Survival training? The Dane Croft she remembered was a hard-partying playboy who refused to do anything that didn’t involve beer or girls—or both. She remembered Grant and Colt—one was a jock and one had been the richest guy in her class. Both had moved away when they’d graduated, just like Dane. And now they were back…just like Dane.
Could today possibly get any worse?
She tucked the brochure into her pocket, feeling faint. “Thanks, Jimmy. Can I get a green tea latte, please?”
“Sure,” Jimmy said lazily, his gaze sliding to her br**sts again. “Venti, grande, or tall? Iced or hot? Two percent, whole, skim, or soy?”
Miranda had her phone out, dialing, and ignored Jimmy. Her other hand fluttered back to her pocket repeatedly, touching the brochure again and again.
“Right. I’ll just make something up,” he drawled, then turned away to make her drink.
Beth Ann picked up the office phone on the second ring. “California Dreamin’,” she answered in a chirpy voice. “We do waxes, haircuts, highlights, and perms. Can I make you an appointment?”
“It’s me,” Miranda hissed into the receiver, covering the phone and turning away in case Jimmy planned on listening in. “You’re never going to believe who’s back in town.”
“Who?”
“Dane Croft,” Miranda gritted.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “The Dane Croft? The Vegas Flush player? The one we went to high school with?”
“That’s him—”
“The one who put his hand down your pants—”
“Beth Ann!”
“I’m clearing my lunch appointments,” Beth Ann declared. “Be here in twenty minutes and we’ll talk.”
For Beth Ann, a “talk” usually involved waxing Miranda’s eyebrows, a trim for Miranda’s split ends, and a manicure. They’d been friends ever since the fifth grade, and if there was one thing that Miranda knew about Beth Ann, it was that she liked her hands busy while she chatted. Her small salon was nearly empty at noon on a Wednesday, and Miranda waited patiently as Beth Ann unlocked the back room that housed a tanning bed and let in a teenage blonde.
“I keep telling Candy that she’s going to look like a handbag by the time she’s thirty, but she won’t listen to me,” Beth Ann said with a shrug, returning to the barber chair Miranda sat in. “And the tanning bed brings in almost as much money as manicures do.” She spun the chair around, turning Miranda toward the mirror, and flung the pink satin styling cape over her clothes. “Now, honey, tell me your problems.”
“My problem is Dane Croft,” Miranda said, digging under the cape and pulling the brochure out. She held it toward Beth Ann. “He’s moved back to town—permanently. And he’s started a survival business with Grant Markham and Colt Waggoner.”
“Survival business?” Beth Ann tucked a lock of perfectly highlighted blond hair behind her ear and gave Miranda an odd look in the mirror. “That doesn’t sound like the Dane Croft we went to high school with.”
“It’s him—look at the picture.” Miranda slumped in the salon chair, wishing this day would start over again.
Beth Ann’s eyebrows rose as she stared at the pamphlet. “Professional survival services? That’s kind of strange.”
“I know,” said Miranda flatly.
“Mmm. Just look at them. They’ve all filled out rather…nicely, don’t you think?”
Miranda scowled and snatched the pamphlet back, glancing at the photo again. All three men were tall and fit, she supposed. Dane’s arms were especially toned with muscle. He had a dark tan and his black hair was cut incredibly short. The white smile on his face was as familiar as her own. He actually looked like a hunky, Hollywood version of a survival instructor. That made her feel worse. “This is just awful.”
“Why is it awful?” She began to comb out Miranda’s long, dark brown hair and trim the ends. “This is the perfect time for him to come back. You’re leaving for that big job in the city in three weeks, remember? You only have to avoid him until then.” And she sighed.
Miranda ignored Beth Ann’s sigh. She’d heard enough of them to feel permanently guilty about the fact that she wanted to leave Bluebonnet behind for a job in Houston. A job with real benefits and a chance to move up the corporate ladder. A job that could lead anywhere, maybe even chief information officer. Or higher. Miranda Hill, the Boobs of Bluebonnet, would have a fancy title and an even fancier job. She could actually do something with her master’s in Library Science instead of just re-cataloging books and taking complaints from old ladies who wanted the “dirty vampire books” removed from the shelves. “This is my chance to do something, Bethy. To get out of town. To be something other than the Boobs of Bluebonnet.”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted,” agreed Beth Ann. “It doesn’t mean that it won’t make me sad to see you go.”
Miranda regarded her friend through the mirror, watching as Beth Ann clipped her ends with careful, precise fingers. “I know. I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”
In the mirror, Beth Ann gave her a wry smile. “Sure you will.”
Miranda glared down at the pamphlet and the three tanned, attractive men on the cover. “You know, I was hoping for three quiet weeks to relax and get things settled. My last day at the library was yesterday. My apartment in Houston is leased. The house is almost packed. I’ve got nothing to do for the next three weeks except stare at this picture and stew. Except every time I look at this, I see them.”
“Three sexy beasts?”
“Not them. The pictures.”
The images were ingrained into her memory. If she lived to be eighty, she’d never forget one single detail of those grainy, horrible photos—her torso facing the camera, an expression of complete and utter abandon on her face. Her T-shirt pushed up around her neck, her br**sts facing the camera. Dane’s mouth on her neck and his hand down the front of her panties. Then the picture of her kneeling in front of him, as if she was about to give him a blow job.
She’d never known that there’d been a camera in the closet. Or that he’d pack up and leave town practically the next day to join the NHL, without a single word to her. Miranda had been forced to pretend that she wasn’t hurt by his abandonment, but abandonment had soon given way to horror as soon as the pictures surfaced.