Chapter 3
"Things are not going my way," Nash admitted shamefully.
Twenty hours down, and he hadn’t seen or heard even a word about Ellie Blaire at the center. Each night that week he’d dreamed of coming face-to-face with her. Every morning, he’d met with disappointment instead.
He looked at the men seated around the table, his bonus brothers, Rem, Wes, and Thatcher.
Rem, the oldest of the bunch, nodded like the news came as no surprise. Of course, as the town’s deputy, he was always skeptical.
Wes, who was also quite the skeptic, wore a similar expression.
Only Thatcher looked disappointed. “That sucks, man. I was hoping you’d tell us otherwise.”
“I couldn’t have actually told you guys if she was there since I signed that NDA, but I think I’m free to tell you that I basically signed it for no reason.”
"Can’t say I’m surprised," Rem said, moving a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
"Did you really think it would be that easy to rub shoulders with a star like Ellie Blair?" Wes asked.
Nash narrowed his eyes at him. “You know, I thought marriage and fatherhood would lighten you up. When are you going to learn to dream a bit?”
Wes grinned. “Rosie dreams enough for the both of us at the moment,” he said of his recently adopted stepdaughter. “Currently, she’s dreaming the doctors will be wrong and that Taja will magically have a baby girl instead of a boy.”
Nash couldn’t help but chuckle. Rosie had sure livened things up in the Copeland family since she and her mom, Taja, came along. “That’s cute,” he said.
Thatcher set his elbows on the table and leaned low toward the center. "You want to know what I think?" He looked around the bar like the Secret Service wanted to know what he thought, too. "I think she's there, and they're just not telling you. They want to see if they can trust you first.”
"Yeah, well, I was there for the whole week. If they can't trust me now, I don't know what else I can do." He spun his mug in a circle, watching the condensation drip toward the base.
"At least you’ve been doing something worthwhile,” Wes said, “working with the foundation your Ma liked so much."
Yes, he had worked with Riding Free twice that week, and despite the fact that he hadn’t bumped into Ellie, the work had been nostalgic and rewarding. On the alternating days, Nash had led a group of troubled teens through a backwoods trail on horseback.
"Yeah, have you told Wyatt about that?" Thatcher asked.
Nash blanched at the hopeful expression on Thatcher's face. Thatcher never encouraged Nash to get closer to Wyatt, who was Nash’s only blood brother.
Mainly because the guy acted like a jerk most of the time, but ever since Thatcher got married, Thatcher’s guilt had him looking for his replacement.
Too bad Wyatt was in Texas with the final Copeland brother, Wade, where the two were training to be Navy SEALs.
Nash forced his mind back to Thatcher's question. "Nope. I haven't spoken to Wyatt in weeks."
Wes piped up. "Well, I'm sure he'd like to hear about it."
Rem lifted his whiskey glass to observe the gold liquid in the light. "Yes, and I'm sure he'd also like to hear about your reason for volunteering in the first place."
Nash shook his head. "I don't care what he has to say about my decisions. You guys are more like brothers to me than he ever will be."
It went quiet, and Nash took a swig of his beer, hoping it would quell the odd tension in the air.
He didn't like the topic of his brother; it was like discussing religion or politics; people rarely viewed things exactly the same way, and no one person could know what it was like to fill another man's boots.
The odd thing was—Wyatt’s life experience came closer to Nash’s than anyone else’s ever could, yet they still viewed the world through entirely different lenses. That sad fact confused Nash more than it pained him.
"Well, twenty hours down, sixty more to go," Thatcher said, that hopeful expression on his face once more.
Nash nodded, but he wasn’t so sure he could put in the rest of those sixty hours.
The fact was, he’d put in close to an extra hour each day that week helping Tucker with a few odds and ends around the cabin; turns out the man was nursing a back injury of some sort.
That alone wouldn’t be a problem if Nash could count the extra time toward the hours he’d signed up for.
Unfortunately, they could only credit him four hours a day, which is why he’d said no to the overnight campout thing with the youth next week.
It’d take, like eighteen hours of his time and he’d only get credit for eight.
He was starting to wonder why he’d signed up for this to begin with.
But when he remembered, Nash guessed he deserved it.
"You’re not trying to back out, are you?" Rem asked.
"No, but I wish I could."
"Sounds to me like you’re considering it," Wes said accusingly.
Nash narrowed his eyes at him. "I’m not, but I am thinking about telling them I have a brother named Wes with a big, bleeding heart who’s just dying to take my place. How about that?”
Chuckles sounded around the table.
"Fifty bucks says she’s there,” Thatcher said, “and that you’ll finally get to meet her.”
Nash shook his head. "I doubt it. I bet she never even thought about going there—stupid tabloid. And you know what? I actually am thinking about backing out.”
“I knew it,” Wes said.
“I can say I have a back injury.” Still, he hated the idea of doing that, especially since a few of their staff were on vacation. The center was counting on Nash to keep the activities running in their absence.
“A hundred,” Thatcher blurted. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that she’ll show up. If I’m wrong, I’ll pay up. But if I’m right and she is there, you owe me."
“I’ll go in on this,” Rem said, his expression thoughtful as he turned to Thatcher. "I’ll meet your hundred. If she shows, you’ll get a hundred from each of us. If not, it’s coming out of your pocket.” He turned to Wes. “You in?”
Wes shook his head. “Nope. Don’t care either way.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “You should care for my sake. This woman could be your future sister-in-law. I bet Rosie would like her.”
Wes grinned. “I bet she would, too, but you’re dreaming, buddy.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty confident that she’s not there,” Rem urged. “If you’re right, you could put an extra hundred dollars in your pocket, courtesy of Thatcher and his wishful thinking. It’s no wonder he and Nash get along so well.”
Wes chuckled. “True.” He locked eyes with Thatcher across the table. “You ready to pay out if you’re wrong?”
Thatcher shrugged. “As ready as I am to cash in if I’m right.”
“Then count me in, too,” Wes said.
“Just one stipulation, though,” Thatcher added. “He has to put in all eighty hours before we call it ‘cause she could show up on the last day.”
“True,” Rem said, pointing to Nash. “But what about this NDA you signed? You’re not going to be able to tell us either way.”
Nash gave that some thought. “Hmm…how about this: I won’t say whether she’s there or not because—like Rem said, I can’t.
But what I can do, after the eighty hours is up, is tell you guys who won the bet.
On your ends, you guys can’t utter a word of it.
” Nash was glad he was talking to a table full of cowboys who didn’t care a lick for Hollywood gossip.
“Especially,” he added as he remembered someone who did, “to Grandma C.”
“Good call,” Wes said.
“Agreed,” Thatcher added.
All eyes went to Rem, who scoffed. “You’re talking to a man of the law. I’m more practiced in this department than any of you.”
“She’s totally going to be there,” Thatcher said, that contagious smile on his face.
Nash would be lying if he said he didn’t like Thatcher’s confidence. He wanted Ellie to be there more than anything. He also liked the stipulation; it was an added incentive for him to keep his word, which was already proving to be harder than he thought it would.
"If Ellie happens to be there,” Nash said, “Thatcher’s going to make out quite nicely."
“Yeah," Thatcher said, a wry grin pulling at one side of his mouth. "But if that’s the case, you might be making out nicely, too."
Oohs and aahs sounded around the table, fanning Nash’s hope to a dangerous degree. Hope in something that would probably never be.
“So, do we have a deal?” Thatcher prodded.
Nash looked at Rem, who was confident Ellie wasn't there, then at Thatcher, who seemed positive that she was. His gaze veered to where Wes sat, contemplation on his face. He looked as conflicted as Nash felt.
But really, there wasn't much to consider.
He picked up his mug and gave the boys a subtle nod. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? We’ve got a deal.”