Spun Out Read online

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  “I need to see it in the light. Come inside.”

  “I’m not gonna drag mud into your house. I’ll be fine. If it were serious it’d probably hurt and it doesn’t.”

  He stared her down. “Pain is not a gauge to determine the extent of the injury. You could’ve cut it so deep it’s become numb.”

  “Streeter. Don’t, please.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “I . . . can’t . . .”

  Something in her tone clawed at him. “Talk to me.”

  “I can’t stand the sight of blood. I get woozy and want to throw up, and I don’t want you to see me like that,” she said in a rush.

  It took every bit of his will to remain there, through the flashback of finding Danica’s body. Blood everywhere. She’d slashed her wrists before she used the gun to make sure she didn’t fail in taking her own life.

  “I’m sorry,” Bailey said, yanking him back from that horrendous memory.

  “Me too, sweetheart, ’cause I’m gonna hafta insist on seein’ to that cut now.” He tipped her chin up to peer into her eyes. “I can’t let you go and take the chance you’ll pass out in the shower with no one around to help you in case you hit your head.” He swept his thumb across her dimple. “Even if you let me help you, I still think you’re a badass, Sergeant.”

  She stared at him and those pretty hazel eyes shimmered with embarrassment. “Fine. But just to keep things fair, you have to tell me something that freaks you out.”

  You.

  When he hesitated to answer, she supplied, “You’re afraid of clowns, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “I think maybe you’re projecting.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Fine. Chain saws have freaked me out since I was a kid. Even now I refuse to use one.”

  “So you’ve never seen the movie . . . ?”

  Streeter shuddered. “Never. Now march, soldier, so I can get you fixed up.”

  He held the screen door open for her. Once inside, he pointed to the counter. “Hop up.”

  She didn’t argue.

  He washed his hands and wet two paper towels. With his left hand on her knee, he gently swabbed away the mud. He saw the mark was more of a scrape than a cut.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “More mud than blood.”

  “Told ya.”

  He chuckled. “Couldn’t resist, could you?”

  “Nope.”

  He grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink. “Antibacterial spray or gel?”

  “Gel.”

  Streeter took his time dabbing gel on the tiny scrape on Bailey’s very smooth, very muscular leg.

  “You’re good at this whole patching-up thing, Hale.”

  “Comes with the territory of havin’ a kid who sees life as an obstacle course.” He couldn’t drag this out any longer without seeming like a perv. “And lucky you, I have a wide selection of bandages.”

  “Wonder Woman?”

  “Of course.” He dug through the kit until he found the small bandage and pressed it on. “Done.”

  “Thanks for the TLC.”

  He bit back a snort and fussed with the first-aid kit.

  “But you forgot something.” She leaned closer. “Aren’t you gonna offer to kiss it and make it better?” she said in a husky voice that stirred his cock.

  “First time I kiss you ain’t gonna be on your leg.” The words just slipped out of his mouth.

  Silence.

  What the fuck had possessed him to say that all cocky-like? As if sexy stuff dripped from his lips all the damn time. Christ. He couldn’t even look at her now.

  Bailey slid off the counter. She paused behind him.

  Streeter didn’t turn around.

  “That’s something I’m looking forward to.” She squeezed his biceps. “It’s late. I’ll see myself out.”

  Then she was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  Olivia Hale was nothing if not persistent.

  She’d knocked on Bailey’s door Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday mornings at seven a.m., asking politely if she could have her drum set back.

  Every morning Bailey replied she’d think about it.

  So Bailey found herself disappointed on Thursday morning when there’d been no sign of her little neighbor. At seven thirty she grabbed her gym bag and headed to the fitness center. An hour of cardio and weight training cleared her head, although she’d probably hit the gym again for some stretching. Staying in shape and trying to eat right allowed her to feel some measure of control.

  But her day hadn’t played out well at all. She and Harper had their first fight of the summer.

  In the past, they could barely get through two days without sniping at each other. This time they’d lasted a month. Bailey’s hopes that her older sister would value her opinion were dashed when Harper refused to even discuss the issue.

  Then she’d given Bailey the day off. Which had only amounted to two hours, but still, it was the principle of the thing.

  While she picked up supplies for boot camp, her old friend Amy called. They’d been trying to get together for two weeks and Amy finally had a free Friday night since her ex-husband had the kids for the weekend. After making plans to meet, Bailey decided she needed new duds to wear out and about in the greater Muddy Gap area. The irony that she worked in a clothing store and ended up buying a couple of outfits in Casper wasn’t lost on her.

  She didn’t return to the Split Rock until after dusk. The first thing she noticed after exiting the car was the glow of a campfire. She followed the sounds of laughter to the common area at the end of the last trailer and saw Pete and Bobbie, the married caretakers, on one side of the fire pit, and Olivia and Streeter on the other side.

  Bobbie noticed her first. “Bailey! Pull up a chair. There’s plenty of room.”

  “Thanks. Let me ditch my bags and grab a beer.” Her gaze moved between Bobbie and Pete. “You guys interested?”

  “Sure, we’ll both have one,” Pete said, “since I know you don’t drink them weird-flavored kinds.”

  Then Bailey looked at Streeter. His dark blond hair had taken on a golden glow from the fire, turning it reddish gold. Normally he kept that thick hair hidden beneath a ball cap or a cowboy hat, which also allowed his face to remain half-shadowed. But tonight, without that usual armor, he looked younger. More relaxed. Approachable.

  It also helped that he wasn’t exuding those back-off vibes. “How about you, Streeter? Care for a beer?”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Olivia? Would you like a juice box?”

  “Yes, please. And you can have one of my hot dogs,” Olivia offered. She held out a stick that had a black chunk on the end that might’ve been meat at one time.

  “Thanks, but I already ate.”

  “Then you could bring us some marshmallows.”

  “Olivia. Is that the polite way to ask?” Streeter said sharply.

  She sighed. “Sorry. Daddy said we had s’mores stuff but all we got is graham crackers. Do you have any marshmallows?”

  “I’ll check to see what I have.”

  “Yay! Oh, and we don’t got chocolate either.”

  Bailey laughed. “Not much of a s’mores party, is it?”

  “That’s what I said!” Olivia hopped up. “I’ll help you.”

  Streeter scooped her up and popped her back on his lap. “You’ve been enough help.”

  Inside her trailer, Bailey tossed her bags on the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom.

  Great. She looked like hell. She adjusted her ponytail, smoothing back the flyaway strands, and quickly swept powder across the shiny spots on her face. She reached for her lipstick but changed her mind. Too obvious.

  She s
nagged the beer, a juice box, a bag of marshmallows and her stash of Reese’s peanut butter cups and sailed out the door.

  “That was fast,” Pete said.

  Bailey smiled as she passed around cans. “I’ve been looking forward to a beer all day.”

  “You weren’t working in the clothing store today,” Bobbie pointed out.

  “I did for a little while this morning. Then I had errands in Casper.” She selected the seat beside Streeter, telling herself it’d be better than sitting across from him and staring at his handsome mug in the firelight.

  Olivia scooted closer to eye the bag of marshmallows.

  “Give her a minute before you start naggin’ her for them, okay?” Streeter said to his daughter.

  She released a heavy sigh.

  Silence stretched, not in an uncomfortable way.

  Finally, Bailey said, “This is really nice.”

  Pete nodded. “We used to have real wood for a campfire, but it’s so windy Renner worried about stray sparks carrying over into the woods, so he put in this gas fire pit.” He grinned. “Now no one has to haul wood either.”

  “It’s been a long time since I sat in front of a fire on purpose. When I was overseas, seeing smoke wasn’t a good sign.”

  “How many times were you over there?”

  “In the sandboxes? Three. Each time nine-month stretches.” She took a drink of beer. “Not as much time as some in my company.”

  “Well, it’s good you’re on leave. I know Harper is happy for your help.”

  That was up for debate after today.

  Bailey changed the subject. “This might be a random question, but who else lives in these trailers? I hear doors and cars but I only ever see the four of you.”

  “Ted, who works with me at Jackson Cattle Company, lives here. His roommate, Zack, is the assistant chef up at the lodge,” Streeter said.

  “I doubt you’ve seen Zack since he doesn’t finish up at the lodge until after eleven most nights,” Pete added. “The trailer down from theirs is empty.”

  “Marta is in charge of housekeeping Monday through Friday, and she goes home to Rock Springs for the weekend. She’s in the trailer next to ours, and she’s the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type,” Bobbie said. “We’re glad to have a new, friendly face here. Been a while.”

  “Although I’m sure you were hopin’ for neighbors your own age,” Pete added.

  Bailey shrugged. “Bein’ military, I’ve learned to adapt wherever I am.”

  “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bobbie said.

  “I’m thirty. I left Muddy Gap when I was eighteen.” She tipped her head back and studied the stars. “Never thought I’d be back here for any length of time, to be honest.” Never wanted to come back hung in the air, unspoken.

  “This is our last season as the Split Rock caretakers,” Pete said. “We’re packing up during Christmas break.”

  “Why? Don’t you like it?”

  “We love it here, but Renner rotates workers. He says it’s better to have a firm end date so everyone can make plans goin’ forward.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Two years.” He pointed at Streeter. “They’ve been here the longest.”

  Bailey looked at him. “How long have you guys lived here?”

  “Three and a half years. I’m not a seasonal worker. But I’m not full-time either. It’s complicated.”

  A heavy sigh sounded and Olivia demanded, “Is it time to roast marshmallows yet?”

  Streeter chuckled. “Go ahead.”

  Olivia rustled in a bag next to her chair and brought over a package of graham crackers. “You can have the first one, Sergeant B.”

  Almost without thinking Bailey brushed a staticky strand of Olivia’s hair behind her ear. “When we’re not at camp you can call me Bailey.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “Kinda like we’re friends?” Olivia said skeptically.

  “Sure.”

  A sly look crossed her face. “My friend would give my drums back.”

  She laughed at the kid’s audacity. “Nice try. I expected you to come this morning and ask for them.”

  “I kinda forgot ’cause Daddy was crabby. He yelled at me and everything.”

  “Olivia.”

  Bailey ignored Streeter’s protest and leaned in to admit, “My sister yelled at me too, today.”

  Olivia scrutinized her face. “Didja cry?”

  “Nope. Did you?”

  She hung her head. “Uh-huh.”

  “Sometimes crying is the only way to let people know you’re upset.” She tipped Olivia’s chin up. “Everybody cries. It’s no big deal, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now that we’re friends, I’m gonna share my secret family recipe for peanut butter s’mores.”

  “I’m good at keepin’ secrets,” Olivia confided.

  Bailey felt green-eyed Daddio watching her interaction with his daughter. It surprised her that he didn’t get in the middle of it. “Good.” She threaded two marshmallows onto the stick. “Here you go.”

  Olivia turned toward the fire, brandishing the stick, almost smacking her father in the face with it.

  “Ah-ah-ah. We do it together.” Streeter kept her in the circle of his arms as they held the stick over the flame.

  “Don’t turn them into black blobs,” Bailey warned.

  “But I like ’em burned,” Olivia said.

  “Really?” She unwrapped the peanut butter cups and balanced them on the crackers. “I like mine soft but not gooey.”

  “Guess that’s a matter of opinion,” Streeter said.

  Her eyes met Streeter’s. “You don’t agree?”

  “Nope. The best part is seein’ how hot you can get ’em, then bein’ rewarded with a sweet, sticky center.”

  Lucky thing she had a good grip on the plate; she might’ve knocked it into the dirt when her knees went weak. Was he . . . flirting with her?

  He offered her a quick grin and refocused on charring the marshmallow.

  With the way her face flamed—not from just the fire pit—she nervously knocked back a big swig of beer.

  Bobbie said, “Looks like that one’s done, Olivia.”

  She moved it out of the fire and directed it to Bailey.

  “Hold on to it until I get the top ready. Good. Okay, now take the stick out.” She handed Olivia the plate. “Voilà. One peanut butter s’more.”

  “Use both hands,” her dad warned.

  He held the plate as Olivia brought the treat to her mouth and took a big bite. Her eyes widened and she tried to speak until her dad said, “Chew with your mouth closed.”

  As soon as she finished, she took another huge bite.

  Bailey forced herself to look at Pete and Bobbie. “You guys want one?”

  “Nah. Time for us to be headin’ in.” Pete stood and pulled his wife to her feet. “Bobbie’s already got a sweet treat lined up for me before bedtime, doncha?”

  Bailey’s gaze connected with Streeter’s and they smirked at each other.

  Then Bobbie whapped Pete on the biceps. “It was supposed to be a surprise, snoopy man.”

  Neither Bailey nor Streeter could hide their grins.

  When Bobbie realized how their conversation had sounded, she flapped her hand at them. “Oh pooh, you two. Me’n Pete are too old for them kinda shenanigans on a Thursday night. New ice cream is what’s got him excited.”

  As she watched the older couple walk away, she muttered, “I hope I’m never too old for them kinda shenanigans on any night.”

  “I ain’t had them kinda shenanigans for a long time.”

  Startled by his comment, her gaze hooked his. “Me either.”

  Please ask me to
get into some dirty shenanigans with you.

  “Can I have another one?” Olivia asked her dad, interrupting the moment.

  He glanced down at her and wiped a smudge of chocolate off her chin. “We’ll share. I didn’t even get a bite.”

  “I don’t like to share.”

  “I know that, girlie, which is exactly why you are gonna share with me.”

  After charring another marshmallow, he slapped it on the peanut butter cup and waited as Bailey added the top layer.

  Those gorgeous green eyes widened after he tried a bite. “That is tasty.”

  “It’s even better if you don’t ruin the marshmallow,” she teased.

  Bailey stared into the fire, wondering if she should make her excuses and head back to her trailer. Then all of the day’s events kept racing through her mind and she lost track of how long she sat there brooding, watching the flames, until she realized neither Olivia nor Streeter had spoken for a while. She glanced up and saw Olivia sprawled across Streeter’s lap, so sound asleep her mouth hung open.

  When she caught his eye, she mouthed, I’ll go, and started to get up.

  But Streeter reached out and set his hand on her leg. “Stay. Please,” he said in a relatively normal tone of voice.

  “You sure?” She tipped her head at Olivia, who hadn’t moved. “Don’t you want to put her in bed?”

  “Nah. She’s crashed. She’ll sleep through anything. Besides. It’s a nice night.” He paused. “It’s, ah, nice sittin’ out here with you.”

  She smiled because he was so damn cute. Especially when she realized he hadn’t moved his hand from her leg.

  Her stomach did somersaults.

  “Did you go for a run tonight?” he asked.

  “After the stern warning you gave me the other night? No. But I probably should do something to get rid of this pent-up aggression.”

  “I know something that’ll help.”

  Her gaze clashed with his.

  His smirk indicated he’d recognized the mindless-sweaty-sex idea that’d flitted through her eyes. But he merely said, “For right now I was thinkin’ more along the lines of you talkin’ about it.”

  “Streeter Hale. Are you actually volunteering to listen to me?”

  “I reckon I am.” He squeezed her knee and let go. “Just don’t expect good counsel, because I don’t take my own advice half the damn time.”