“It was only supposed to be for one night,” he said softly.
“Oh? And after that, I suppose we were really stranded?”
He said nothing.
Hurt rolled through her, wave after wave of hurt. “Oh. I see. So first you were pissed at me. Then you wanted to f**k me.” She shook her head. “And I fell for it. God, I must be really, really stupid.”
He stood up. Moved toward her. “You’re not stupid, Beth Ann. I’m a f**king dumbass. I shouldn’t have done it. And I should have said something.”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “You should have.”
“I love you,” he said, his gaze intent on her. He reached out a hand.
She flinched away. “How can I even trust you? How can I ever trust you again?”
“You can judge me by my actions,” he said solemnly. “I know what I did looks really bad. I can’t make it look better. But I have never treated you badly. I love you and I don’t want to lose you. You can hate me for a month. You can slap me across the face. Whatever it takes to make this better. Just tell me we’re okay.”
“We’re not okay,” she said, tears streaking down her face. She slapped his hand away. “We’re so not okay. I don’t know if we will ever be okay again. I can’t trust you, Colt. That’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted from you is trust. To know that you have my back.”
“I do—”
“You don’t,” she said, and pressed a hand to her forehead. It was either that or start screaming. This was Allan, all over again. Once again, she’d been lied to and betrayed. The hurt was so deep this time that she felt cold. Just cold all over. “I don’t even know what to think right now, except that you betrayed me when I needed someone that I could trust the most.”
There was anguish in his eyes. She didn’t care. “Beth Ann,” he said softly. “I didn’t plan on falling in love with you, but I did. And I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”
Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You know who says ‘sorry’? Someone that lied.” She shook her head, dropped his hand. “I’ve heard enough apologies to last a lifetime.”
And she walked away.
Beth Ann half expected him to come after her. To follow her back out into the parking lot, stop her at her car. Tell her he’d never meant to hurt her. That he’d never do it again. That’s what Allan would have done.
But Colt wasn’t Allan. He didn’t chase her out. He wouldn’t chase her, she knew that. He’d never chase her. He’d always let the decision be hers.
And somehow, that hurt worse than anything. She returned to her salon—her empty, empty salon—that she’d closed during the middle of the day. She’d been gone for hours. She remembered that first weekend, when she’d come back to a voicemail box full of unhappy clients that she’d missed out on. How she’d taken that for granted. She’d kill for a voicemail from just one unhappy client now.
But her voicemail was empty. And she couldn’t even call Colt to complain. She kept the closed sign flipped, turned the lights off, and went to the back room. Her air mattress was there, and she lay on it, suddenly bone weary and exhausted. Beth Ann grabbed her pillow, clutched it to her chest, and cried.
She’d never felt more alone or more unloved in her entire life.
SEVENTEEN
One week later
Colt flung a thick section of pipe into the Dumpster. He grabbed a nearby tire and hauled it to the Dumpster as well. Sweat poured down his shirtless, lean body. He’d been out in the sun, working since dawn to clean his father’s property. He’d paid the fines but an inspector was coming by next week. He’d hired a day crew to come by and help, and Marlin would be by as soon as he finished his truck run. That was fine with Colt—this was something he wanted to do himself.
Next to him, Dane leaned against the Dumpster, chugging at a bottle of water. “Slow down, man. You’re making me tired just watching you.”
Colt didn’t want to slow down, though. He adjusted his work gloves and grabbed at the item under the tire he’d moved—chicken wire. A whole roll of it. “Needs to get done, Dane. I can rest later.”
“You’ve been working since sunup without a break, Colt. This isn’t going to get finished in one day.” Dane swiped at his forehead. “And punishing yourself isn’t going to bring her back.”
Colt glared at his friend. His jaw tightened and he swung the chicken wire into the garbage. “This isn’t about her.”
“Bullshit,” Dane said easily. “You think I haven’t been where you are? You hurt her. It’s eating you up inside that you hurt her, and so you’re punishing yourself, because you can’t stand the fact that you’re such a dick.” Dane swigged more water, then tilted his head. “Am I right?”
Colt said nothing. Merely clenched his jaw and went back to work.
Grant appeared a moment later. He wore an old T-shirt and jeans, and a surgeon’s mask over his nose. “You’re not going to believe what they found back behind the trailer.”
“Is it Jimmy Hoffa?” Dane joked. “Because I’d believe just about anything else.”
“Worse. A dead skunk.” He grinned at Dane. “I came to get you because I figured your stink could cover the smell of it.”
Dane threw his water bottle at Grant, who caught it and threw it back.
“You two f**k off,” Colt snapped. “We’re trying to clean this shit up, not play games.”
Grant glanced over at Dane. “Still mad at himself?”
“Yup,” Dane said lazily.
Christ. He wanted to punch them both in the face at the moment. Colt clenched his gloved hands and grabbed another tire from the enormous stack. “Either you two help out or get out of here. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
“More punishment,” he heard Dane whisper to Grant. “I told him he needs to make it up to her—”
“I can’t,” Colt ground out, turning to face his friends. “I can’t make it up to her. I f**king hurt her and humiliated her. And she doesn’t want to speak to me, and I don’t blame her. In her eyes, I’m no better than that piece of shit Allan. What do you want me to do, Dane? Buy her something to make her happy again? Because that worked so well for Allan?”
Dane said nothing. He adjusted his cap lower on his forehead and shrugged.
“You lied to her,” Grant said slowly. “You can’t change that fact.”
“What about a big gesture?” Dane said. “I showed my dick to half the damn town to make Miranda happy.”
Colt leaned against the Dumpster, warring with emotion. Rage that he was still so f**king furious with himself. Annoyance. And gratitude that his friends were ignoring his shitty mood and helping him try to set his life back together.
Because it had turned into a big pile of shit ever since Beth Ann had left him.
“Not a big gesture,” Grant said thoughtfully. “Beth Ann doesn’t want a big gesture, if what you’re telling me is true.”
Colt looked at his friend. “Then what does she want?”
Grant spread his hands. “She wants to trust you again. Whether or not that’ll happen, she has to decide. You can’t beg her to come back to you.”
No, he couldn’t. He thought of Allan’s relentless begging. It had only hardened Beth Ann’s heart against him.
“The only thing you can do,” Grant continued, “is wait patiently for her to come around, and grovel when she does.”
“Groveling,” said Dane. “Sage advice from the only one of us ever married.”
A dark current of emotion swept over Grant’s face, and was just as quickly gone. He punched Dane in the arm. “Come on. That skunk’s not going to take care of itself. Let’s give Colt a moment’s peace here.”
He watched the two men leave, suddenly weary to his bones. He wanted Beth Ann back. Wanted to kiss her smiling face. Touch her hair. And it wasn’t just because his body missed hers. He missed her. Her funny, brave little smiles. Her determination to succeed. Her fearlessness.
And he’d f**ked it all up. He should have told her the truth. But he’d been afraid that he’d lose her. And in the end, he still had—he’d just prolonged it.
Worst of all, he couldn’t beg her to come back. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—buy her things to sweeten her to him again.
All he could do was sit and watch the woman he loved and ached for with every fiber of his being walk away from him.
And Bluebonnet was small. They were bound to run into each other, over and over again. And he wouldn’t be able to do it. He wouldn’t be able to watch her turn away from him with disgust. Watch her smile fade into icy politeness. That wasn’t fair to her, and it’d destroy him.
He couldn’t stay in Bluebonnet and see that happen.
“Hey,” he called out to Dane and Grant. When both men turned, he asked, “If I need to head back to Alaska for a while, will you two watch over my dad? Keep him occupied at the ranch?”
“You’re leaving?” Grant asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.
“I might need to get away for a while,” Colt said, squinting up at the October sun. “Clear out my head, live off the grid for a bit. Lose myself in some mindless tasks for a while.”
Maybe a year or two. Until the ache went away.
Grant put his hands on his hips. “Well, I guess so. We can hire another instructor. But you don’t have to leave, you know. We’re all adults. If she can stay in the same town as Allan, you can, too.”
But he knew how much Allan’s constant presence hurt her. And he knew that if he saw her with someone else, laughing and smiling at another man—or worse, going back to Allan, oh fuck—he was going to lose his shit.
“Just kind of need to get away, I think. From everything.”
Grant nodded at him, and then glanced at Dane. “I’ll start asking around for another instructor, then. You take the time you need. Your job’ll be here when you get back.”
That f**king sissy knot of emotion was back in his throat. He gave a crisp nod to his friends, then reached down and grabbed another tire.
Someone banged on the salon door. Beth Ann pulled the pillow over her head and ignored it. When the banging came again a few moments later she groaned. “Go away!”
“It’s me, Miranda,” a voice called. “Open up already. It’s a hair emergency.”
Dang it. Beth Ann dragged herself into the front of the salon. Through the glass door, she saw Miranda hold up a bottle of wine, and behind her, Brenna held up a pizza, all smiles.
She unlocked the door and let them in, a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth. “Hair emergency, huh?”
“Seeing as how I figured you’d been here all week without a shower, I thought the hair emergency was appropriate,” Miranda said, giving Beth Ann’s rumpled pajamas a distasteful look. “I just didn’t say it was my hair emergency.”