Dear Boonie,
I hope your holiday was good. I feel sort of stupid saying this, but are you getting my letters? Did I do something to make you mad? Maybe I was reading too much into that night together . . . I really thought you’d stay in touch.
Now I feel stupid for even writing this. Obviously you’re choosing not to reply and I know you must’ve had some kind of leave by now. I heard your mom’s back in Montana, so maybe you went there?
I hope your Christmas was good. Mom and Dad gave me a gift card to buy some clothes, although I’ve got no idea where the money came from. Things are still tight here since Mom’s hours were cut. I’m chipping in to pay the bills now—it takes most of what I earn.
Unless I hear from you again, I’m going to stop writing. It’s been nearly three months without a letter. I still have some dignity left.
Your friend (or at least I thought I was),
Darcy
_______
November 10
Dear Boonie，
I really debated about writing this, but I wanted to let you know I’m getting married. You’ll probably think I’m crazy. Here’s the thing—Farell has changed a lot this past year and a half. He’s quieter now, and he doesn’t take life for granted the same way.
Back in high school I loved him, but then he cheated on me and . . . well, you know. We both learned a lot since then, and like Renee says, you can’t judge a man on just one action. Anyway, I know he’ll never cheat on me again—at least, he can’t cheat on me like he did with Allie. I probably shouldn’t go into details, you don’t want to hear them and it’s embarrassing.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that what we have is different than I expected from my life, but it’s good. I’m happy. I hope you can be happy for me.
And yes, I know you probably won’t even read this. That’s okay, because I’m not writing it for you, really. I just need to put this part of my life behind me.
Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy,
Darcy
Chapter Three
COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
DARCY
“You up for a walk-in?” Kelly asked, popping her head into the break room. I glanced up from my cup of noodles, hoping I didn’t have one hanging off my chin. “He’s hot as hell. Lori’s got an opening but he asked for you by name. Said he got a referral. Wants an eighty-minute massage.”
I ran the math mentally—a longer session would throw my schedule off, because theoretically it would take up two full slots . . . but that was only if I had two clients to fill them. Right now I didn’t.
“Sure, I can take him,” I said, wiping off my face and studying my soup mournfully. I hadn’t had time to eat much, but it’s not like ramen technically qualified as food anyway. “He look like a big tipper?”
She shrugged.
“He looks like a sex god and you get to touch him all over. Who cares how he tips?”
I sighed. Kelly and I might be the same age, but I felt like I was decades older than her sometimes. Of course, she still lived in her mom’s basement and went dancing every weekend. She was fond of pointing out that pretty girls don’t need money to party—that’s what men are for. Buying drinks. Well, buying drinks and occasionally killing spiders.
These days I preferred paying my own way, thank you very much. (I could kill my own spiders, too.)
“Give me five and I’ll come get him,” I said. “Let me check the room first.”
“Sounds good,” she said with a wink. “That’ll be enough time to get his number out of him. Maybe he’s free to come out tonight with us? You’re meeting me at ten, down at the Ironhorse. No excuses this time.”
It took everything I had not to roll my eyes. Five minutes later I’d checked my room, straightened the sheets on the massage table, and turned on the built-in warmer. A small fountain bubbled happily on my supply cabinet and a candle flickered on a shelf in the corner.
Ready.
I pasted on a professional smile and walked down the hall to the reception area—then I stopped dead in my tracks. Riley Boone sat on a chair in the waiting room, one muscular leg propped up casually across his knee and a smug grin on his big stupid sexy face.
Absolutely no fucking way.
“Long time, no see,’’ he drawled. “How’s it goin’, Darce? I hear you have good hands. Nice and strong, never too tired to finish . . .”
“Uh uh,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “Kelly, he’s all yours. I don’t need this shit today.”
“Oh, I think you do,” he said, eyes hard. He stood up slowly and walked toward me, dominating the room. “We got unfinished business.”
I swallowed, eyes darting toward the leather vest he wore. Boonie had joined the Silver Bastards motorcycle club right after he got out of the Marines. He’d never been an easygoing guy, but his time in the service made him tougher. Meaner. Mix that with his club affiliation and suddenly you had some real potential for ugliness . . .
Did Farell owe the MC money? Probably.
Shit.
“Okay, let’s go,’’ I said, my voice shaking. Once upon a time he hadn’t scared me. Times change. “C’mon through. Room three.”
Kelly cleared her throat nervously.
“I’ll be out here. Just let me know if you need anything, Darcy. Sign says we reserve the right to refuse service.” She glared at Boonie, reminding me why I loved her so much. Was Boonie hot? Absolutely. But Kelly would always put a friend ahead of a pretty face. Not that he was pretty, exactly . . . he was a little too rugged for that. Even more rugged since he’d broken his nose.
Don’t pay attention to what he looks like! Been there, done that. It didn’t end well, remember?
“It’s all good,” I told her, although I wasn’t exactly confident. “He’ll behave, won’t you Boonie?”
He gave me a chin lift and I knew he had no intention of behaving. I had a pretty good idea why he was waiting for me today—it had nothing to do with therapeutic massage. Shit. How long would Farell’s baggage weigh me down?
“Come on back,’’ I told him. “Third room on the left.”
Holding the waiting room door open, I gestured for him to walk through. I hadn’t seen him for three months at least. We’d run into each other occasionally in Callup, but I’d been avoiding town since I left Farell.
My new life was here in Coeur d’Alene and I liked it that way.
Boonie stepped through the door and started down the hall. I didn’t deliberately look at his ass, I swear. But as he strolled past me I couldn’t help myself. His jeans hugged his heavy thighs, cradling a world class butt I’d never gotten to fully explore. Tight and muscular, not big but not flat, either. Throw in the broad shoulders and aura of control, and there wasn’t a woman on earth who wouldn’t spontaneously ovulate when she saw him.
Unfortunately, covering that strong, broad back of his was a leather vest with a miner’s skull and the words “Silver Bastards MC,” branding him as someone I should avoid at all costs.