Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3) by Stacy Finz Page A

this economy?” Apparently her dad hadn’t gotten the memo that the economy had shifted—people were spending money again. Just not on her services.
    Dink, the mayor, piped up, “You been by the Gas and Go lately? He’s ripped the place to shreds. He’s even going through with that idiotic car wash.”
    Owen kissed Darla on the top of her head. “Can you hold down the fort, missy? We’re grabbing some lunch at the Ponderosa.”
    “Sure, Dad.” She kissed him back.
    After he left, she tidied up, swept the floor, and rearranged the magazines. The place sure could use a facelift. The checkerboard floor had been dulled by the sun. The walls were a drab off-white. And the art consisted of a Josey Wales poster featuring Clint Eastwood, and a row of plaques and letters thanking Owen for buying local 4-H kids’ prize-winning livestock at the county fair.
    No wonder women never stepped foot in the place.
    Darla had gone to the back of the shop to find a new bulb to replace one of the recessed lights that had burned out, when she heard the door chime. Wyatt stood just past the threshold, his hands jammed into his police jacket, red faced from the cold.
    “Can I help you?” she asked, committed to her promise to always stay professional.
    “Darla”—he let out a breath—“are we ever going to talk about it?”
    Nine years had passed and not one word from him. Not one goddamn word about what they had lost. Just a lousy note that said he’d joined the army. Then she’d never heard from him again. Even after he came back and she’d occasionally visit, he never uttered a peep. She’d been living in Nugget for more than a month now and the most she’d gotten out of him was lingering looks. At the Ponderosa the other day she thought he’d finally worked up the nerve to approach her. But no. He’d walked across the room toward her and Harlee’s table, only to change direction to the men’s room.
    It was a little late for talking.
    “I have nothing to say to you.”
    She did have a question, though. The same burning one she’d carried for nearly a decade.
    Why did you leave me when I needed you the most?
     
    Saturday morning Harlee put on skintight jeans, a cashmere sweater, and her favorite boots. Despite Darla’s offer, Harlee flatironed her own hair until it hung stick-straight to her shoulders. After applying a little makeup and putting on a heavy coat and hat, she walked up the hill and down Colin’s driveway, straight to his shop.
    It wasn’t difficult to know his routine. He worked and slept without much in between. Sure enough, he was sawing away, while Max lazed in front of the iron stove, soaking up the heat. This time, Colin jammed AC/DC on his iPod. A little jolting first thing in the morning. At least to Harlee. Colin seemed to be enjoying it though, bouncing his head and moving his hips to the pounding beat of “You Shook Me All Night Long.” He had absolutely no rhythm whatsoever, but Harlee found the dance irresistible. Completely un-self-conscious—until he caught Harlee watching.
    “Ha, ha. Caught you.” She laughed.
    He took off his plastic goggles, turned off the music, and bobbed his chin at her—the universal man gesture for What’s up?
    “My mom sold your rocking chair and table.”
    “Really?” He appeared both pleased and surprised.
    “Yeah, really.” Harlee smiled up at him. “She wants more. Can you ship?”
    “Yup. Should I send the same?”
    “Why don’t you send another rocker and table and try something new?” She pointed. “Like one of those swings.”
    “I can do that,” he said, and took her in from head to toe. He did it every time he saw her. Not in a creepy way, but like he thought she was the most ravishing woman in the world. It would be a lie to say she didn’t get off on it a little. Okay, a lot. “You hanging out with Darla again today?”
    “We’re going to the open house at Sierra Heights. You want to come and gape at the big homes?”
    “I’ve