slouched in the chair, arms folded across his chest, long legs stretched out to infinity. His thick hair was mussed as if he’d been in bed, his face shadowed.
He was a big man, huge in that inadequate chair.
Big man…holy shit, it was the hottie bassist! She searched her mind for his name. Darius. The one who’d rescued her from the mud.
How had she ended up here with Darius, and why weren’t they both in the bed? Was this the least successful one-night stand ever?
Her head throbbed. Hangover. Oh, right. In bits and pieces, it all came back to her. She’d been doing shots with Maya and Jess, and then they’d danced, and then she’d gone up to the stage to flirt with Darius and then…she wasn’t entirely sure what had happened after that. She had a vague memory of getting hit on the head, but the details were still foggy.
Darius must have brought her back here and treated her. She remembered concerned gray eyes behind a pen light. Something cold. Trying to flirt and getting shot down.
Ugh. She had to get home. As long as blood wasn’t pouring out of a gash, there was no reason she couldn’t drive back to Lost Harbor.
Carefully, she pushed the blanket off her, realizing that she still had all her clothes on. That One Stupid Thing she’d been dreaming about—yeah, that obviously hadn’t happened.
Just as well, she really couldn’t afford to do anything stupid. She’d maxed out on stupid when she’d sacrificed her career for her deadbeat dad.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and gave herself a minute to adjust. Her head was pounding, the pain centralized around a spot above her temple. She touched it and found the raised surface of a bruise.
Add one more disaster to the heap of crap that was her life.
She tiptoed across the room. He didn’t budge. Should she wake him up and thank him? Or at least get his contact info? There wasn’t really any point. She’d regressed to Naughty Kate days and completely embarrassed herself. At this point, she was better off heading home and putting this entire mortifying incident in the rearview mirror.
Seeing no sign of her purse or jacket, she gave Darius one last look, committing his hotness to memory, and slid out the door.
Dawn was already turning the wispy clouds a shy pink, like a flock of blushing maidens. The cabin was one of several arrayed behind the Moose is Loose Saloon. She saw her Saab parked where she’d left it, along with a few other vehicles.
The roadhouse had a rough-and-ready look, like an old drunk sleeping off a late night. A nearly life-sized carved moose stood watch by the door, perched on its wooden hind legs. Giving it a wide berth, she pushed open the door. Unlocked, which wasn’t surprising around here.
The place was empty and still held the detritus of last night—empty bottles, dirty floor, even a couple of customers passed out on the tables. The stage was empty of everything except Darius’ standup bass, which lay flat on its back, as if it too had drunk a little too much.
“Hello?” she called, in case anyone was around.
No one answered, so she lifted the pass-through and stepped behind the bar. Jackpot—her bag and jacket were crammed onto a shelf against the wall, along with a random assortment of other lost objects—including a black cowboy hat.
That brought back a flash of lust. Darius in that black cowboy hat, playing his heart out onstage. Flashing that wild grin at her.
She still didn’t know if he lived in Oregon. Fingers crossed, he did and would be back there soon.
Her head throbbed and she decided to skip any more trips down memory lane. She extracted her jacket and put it on, then did a quick search of her bag and found nothing missing. Most importantly, her car keys were still there.
Okay then. Things were looking up.
Outside, the fresh dawn air kissed her face, reviving her even further. She slid into her Saab and let out a deep breath of relief.
Let that be a lesson, she told herself as she turned the key in the ignition. Kate Robinson can’t afford any Stupid Things.
No matter how hot they looked in a black cowboy hat.
Emma was already up and about, tossing feed to her beloved chickens and her flock of “guard” geese, when Kate crested the sloping drive that delivered workers and occasional visitors to the farm. She wore her purple flannel pajamas and