Page 8 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

“I can understand that,” Callie said, taking a sip of her coffee. “I wouldn’t want to be around a bunch of drunk people when I’m stone-cold sober.”

Even when she went out with Gemma or Caroline, she usually was the only truly sober one. Caroline never got drunk—she had one or two drinks, maybe—but since bar consulting was her business, she tried to be never less than professional.

Still, watching everyone else relax and cut loose was sometimes hard on Callie. Especially following a letter from Tristan. She never opened them, but just seeing his name on the envelope sent her longing to dive head first into a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

She hadn’t, though, not in over five years. Even though drinking may have made her problems go away for a while, they always came back with the hangover the next day. It was something her first sponsor had told her, and it had stuck with her over the years, especially when she was feeling weak.

Suddenly thinking of hangovers, Callie remembered Everett Silverton and his Scottish-whisky bender. He was not what she’d been expecting from the gossip she’d heard. She’d pictured a brooding, mountain of a man who could lift cars and stop trains with his finger. The exaggerated praise was proof enough of how much the people of Rock Canyon thought of him and his heroism.

But what had really surprised her was the fluttering she’d felt in her stomach when she’d looked up and met his gaze. His hands had burned a hole through her shirt sleeves, the heat of his touch sending goose bumps down her arms. She had barely noticed his scars, not with the way his light

brown eyes had stared down at her, reminding her of her past obsession with a certain vampire hero from her favorite book series.

Of course, that had been before, when the thought of a dangerous vampire loving her forever had been romantic. But after the night of Tristan’s attack, that fantasy—along with every other hope and dream she’d held onto—had been shattered.

“It’s going to be beautiful though,” Fred said, patting her hand and startling her.

“What?”

“The wedding,” Fred said. “It’s going to be beautiful.”

“I bet.”

Callie could imagine. Well, she could imagine what her dream wedding would have looked like. It had been documented in the wedding scrapbook she’d started after Tristan had first proposed—and tossed into the fireplace after she returned from the hospital. Even so, she still remembered the joy she’d felt as she’d filled it with pictures and clippings of everything she’d wanted to make her special day perfect. Callie had even signed up for an online service that had made them their own wedding web page, complete with registry links and engagement photos—photos her mother had paid to have done in Forest Hill, one of the most beautiful spots in the northern California foothills. The memory of standing atop the Forest Hill Bridge, holding nervously onto Tristan’s arms, held a bittersweet place in her heart, one that belonged to another girl in another time.

“I’ve got you; I promise.”

Tristan’s deep voice echoed through her mind, a ghost from her past that she just couldn’t shake.

Especially when he wouldn’t let go.

Once he’d gotten out of the psychiatric hospital, Tristan had called her, over and over. She’d changed her number several times, but when he started following her—never too closely, or he’d have violated the restraining order she’d taken out on him—she’d realized he would never stop. Soon, Callie began looking for a new job, far away from her past.

After three months of living quietly in Rock Canyon, her lawyer had forwarded the first letter. Callie had never told her lawyer to stop, mainly because she was afraid of agitating Tristan. Instead, she just shoved them, unopened, into a drawer in her living room. One day, she hoped she’d have the courage to read what he had to say—but she knew she’d never be able to see him again. How could she face him after what he’d done to her, her mother, and their dog?

“Are you all right, Callie? You seem distracted.” Fred broke into her memories.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Is something bothering you?”

Nothing I want to talk about.

“No, I was just thinking of stuff I have to get done.”

“My older son, Everett—he does that to me. I’ll be having a conversation with him, and all of a sudden it’s like he’s in another world.”

At the mention of Everett’s name, Callie’s heart tripped up. “I was going to tell you, I met Everett today.”

“Did you? How did he seem?”

Charming. She didn’t dare say that aloud, though. Meeting Everett had been a surprise, and she’d barely caught herself before telling him how she knew his father. She never talked about her alcoholism and wasn’t about to advertise it to a man she’d just met.

Especially considering how she’d been drawn to Everett and his smile. The scars on his face hadn’t diminished his handsomeness; instead, they actually seemed to accentuate it. She’d avoided his light brown eyes because they were beautiful, like the crisp autumn leaves that fell from the trees in November. Her reaction to them had struck her dumb.

Well, for a minute or so, before his easygoing nature had helped let her guard down. He’d even made her laugh, which was something that rarely happened. Yet with the battle-scarred marine, her laughter felt effortless.

“He was nice. He bumped into me while I was reading my paper, and when it ripped, he bought me a new one.”

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