The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting (3 page)
And she should have guessed that he’d disappear as soon as the NHL came calling. Who was she to him? No one, it seemed, but a quickie in the closet.
A
“Hi, hon,” her mother called when Miranda entered, the cowbell on the door clanging against the glass. “You’re just in time.”
“Oh? In time for what?”
“They had a storage unit sale over in Livingston, and Marilou picked up someone’s old unit for fifty bucks!” Her mother said, moving to the front of the store and sashaying past Miranda.
She flipped the store sign to
CLOSED
. “I get to split everything in there with her, but we’ve got to clean it out before the end of the day. I could use an extra set of hands, too.”
“I can’t,” Miranda said with a grimace, gesturing at her car. “I need to stop by the library and pick up my last check. Sorry.” It was a bit of a white lie, but she really didn’t want to go and spend the day picking through someone else’s junk. The last time her mother had bought a storage unit, they’d found nothing but endless rows of comic-book boxes, their contents eaten by mice. “I’m about to head out of town for a week or so.”
“Out of town?” Her mother looked surprised. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, just checking some stuff out in Houston,” Miranda lied. “But I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to be answering my phone for a few days. I’ll swing by when I’m back, okay?”
“But—”
She froze, waiting. In the past, any small thing that interrupted her mother’s daily routine would be met with crying, anxiety, and comments about Miranda’s reputation about town. She’d had a nervous breakdown when the pictures had hit the Internet nine years ago, and it had taken a lot of time and patience and support to get her mother steady again. Now that things were going well, Miranda was getting out of Bluebonnet once and for all. She knew Tanya was having a hard time adjusting to the fact that her daughter was finally leaving the nest, and things had been fragile for the past few weeks.
“—who’s going to help me clean out the storage unit?”
Thank goodness. Miranda leaned in and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll see if Beth Ann can send her little sister Lucy
over. I’m sure she’ll help for a few bucks. Now, I’ve got to go, Mom. I’ll talk to you next week.”
“’Bye, hon,” her mother said absently as they went out to their separate cars.
Miranda got into her truck, waved at her mother, and backed out, heading toward the library. Well. That had gone better than she’d expected. She turned down Main Street and waited at the town’s only stoplight. Absently playing with her collar, she thought about her plans for this week. She’d need some camping clothing, should toss out the stuff in the fridge, maybe see if—
A car honked next to her.
Miranda glanced over, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Two men sat in the car, both a few years younger than her. She knew their families. Had seen them around town. Both were grinning at her in that way that told her they’d seen her half naked. Seen the photos.
“Hey, Boobs,” one called with a leer. “I’ve got an overdue library book. Wanna come to my house and get it?”
Next to him, the passenger began to pump his fist in front of his open mouth, mimicking a blow job.
Cheeks flaring with heat, she turned away, just in time to hear both men erupt in laughter. The light turned green and she floored the pedal, surging forward and down the street.
She couldn’t
wait
to be done with this town.
“Remember, Dane. Hands off the clientele.” Colt said the words with a grin and gave the game controller in his hands a twist,
staring at the TV screen. “This is our make-or-break moment, and I need you to have your head in the game.”
“Thanks, coach,” Dane said sarcastically to his friend, stuffing a pair of spare socks into his bag. “Glad to have you riding my tail.”
Colt glanced over at Dane, looking away from the TV screen for a brief moment. “I’d better be the
only
thing riding your tail this next week.”
Ah, friends. If he didn’t like the guy so much, he’d be tempted to deck him. Dane ignored Colt’s gibes and double-checked his survival pack one more time as they waited in the Daughtry Ranch’s rec room before meeting the clients that would be gathering shortly. They were taking a few moments to unwind before being “on” for the rest of the week. And while Colt chose to play a video game to get in the right mind-set for the trip, Dane felt better looking over their gear one more time.
The sounds of a cheering audience erupted from the television, and Dane’s head snapped up. Sure enough, Colt was playing a hockey video game. It set his nerves on edge, watching the pixelated players skate around the ice. It reminded him of his old life, which he didn’t appreciate as he was trying to start the new one. “Do you have to do that shit right now?”
Colt didn’t look up from the screen. “Yes.”
Dane snorted and moved to check his bag again, turning away from the screen. He didn’t need distractions right now; he needed to be ready. This inaugural training needed to go perfectly.
First he double-checked the survival supplies he’d be bringing for the group: matches, flint, needles and thread, fish hooks and
line, a compass, snare wire, a flexible saw, a medical kit, flares, and a utility knife. At Grant’s request, he’d also packed six military MREs and a satellite phone in case the corporate guys couldn’t hack it out in the wild. As the “wild” went, the Daughtry Ranch was pretty tame in comparison to where Dane and Colt had spent their survival missions, or the times that they’d roughed it off the grid, but it was perfect for the business. Hechecked his pack one more time. Dane felt comfortable viewing the small amount of survival gear, the familiar anticipation edging through his body and drowning out any lingering irritation from Colt’s joking.
He lived for this. He loved it—pitting himself against the wilderness and using his skills to survive. It centered him. When he was out there in the wild, Dane could find peace in himself, no matter what was bothering him. No one but him, nature, the land…and six neophytes looking to him for direction, he added wryly. Still, he doubted they’d be able to take the enjoyment of the experience away from him. This was part of who he was now.
And it was why he’d lived off the grid ever since he’d left hockey behind. He was a new man, with a new life, and he liked himself now. The challenge of living off the land appealed to him. The simplicity of a survival situation couldn’t be beat. Just you and nature. You didn’t need electricity or television or telephones to survive. All you needed was skill and perseverance. He liked that much better than modern society.
He slung the light pack over his shoulder and gave Colt a friendly clap on the shoulder. “I assure you, man. The last thing I want to do is touch a woman right now.” Not when their business
was just about to take off. “Some things are more important.”
“I’m just making sure,” Colt drawled. “Everyone already thinks that your dick rules your business decisions. We need to prove them wrong if this has a hope of succeeding.”
It irritated him that Colt was right. That everyone thought that his cock was in charge of his brain. Dane rubbed his jaw, grimacing at the thought. Back in his hockey days, he’d been a different person. Headstrong and reckless beyond belief, he’d played so hard and carelessly that he’d managed to score two serious concussions in a row, and when another man would have paid attention to the doctors and been more cautious, he’d gone back on the ice as soon as he’d had the okay…and walked right into concussion number three in a play-off game.
Tensions had already been high at that point, and that particular concussion was a career-ender. He was just injured far too often, and he was a good player, but not a great one. The coaches didn’t want to take a risk on him. And then Samantha Kingston—the wife of the team’s owner—had approached him. She liked younger players. He’d turned her down, but she’d turned to the tabloids to salvage her wounded pride, and “Casanova Croft” was born. She’d used him and made him look like a jackass, and it didn’t matter how good a player he’d been. He’d turned into “that creep who nailed the boss’s wife.” His contract wasn’t renewed, and a free agent with too many injuries was too big a risk for most teams to take on. Combine that with his tabloid notoriety, and no one would touch him.
It hadn’t helped that his past was full of a string of C-list actresses who were interested in dating a professional athlete—the latest
trendy fashion accessory. The tabloid notoriety—on top of his world crashing down on him—became too much. When he’d started getting offers for sex tapes, he realized just how fucked-up his life had become. He’d fled, with nowhere to turn. Colt had contacted him, invited him to take a monthlong survival course with him to clear his head. He’d gone reluctantly, expecting nothing but a month of no phone calls from anyone.
Going on the survival trip had been the best thing to ever happen to him. Forced to use his wits and skills to survive…it had been life changing. Nothing had been easy—no shelter, no supplies, no showers. At first he’d hated it—and Colt—for dragging him out into the Alaskan wilderness. But then things had changed. He’d learned to like making things with his hands, trapping his own food. It gave him a feeling of intense satisfaction. Dane had discovered a new passion, one that surpassed the adrenaline of even the most exciting play-off game. When they’d finished the trip, Colt had suggested that Dane join him at his lodge in Alaska, completely off the grid. They’d lived there for a year—no electricity, no running water, no food storage—nothing except what they could catch and take care of on their own. It had been rough and incredibly difficult.
It had been bliss.
He would have kept living off the grid indefinitely—not exactly hiding inasmuch as keeping a low profile—if Grant hadn’t visited him and Colt in their cabin in Alaska to get away for a few weeks. Colt had invited him—the marine wasn’t much for chit-chat, but he knew Grant was struggling, even years after the death of his wife. Once in Alaska, the three friends had
quickly fallen into an old, easy camaraderie. Though Grant didn’t share quite the same enthusiasm as Dane and Colt for wood smoke fires and catching game for dinner, the time spent roughing it at the cabin had given Grant an interesting idea. A survival business—run by the three of them. Colt and Dane could handle the trainings, and Grant would handle the business. They’d work for themselves and answer to no one. Neither Dane nor Grant needed the money, but the challenge of the business intrigued all three of them.
Now Dane found himself back in his hometown, and avoiding everyone there. If there was anyone who hadn’t forgotten Casanova Croft, it was the people of Bluebonnet. He’d been leery to return to town, expecting the worst. As far as he knew, he was the only person from town who had ever had fifteen minutes of fame, and he expected harassment. So far, though, so good. He kept a low profile, and for the most part, the usually nosy citizens of Bluebonnet had left him alone. Just as he liked it.
Well, he wasn’t being totally honest about not wanting to look up anyone. One particular person did spring to mind, but he was pretty sure Miranda Hill wanted nothing to do with him. The last time he’d spoken to her had been in person, and when he’d tried calling her from NHL training camp, she’d ignored his calls—or worse, made her crazy mother answer them.
After getting chewed out by Mrs. Hill three times in a row, he got the picture. He’d stopped calling, and stopped caring. There were always more girls willing to throw themselves at a hockey player, especially a hotshot up-and-comer.
He’d eventually forgotten about Miranda Hill, the one that
had gotten away. Well, sort of. And if he’d had a thing for long brown hair and girls with a soft Southern drawl, that was just how it went. Miranda Hill had probably moved away long ago. Maybe she’d gotten married and shot out five kids in five years like his cousin Tara had, and now spent her time chain-smoking and watching daytime TV. Either way, it was best if Miranda Hill remained a memory.
So, no, he wasn’t going to look her up.
The business’s only other employee—their coordination assistant, Brenna James—showed up a moment later with her clipboard and a beaming smile on her face. “Guess whose clients are here? Are you two ready?”
Colt kicked up out of his chair, putting down his game controller. “Soon.”
Always so chatty, that Colt. “I’m ready,” Dane said, grabbing the two packs. Colt had packed his hours ago in preparation for the trip, but Dane had delayed, waiting until the last moment. Almost as if he was delaying the inevitable.
Colt gave him a serious look. “Hope so.”
Irritation surged in Dane and he ignored his friend’s well-meaning look. The guys either trusted him or they didn’t. He could keep his dick in his pants. It wasn’t like he was some oversexed nutjob waiting to jump out of the bushes at the first pretty girl that passed by.
Not anymore.
Grant appeared in the room, grinning. He carried a champagne bottle and three glasses. “This is it, boys. Our big inaugural class. You ready?”
Dane was starting to wish that everyone would quit asking him if he was ready. “Gonna be a good one,” he said, and rubbed his hands together. “You ready to sit on your ass and soak up the profits from Colt’s and my hard work?”
Grant rolled his eyes and removed the foil from the top of the champagne bottle. “More like, you two get to have a weeklong vacation in the woods and I have to hold down the fort and do all the busywork. There are a million things to be done between now and when you guys get back, and Brenna’s not going to be much help.”
