Sassy Blonde - Stacey Kennedy Page 0,12

the doctor is just being cautious?”

Beckett nodded. “He wouldn’t listen. It’s a new policy, I guess. Symptoms of a concussion can show up seven to ten days later. His insurance now requires this for any fall.”

“I didn’t even hit my fucking head,” Hayes snapped. He couldn’t sit around for ten days. Silence wasn’t good for him. He needed to wake early, exhaust himself, and fall asleep instantly at night. Silence made his memory clearer. Too clear, bringing back all the things that haunted him.

When Hayes reached the door, Beckett said, “You realize you need to be discharged.”

Before heading out the door, Hayes grabbed his Stetson cowboy hat off the chair and shoved it back on his head. “I’m leaving. Either you’re driving me to talk to Nash or I’m taking a Lyft, but this is happening.”

Obviously agreeing for the sake of it, Beckett gestured out to the hallway. “Lead the way.”

The second Hayes entered the hallway, the nurse sitting behind the nurse’s station called, “Where are you going? You haven’t been discharged!”

Hayes didn’t look back and marched his way out of the damn hospital. Sure, he’d hear about this later. River Rock was a small community, and he knew that nurse from somewhere but couldn’t place her. The gossip train would get ahold of this and run with it, but he didn’t do hospitals.

Within minutes, Hayes’s ass was planted back in Beckett’s truck, and they’d left the hospital behind.

Beckett remained silent until twenty minutes later when they rolled up to River Rock’s downtown. Quaint brick storefronts hugged the street. The little town had everything from Blackshaw Meats, which was a division of the Blackshaw family’s cattle company; to the local watering hole, Kinky Spurs, that catered to the twenty- and thirty-somethings of River Rock; to the animal hospital and the police station all on the one road. Beckett only broke the silence when they’d passed the police station where Hayes had started his career before moving to Denver.

“She’s sweet with you,” Beckett said.

Hayes glanced sidelong. “Who?”

“Maisie.” Beckett looked away from the road to give Hayes a wide smile. “She’s got a soft spot for you.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Yeah, friends, right.”

Sarcasm dripped off Beckett’s statement. Hayes snorted. “Got something to say?” He’d been friends with Beckett far longer than he had Maisie, and Beckett didn’t miss much.

Beckett shifted against his seat and gave a soft laugh. “Nah, nothing to add here.”

Not needing Beckett pointing out that something between him and Maisie had changed, Hayes turned his attention back to the window as thick evergreen trees rushed by. Hayes wanted Maisie. In his life. In his bed. But that would only complicate everything. Besides, Maisie was his dead wife’s best friend. There had to be some rule book that suggested that was a bad idea. But he also knew Laurel and was well-versed in her heart. She’d want him to be happy, and in the deepest parts of his heart that would always belong to Laurel, he knew that if he made any other woman happy, Laurel would want that woman to be Maisie.

Hayes shook the thought from his head. The idea was terrible, the complications great. He cared about Maisie. Deeply. She’d pulled him out of the darkest time of his life, and he owed her everything. But she didn’t deserve to be pulled into his still-messy life. Especially since there was a lie hanging between them.

One that would destroy everything.

Maisie believed Laurel had been murdered in a robbery gone wrong. That’s what the media was told and what the newspapers printed. The truth was, Laurel had been murdered by a gang member on a case Hayes was working.

The lie was so embedded now, even Hayes had trouble finding the truth anymore. He couldn’t risk Maisie knowing he kept the truth from her, in fear she’d never forgive him. He couldn’t risk losing her.

When Beckett finally pulled into the long driveway that worked its way up to the log house and the barn, Hayes refocused his thoughts. He needed to figure out how to get Nash on his side. Hayes got out of the truck before Beckett could even turn the engine off. He made it halfway to the barn when a firm, “Hayes,” was said behind him.

Great. That hard tone didn’t bode well for Hayes’s plan. He turned, finding Nash behind him, arms crossed over his chest. “Hey.”

While a few years younger than Hayes, Nash could hold his own against anyone. Fit and strong, Nash was a