Trust with a Chaser (Rainbow Cove Book 1) Read online

  “And we’re investigating whether the area could sustain a golf course. And a spa.” Another set of drawings, this time accompanied by tourism stats, some of which looked dire when compared to other areas on the coast. But where I saw economic flat-lining, Brock saw opportunity.

  Curtis made a scoffing noise that ended abruptly. Flint must have kicked him or something because he didn’t pipe up again. I sent Flint a grateful look, but he didn’t meet my eyes.

  “I do like the sound of a spa,” Patsy chimed in, obviously well-prepped by Adam to be onboard with all this. “That could mean guests who linger in town a bit longer. Spread their cash around.”

  “And fish.” Ralph tugged at his ball cap. I’d lived in Rainbow Cove most of my life and had never seen the man without a cap advertising his business. “Do golfers fish?”

  “I’m sure they do.” Brock smiled broadly. “Now, the next step is going back to my investment group with support from local organizations for the purchase, the Chamber included. Can I get a vote on that?”

  The motion of support carried easily as Brock had predicted. Few business owners would vote against the resort being profitable again. But the next part was likely to be more controversial.

  “The investors would love to see a united front. The Rainbow Tavern is going to sponsor ads in a number of gay-friendly publications, and if you’re interested in being listed in the ads with them, I have a form for you.” Brock gave the room a winning smile before sending a clipboard around. “If you’d like a rainbow decal to put on your store door or window, I have some of those as well. And local services can put up the rainbow or a pink triangle. Like here at the visitor center or at City Hall, even.”

  I wasn’t surprised to see Flint send the clipboard and sticker pack right on by, but I was a bit…disappointed maybe.

  “I’ll take one.” Ralph looked up as the clipboard reached him. He was seriously one of the last allies I would have expected. “All money’s green to me.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Patsy signed her name with a flourish. The B&B was already planning some package deals with us for a room and dinner.

  “Participation is, of course, optional.” Should have known that Everleigh would have to get another word in. She sighed before making a motion to get an update on progress with the resort and the ad campaign at the next meeting, which I supposed was the best we could hope for.

  “I know we’re running behind schedule”—she fixed a glare right at me—“but Chief Flint has been nice enough to come talk to us about the recent rise in vandalism.”

  “That’s right.” Flint stood. I knew firsthand how his voice could go hard and cold. But his usual speaking voice was just right for reassuring people—all deep and soothing. “There’s nothing to get alarmed about. We have noticed the rise in graffiti and property damage, but we’re doing increased patrols of our businesses.” He went on to explain about some of the specific cases, and I started squirming in my seat. I swore I could feel Everleigh’s eyes on me. And she wasn’t the only one zeroing in on my space. When Flint said that he didn’t have a particular suspect, two shop owners actually swiveled their heads so they could look at me, like they had to verify that, yes, there was a Hanks in their midst.

  And I knew everyone was thinking about Freddy and his friends and their penchant for marking shit up in their teens. They’d done worse as adults—they’d had the bright idea of trying to steal the logbook from the front seat of one of the police cruisers, thinking they could “erase” a bust for one of Freddy’s buddies. Somehow their prank had gone sideways and the car ended up on fire. Freddy got a fast conviction and a trip to the pen for his stupidity, my family got another reason to hate Flint and the police department, and the town got more fuel to stoke their mistrust of the Hanks family.

  “When did all the vandalism start?” The jewelry store owner—couldn’t remember his name—spoke up. “How do we know this isn’t someone upset at the direction the town is taking? New businesses and such?” He ended with a pointed look at me.

  “There’s no evidence of that.” Flint’s voice was calming, but my back muscles still tensed. “It’s probably some bored kids. School’s out and there aren’t enough jobs. We’ll keep an eye out.”

  “We all will,” Everleigh added. “It’s important to report any suspicious activity right away.”

  I nodded along with everyone else. It felt weird to agree to neighborhood-watch type activities. I could almost hear my dad’s scorn and skepticism, knew how he’d roll his eyes at the caution being taken and say that Flint and the business owners were making a big deal out of nothing.

  By the time the meeting adjourned, I was still off-kilter, torn between the voices of my past and the pressures of my present. I had a hard time returning Brock’s smile.

  “That went well.” He gathered up his materials. “We’re still on for you coming up to Portland end of next month to help me with the next round of convincing the investors about the resort, right? I think you’ll add the right dash of local color.”

  “We’re on,” I said even though I didn’t necessarily agree that I was the best one to represent the town. Everleigh had far more experience, Patsy far more charm, and anyone else far more credibility.

  “Do you need a ride back to the tavern or your place?” Brock asked as we lugged his stuff to his car. He’d spent the night, so we’d ridden to the meeting together. “I’m behind schedule for making it back to Portland in time for my afternoon meeting.”

  Typical Brock. He had a five-hour drive ahead of him, and of course, he had something vital waiting for him at the other end. He’d probably be on business calls on his hands-free device the whole way home, too.

  “I’m good. I can walk back.” The visitor center was at the far southern edge of town, right off of Highway 101 and next to the town sign—a giant wood monstrosity carved by Curtis with a rainbow and leaping fish and ocean waves all competing for real estate. It’d be a bit of a hike, but I didn’t need to slow Brock down.

  “It’s going to rain.” Flint’s voice startled me. I hadn’t realized he’d approached us. His frown was as dour as the skies above us. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Perfect,” Brock said before I could reply. “I’ll just be on my way.” He leaned in to give me a hug that lingered a bit too long—entirely for Flint’s benefit, I was sure.

  “You don’t need to give me a ride,” I said to Flint after Brock got in his car and started the engine. “I don’t mind a little rain.”

  “Come on.” Flint jerked his thumb in the direction of his Jeep. Bossy, bossy man. I opened my mouth to protest again, but then Flint smiled, eyes crinkling, and I was a goner. “I won’t even make you ride in the back. This time.”

  Six

  Nash

  I wasn’t sure why I’d offered Mason a ride. Being neighborly wasn’t exactly my strong suit—I just liked to do the right thing. And I guessed that not making him walk in the rain counted as the right thing. But my motives weren’t entirely heroic. I hadn’t enjoyed seeing Mason with that city boy with the double last name and designer duds. Their hugs and touches and little teases all said there was a history between them. And I hated that it made my fists clench and back tighten—jealousy had never been part of my personality, not even with Steve. And I had no claim on Mason Hanks, none at all.

  Still, my tone was sharper than it needed to be as I unlocked the Jeep. “Your friend in town long?”

  “Brock? I’m surprised you didn’t note the strange car in town and his exact arrival time.” Mason laughed as he settled his long legs in my seldom-used passenger seat. “He came down last night. Too busy for a long visit, and I think one night on my couch is his maximum.”

  “Book him at Patsy’s next time.” The leap in my pulse and new lightness to my voice was purely coincidental. I was not relieved to learn that Mason had slept alone.

  “I thought about that, but we wanted to catch up.”

  “You guys know each
a long time, then?”

  Mason chuckled like he’d figured me out. “Are you asking if we dated? Suddenly curious about my love life?”

  I reminded myself that I’d known Mason long before he had any business having a love life. The first few fat raindrops hit my windshield before I got my voice level enough to answer. “Nope.”

  “I think you’re lying. And Brock and I tried it on like forever ago, but we’re too…similar in some ways to work as a couple. Better off friends. That’s how we started, anyway—he was friends with my ex. Ex moved on, Brock stuck around.”

  “You have a lot of these exes?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “Ha. I knew you were curious. And nope. Felipe was the main guy. Dated some others but nothing lasted. How about you?”

  “How about me, what?” I bristled. Had he discovered some rumor about Steve? And if not, why on earth did my lips feel loose, like I was dying to tell someone about how it felt, him leaving.

  “Exes? Why haven’t I heard about you hooking up with someone?”

  “I’m too old for hookups, and my job comes first.” I’d given the answer before, but it sounded awfully hollow right then. The rain picked up, and I flipped on the wipers, heart beating too fast, Mason’s questions slicing too deep.

  “You haven’t always been older than dirt. Come on. What about when you were younger? Have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

  I thumped my hand against the steering wheel, suddenly noticing that traffic on 101 was barely crawling. I welcomed the distraction and hit my radio button. “Marta? What the heck is with traffic on the highway? We’re practically at a standstill.”

  “Yes, sir, Chief. I was just about to message you.” Marta’s voice crackled over the speaker. “There’s a hay truck that’s lost part of its load about three miles out of town. Sheriff’s office and the highway patrol are on it, but it may be a while before things get moving again.”

  Jurisdiction was a pain in my backside, but however much I wanted to go investigate, I knew when to hang back and let the county sheriff and highway patrol handle things. “You let them know that we’re ready and willing to help if needed. It may be a few before I get back into the office, though.”

  “That’s fine. Over and out.” Marta signed off, leaving me alone with Mason and his pesky questions and a line of cars that wasn’t moving.

  “Did I piss you off?” Mason leaned forward in his seat. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just…I saw how you looked at me that night at the tavern. That night when you came in with Curtis—”

  “I know what night you meant,” I ground out. “And my personal life is just that. Personal. No one in town wants the police chief to air his private business, and I’m not about to start just because you want to go on a fishing expedition.”

  “I’m not the gossiping type.” Mason sounded wounded. “And I’m not asking you to take out advertising with the tavern or anything. Just asking you as a man—one you pushed into a wall—whether you’re into guys. Because as much as I don’t want to upset you, I want to know. For me. Not the world.”

  “For you, huh?” Warmth crept up the back of my neck. I wasn’t supposed to like hearing that, not one bit. And yet my body felt strangely overheated at his confession.

  “For me,” Mason said softly, and a tendril of longing licked up my spine. Lord, but I’d been right. He was trouble. So much trouble.

  “It’s irrelevant,” I said firmly. “That night was a mistake. I was out of line.”

  “Oh, I think it’s highly relevant.” Mason’s laugh was warm and filled my drafty Jeep. However, his next words chilled me but good. “You know we’re having Pride Night on Saturday?”

  “You’re what?” I tried to will the cars in front of us to move.

  “Pride Night. We’re going to do it once a month or maybe bi-weekly depending on turnout. We’re gay-friendly all the time, but for Pride Night, there will be special music and an emphasis on meeting new people.”

  “You’re turning into a hookup joint?” I wrapped my sarcasm around me as tight as an undersized sweater.

  “A gathering spot for the local queer community. You should come. Dip your toes in the water—”

  “I’m not dipping anything in anything.” My voice was far too loud for the enclosed space. “And this is what I mean by not relevant. It doesn’t matter what I’m into—I can’t be seen at any bar’s happy hour. Not yours, not Rowdy’s, not anywhere. No one in town wants to see their police chief out for a good time.”

  “You’re wrong.” Mason’s voice was low and gentle to my loud. “People really wouldn’t care, Flint. And you’re not your dad. You don’t need to keep to a 1950s ideal of policing. You’re a real guy, not some…mythic fantasy figure.”

  Curtis had said similar to me, a hundred times at least, and so had Steve, and I was sick of it. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me, okay? So don’t go telling me about how easy things are.”

  “Tell me.” Mason didn’t back down in the face of my anger, instead leaning forward more, voice insistent. “Tell me what it’s like to be you.”

  Tiring. So very goddamn tiring. No one, not even Curtis, had asked me that before. “You want to know what it’s like to be me on any given Saturday night? Okay, I’ll tell you. Two years ago when the Jensen teens wrapped their car around a tree on Mill Peak Road, I was the one who had to tell Mrs. Jensen that her kids would never come home. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t remember the look in her eyes. Another week some out-of-town teenagers have a party at their folks vacation place and I’ve fifteen drunken kids and their angry folks to deal with. Some summer weeks it seems we can’t have Saturday without someone blowing some body part off with fireworks on the beach. And we can’t have a weekend without at least one domestic dispute call. Every single Saturday night, that’s what I’m thinking—how can I keep my town safe? Not how can I get lucky. I want to know how I can do my job better so I never have to knock on another door like that again.”

  “That’s hard.” Mason reached over, patted my leg. It was a friendly gesture, but one people almost never tried with me. I felt the warmth of his palm clear through to the bone. “Sounds pretty damn lonely, actually.”

  “It’s not lonely. I’m never truly alone.” I had no idea why this was spewing out after years of keeping it all in. “I wake up and I start going through the list of who needs me, who needs taking care of. I worry about Vera Matthews’ daughter, all alone while Vera’s recovering in Eugene. I worry about that stoplight up at Lakeview that always wants to go out. I worry about Dolly’s son going off the wagon again. I’m never alone, not with worries like those.”

  “That’s not the same as having friends. People who care about you. People who can ease that burden of being you.”

  “It’s not a burden. It’s a privilege.” That was something my dad had always said, and I believed it with every fiber of my being. “It’s a privilege to serve my community. And an obligation. I’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of hero. I’m just trying to hold it together, period.”

  “But what if you didn’t have to?” Mason pressed. “Not every minute. What if you got to take a load off, let go of the ridiculous standards you seem to have for yourself. You could come to Pride Night, prove to yourself that the sky won’t fall if you let yourself enjoy something.”

  I want to enjoy you. The thought was there before I could call it back. I hadn’t sparred with someone like this since God knew when. Nor could I remember the last time I’d vomited words like that.

  Finally, mercifully, traffic started moving again, and we came to the turn-off for First Street that would let me bypass the mess on 101.

  “Am I dropping you at the tavern or your place?”

  Mason sighed, and I didn’t think I was imagining the disappointment there. “Tavern. We’ve got to get ready for lunch. You coming in later to eat?”

  “That’s probably not a good idea,” I admitted as I turned onto Montana, heading past th
e square and City Hall. Further down the block was the tavern, and I pulled into their lot. It wasn’t right to get a small thrill at the idea of seeing Mason again later, wasn’t right how much I’d already come to enjoy the meals he served me.

  “You have to eat sometime. And okay, so you won’t tell me about your personal life, but tell me this. If you could add one item to our menu, what would it be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I eat what’s in front of me.”

  Mason made a frustrated noise. “Consider this a request for help. You were right about the plain iced tea. What else would customers such as you like to eat?”

  “It’s the wrong time of year, but you can’t go wrong with a good beef stew. That’d go nice with that bread of yours,” I allowed. “Or maybe do a pie as a special one day—strawberries and rhubarb are in season now. My mom always used to make that in June. Folks raved about it.”

  Mason smiled like I’d handed him the biggest trout out of the river. “Come to lunch tomorrow. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

  Of that I had no doubt, but I wasn’t sure that was a good thing. But before I could tell him no, he was out of the car, giving me a little wave. “Thanks for the ride, Chief.”

  Nash, call me Nash. The offer was on my tongue, but he was already out of earshot, which was for the best. Other than Curtis and a couple other folks who had known me as kid, I was Chief Flint around here now, and that was the way it was supposed to be, no idiotic mooning over what my name would sound like on Mason Hanks’s lips.

  Seven

  Mason

  “Tell me again why we’re making beef stew in June?” Logan looked up from the carrots he was dicing. It was the day after the Chamber of Commerce meeting, and we were gathered for the morning prep work in the tavern’s kitchen.

  “I told you. We had a request.”

  “Yeah, and every time you mention it, your neck turns red.” Logan’s white chef’s jacket contrasted with his designer jeans and shoes, a reminder that he’d always been more in step with Brock’s crowd than mine.