gonna be quick to believe the real Callie is back.”
Absently, my fingers went to the thin ridge of scar tissue on my cheek. It was the strangest thing. Gibson didn’t seem to notice it at all.
“Okay, so we tell your family. And we tell the rest of the town that I’m Maya Davis.”
“Right.”
Without meaning to, I tongued the notch in my lip. I tended to do that when I was nervous. “And that Maya is your…”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It would probably help if we went along with the girlfriend story. That’ll be gossip enough for the town to chew on for a while.”
I grinned at him. “I take it Gibson Bodine with a real girlfriend isn’t something they’re used to seeing.”
He shook his head and grunted.
God, this guy. So adorable. I realized that probably meant his body count was high. A man like him would have no shortage of willing women. But it didn’t bother me. I’d had my share of flings and brief relationships. It had been a while since I’d been with anyone, but I’d never stayed with one guy for long. Mostly because I never stayed in one place.
And there I went again, thinking about Gibson all wrong. This pretend girlfriend thing was already going to my head. But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t typically go for men who were so surly and brooding. Usually that was because they were a client I was trying to coax back into productivity.
But Gibson’s gruff demeanor, brooding looks, and gravelly voice were irresistible. It was probably a good thing he’d gotten up from the couch or I might have crawled into his lap.
“I can play along,” I said. “Record producer Maya Davis meets Gibson Bodine, sexy carpenter by day, country bar singer by night. Sparks fly and the next thing you know, Bootleg Springs has a new couple to whisper about.”
He gave me a quick nod and I couldn’t tell how he felt about this plan. Did he hate the idea of having to pretend we were together? Or was he just frustrated that his neighbors wouldn’t leave him alone? It was hard to be sure.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if we tell all those people, but keep it from the rest of the town, will it stay quiet? Like you said, this is Bootleg Springs. Secrets don’t stay secret for long.”
“Sometimes they do,” he said. “And if they tell anyone, I’ll…”
“You’ll what?”
He scowled. “I don’t know, but they won’t like it.”
Gibson’s truck bounced on the gravel road, the early morning light filtering through the trees. It wasn’t long after dawn, but he’d said the Bodines always did their business over breakfast. I hugged his flannel shirt around me, my stomach churning with nerves. I’d barely slept last night. Seeing Gibson was one thing. But I was about to step in front of nearly a dozen Bootleggers and tell them the truth about who I was.
These people had kept hope alive for almost thirteen years. Left my missing-persons posters up long after the case had gone cold. Held onto the belief that I’d one day be found. This entire community had mourned when they’d heard I was dead.
It both broke my heart and made me furious at the Kendalls.
He stopped, although I couldn’t tell why. There was nothing out here. Just trees.
“Where are we going?”
“Secret hot springs,” he said. “I signed up for two hours, so we should have plenty of time.”
“You have to sign up to go to the hot springs?”
He turned off the truck. “This one, yeah.”
“Why?”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Oh,” I said, letting out a nervous—and unflattering—giggle. “I get it. To prevent interruptions. So I guess people will just think you and your secret girlfriend are getting serious.”
He grunted and opened the door.
We walked down a path in the woods, passing several large No Trespassing signs. The air grew heavy with moisture, a thin mist curling between the trees.
Voices up ahead broke the enchanted silence of the woods. Gibson clasped my hand in his and walked in front of me, blocking me from view. My heart rate kicked into overdrive, but Gibson squeezed my hand, leading me forward.
“There you are,” a male voice said. “What in the hell are we doing out here?”
“Damn it, Gibs, you said there would be breakfast."
“I’m all for meeting your lady friend, but couldn’t we have done this at Moonshine?” That sounded like Scarlett. “Where there’s caffeine. And pancakes.”
Gibson stopped and, without letting go of my hand,