Borrowing Trouble (2 page)

That seemed better—less company town. “I'll let Chief Shepard know what I decide tomorrow, then.”

“Great. And, Sloane, I do think you'll really like it here. I know you're from Los Angeles and a small town like this can be a culture shock, but it's a wonderful place. People look out for one another. I came from San Francisco and never thought I'd get used to the slow pace of small-town living. What I found was that the big city had been pretty darn alienating. And of course I'm biased, but I think my husband is a wonderful boss.”

Sloane laughed. Jake had said the same thing, and she respected his opinion. The man had been a cop while Sloane was still a toddler. And unlike her, he'd survived the snake pit.

“It'll take some getting used to, but I'm up for the challenge.” She wanted to stay positive.

“And Brady will be a great neighbor. If you're lucky, he'll cook for you.”

“He seems nice.” And hopefully quiet, since they'd be living right on top of each other and her hours were bound to be odd, given that she'd be the newbie.

“Very,” Maddy said. “We're crazy about him.”

Sloane bet most of the female population was, anyway. After a little more small talk with Maddy, she made her way across the square to the hamburger place. It was called the Bun Boy, which cracked her up. There were walk-up and drive-through windows, but no indoor seating. Just a smattering of picnic tables on a swath of lawn, under a few big trees. Nice in summer, but way too cold this time of year. She got her food to go and took it up to her room. She probably should've gone to the Ponderosa for happy hour to get more acquainted with the town, but between her interview with the chief and all the new people she'd met today, she was talked out. Nugget was a chatty place.

She ate at the writer's desk while flipping through the channels on the flat-screen. Nugget at least had cable. The food was better than expected, she thought while wolfing down a large order of seasoned curly fries. In LA, she and her girlfriends liked dining at all the trendy bistros and cafés. Sloane didn't consider herself a foodie by any stretch. Not like her friends who read the
Times
restaurant reviews religiously and traded names of hot new chefs like little boys did baseball cards. Sloane couldn't name one famous cook unless it was Paula Deen or Gordon Ramsay. But she enjoyed eating and experiencing new cuisines and flavors. Everyone in her family cooked, except her. Her mother was an avid baker and her father and three brothers worked in a firehouse, where kitchen duty was as much a part of the job as putting out blazes.

She could've gone home to Chicago—her father had actually insisted on it when he found out what had happened on the job. “No one messes with a McBride,” he'd said. But Sloane preferred to stand on her own two feet. So Jake's suggestion that she come here seemed like the winning option. Still, she had to wonder whether she was making a huge mistake. Having never lived in a small town, it would take a lot of adjustment.
Like what kind of place doesn't have a gym
?

The room phone rang, making Sloane jump. In LA, she'd had to change all her personal numbers. Not that that had helped. The problem with cops was they could always find you.

With trepidation she picked up. “Hello.”

“How'd it go?” Jake's reassuring voice came across the other end.

She took a deep breath. “Good. I'm planning to take it.”

“Wise decision,” he said. “It'll help get your confidence back. It's good work, Sloane. People here are appreciative of what we do. You'll be welcomed with open arms.”

She thought about Maddy and bit back a laugh. “The chief has a vacant apartment. What do you think about me taking it?”

“The place up on Donner Road? It's perfect.”

She told him how the chief's brother-in-law would act as landlord to prevent any awkwardness.

“That'll work,” Jake said. “But, Sloane, Rhys is a fair guy. You don't have to worry about him.”

“He certainly seems to be in a rush to get me here. Is there something you guys aren't telling me?”

“Nah. He liked you from the phone interview—likes your résumé too. Most of the candidates we get up here are retirees. Rhys wants young blood.”

“Looks like a lot of cowboys up here, going by all the hats and boots in the Ponderosa this morning. Will I have trouble with the town accepting a female cop?”

Jake laughed. “These are ranching people, not Neanderthals. You'll do just fine.”

“I'm meeting Connie for lunch tomorrow. What's her story?”

“She grew up here, started up the department with Rhys, and is a coffee snob—her sister lives in Seattle. She's an excellent dispatcher, has a smart mouth, and we love her to death. I'm glad you're having lunch with her. She knows where all the bodies are buried. What are your plans for dinner tomorrow?”

“I haven't thought that far ahead,” Sloane said.

“Cecilia and I would like to have you over. She's a marvelous cook and desperately wants to meet you.”

Sloane accepted the invitation and Jake gave her directions to his house before signing off. Instead of going straight to bed, Sloane decided to take a soak in her slipper tub. Since she'd never bathed in one, the charming claw-foot had called to her the first time she'd seen it. Everything about the inn did. It was just so warm and inviting.

On her way to the bathroom she swiped her cell off the bed and checked emails. The first one was from her parents, who wanted to know how the trip had gone. All three of her brothers had left texts, demanding the scoop on Nugget.

But it was the last message, marked urgent, that filled her with a deep foreboding, convincing her that the sooner she got out of LA, the better.

B
rady had a full house. Unusual for a weekday in January. But tourists were taking advantage of the particularly dry winter. So far, no chains required to get over the pass.

Maddy rushed into the kitchen. “What do you need me to do?”

“Take those out.” He nudged his head at plates of chicken-fried steak and biscuits, with country gravy ladled over the top. “The vegetarian plate is for room 207.”

Maddy balanced several plates on her arm and made her way to the dining room. She couldn't cook, but she knew how to serve. Brady assumed it was from growing up in the hospitality business.

He had a sweet deal working for the Breyers. Nate was wound tighter than his sister and wife; still, Brady had taken to the guy, who owned nine other hotels in the Bay Area and a resort near Glory Junction that he was in the midst of refurbishing. Even though Brady was overqualified for the Lumber Baron, the three Breyers made up for it by letting him do whatever he wanted. Devise his own menus, buy his own ingredients, even cure his own meats. And they gave him a hefty budget with which to do it.

Little by little Nate was using Brady to head up catering for big events at his other hotels, including weddings and parties as part of a joint venture with a neighboring dude ranch.

Last summer, when Brady had run from a bad situation and stumbled upon this little town, he'd never dreamed that it would take care of him the way it had. Of course, he still had to keep his guard up. Trouble could come at any time.

Interesting that now he'd be living next door to a cop. Although Sloane McBride didn't look like any cop he'd ever known. She was certainly fit enough, but her golden hair, cornflower-blue eyes, and that dazzling face of hers reminded him more of one of the fairy princesses in his niece's Disney books than a peace officer. According to the word around town, she was a friend of Jake's; he'd recommended her for the job.

Brady measured out enough beans to brew a fresh pot, and poured the stale coffee down the sink.

“We have two more couples and Sloane McBride.” Maddy set down a tub of dirty dishes on the counter and began loading them into the dishwasher. “Make Sloane's extra good. She's the key to my marriage.”

He stepped back and looked at her, wondering what she was talking about.

“Do you know how much overtime Rhys works?” Maddy said. “Emma and I barely see him anymore.”

Given that the department was a three-man—four if you counted Connie, the dispatcher—operation, Brady suspected it was a lot.

“You take these out to those other couples.” He pulled four plates from the warming oven. “I'll take this to Ms. McBride.”

“Good idea.” Maddy loaded up and started out the door. “Fabulous food and a hot guy—the perfect incentive for her to stay.”

Brady rolled his eyes. The women around here were a little nuts. Sloane sat at a corner table, reading one of the pamphlets from the front desk that told the history of the area.

“If you want the real flavor of the town you should check out the
Nugget Tribune
website,” he said, and placed her plate on the table. “
Bon appétit
.”

She lifted her head and the power of her smile floored him. Pretty lady. But if she planned to move into the apartment next door, she was off-limits lady.

“The
Nugget Tribune
, huh?” She reached for her phone, which sat on the table, and started searching for the site.

“All the news that's fit to print—and then some.”

She laughed. “Thanks for the suggestion . . . and for breakfast.” Her eyes grew large as she took in her plate. “This is enough food for an army.”

“No bitty portions up here in the mountains. Dig in before it gets cold.”

He walked away so she could eat in peace. When he got back to the kitchen, Maddy was adding more plates to the dishwasher.

“Is that coffee fresh?” She motioned to the pot he'd just put on. He nodded, and she poured herself a cup. “Well, did she say anything?”

“Like what?”

“Like whether she could start right away?” Maddy opened the fridge, pulled out a carton of half-and-half, and poured a dollop into her coffee.

“No. Why don't you go ask her?”

“I did last night. She said she was pretty sure she was taking it. But I was hoping she'd start soon. Like tomorrow.”

Brady laughed. Then again, he'd practically started the day he was hired. The Lumber Baron's former cook had left without giving notice. Emily Mathews, the town's famous cookbook-ghostwriter to the stars, had filled in as a favor. But she'd been in the midst of planning her wedding to Clay McCreedy, taking care of his two boys, and trying to make a book deadline. To say that the Breyers had been desperate for help was an understatement. The timing couldn't have worked out better for Brady since he'd needed a job. Fate.

“You don't know what it's like with a toddler.” Maddy shut the dishwasher door and started the wash. “Even when Rhys can break away from work, we hardly have any time together.”

“My guess is she'll need time to pack and move. What's her deal anyway? Why is she leaving such a big department?”

“All I know is that she needed a change,” Maddy said, and looked directly at Brady. “She's pretty, isn't she?”

Brady held up his hands, palms out. He knew what she was up to. The entire town was filled with matchmaking mamas. Sam, Nate's wife, had already tried to set him up with Tawny Wade, Nugget's resident cowboy-boot designer. Tawny, who as far as Brady was concerned was the only sane woman on the face of the earth, happened to be in love with Lucky Rodriguez, the town's bull-riding champion. The two planned to get married in the spring and Brady, who considered Tawny his best friend, was catering the reception.

“Very pretty,” Brady said. “But not for me.”

“Why not?”

Because the change Sloane allegedly needed was probably code for
I have to get away from a bad boyfriend
. And Brady didn't want any part of that. His last romantic escapade had left him more than gun-shy—scared to death would be a truer statement. And Sloane McBride was packing more heat than he cared to handle.

“Never a good idea to start up with your neighbor.”

“In most cases I'd say that's true. But that duplex is where Rhys and I fell in love. Maybe it has the
kavorka
, the lure of the animal.”

Brady rolled his eyes. “You've been watching too many
Seinfeld
reruns. Not interested, Maddy.”

“We'll see.”

No, we won't
. “What do you got going today?”

“Probably take a ride up to Gold Mountain to check on the renovations. Right now, we're mostly consumed with whether Lina will get into the University of Nevada, Reno.”

“I thought your sister-in-law was going to USF.” Brady had only met Lina Shepard once or twice since she lived full-time in San Francisco and only occasionally came for visits.

“Yep. But she really wants to transfer into Nevada's engineering department and learn how to build bridges.”

“Bridges as in the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“Mm-hmm. She interned over the summer with a structural engineering firm and became obsessed. USF doesn't have a program. But it just so happens that Nevada's is one of the best. And she'd be close to home.”

“That's great,” Brady said.

“Yeah. Except it's really competitive. There's no telling whether she'll get in.”

“I'll be thinking good thoughts.”

“Thanks, Brady. How 'bout you?”

“I'm making savory palmiers for the wine and cheese service and have a meeting later with Jake and Cecilia to go over their wedding menu.”

“Full day,” Maddy said.

“Yep.”

He left Maddy to finish what few dishes were left while he checked the dining room for stragglers. Except for Sloane, who he noted had cleaned her plate, the room was empty.

“You want seconds?” he asked, and she pulled her face from her phone.

“I'm stuffed. That was fantastic.”

He grinned and cocked his head at her phone. “The
Trib
?”

“Mm-hmm. The police blotter. May as well know what I'm getting myself into.”

“A lot of henhouse thefts in these parts.” He tried to keep a straight face.

She smiled, and again he had a hard time thinking of her as a cop. It was probably all kinds of wrong to stereotype that way, but when you looked like a prom queen . . .

“You going back to LA today?” he asked.

“Tomorrow. I still have to meet with the chief to finalize a few things.”

Maddy had made it sound like she was taking the apartment next to him. He thought it would be pushy to ask. By the end of the day whatever decisions she'd made would be all over town anyway.

“Good luck,” he said, and started walking away when he heard a ruckus in the lobby.

By the time he got there, he found Andy, the inn's reservationist, pinned to the wall by Andy's clone. Both were dressed in the uniform of cookie-cutter nonconformists everywhere: dyed black hair, studded belt, combat boots, and piercings. Nate made Andy tone it down when he worked the front desk.

“What's going on here?” Brady asked.

“He owes me money,” said Andy's doppelganger, wannabe Sid Vicious.

“I do not,” Andy croaked. He couldn't really talk because Sid had him in a choke hold.

Brady plucked the kid off Andy and held him away. That's when Andy used all his force, which was surprisingly considerable, to ram Brady and Sid Vicious into the wall. Andy started pounding on Sid, and Brady knew that if he let go of the kid, they'd have a full-fledged brawl on their hands. Not exactly the best impression for guests.

Before Brady could do anything, Sloane, who'd evidently followed him, restrained Andy in some sort of hold. Probably a police maneuver.

She told Maddy, who must've heard the commotion and had come running like the rest of them, to call 9-1-1. Brady didn't think it was necessary. Both idiots, who continued to spit obscenities at each other, just needed a kick in the ass. Obviously, though, Sloane was a by-the-book kind of cop.

A few minutes later Rhys showed up. Sloane still had Andy controlled. Looks were deceiving; the woman wasn't cotton candy, that's for sure. Brady had loosened his hold on Sid, who seemed to have run out of adrenaline. Rhys gave them a stern talking-to and sent Sid on his way. Andy slithered back behind the check-out desk. If Brady knew Maddy, she'd give Andy a pass—she was soft like that. But if Nate had been there, he would've fired the kid.

“Everyone okay?” Rhys asked, and got nods all the way around. He looked over at Sloane, who leaned against the wall, unruffled. “Thanks for stepping in. I'll see you over at the station in a few. Hopefully, you've got good news for me.” And with that he sauntered off.

Maddy grabbed Andy by the arm. “You, come with me.”

Brady watched them disappear behind Maddy's office door, shook his head, and turned to Sloane. “You've got some moves.”

She shrugged like it was nothing. “That happen a lot in the inn?”

“Never before. Andy's a slacker, but he's harmless. He's in a band—they're god-awful. I suspect that was one of his bandmates.”

Again, she smiled, giving Brady a kick in the gut. “Weird town.”

Wait until she got a load of the other characters. “A little bit. You staying?”

“I am.” She nodded.

“Well then, welcome to Nugget, California. As the entrance sign proclaims, we're the Pride of the West.”

 

Two weeks later, Sloane moved into the duplex on Donner Road. She hadn't been sure whether her furniture would go with the whole rustic setup here. Sloane had liked cruising the trendy shops in Santa Monica and West Hollywood and had amassed a collection of shabby-chic pieces—lots of overstuffed, ruffled, slipcovered sofas and chairs. Oddly enough, they actually looked better here than in her LA apartment.

Nate, her new landlord, said it would be fine if she wanted to paint. She thought a palette of cream, yellow, and robin's-egg blue would make the bland apartment cheerier. In Reno, there were a couple of good paint stores, according to Yelp.

As she stood staring at the walls, visualizing how she could give the place pizzazz, someone knocked on her door. Reaching for her service weapon, which she always kept within arm's reach these days, Sloane peered out the peephole.

No one.

Slowly she opened the door, her finger on the trigger. There'd been two more menacing messages since the night in the Lumber Baron, and she wasn't taking any chances. Even if the threats were only intended to scare her, she planned to stay vigilant.

On her doormat sat a pie. She gingerly lifted it one-handed and sniffed. It smelled like apple. She shut the door and brought the pie into the kitchen for a closer inspection. Then she found the note and sighed in relief.

 

 

She could hear him moving around next door. Clearly, he wanted to give her space to get unpacked. The pie was the perfect gesture. Considerate and welcoming, without being overly friendly. She liked his style. And then there was the fact that she was starving, having had no time to stock the refrigerator.

Sloane managed to find the box with her silverware, grabbed a fork, and ate pie right out of the dish. It was still warm . . . and sweet Mother of God, was it good. Like possibly the best thing she'd ever eaten, although his chicken-fried steak and country gravy ran a close second.