“You don’t?”
“Again, why is this your business?”
He sighed. “It’s not. You’re right. But we were best friends once, even before, well, everything, and I would still like to know about your life after you left here. I never stopped caring about you just because you dumped me.”
Again, she refused to look at him. “Don’t go there, Taft. We both know I only broke our engagement because you didn’t have the guts to do it.”
Oh. Ouch. Direct hit. He almost took a step back, but he managed to catch himself just in time. “Jeez, Laura, why don’t you say what you really mean?” he managed to get out past the guilt and pain.
She rose to her feet, spots of color on her high cheekbones. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You completely checked out of our relationship after your parents were murdered. Every time I tried to talk to you, you brushed me off, told me you were fine, then merrily headed to the Bandito for another drink and to flirt with some hot young thing there. I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone that I married a man who was unfaithful. You know what they say about old patterns being hard to break.”
Well, she was talking to him. Be careful what you wish for, Bowman.
“I was never unfaithful to you.”
She made a disbelieving sound. “Maybe you didn’t actually go that far with another woman, but you sure seemed to enjoy being with all the Bandito bar babes much more than you did me.”
This wasn’t going at all the way he had planned when he stopped to talk to her. Moving into the inn and taking the temporary carpenter job had been one of his crazier ideas. Really, he had only wanted to test the waters and see if there was any chance of finding their way past the ugliness and anger to regain the friendship they had once shared, the friendship that had once meant everything to him.
Those waters were still pretty damn frigid.
She let out a long breath and looked as if she regretted bringing up the past. “I knew you wanted out, Taft. Everyone knew you wanted out. You just didn’t want to hurt me. I understand and appreciate that.”
“That’s not how it happened.”
“I was there. I remember it well. You were grieving and angry about your parents’ murder. Anyone would be. It’s completely understandable, which is why, if you’ll remember, I wanted to postpone the wedding until you were in a better place. You wouldn’t hear of it. Every time I brought it up, you literally walked away from me. How could I have married you under those circumstances? We both would have ended up hating each other.”
“You’re right. This way is much better, with only you hating me.”
Un-freaking-believable. She actually looked hurt at that. “Who said I hated you?”
“Hate might be too big a word. Despise might be a little more appropriate.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t feel either of those things. The truth is, Taft, what we had together was a long time ago. I don’t feel anything at all for you other than maybe a little fond nostalgia for what we once shared.”
Oh. Double ouch. Pain sliced through him, raw and sharp. That was certainly clear enough. He was very much afraid it wouldn’t take long for him to discover he was just as crazy about her as he had always been and all she felt in return was “fond nostalgia.”
Or so she said anyway.
He couldn’t help searching her expression for any hint that she wasn’t being completely truthful, but she only gazed back at him with that same cool look, her mouth set in that frustratingly polite smile.
Damn, but he hated that smile. He suddenly wanted to lean forward, yank her against him and kiss away that smile until it never showed up there again.
Just for the sake of fond nostalgia.
Instead, he forced himself to give her a polite smile of his own and took a step in the direction of his truck. He had a meeting and didn’t want to be later than he already was.
“Good to know,” he murmured. “I guess I had better let you get back to your gardening. My shift ends to night at six and then I’m only on call for the next few days, so I should have a little more time to work on the rooms you’re renovating. Leave me a list of jobs you would like me to do at the front desk. I’ll try my best to stay out of your way.”
There. That sounded cool and uninvolved.
If he slammed his truck door a little harder than strictly necessary, well, so what?
Chapter Four
When would she ever learn to keep her big mouth shut?
Long after Taft climbed into his pickup truck and drove away, Laura continued to yank weeds out of the sadly neglected garden beds with hands that shook while silently castigating herself for saying anything.
The moment she turned and found him walking toward her, she should have thrown down her trowel and headed back to the cottage.
Their conversation replayed over and over in her head. If her gardening gloves hadn’t been covered in dirt, she would have groaned and buried her face in her hands.
First of all, why on earth had she told him about Javier and his infidelities? Taft was the last person in Pine Gulch with whom she should have shared that particular tidbit of juicy information.
Even her mother didn’t know how difficult the last few years of her marriage had become, how she would have left in an instant if not for the children and their adoration for Javier. Yet she had blurted the gory details right out to Taft, gushing her private heartache like a leaky sprinkler pipe.
So much for wanting him to think she had moved onward and upward after she left Pine Gulch. All she had accomplished was to make herself an object of pity in his eyes—as if she hadn’t done that a decade ago by throwing all her love at someone who wasn’t willing or capable at the time of catching it.
And then she had been stupid enough to dredge up the past, something she vowed she wouldn’t do. Talking about it again had to have made him wonder if she were thinking about it, which basically sabotaged her whole plan to appear cool and uninterested in Taft.
He could always manage to get her to confide things she shouldn’t. She had often thought he should have been the police officer, not his twin brother, Trace.
When she was younger, she used to tell him everything. They had talked about the pressure her parents placed on her to excel in school. About a few of the mean girls in her grade who had excluded her from their social circle because of those grades, about her first crush—on a boy other than him, of course. She didn’t tell him that until much later.
They had probably known each other clear back in grade school, but she didn’t remember much about him other than maybe seeing him around in the lunchroom, this big, kind of tough-looking kid who had an identical twin and who always smiled at everyone. He had been two whole grades ahead of her after all, in an entirely different social stratosphere.
Her first real memory of him was middle school, which in Pine Gulch encompassed seventh through ninth grades. She had been in seventh grade, Taft in ninth. He had been an athletic kid and well-liked, always able to make anyone laugh. She, on the other hand, had been quiet and shy, much happier with a book in her hand than standing by her locker with her friends between classes, giggling over the cute boys.
She and Taft had ended up both taking a Spanish elective and had been seated next to each other on Señora Baker’s incomprehensible seating chart.
Typically, guys that age—especially jocks—didn’t want to have much to do with younger girls. Gawky, insecure, bookish girls might as well just forget it. But somehow while struggling over past participles