. “It isn’t like that. He barely knew her and only found out he had a twelve-year-old a couple of weeks ago. But that’s his story to tell, not mine.”
Aubrey was dying of curiosity, but she knew better than to probe. When Jace was keeping someone’s confidence, he was locked up tighter than a vault. Unlike the rest of this town, he didn’t gossip or give away secrets, not even to her, and she was one of his best friends. Aubrey supposed he’d only told her about Cash because it was common knowledge and she was out of the loop these days.
“You see Brett?” he asked, and they exchanged a glance.
“On my way in. He looked chipper.” Her lips pressed together in a slight grimace.
Jace rubbed the back of his neck and let out a long breath. “Ironic, but he’s trying for Jill’s sake.” He stared out the window, disappearing for a while. Jace, Brett, and Mitch had been best friends since elementary school. She’d only seen Jace cry twice in her life: the day his ex-wife failed to show up for their six-year-old’s birthday party and the day Brett Tucker came home from Afghanistan a different man than when he’d left.
She waved her hand in front of his face. “Earth to Jace.”
“Sorry.” He took a sip of his coffee. “What are you planning for the day?”
“I’ve got to finish emptying out my desk, then maybe I’ll brush up my résumé. I don’t know if I can scrounge up enough work going solo around here.” Working for a developer was the way to go in her line of business and Reynolds Construction was the only game in town. “It certainly doesn’t help that Mitch is bad-mouthing me to everyone.” She slid a glance at Laney.
“The best defense is a good offense.”
She let out a mirthless laugh. “I guess so. You know what’s weird?” Her sandwich and drink came, and she waited for the waitress to leave before she continued. “I feel like a thousand pounds have been lifted from my shoulders. The wedding, the house, Mitch…I’m not even a little sad, and just a few weeks ago I was about to marry the guy. What does that say about me?”
“It says it wasn’t the real deal.” Jace snatched a fry from her plate.
Then why had she stayed? She’d always thought of herself as a romantic, someone who reached for the stars. Yet with Mitch, she’d grown complacent, or perhaps she’d simply gone along with what everyone else had expected of her. Even her mother was disappointed that Aubrey wouldn’t be Mitch’s bride, despite what he’d done.
“I guess not,” she said absently. “Thanks for letting me stay at the ranch. You don’t have to if you think it’ll affect the election or the boys. I’d hate for any of the rumors to reach Grady and Travis.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He waved her off. “It’ll blow over.”
“What about Mitch and your friendship?” It hurt to know this had caused a rift between them.
“I’ll deal with him in my own time and in my own way.”
“Will you tell him you know what’s going on, that I told you I caught them together?” She took a bite of her sandwich, even though she’d lost her appetite.
“He knows I know. Why else do you think he dragged me into this with a bullshit story of how I stole you from him?” Jace rolled his eyes. “Back to the best defense is a good offense.”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I hadn’t needed a place to live. You know I’d never want to come between the two of you.”
“I’m glad you told me. Like I said, the gossip will eventually blow over. As soon as Cash’s daughter shows up, everyone will have something new to talk and speculate about.”
Indeed they would. Cash wasn’t a Dry Creek native, but his grandfather had been a beloved fixture here. By association that made Cash a local, even if he’d only started living here full-time after Jasper Dalton died.
“What’s the girl’s name?” Aubrey asked and sipped her iced tea.
“Ellie. I think it’s short for Eleanor. She lives in Boston.”
“Didn’t you say Cash is a San Francisco FBI agent?” She wondered if he was taking time off because of Ellie.
“Former FBI agent.” Jace said it in a way that implied there was a bigger story there. Aubrey waited for more, but he clammed up like he always did. Sometimes she wondered if he did it on purpose. Dangle something juicy, then pull it away.
Jace checked his watch and frowned. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’ve got to be somewhere.” He pushed away his coffee mug, pulled a few bills out of his pocket, and laid them on the table. “See you later.”
After lunch she paid her bill at the ancient cash register. Laney didn’t even bother to look up. Jimmy Ray waved from the kitchen, but he didn’t come out to say hello like he usually did. Yep, they were definitely on Team Mitch.
She opened the door and immediately missed the coffee shop’s cool air. July in Dry Creek. Aubrey walked up the hill to Main Street. Despite being the central artery through town, most of Dry Creek’s businesses were on Mother Lode Road, like the coffee shop. The City Hall complex, a gas station, the post office, the high school, the Greyhound bus terminal, a storage company, and Reynolds Construction made up the bulk of Main Street, just a two-lane road that bisected miles of pasture and rolling hills.
She crossed at the light and cut through her former employer’s small parking lot and let herself in through the double front doors. Mercedes was on the phone at the reception desk, and Aubrey tried to sneak by. Mitch’s executive assistant—Mercedes didn’t like being called a secretary—ruled Reynolds Construction like a dictator, chopping off heads for infractions as minor as forgetting to wash out the coffeepot.
“Mitch changed the lock on your office,” Mercedes called as soon as Aubrey snuck around the corner. There was a smile in her voice, Aubrey could hear it.
Shit.
She stopped, backed up, and put her hands on her hips. “Come on, Mercedes, let me in. I know you have the key.”
“No can do,” Mercedes said in a singsong voice that told Aubrey just how delighted she was to be Mitch’s gatekeeper.
“Oh for God’s sake. It’s my personal property.” Paint, wood, and wallpaper samples she’d purchased with her own money. Magazines and books she’d collected since college. Furniture catalogs from all the major distributors. And her family pictures.
“Talk to Mitch.”
“Come on, Mercedes. He’s being vindictive.”
“Can you blame him?” Mercedes stood up. Only a skosh over five feet, she had the bearing of an NBA center. “You broke his heart, and with his best friend no less. And to add insult to injury, you stuck him with the wedding bills.”
“Don’t drag Jace into this. He had nothing to do with it. Now let me in my office before I call my lawyer.” She was bluffing, because she didn’t have a lawyer.
“I’m not getting involved. It’s between the two of you.”
Not getting involved, yeah, that was rich. “Come on, Mercedes, just let me in. It’ll take less than thirty minutes.”
“I won’t go against Mitch’s wishes. He’s a good boy and you’re a selfish girl. And Jace…I thought better of him.”
“Jace and I are not an item. I don’t care what Mitch told you, it’s not true.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes and walked away.
“Dammit, Mercedes!” Aubrey called to her back.
“Don’t make me call security, Aubrey.”
“You’re actually kicking me out of the building? The same building where I’ve worked for ten years?”
Mercedes turned around, looked down her stubby little nose at Aubrey, and lifted a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “You bet your ass I am.”
Aubrey folded her arms over her chest. “You can forget me getting you that coffee table at cost.” She rushed past Mercedes and let herself out the door before the witch sicced Leroy on her. The big lug was Mitch’s cousin and was what passed for security around here.
She pretended to walk to her car, then cut around the side of the building. It was a two-story, circa 2010 stucco number with a flat roof. The window to her office was on the first floor, but still too high to reach from the ground. She looked around for something to climb on, remembered she had a folding lawn chair in the trunk, and headed back to her Volvo. A few minutes later, she pulled around the corner, parked her station wagon out of sight behind a dumpster, and unearthed the chair from under a stack of blueprints.
The nylon webbing was as old as Mercedes, and when Aubrey stood on it, her right boot went through the seat, nearly taking the rest of her with it. She caught her balance with her left foot and grabbed the window ledge to hold herself up. One-handed, she managed to pry out the screen and immediately went to work on the window. Thank goodness no one bothered with locks in Dry Creek. But when she tried to slide the window open, the damned thing wouldn’t budge. Finally, after tugging with all her might, she got it to move a smidge. But not enough to wedge her arm, let alone her butt, through the crack.
“Dammit!” What she wouldn’t do for a can of WD-40?
With her shoulder shoved into the sash pull, she pushed as hard as she could, feeling it give a little bit more. “Come on, you son of a gun.”
The heat was stifling and Aubrey could feel a pool of perspiration collect in the bridge of her bra. At least her cowboy hat shielded the sun from her head and face.
“Come on, come on, come on.” This time she jiggled the handle as she gave it another shove. Slowly, it began to move. First, just enough to slip her arm through, then wide enough to fit her head.
A truck whizzed by on Tank Farm Way and she held her breath, worried that someone had seen her trying to jimmy the window. Burglary was all she needed to add to her résumé after “cheating” and “breaking poor Mitchell Reynolds’s heart.” She laughed to herself, because Mitch didn’t have a heart. What he had was an overactive penis.
She waited a beat, listening for sirens, hoping one of Jace’s deputies didn’t show up. But all she heard was a tractor in the distance and a few cars on Main Street. Relieved, she resumed her efforts. Whatever had jammed the bottom rails must’ve come loose because all of a sudden, the window slid open as slippery as the roads in winter.
Aubrey tossed her hat on the ground, grabbed hold of the sill, and hoisted the top half of her body through the window. Flopping around, trying to wiggle the rest of the way through, her skirt hiked up, giving anyone who drove by a nice view of her ass.
She reached back to quickly pull it down when a deep voice—one she recognized—said, “How’s it going up there?”
Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. “Uh…good.”
“Seems like you’re stuck.”
“No.” Her voice squeaked and she desperately searched for an excuse why she was dangling out of a window but came up empty. “Just hanging out.”
“Hanging out, huh? Last I looked, breaking and entering was illegal.” Spoken like a true FBI agent. Former FBI agent, Aubrey reminded herself. “You sure you haven’t been drinking?”
He wasn’t going to let that go.
“Quite sure,” she said. “This used to be my office. I’m just getting a few sundries, that’s all.” She reached behind her to smooth down her skirt, hoping beyond hope that everything back there was covered.
“I guess this is easier than using the front door.”
She couldn’t see him but was pretty sure he was laughing at her. Funny, because she’d surmised that Cash Dalton didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She supposed they were even now. Well, not quite even. His butt was a heck of a lot better than hers, and she’d seen much more than his ass.
“All right, if you must know, Mercedes wouldn’t let me in.” The news of her being booted from her old office would be broadcast all over town by tomorrow anyway.
“Ah,” was all he said.
“Give me a hand, would you?” She wanted him to boost her the rest of the way in.
“And be an accessory to a crime? I don’t think so.” He was still laughing, she could hear it in his voice.
“Fine, then go about your merry way.” She wondered what he was doing in town in the first place, hermit that he was.
But instead of taking off, he hoisted her up by her legs. “Be careful.”
“Just a few more inches.” Okay, that sounded weird. Oh for crying out loud, get your mind out of the gutter, Aubrey.
He gave her another push, and as soon as her hands touched the carpet, she was able to flop her legs over the side. Thank goodness for men over six feet tall. She scrambled to her feet and went back to the window to find him still standing there. “Thanks,” she called.
“How do you plan to get back down?”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’ll figure something out.” She waited for him to walk away, but he remained as if he were contemplating what to do next.
“I’m only taking what’s mine,” she assured him.
He deliberated, then walked closer to the window. “Throw the stuff down to me.”
She nodded, because she didn’t know how she’d do it on her own.
“But hurry. I don’t have all day.”
She dashed to her credenza, grabbed an armful of catalogs, found a few empty storage boxes in the closet, and packed them with as many belongings as would fit, then tossed them down to Cash. For the next twenty minutes, she ran around the office like a chicken with its head chopped off, collecting her things. Paint chips, wallpaper books, wood samples, fabric swatches, tile boards, and anything else she could stuff in a file box or carton. The rest she’d have to come back for later, after she had her come-to-Jesus talk with Mitch. She loaded up her family pictures, wrapped them up in an old pashmina she’d found on the coatrack, took one last look around the room, and bid the place goodbye.
“This one is kind of fragile,” she called to Cash, who stood below with a scowl on his face. She noted that despite his surliness, he’d organized all her worldly possessions in a neat pile on the ground.
“Just throw it down.”
“Be careful, they’re glass.” She tossed the pouch over the ledge and he caught it with ease. The tricky part would be getting out the window without mooning him. This time, she planned to go headfirst.
She leaned out, hung her head and shoulders over the ledge, and lost her nerve. Time to go to plan B. Aubrey pulled back inside and straddled the ledge with one leg, silently berating herself for not wearing jeans.
Cash tilted his head up. “You planning to fly?”
“I’m just assessing the situation. Jeez.”
“Swing your other leg over and jump. I’ll catch you.”
She wasn’t a bundle of picture frames and outweighed the carton of tile boards she’d dropped down by at least a hundred pounds. “That’s okay. I can do it.”
“By using your skirt as a parachute? I don’t think so. Just jump.”
Jace’s cousin was awfully bossy, but Aubrey was running out of options. So, she flipped her other leg over the windowsill and perched precariously on the ledge. “You sure?” It wasn’t all that far down but enough to get injured if he didn’t catch her.
He held his arms out and motioned impatiently with his hands for her to jump.
“Just give me a second.” She held her breath and slowly lowered herself, using her forearms as leverage on the sill.
Impatient, Cash reached up, hooked his arms around her waist, and pulled her feet first to the ground. He let go too fast and she nearly lost her balance. After all that, wouldn’t it be just like her to fall on her ass?
“You good now?” he asked, and she gazed around to see if anyone had witnessed her cat burglar routine.
“Uh-huh. Thanks for the help.” She wiped down the back of her dress and felt around to make sure everything was covered. “What brings you to town?” Inane question, but he didn’t seem to leave Dry Creek Ranch too often, and she felt like she ought to at least make conversation with him after he’d gone out of his way to help her.
He nudged his head at the storage company at the intersection of Main and Tank Farm. “I was headed to my unit to get a few things when I saw a suspicious woman climbing the building. Where’s your car?”
“Behind the dumpster.”
He hefted one of the boxes onto his shoulder and started for the Volvo. “This is really your stuff, right? You’re not stealing from your ex?”
She shot him a look. “Of course they’re mine; tools of the trade.” Items she’d need when she found a new job, one hopefully as lucrative as working for Reynolds Construction had been.
Mitch’s company developed ritzy planned communities across Northern California. Aubrey had been responsible for staging models and ultimately working with buyers on picking out everything from their flooring and wall colors to their countertops and bathroom fixtures. Besides being a nice living, Aubrey had enjoyed the work immensely.
She lifted the tailgate, and Cash made room in the trunk for the box. Aubrey considered asking about his daughter but wasn’t sure whether Jace had breached a confidence by telling her or not. Besides, Cash didn’t seem like a sharer. He’d said more to her today then he had in the entire two weeks they’d lived next door to each other. And, still, it wasn’t much.
He made a couple of trips back and forth, loading the car with her stuff, occasionally grunting something unintelligible, which Aubrey suspected had to do with the lack of space in her Volvo. Before Mitch canned her, her car had been a mobile office and was still filled with samples and paperwork from various jobs. She hadn’t bothered to clean out the detritus, focusing on her living situation instead. For a week after the breakup she’d couch surfed. When Jace offered her the cabin, her brother drove from Seattle and helped her move out of Mitch’s to Dry Creek Ranch.
“What’s this?” Cash held up a plaque that said, “The Sangiovese.”
“It’s the name of one of the models in a new development I was staging. Each floorplan is named after a wine varietal. ‘The Albariño,’ ‘The Grenache,’ ‘The Colombard.’”
“Hmm.” He lifted a brow. “Given my love for the bottle, maybe I should move there.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” She took the plaque from him and tossed it back in her trunk. Technically, it was the property of Reynolds Construction. When Mitch got around to explaining himself, she’d return it.
Cash dropped the last batch of fabric swatches onto Aubrey’s back seat. “That should do it.”
She kind of wanted to hug him for getting her out of a jam but wasn’t sure he’d appreciate the gesture after she’d practically called him a raging alcoholic. “Thank you,” she said and wondered if she should shake his hand only to reject the idea. Too formal. “And I’m sorry for getting in your face this morning. I shouldn’t have prejudged you.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. She got the sense he was searching for a pithy comeback but instead settled on, “See you around.”
“Okay, then.” She started to get in her station wagon.
“Wait a sec, you forgot something.” He jogged back to the side of the building, swiped her hat off the ground, came back, and popped it on her head. “Jace is up for reelection next year.”
Complete non sequitur, but Aubrey got his meaning loud and clear. “I know that.”
Cash gazed at the open window in Aubrey’s old office. “Good.” And with that, he walked away.
She watched him cross the road to Dry Creek Storage. The truth was, she couldn’t take her eyes off him and waited until he disappeared behind one of the storage units before getting in her car. Too moody, she told herself. But at least they had one thing in common: They both cared about Jace. This rumor about her and him had to stop. But how did she nip it in the bud without doing any more damage?
It was a question she pondered as she pulled onto Tank Farm and headed to Sew What to pick up a pair of drapes she’d had custom made for one of her clients. Occasionally, she took on outside business, usually locals she grew up with or friends of friends. Now, the freelancing would come in handy until she found a steady gig. She was a little low on cash after pouring a good chunk of change into wedding deposits. Mercedes had been wrong about sticking Mitch with the bills. Aubrey had paid for half of everything, and there were no refunds this close to the reception date. She was now the proud owner of a truckload of linens, which, in her prewedding delirium, she’d decided was more cost-effective to buy than to rent.
Yet, despite all the fussing and planning—and years of envisioning herself as the future Mrs. Reynolds, as well as fulfilling everyone’s expectations that she and her hometown sweetheart would find matrimonial bliss—Aubrey felt like she could breathe again. After Mitch had ruined everything, she’d come to the very swift conclusion that she didn’t love him, at least not in the way you were supposed to love the man you were about to marry. She’d loved things about him—his warmth, his wry sense of humor, his natural charm, his capacity to take nothing and build it into an impressive enterprise—but there’d always been a part of him that he kept locked away from her. It was as if he only let her know the person he wanted to be instead of the person he was.
She swung her car into Sew What’s tiny parking lot, got her purse, and stepped outside into the oppressive heat, hoping Wren’s air-conditioning was working. The seamstress’s shop was as ancient as Dry Creek itself, but her work was magical. Wren was a perfectionist, exceeding even Aubrey’s exacting standards.
The bell on the door chimed as Aubrey stepped inside to a blast of cool air. It was working, thank the sweet baby Jesus.
“Yo, Wren,” she called to an empty shop. “You back there?”
A few seconds later, Wren appeared, brushing past the bead curtains left over from her hippie days, holding a bowl of soup. “Well, if it isn’t the talk of the town.”
Aubrey huffed out a breath. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Wren.”
“Kind of hard not to when you moved in with Jace.”
“I didn’t move in with Jace.” Aubrey planted her hands on her hips. “I moved to a cabin on his ranch. There’s a difference.”
Wren didn’t say anything, just arched a brow dubiously.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, don’t tell me you’re actually choosing sides?”
“The optics aren’t good, Aubrey. You’re living with Jace and Mitch has been a good friend. He fixed my leaky roof.”
“Seriously, you’re choosing friends based on who does you favors? If that’s the case, Wren, I give you business.” Wow, who knew she had to stoop that low? Aubrey thought she and Wren were friends. But throwing Wren sewing jobs—lots of them—should trump patching a leaky roof, in Aubrey’s opinion.
“Look, Aubrey, I don’t want to get involved. Dry Creek is gossipy enough.” She put down her bowl, reached under the counter, and handed Aubrey a package. “I’m officially removing myself from the fray.”
Aubrey stared down at the brown paper wrapping. It was the same package she’d brought to Sew What with her upholstery fabric. “This is the way you’re staying out of the ‘fray’?” She continued to stare at the package in disbelief. “You’re not going to make my client’s drapes?”
“It’s a Stitch in Grass Valley can do it.” Wren picked up her bowl and blew on her soup.
Aubrey knew first hand that It’s a Stitch did alterations and didn’t have the bandwidth to create pleated draperies. “You’re really going to turn down my business over Mitch?”
“Please don’t turn this into something it isn’t.” Wren took a sip of her soup.
“What is it exactly? Perhaps you should explain.” Aubrey had promised her client to have the drapes hung by Friday, which was only four days away. This would put her in a real bind.
“It’s not an indictment of you. I’m a feminist, Aubrey, I don’t believe in slut shaming. But I don’t want to take sides.”
Aubrey had to keep from rolling her eyes. Not slut shaming her ass. “So the next time Mitch offers you free work, you’ll turn him down, right?”
“Okay, you’re being petty and making me extremely uncomfortable. I think you should leave.”
“Wow, you’re kicking me out of your store. I can’t freaking believe this.” Even Laney, who doted on Mitch, hadn’t refused to serve her. But Aubrey’s pride wouldn’t let Wren say it twice. She clutched her package and walked straight out the door.
She opened the passenger side of her Volvo and shoved the drapery fabric next to the rest of her crap. A pickup almost as old as Aubrey’s station wagon pulled up alongside her. Other than the wheelchair lift in the back, it looked like every other truck in Dry Creek. Dinged and scraped from carrying hay, barbed wire, and other farm supplies. Jill Tucker rolled down the window, and Aubrey braced her hand on the hood of her car.
“Not now, Jill.”
Jill swung open her door and jumped down from the cab anyway. Aubrey couldn’t help noticing how much she’d aged in the last few years. There were crow’s feet around her eyes and brackets tugging at the corners of her lips. And although Jill had always been trim, her curves had given way to sharp planes. The truth was, she looked exhausted, as if stress and loss of sleep had hollowed out her cheeks and added a hardness to her face that had never been there before.
Yet Jill was still the most beautiful woman in Dry Creek. Long, silky blond hair, big brown bedroom eyes, and great shoulders. No one rocked a tank top like Jill Tucker.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“No, we don’t.” Aubrey rounded the front of her car, trying to get away.
Jill followed and effectively blocked Aubrey from opening the door. With tears in her eyes, she pleaded, “If you tell, it’ll kill him, Ree. It’ll absolutely kill him.”
Aubrey planted her legs wide. “How could you, Jill? Never mind the fact that we’re friends—once best friends—but how could you do that to him?”
Jill sagged against Aubrey’s station wagon. “It just happened. We didn’t mean for it to happen and we certainly didn’t set out to hurt anyone. But you don’t know what it’s like, Ree. The mood swings, the isolation, the—Sometimes it’s like he’s not even here on this planet. And we’re broke. Who knows if we’ll even be able to keep the house?”
“Stop.” Aubrey held up her hand. “It’s not an excuse, Jill.”
“No, it’s not.” Jill wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward off the cold in the ninety-degree heat.
“I told Jace,” Aubrey said and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Other than him, I’ll never tell a soul.” She muscled Jill out of the way and opened her car door. Then, fixing Jill with a look, she said, “I’m doing it for Brett, not for you. Not for Mitch. Because to do otherwise, Jill, would destroy your husband.”