Spun Out Read online

  Hard not to outwardly bristle but Bailey managed. “I’ll admit that’s a fine line for me to straddle, but I’ll try.”

  That answer seemed to satisfy her. “When I came to work here two years ago this was a thriving business. Harper had two full-time employees in the summer, plus a part-timer who only handled the online store. Some days there were three of us working and we still had customers waiting to be helped. Resort guests loved this place and spent a ton of money here. Plus, we had loyal shoppers from all over the state. The online store was nearly its own entity.”

  “And?”

  Penelope gestured to the store. “And how many customers have you had today?”

  “None, but it’s a Monday.”

  “But the resort is fully booked. We should’ve had at least one guest pop in, even if they were only looking for a quick candy fix.” She pointed to the computer. “Were there any sales this weekend from the online store?”

  Only two and it’d taken Bailey less than ten minutes to pull the inventory and package it for shipping. “Online sales have been sluggish—”

  “For months,” she inserted. “If we’re being brutally honest, sales have been in steady decline for a year. Ever since . . .”

  Harper found out she was pregnant.

  Penelope saw the moment it clicked for Bailey. “Now you understand why I haven’t mentioned this to her.”

  Bailey raised an eyebrow. “And you think I oughta bring it up since I’m her sister?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “No. I don’t know. I don’t have access to WWC’s profit-and-loss statement, but I don’t need to see it to know this place is losing money because Harper’s mind isn’t on her business—even when she’s here.”

  “No shit.”

  “Before you fry my hair with that glare, hear me out. I love this job. From day one Harper has accommodated my strange schedule—trust me, not everyone understands the issues with being a single parent. Then add in the screwed-up situation with my ex and the court order requiring me to live in Rawlins . . .” She took a breath. “When I was looking for work, fast-food places wouldn’t hire me. I never imagined I’d land my dream job in a retail clothing store when I applied here. I’m telling you this because I’m worried about being let go, since I heard that you’re living at the Split Rock now.”

  “I’m not here for you to train me as your replacement, Penelope. But when I realized how much Harper was struggling, I decided to stay for the summer and help her in any way I can.”

  “Even if that means she’ll decide to close the store?”

  “Yes.” Bailey held up her hand. “Not that we’ve discussed that option, but I’m being up-front with you that if it comes down to it, I’ll suggest it as a possibility. Harper’s well-being is what I care about.”

  They stared at one another for a few more seconds before Penelope gave her a brittle smile. “I can’t say I’m thrilled with your answer, but I understand.”

  For some reason Bailey felt compelled to ask, “Meaning you’d do the same thing for your sister?”

  Penelope barked out a harsh laugh. “God, no. I’d let my sister twist in the wind—just like she did to me.”

  Wow. Okay.

  “Not all families are close and supportive, Bailey. Count yourself lucky that yours is.”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Now that I’m up to speed, there’s no reason for us both to be here today.”

  “You’re right. I’m headed out to the ranch for the rest of the day. Text me if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  * * *

  Eight hours later Bailey returned to the Split Rock. She’d kept the radio off for the drive and enjoyed the silence, keeping the windows rolled down so she could breathe in the pine-scented breeze.

  It’d been a trying day in the Turner household. Bailey arrived to hear Angel crying—a state she’d been in for almost twenty-four hours, according to her parents. Harper hadn’t gotten any sleep and she and Bran were bickering about whether to take the baby to the doctor.

  Talk about uncomfortable, listening to her normally sweet sister snapping at her beloved husband and witnessing Bran stomping off.

  Then Harper was so agitated she wouldn’t let Bailey take the baby from her.

  Bailey watched helplessly as Harper paced and patted Angel’s back, cooing to her and trying to shush her. After Angel expelled a burp that’d make a frat boy proud, she quit wailing.

  Bran returned with the baby carrier. He took Angel and gently placed her in the carrier against his chest. In a dangerously soft voice he said, “Haul that cute butt upstairs and get some sleep, Mama. I got this. And Aunt Bailey is gonna take the boys into town and get them outfitted for boot camp. Ain’t that right, brat?”

  She said, “Absolutely,” without hesitation. “I’m guessing it’ll take all afternoon.”

  “Perfect plan.” Bran made a shooing motion at his wife. “Every second you stand there worryin’ is time you coulda spent napping.”

  “Bran—”

  “We got this. Now go on.”

  “I know. I just wanted to say I love you.”

  “Back atcha, babe.”

  Harper blew them both a kiss and disappeared up the stairs.

  Bran snagged his wallet off the counter, pulled out a wad of bills and handed them to Bailey. “The boys are relatively clean. Buy ’em camp clothes, take ’em to a movie, feed ’em a couple of times . . . hell, I don’t care how you entertain them, but if you could kill at least six hours, I’d appreciate it.”

  Six hours? Crap. She was thinking like . . . four. Max.

  If you can’t make it through six hours with three kids, what makes you think you’ll survive ten hours with a dozen kids?

  Stupid voice of reason.

  “Of course. I’ll bring back supper for you guys too.”

  Her nephews were mostly good during their daylong break from home and hearth. They seemed excited for camp.

  Bailey only stayed long enough at the Turner Ranch to drop off the pizza and the boys and gauge her sister’s state of mind. Harper did appear rested and she had hugs, kisses and smiles for her sons.

  As she trudged to her trailer, she decided first she’d indulge in a long shower, then she’d don her pajamas and pour a big rum and Coke. It’d been a helluva day and the week had just started.

  The trailer had gotten stuffy. After opening the windows, she propped her bare feet on the coffee table. With a cold beverage in her hand and her head settled into a fluffy pillow, she felt relaxed for the first time since she’d rolled out of bed this morning.

  At first she dismissed the tinny-sounding whack-whack-whack, assuming it was an echo coming from the main lodge.

  But it happened again, with more strikes in a row. Louder thwacks. Closer smacks. Her head had finally stopped pounding so she knew it wasn’t literally all in her mind.

  Then a deep, teeth-jarring thud began to accompany the metallic whacks in a steady, annoying rhythm . . . almost as if someone was playing the drums outside her window.

  She had no choice but to check it out.

  Bailey’s trailer was at the end of a wooden plank walkway. There weren’t any streetlights, which was how she nearly stumbled over the little person.

  A little person who’d arranged two big plastic pails and three different-sized pans around her in a semicircle. In one hand she had a plastic mallet from a kids’ toy and in the other she had a soup ladle. She was beating on her makeshift drums with such concentration that she hadn’t noticed Bailey looming behind her.

  Why weren’t any of their other neighbors bothered by all the noise?

  The blond terror continued to do her imitation of Animal from the Muppets in complete oblivion until Bailey said, “Olivia,” sharply during a break in the rhythm.

  The girl screamed
. The “drumsticks” flew out of her hands and the soup ladle hit Bailey on the chin. Then Olivia was up, hurdling away from her drum set and booking it down the walkway.

  They reached the Hales’ trailer at the same time green-eyed Daddio burst out the door. “Olivia!”

  She tried to sidestep her father, but he clamped onto her shoulder. “What in the devil is goin’ on? I heard you scream.”

  “Because she scared me again!”

  Streeter shot Bailey a confused look before he focused on his daughter. “Why were you outside?”

  Olivia started to wail, but he wasn’t having any of it. He crouched down so they were face-to-face. “Stop. Answer the question.”

  “You said I couldn’t practice my drumming in the house anymore, so I went outside. Then she came up behind me and scared me. That’s when I screamed and ran and she chased me.”

  Bailey started to defend her actions, but a dark look from those hard eyes of his kept her mouth closed.

  “Are you supposed to go out of the house without permission?” he demanded.

  Olivia shook her head.

  “But you did. Not only that, you were banned from drumming.”

  “But, Daddy—”

  “Not your turn to talk. It’s mine.” He stood. “Not another word until I ask you a direct question.” Then he faced Bailey and those angry eyes searched her face, his gaze zeroed in on her chin. “Did she do that?”

  “Her soup ladle drumstick flew up when I startled her.”

  That strong, sexy jaw tightened and he turned away to address his daughter. “See that mark on her chin? You did that.”

  “I didn’t mean to!”

  “How many rules did you break tonight?”

  “Umm . . . two?”

  “Wrong.” He held up four fingers. “One: you snuck outside. Two: you took a toy that I’d put on the time-out shelf. Three: you played the stolen toy outside and bothered our neighbor.” He paused. “Now you tell me the fourth rule.”

  She appeared to be thinking hard before she blurted out, “I hurt somebody.”

  “Through your careless, dangerous and selfish actions.”

  Bailey had the conflicting need to assure Olivia she wasn’t hurt and to commend Streeter for pointing it out. It was hard to keep quiet, but she managed.

  “You know what’s next,” he said to his teary-eyed daughter.

  Olivia stepped forward. “I’m sorry I hurt you because of my careless, dangerous and selfish actions.”

  She couldn’t tell if the kid was being sincere, but she had to take it at face value. “Apology accepted.”

  He gave Olivia a little shove. “Go pick up your drum stuff.”

  She raced off.

  Streeter ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t even take a shower without worryin’ she’s up to something.” His gaze hooked hers. “I’m really sorry about all of this.”

  “I can see that.”

  “It won’t happen again. The outdoor drumming, I mean.”

  Bailey raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t believe me either.” He sighed. “Only one way to ensure that I keep my word. Would you go along with it?”

  “With what?”

  Olivia returned, dragging a pan-filled bucket in each hand.

  “Since you disturbed Miss Masterson’s quiet time, Olivia, she’ll decide when to give your drums back to you.”

  “Hey, that’s not—”

  “Up for debate. Go inside.”

  “But . . .”

  “Now. And without slammin’ the door,” he added.

  He picked up the buckets and stepped around Bailey, giving her no choice but to follow his long-legged strides.

  She was too annoyed to speak until they reached her trailer. “What the hell was that? Your daughter already acts like I’m the big bad. Me having her drums—”

  “Will likely make her act more pleasantly toward you, since she loves these goddamned things so much.” His grin was both smug and sly.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “Surprised I have a few practical parenting tricks up my sleeve?”

  “No, I’m shocked that you actually smiled at me.”

  Streeter cocked his head. “And I’ve yet to see an answering smile in return.”

  Bailey harrumphed, mostly because that damn sexy smile affected her far more than she’d like to admit. “Not happening tonight, bud. Catch me on a day that hasn’t seemed a week long.”

  “I’ve had one of those myself.”

  “During your epically long day did you happen to check your email?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “I sent camp requirements.”

  “I’ll look at them after Olivia’s in bed.”

  “Good.” She pointed to the pails. “I don’t want them cluttering up my house.”

  “Ain’t like you don’t have room.”

  “How would you know that?”

  He lifted both brows. “I helped you haul stuff in, remember?”

  Bailey had few belongings and most everything she’d brought belonged to Harper. “Maybe I unloaded the rest of my stuff this weekend. Maybe the place is full. Maybe I’ve got a grand piano in the living room.”

  “You’d have to be a damn magician to get it in there.” Then he gifted her with that sly smile again. “But if you did manage that . . . now when you get tired of playin’ the piano, you can switch to the drums.” Then he handed her the pails.

  He did have a sense of humor. “How long do you want me to keep these?”

  “For as long as you want.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Tired of drum concerts?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He stared at her. Opened his mouth. Closed it.

  “What?”

  “Nothin’.” He turned and walked off without another word.

  That was the second time he’d done that.

  Apparently Olivia came by her unsociable behavior naturally.

  Just to be ornery, she yelled, “And a good night to you too, Mr. Hale,” before she stormed inside and slammed the door.

  Chapter Six

  Streeter returned home to find Olivia in bed.

  He leaned in the doorway and listened to her reading to her rag doll. They’d read that story so many times she had it memorized.

  Olivia peered over the top of the book at him. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  The immediate burst of love for his girl turned his anger and fear into frustration. Somehow he had to make her understand the seriousness of what she’d done.

  Crossing over, he perched on the edge of her bed. “Olivia, you need to really listen to me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Our house rules are for your safety. After I heard you scream and saw you weren’t in the house, it scared me.”

  “It did?”

  “Yeah. It’s not safe for you to be runnin’ around outside by yourself, and you bein’ in the dark by yourself is ten times more dangerous. You could get hurt. Or someone could see you alone and try to take you. That happens all the time.”

  Her eyes went round with fear. “It does?”

  “We know our neighbors, but the guests staying at the lodge change every day. We don’t know any of ’em. What if a guest saw you and decided they wanted a little girl? They could pick you up, put you in their car, drive away and I’d never see you again.” He paused and took her hand. “Do you understand why I was scared when I realized you weren’t where you were supposed to be?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t make rules to keep you from havin’ fun. I make rules to keep you safe. And I have to be able to trust you. I have to know that you won’t forget or think it doesn’t matter, because it does. You are the most important thing in the world to me, Olivia.”
r />   She threw herself at him, making apologies and promises even as she sobbed.

  Hopefully he’d finally gotten through to her. He stayed in her room until she quit asking questions and fell asleep.

  Streeter returned to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Jameson from the top cupboard. After he poured himself a shot over ice, he flopped on the couch.

  One sip, one heavy sigh later he felt the silence closing in on him. He hated this time of day, when he was alone without distractions. When he had time to think. Time to realize that loneliness was the only other constant companion in his life besides his daughter.

  A self-imposed loneliness, his therapist had told him.

  Streeter hadn’t bothered to argue that point.

  And the reality was: he didn’t see that changing any time soon. He focused his energy on his daughter and his job, plus reserving a small amount for his brother and his family. There wasn’t anything left. Nothing for friends. Nothing for a woman.

  For some reason Bailey Masterson popped into his head. Maybe because she wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met.

  Or maybe because he’d seen that she was all curvy woman in her tiny tank top and tight booty shorts. Whenever they crossed paths she carried herself as if dressed in full body armor. But tonight with her hair floating around her freckled face and barefoot, she’d seemed softer.

  Softer. Right. She’d throw him on his ass if she knew he’d used the word soft to describe her in any way.

  Speaking of the sergeant, he’d better check his email. He picked up his phone and scrolled to his mail app. Hers was the only new email.

  Guardians:

  Please read the following information about SRBC12 (Split Rock Boot Camp, 12 for the number of recruits).

  For simplicity, the recruits will address me as Sergeant B.

  Your recruit will need to arrive at camp on Fridays with these items:

  Breakfast each day

  Lunch each day

  2 snacks each day (NO CANDY)

  Sunscreen

  A bedroll—sleeping bag or blanket