around on these curved steel wires painted green.”
“I had one like that,” Dean says, tilting his head fondly. “They’re for teaching kids to count, right?
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, trying to budge the lump in my throat. “I loved that thing so much.”
Dean frowns, catching the dark note in my voice. “What happened to it?”
I peel the label off my beer bottle, stalling for time. “I came home from school one day to find my mom cleaned out my room. She’d thrown out the abacus. Said math wasn’t a good vocation for girls. Gave me a doll and told me to ask Val to teach me to make clothes for it.”
“Damn.” Dean takes a sip of his beer. “I’m sorry. That’s really shitty.”
“Thanks.” Talking about this is giving me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I try to recall what we were talking about so I can steer the conversation back there. “Tell me about the rest of your family’s stuffed animals. What did Cooper have?”
Dean studies me for a split second, then takes his cue. “A cow. I’m positive Mom kept it.”
“Cooper had a plush cow?”
“Yep. Moorio.”
I laugh, but something about that snags in my brain. My expression must give something away because Dean gives me a sharp nod. “Yeah. Same thing crossed my mind.”
My heart stutters in my chest. How did he know what I was thinking?
“You mean your email hacker saying Cooper was going to do a movie about mooing competitions?”
“Exactly.” Dean’s brow furrows. “I mean…it could be a coincidence.”
But he doesn’t think it is. I can read that plain as day on his face. I take another sip of beer and remind myself to tread carefully. “Has anything else happened lately?” I ask. “Anything suspicious, I mean.”
He shrugs and lifts his beer again. “Remember that chef I told you about? Becca La Blanc, the one who asked about flying out early for next week’s interviews?”
I try to remember all the test footage we reviewed with Lauren. “The one from New Orleans? The gorgeous blonde who sent all the headshots with the box of macarons?”
“Yeah, her. She bowed out.”
“What? When?”
He scratches a thumbnail over a fleck of something on the table, not meeting my eyes. “A couple hours ago. Said she got a letter in the mail. Something suggesting she shouldn’t get mixed up with the Judson family. She wouldn’t tell us much, except that she wanted to withdraw her name.”
“But—that’s libel.” I think. I’m not up on all my legal terminology. “Did you ask for a copy of the letter?”
“Lauren’s the one who talked to her,” he says. “I guess Becca was pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. Didn’t say too much. She wasn’t our top pick anyway, but still.”
“I can’t believe it.” But in a way, I can. It’s getting clearer someone doesn’t want Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge to get off the ground. “What does the PI say? Or the police—have you told them yet?”
“I left a message with Lieutenant Lovelin,” he says. “And emailed the PI. There’s not much to go on, though.”
I can tell Dean’s more worried about this than he’s letting on. I see it in his furrowed brow, in the set of his shoulders as he gazes out over the horizon. The sun’s sinking lower now, a glowing orange gumball gobbled up by jagged mountain teeth.
Dean drains his beer and stands up. “I should get home.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Roughneck lifts his head as I get to my feet, but he doesn’t move from his patch of fading sun.
Dean glances out at the open meadow, at the cinder path leading toward the lodge and the other banks of cabins. “I can walk from here. No need to trespass through your personal space.”
The laugh that slips out is tinny and self-conscious. “You afraid I’ll jump you if I get you in my house?”
He looks at me for a long, long time. “If you must know, yeah.”
I blink. “What?”
“Not that you’ll jump me.” He drags his hand through his hair, and there’s that sheepish look again. “But yeah, you and me being alone together in a private cabin after dark…that seems a little risky, doesn’t it?”
The question hangs there between us for a few beats. I think I stop breathing. “I can keep my hands off you, Dean.” I’m trying for cool and aloof, but even I hear the wobble in my voice.
“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m more worried about keeping my hands off you.”
“Oh.”
He’s studying my face