Chapter One #3
“Not an option.”
Her tone spoke of bridges burned, and he realized how little he knew about this woman.
What he’d had was assumptions and amusing anecdotes from Brooke, who had admired her travel partner’s quiet grit.
Grit that Trev had secretly pegged as privilege and the knowledge that she could get away with stuff.
“Sell the horses.”
Maclyn gave him a dark look. “Also not an option.”
“Then it appears you’re low on options.”
“Thanks for pointing that out.” She pulled the door shut then and started the engine. Trev stepped back as the truck rolled forward a few feet, then stopped. After a brief hesitation, Maclyn lowered the window.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Here it came.
“I was not driving your truck that night.”
She did stick to her story.
“I was Brooke’s alibi.”
He narrowed his eyes, not liking the stony delivery of the flat statement. “Alibi? For what?”
Mac shifted her gaze forward again, looking as if she wasn’t certain if she should have opened the can that the worms were now spilling out of.
“Mac …”
Her gaze came around to meet his dead on. “For the other guy she was seeing. The married guy.”
If she’d slapped him, he wouldn’t have been more surprised. Brooke seeing a married guy? “Bullshit.”
The word bounced off her. Maclyn shrugged her shoulders then reached for the gearshift. “Believe me or not. I don’t care. It happened. She needed an alibi. I was it, like it or not.”
The window came up again.
*
The gearshift fought her, but Maclyn finally shoved it into Reverse and started the truck moving again, taking care not to look in Trev’s direction. She’d had no reason to let loose with that bit of truth about Brooke. It wouldn’t help her, and it would definitely hurt him, so why?
Emotional exhaustion? Having no more fucks to give?
A combination of the two plus the overwhelming desire to vindicate herself—even as she told herself that it didn’t matter what Trev Matthews thought. The truth was that being the scapegoat for Brooke’s misadventure pissed her off. Of course, everyone believed Brooke. She was that kind of person.
Before she could put the truck into a forward gear, Trev rapped on the window. Resignedly she lowered the glass, and he said, “Come into the house for a minute.”
“What?” Maclyn stared at him stupidly. “Why?”
“You can’t just say something like that and drive away.”
Wanna bet?
“How would me coming into the house fix things?”
“I’m not looking to fix things.”
She squeezed her forehead with one hand instead of putting the truck back into gear. The worms were fleeing the can in directions she hadn’t anticipated. Her fault. She dropped her hand.
“What are you looking for, Trev? I don’t know anything about the other guy.”
“Yet you say that he existed. And that he was married.” He shot a frustrated look at the running board before looking up again, his dark eyebrows pulled into a fierce frown. “I need to know what happened that night.”
“I explained all that five years ago.” No one believed her because no one believed that perfect Brooke would lie. Mac had been stunned to find herself thrown under the bus, but she’d been unaware of Brooke’s secret affair until more than a year later.
“Maybe I’m in a better position to listen.”
Maclyn’s temples were starting to throb. A conversation might be in order. Even if he didn’t believe her, perhaps they could part less than enemies. The last thing Mac needed in a small community was someone working against her while she was job hunting.
“Fine.” She turned off the engine.
“Your dog can come, too.”
“I don’t think so.”
Mac left Raisin in the truck as she followed Trev across the driveway toward the open gate leading to a rather wild-looking front yard.
“Are you still roping?” she asked to break the silence as they walked. The question sounded stilted. Awkward. A perfect summation of her feelings.
“Copper Mountain was my last rodeo for a while. Dylan has other commitments, and I don’t feel like finding a new partner.”
“Ah.” So much for small talk.
Trev turned to her after they mounted the front porch steps as if he couldn’t hold in the questions any longer, then his jaw muscles tightened as he held back the words.
He opened the door and stood aside to allow her to enter the old-fashioned kitchen.
An antique oak table with a T carved in one corner sat beneath a large window looking out over the driveway and outbuildings.
The counters were neat, the appliances shining.
A mudroom was situated to the left, with a long line of coats, vests, and jackets hanging on hooks over an equally long line of boots.
In the distance she could hear a vacuum cleaner, and she had to admit, even though she felt safe enough being alone with Trev, she liked the idea of having someone else around.
She didn’t know how he was going to take her answers to the questions he was about to ask. He might call her a liar and send her on her way, or he might believe her.
Either way, she wasn’t getting a job.