The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting (26 page)
Brenna gave him a look of disbelief, lifting her pen from the endless pile of paperwork. “Are you serious? What was I supposed to do? Cling to her leg as she tried to get into her car? You want me to do that to everyone that tries to leave? I hate to break it to you, Dane, but every single one of these people is going home today.”
He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “Never mind. Just give me her contact information.”
Brenna pulled one folder out from the stack on her folding table, grumbling about how she preferred it when he was out in
the field. “Here,” she said finally, flipping through the waivers and handing him one.
Miranda’s curly handwriting stared up at him. He remembered it from high school, from the notes she’d passed him. Seeing it now brought back a surge of memories. Without asking, he grabbed Brenna’s sat phone off the table and dialed the number Miranda had given.
It picked up on the second ring. “Bluebonnet Library,” said a sour voice.
Okay, that was unexpected. “Miranda there?”
“Ms. Hill no longer works here.”
So why’d she give a bogus number? He murmured his thanks and hung up, then stared at the paper to make sure he hadn’t misread it. The address caught his eye.
1 Honeycomb Drive. He knew that address—it was the high school, named after the school mascot of the Bluebonnet Bees. “You don’t go into the city much, do you, Brenna?”
“Should I?” she asked, wrinkling her freckled nose. “Do I need to be familiar with the city, too?”
Dane sighed and handed her back the paper and the phone. Brenna wasn’t local. She didn’t know what anyone in Bluebonnet would have immediately picked up on. “Never mind.”
Why had Miranda given bad information at the beginning of the week? Why so secretive? It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t the type to come up with fake addresses just to be a jackass about it. She’d genuinely not wanted anyone to contact her when they were done.
Fuck that. He was heading into town as soon as they were
done here, because he wanted to know what the hell was going on and why she’d run off.
He was starting to think she’d lied. Maybe she was married after all. If she was…hell. He didn’t know what he was going to do. The thought made him want to punch something.
Miranda should have headed home first. She was tired and hungry, and she needed a shower. Most of all, she needed to have a good cry and figure out her head.
Still, instead of heading home, she found herself turning down Main Street and parking in front of California Dreamin’. There were two cars already parked there, so Beth Ann was busy, but Miranda didn’t care. Grabbing her keys, she headed inside.
Beth Ann’s tiny salon had one chair in the waiting area, and it was occupied. In the waiting area, a teenager with orange-dyed hair and blue bangs flipped through a hairstyle magazine. Across the room in the barber chair, a white-haired elderly woman had her curls teased into a bouffant by Beth Ann.
Beth Ann glanced up and her eyes widened at the sight of Miranda. “You’re back,” she exclaimed, her lovely face breaking into a smile. “How’d it go?”
Miranda leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “Not…well.”
“Hold on just a sec,” Beth Ann said, and finished brushing the last stiff curl into place in old Mrs. Porter’s hair. “There you go, Janey. All good for this week.”
The old woman put on her glasses and paid, departing in a cloud of hairspray and powdery perfume.
The teenager stood and Beth Ann turned to her. “Can I get you to reschedule, Laini?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “You serious?”
Beth Ann opened the front door and scooped up a piece of paper, holding it out. “I’ll give you a free mani if you come back tomorrow.”
“See you then,” she drawled, grinning, and snatched the ticket from Beth Ann.
Beth Ann flipped her
OUT TO LUNCH
sign and then shut the door, turning to Miranda with wide eyes. “Tell me everything.”
Miranda dropped into the barber chair Mrs. Porter had vacated. It still smelled of powder. “I don’t even know where to begin,” she said wearily.
Beth Ann automatically reached for her hair and then recoiled. “God, Miranda. I don’t mean to be mean, but you stink like smoke and dirt.”
“Do I?” She sniffed her shirt, but really couldn’t tell. Dane hadn’t seemed to mind her smell at all, but maybe he’d smelled the same and she’d been around it so long she couldn’t tell. The scent of campfire would always remind her of Dane after this point. She sighed. “Oh, Beth Ann, I totally messed this one up.”
Her friend’s eyes widened and Beth Ann turned the chair to look Miranda in the eye. “What happened? Did you see him? Talk to him? Get the pictures?”
Miranda hung her head, unable to meet Beth Ann’s gaze.
“What?” Beth Ann said, horrified. “What’s so awful? Were you not able to get pictures of him after all? Did he find you out?”
Miranda sighed. “I saw him. And I slept with him.”
Beth Ann blinked. “Okay. I didn’t realize that was in the plan.”
“A lot,” Miranda added. “I slept with him a lot.”
“Oh.” She appeared to digest this for a moment, then asked, “So this was part of the revenge scheme? Lots of sex?”
“That’s the worst part about it,” Miranda said with a wail. “It was supposed to be a meaningless hookup. I was supposed to have sex with him and just toss him aside when I was done. Use him like men use women. Get my revenge pictures and then move on. Except…now I like him. And the sex.”
Beth Ann pursed her perfectly made-up lips and then grabbed Miranda by the shoulders. “You’re going to sit down over here so I can do your nails, and you’re going to tell me everything.”
Miranda sniffed, and nodded.
Beth Ann steered her friend to the manicure table and while Miranda explained what had happened in the past week, Beth Ann filed her nails and cleaned a week’s worth of grime out of her nail beds. She listened without a word as Miranda spoke, not judging.
Miranda avoided the part about her inability to have an orgasm prior to Dane. That was a little too personal and open even for her best friend, who wouldn’t understand. Beth Ann had always had a steady relationship up until this year, when she was taking time off from her relationship with Allan, her high school sweetheart and on-again, off-again fiancé.
“So that’s what happened,” Miranda said softly as Beth Ann put a glossy coat of clear polish over her short nails. “I went into the woods knowing I wouldn’t be able to get the photos, and I did it anyhow. And I figured that okay, I’d just sleep with him and then get the pictures after the class was over. But last night, when we were sleeping together, I…I couldn’t do it.” She
squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of Beth Ann’s response. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
“Honey, no,” Beth Ann soothed. “Not at all.”
“But you don’t approve.”
Beth Ann’s pink lips pursed. “No, I don’t. He’s always been the guy that dicked you over in high school and left you out to dry. I don’t care if he has puppy dog eyes now and a particularly fine ass. He’s always going to be that jerk who hurt my best friend, even if you don’t want your revenge.”
Miranda managed a miserable smile. “Thanks, Bethy.”
She patted Miranda’s hand. “I can’t judge you for sleeping with the wrong guy. Heck, look at me. I’ve had a relationship with a man who can’t keep it in his pants, and yet I somehow keep forgiving him, right?” She gave Miranda a sad smile. “So who am I to judge?”
“You guys have been split for a year now, Beth Ann. You stood up for yourself,” Miranda said encouragingly.
Beth Ann gave her a weak smile and wiped away a stray smear on Miranda’s cuticles. “At least you believe in me. Everyone else seems to be waiting for me to ‘come to my senses.’”
Miranda snorted, and Beth Ann grinned.
“Well,” Beth Ann said after a moment. “One thing’s for certain.”
“What’s that?”
“Next time you go on a camping trip, I should probably give you a bikini wax.”
Miranda smacked her best friend on the arm and laughed.
D
He stepped inside the shop, a cowbell clanking against the glass door to signify his arrival.
“Just a minute,” a warbling voice called from the back.
He didn’t answer, just waited, looking around. The entire place needed a good dusting—it reminded him of something from the show
Hoarders
, always had. Like all kinds of a yard sale,
Hill Country Antiques was stuffed wall to floor with old junk. A massive glass case along the back wall locked up the really “valuable” stuff, and he could see a few Elvis plates on one shelf. An old rocking horse and some wooden furniture were scattered on the floor to his left. Shelves listed under the heavy weight of their items and needed obvious repair. There seemed to be a fine coat of dust on everything, and he brushed a finger under his nose, anticipating a sneeze. This place hadn’t changed in nine years, he decided, remembering how embarrassed Miranda had been as a teenager that her mom was the crazy junk lady.
But if anyone knew where Miranda was, Tanya Hill would. He knew Tanya didn’t like him—when he’d called Miranda’s house, right after he’d joined the NHL, she’d screamed and screamed at him as if he’d gotten her daughter pregnant or some shit, and then had never let him talk to her. But he’d tried his other options already—no one at the library would say where she lived, and she was unlisted in the phone book.
Tanya Hill was his best option.
Two minutes later, he wasn’t so sure. The woman popped out of the back room, clutching a stack of old LPs. She still wore her hair in a feathered fringe of bangs, but it had all gone gray and the ponytail down her back was shorter than he remembered. Her face was heavily lined, and her eyes widened behind a pair of glasses at the sight of him.
“You!” she screeched. “Get out of my store!”
Well, he’d known she’d hated him, but he hadn’t realized how much. “Mrs. Hill,” he began. “I just want—”
The woman picked up a cast-iron frying pan from behind the
counter and hefted it with both hands, as if she were going to swing at him. “Get out of my store, you bastard, or I’m calling the cops!”
He raised his hands, brows going up. “I just need to know where Miranda is.”
“You need to get the hell outta my store, you two-bit trash!”
“Look, I’ll buy something if—”
“Get out!” she screeched again, then raced for the phone. “I’m calling the cops!”
Great, just what he needed. He put his hands up higher in surrender. “Don’t call, I’m leaving.”
As soon as he left the store, he heard her feet clomp across the wooden floors, and the door locked behind him. The
OPEN
sign in the window winked out.
Well. Not the reception he was used to getting. Dane scratched his face ruefully. Damn. He probably smelled like ass and was all unshaven. Maybe her mother thought he was a wino or something? The woman had always been a little off. Frustrated, he glanced across the street. Kurt’s Koffee was new, and had a few people in it. Maybe an Internet search…
As soon as he entered, the man behind the counter broke into a wide grin. “Well, shut my eyes and call me a blind man,” the stoner drawled. “If it isn’t the star of the Las Vegas Flush, Mr. Dane Croft, come to pay us another visit.”
“Hey, Jimmy,” he said casually, though his mind was racing. Damn. So much for keeping his presence quiet. “I’m looking for Miranda Hill.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” the stoner said with a smirk and raised his hand in a high five.
Dane ignored it. “So you know where she lives?”
“Small town,” Jimmy said, lowering his hand and nudging his sad tip jar down the coffee bar at him. “I know where everyone lives.”
He scowled at the barista, but pulled a few bills out of his pocket and shoved them into the empty tip jar. “This is a coffeehouse, not a bar, Jimmy.”
“Barista, bartender, it’s all the same. We’re just a couple of dudes slinging drinks for a few bucks, man. Tip’s a tip.” He leaned forward. “So. You remember where Old Johnson Lane is?”
Miranda’s house was just as empty and small as she’d left it. Boxes were scattered through her living room, but she hadn’t had a chance to pack much. She set down her backpack on the end of the couch and felt the overwhelming urge to collapse. She sat on the edge of the couch and then stood up. First, a shower.
Someone knocked at the door.
Miranda groaned. Not today. Not now. Her mother had called seven times in the past week and she’d been furious that Miranda hadn’t answered. She’d soothed her mother with a cover story about scoping out her apartment in Houston, and she’d managed to deflect the worst of her anger. Miranda had avoided going over, but her mother still called. In fact, she’d called three times in a row just now, and Miranda had avoided all three calls. She didn’t want to talk to her again. Not while she felt so utterly lousy and unhappy and lonely.
Miranda hesitated, staring at the door with frustration. Her mother wouldn’t go away. She’d just keep knocking, even if
Miranda pretended not to be home. With a heavy sigh, she moved to the front door and pulled it open. “Mom, I’m just not—”
A big, male form stood in her doorway. Broad shoulders and a gorgeous body lounged just inside her screen door, and Dane gave her a slow, pleased smile. “Surprise.”
The look of unhappy surprise on her face wasn’t a pleasant welcome. Miranda stared up at Dane with her mouth hanging slightly open, her pretty brown eyes fuzzy, as if she wasn’t quite able to piece together exactly how he’d managed to show up on her doorstep.
That just made his stomach sink all the way down to his work boots and confirmed his suspicions. Miranda was married and he’d been nothing but a cheap fling on the side. His mouth tightened and he shoved his hands into his pockets, doing his best not to crane his head and see who sat in the living room of the tiny house.
