Page 14 of Trails of Temptation

“No, please,” I said hastily, then sucked in my breath. “It’s nothing, Moira. I know you want to help me but I think I feel way more for George than he does for me. He just doesn’t like me like that, I need to be okay with it. This was… This was stupid.”

Moira purses her lips, not believing a word I say.

“I think the man is in love with you and has been for two years, Keely.”

Well, be it as it may, he wasn’t doing anything about it if that were the case. I wasn’t going to force him to open up to me, either. I wasn’t going to chase him. I wasn’t going to put my heart on the line all summer just to end up disappointed.

Plus, it wasn’t like I was going to be staying in Hot Springs once Moira and her new baby were settled. I’d leave again, that I knew for sure.

* * *

“Where’s George?” Pete asked between bites of steak.

I winced, but I was far enough away from where Moira, Grant, and Pete were sitting in camping chairs around a plastic table in the backyard for anyone to see the grimace that swept over my face as I gathered up dishes. I caught the look Moira gave Grant, who told me everything I needed to know.

Grant was probably fully aware of what happened, whether having been told by his wife, or by the man himself.

“He wasn’t able to make it,” Grant said after a moment. He looked up at where I was starting to tidy up the table and shook his head, motioning for me to stop. “Keely, I already told you you didn’t have to do any of that tonight. You have the night and all day tomorrow off.”

“But I—”

“You should come back into town with me,” Pete suggested.

I looked from Grant to Pete, then back to Grant. “Okay… But I want to get Day set up for his sleepover tonight. I made them some snacks.”

Moira gave me a huge smile. “Grant can lay out all the snacks for them, Keely. Plus, I think you’ll actually get some sleep tonight if you’re out of the house. Day and his friends will likely be up until midnight or later at this rate.”

I glanced over at the paddock where Day and three of his friends from town had climbed onto the railing to watch one of the new bulls saunter back and forth across the length of the paddock. I’d made them a s’mores kit, buttered popcorn drizzled with chocolate and caramel, and a charcuterieboard filled with everything little boys could want—jerky, chocolates, cheese and crackers, and fruit.

They were going to camp out in the living room, which was right across from the guestroom where I was living for the summer. I shifted my weight as I considered, then decided Moira and Grant were right. I wouldn’t sleep at all with the boys carrying on right around the corner from my room, and more importantly, going to Pete’s for the night meant I’d be off the property and putting some distance between George and me.

George was avoiding me, that was clear. Maybe I needed to avoid him as well.

“Okay,” I said, smiling softly as I turned my attention to Pete. “What do you want to do tonight, then? Have me waitress at the bar?”

He frowned playfully, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Pete lived in an apartment above the bar. It was an old building, but meticulously taken care of over the past several decades. Apparently, the building had been in our family since the late 1800s, and had been a train depot, a grocery store, a gas station, and a hotel over the past century. It was kind of cool, to be honest. I loved Pete’s apartment and all its weird little quirks. It had four huge bedrooms, two full bathrooms, and while the building itself was super old, the inside had been completely renovated and modernized.

I ran my fingers over the banister as I walked up the stairs and looked out over the great room, which was open to the kitchen. The twinkling city lights of downtown Hot Springs glistened beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Do you want something to drink?” Pete asked from the kitchen. He pulled out a beer from the fridge and set it on the island.

“Maybe some wine, if you have any.”

He smiled to himself, putting the beer back in the fridge and reaching for a bottle of wine resting on its side in a crate on top of the fridge.

“Do you see George much?” Pete asked as he poured wine into two glasses.

I went rigid, hiding my apprehension by turning to look down Main Street through one of the windows.

“Not really,” I lied, accepting the glass he handed to me. I took a long sip from it, barely tasting it.

“Weird.”

“Why do you ask?”

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