The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting (32 page)

“I can’t do it,” she sobbed. “I can’t do it. I know what it’s like, and I can’t do it to another person. Especially not you.”

“Do what?” he said, jerking at the cuffs again. He needed to get free. Then he could touch her, comfort her, figure out what in the hell was going on in her head. “Miranda, get me out of here—”

“No,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m not going to do it. With the pictures. Put them on the Internet.” Her eyes were wild and glassy. “Even a jerk like you doesn’t deserve that.”

“Deserve what? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” she yelled at him, and looked as if she wanted to throw the camera at his head. “Quit playing dumb, Dane. You already ruined my life once. I won’t let you ruin it again because I was stupid enough to fall in love with you. And I won’t ruin
yours either.” She flung the camera down at the end of the bed. “I’ll call someone at the ranch to come get you in a half hour. And don’t come looking for me or call me and try to explain, because I don’t want to hear it. We’re done, you and I. This time for good.”

She wiped her cheeks and left.

He stared after her, but she didn’t come back. Maybe she wouldn’t this time. What had she been going on about? Something with pictures and him ruining her life. It made no sense—he hadn’t seen her since he last left Bluebonnet right after high school, and she’d been the one to turn him away, not the other way around. He didn’t understand, and Miranda had been incomprehensible.

She’d been totally heartbroken, too, and it clenched at his heart. What was so wrong that she wanted to hurt him to try and fix it?

She said she’d fallen in love with him. He’d fallen for her, too—hell, he’d been in love with her for the past nine years and was just too damn dumb to see it. Whatever she’d felt, she needed to destroy it, he thought, and kicked the camera. It shot against the wall and shattered into several pieces.

He wanted to go after her. Have her explain herself. Shake some sense into her. Hold her and stroke her hair until the tears went away, and fix her problems for her. He wasn’t even mad anymore, just downright confused. Dane couldn’t stay mad—not when she cried as if her heart was breaking. Hell, her sobs were breaking his heart. All he wanted was to comfort her.

But he couldn’t do anything, because she’d chosen to cut him out of her life in this bizarre manner. He was stuck until someone
came to rescue him. And so he sat, and waited, and seethed with worry for Miranda.

Someone knocked at the door a short time later. “Come in,” he shouted, wishing he had something to cover up with. “I’m in the bedroom.”

Footsteps, and then a tall, lean figure leaned in the doorway of the bedroom. Cool eyes narrowed at him, and Colt rubbed his head. “’Preciate the offer, bro, but you ain’t my type.”

“Very funny,” Dane said, jerking at the handcuffs again. “Just get me down from here so I can find Miranda and paddle her ass until she tells me what’s going on.”

The keys had been left in the nightstand, and it took mere seconds for Dane to be freed. He rubbed his wrists and then dressed without a word. When he put his shoes back on, he went over to the camera, and stomped it to bits, taking out some of his aggression on it.

“Pics of your bad side?”

He turned and scowled at his friend. “You know anything about Miranda Hill and something that ruined her life?”

“Nope,” Colt said. “You fuckin’ her?”

He narrowed his eyes at Colt. “She’s my girlfriend. Was my girlfriend.”

Colt scowled. “Fucking a
client
?”

“It’s not like that. And it’s not fucking. Quit saying that or I’m going to punch it out of your mouth. Hear me?”

Colt scowled for a moment longer, then nodded. “Her prissy friend knows something ’bout this. She came by to yell at me a couple days ago.”

“Then let’s pay her a visit,” Dane said grimly.

* * *

“Why am I not surprised it’s a beauty parlor?” Colt said with disgust as they pulled up in front of the bright pink sign and shop window painted with garishly bright flowers. “Shoulda known.”

Dane vaulted from the jeep as soon as it stopped, barely pausing to clear the curb. The sign in the window was off, but there was a light on inside. He banged on the door repeatedly. She had to be inside. Had to be.

After two minutes of straight banging, he heard someone inside and then the rest of the lights flicked on. A familiar blonde glared out at him from the other side of the window. “I’m closed. Come back tomorrow.”

“I’m looking for Miranda,” he shouted through the glass.

“Not here. And even if she was, I wouldn’t let her talk to the likes of you.” She gave him a cool look and flicked the light off again, clearly intending to leave him standing out there.

He banged on the door again, harder. After a moment, Beth Ann flicked the lights on again. “Don’t make me call the cops.”

“We just want to talk,” Colt said gruffly at his side, his gaze hot on the blonde. “’Bout Miranda.”

She scowled at both of them but hesitated. “I’m not leaving my salon open late if no one’s getting their hair cut, understand?”

“Fine,” said Colt, and gave a crisp nod.

Beth Ann opened the door and heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you two make me regret this.”

Dane walked into the shop after Colt. It was cute and bright and covered in bottles of all kinds of girly stuff. It smelled faintly floral, and he recognized the scent—Miranda’s shampoo. Just
the scent sent a bolt of unhappiness through him. “Where’s Miranda?”

“Probably halfway to Houston by now,” Beth Ann said, and picked up the pink leopard cape. “Who am I cutting?”

Colt removed his hat and sat in the chair, and Beth Ann gave a delicate snort. Colt’s hair was already cut razor short and close to his scalp. She must have been a sadist, because she put that ugly pink cape on Colt and pumped the foot bar on the chair to adjust the height.

Colt glared into the mirror.

“Houston?” Dane said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms tight over his chest. “Why the hell is she going to Houston?”

Beth Ann started the clippers and began to run them over the back of Colt’s neck. “Because she’s moving there? You need to listen when a girl tells you something, Dane Croft. You’re not God’s gift to women.”

Dane frowned at her. “What are you talking about? Why is Miranda moving? She just moved in.”

In the chair, wearing the pink cape, Colt sat stone-faced, watching his reflection in the mirror. His eyes shifted a fraction, and Dane realized that it wasn’t his reflection he was watching—it was the perfect blonde his gaze was focused on. Watching her like an eagle sights prey. He wondered if Beth Ann had any idea that Colt was watching her so carefully.

But he didn’t have time for this shit, and Beth Ann wasn’t volunteering information about Miranda, which was why he was here, not to see Colt staring at the blonde with possessive eyes. “Well? Why is Miranda moving if she just bought a house?”

“Oh, honey,” Beth Ann said in a tone that was a little sorry and a lot mocking. “Bless your heart. She wasn’t moving in, she was moving out. She couldn’t wait to leave this darn town. Been waiting nine years to get out.”

“Nine years? Why?”

“Because of those damn photos—” she snapped, then pursed her glossy lips. “Sorry. Language. But you know what I’m talking about.”

“No,” he gritted. “I don’t.”

She narrowed her blue eyes at him, then moved across the tiny salon to a laptop on a small desk. As she bent over, he watched Colt’s expression narrow a bit more, as if his world had suddenly focused in on a soft pair of hips in a jean skirt.

“This,” Beth Ann said, moving to the side and showing him the screen. “This is why she couldn’t wait to leave.”

He moved forward and stared. It was a horrible website, with an ugly background and noisy graphics on it. The URL read “Boobs of Bluebonnet” and he stared at a picture of Miranda’s perky breasts, that beauty mark under her left one staring back at him. Some asshole had his hand down her pants and his other underneath her breasts, as if plumping them for the camera. Even worse, her head was tilted back in ecstasy.

“Who’s the dick?” he growled, the urge to beat the shit out of someone rising. His fists clenched, hard.

Beth Ann frowned at him and scrolled the website down to the next photo. This one clearly showed the face of the man as Miranda knelt before him, with his hand twisted in her hair as if she were about to suck him off. “You are, you stupid fool. And you ruined her life.”

* * *

When they left the salon, Dane sat in the car, numb. Colt drove, every once in a while scratching at his neck for phantom hairs left from the shave.

Dane didn’t know what to think anymore.

Miranda thought he’d ruined her life. She thought he’d taken the photos. Thought he was getting some sort of psycho revenge on her when he’d left all those years ago. Beth Ann had spilled the whole story, though she’d clearly been reluctant to divulge her best friend’s secrets. She was only telling him, she said, what anyone in town would tell him. How Miranda’s mom had had a nervous breakdown and Miranda had had to run the store until she recovered. The rumors. The nickname.

The photos had followed her for the last nine years. And all this time he’d never known. No wonder her mom had freaked when he’d entered the store. No wonder Miranda had taken his picture and said she’d wanted to ruin his life.

Hell, he didn’t blame her. He knew what it was like in small towns, and Bluebonnet was one of the smallest. You knew everyone, and everyone knew
everything
about you. And everyone knew Miranda’s breasts intimately.

God, poor Miranda. She’d been so strong to quietly suffer all these years and put up with shit for her mother’s sake. Beth Ann had explained that she’d gotten her master’s from nearby Sam Houston State University and had applied for jobs, eventually landing a plush one at a big corporation in downtown Houston. Beth Ann wouldn’t say where.

He didn’t blame her…and at the same time, he wanted to shake the news out of her.

“Will she be back?” he’d asked, feeling like the world had just fallen out from under his feet.

“Don’t know,” said Beth Ann. “I have her number, but she’s turned her phone off for the move. She said she’d call me in a few weeks, when she’s settled. Wants to get a fresh start first.” Her hurt was obvious, and she gave Dane an accusatory look. She’d been closed out of Miranda’s life, too, and it was no thanks to him. Judging from the look on her face, Beth Ann wouldn’t be forgetting that anytime soon.

He didn’t care. All he could see was Miranda’s tearful face, sobbing as she left the camera with him. Even though she’d wanted revenge…she hadn’t been able to do it.

She’d said she’d fallen in love with him. It was like a knife twisting in his gut. He’d loved her all these years and she’d thought the worst of him.

He thought back—the pictures must have happened at the after-graduation party at Chad’s house. He’d never known there was a camera in the closet—he’d been too caught up in the beautiful girl in his arms and the fact that he was finally, finally getting to touch her. He’d had a call that day from the NHL, and between that and Miranda, he just wasn’t thinking about anything else. His head had been full of hockey hopes and dreams and he’d been cocky and arrogant.

And he hadn’t realized.

Rage pulsed through him and he slammed his fist into the passenger side of the car. “Fuck!”

“Tryin’ to deploy my air bag?” Colt asked casually.

“I want to punch the fuck out of that asshole who did this to her,” Dane snarled. “I want to slam his face into the ground and make him realize how much he hurt her.”

He’d hurt her…and Dane couldn’t fix it. He wanted to fix it, and didn’t know how.

Colt gave him a long look, and then turned the car back around.

“Where are we going?”

“To the bar. We’re gonna ask some friends how our high school buddies are doing.”

Dane nodded, rubbing his knuckles, contemplating another jab to the panel, or maybe putting his fist through the glass. Her pain ate away at him, gnawed in his belly and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He’d somehow caused this. Some jackass had ruined her life, and he’d been completely clueless about the entire thing.

Colt glanced over. “Why didn’t you say something? ’Bout you and Miranda?”

His jaw tensed. Dane stared out the window, his mood black. “I was going to tell Grant first. Get the bad shit over with. Then I was going to let you know.”

There was a long moment of silence in the cab. Then Colt spoke again. “You know I don’t care who you’re fucking around with as long you keep it on the DL.”

Unusually chatty for Colt. Dane knew his friend was pissed that he hadn’t been looped in. When he got mad, he got talky. “Yeah, and as soon as Grant finds out I’ve been sleeping with a client, he’ll blow his lid.”

“He’s concerned about the business, that’s all. You planning on fucking all our clients?”

Dane scowled at his friend.

“Exactly my point. So this ain’t a big deal. Just tell the man and be done with it.”

He should have. Of course, now Miranda was gone, and it was too late.

Bluebonnet boasted exactly one place that served alcohol. It was a Tex-Mex restaurant in a converted house, but it had a bar, and that was good enough for most of the residents of Bluebonnet. After hours, the men in town showed up to drink a few beers, watch sports on the TV on the wall, or rack up a few balls in the town’s only pool table.

Dane walked up to the bar, ordered a longneck. He chatted with the bartender for a few minutes. The man—who’d likely been tending the same bar since Dane was last in town nine years ago—was all too eager to hear stories of Dane’s time in the NHL. He told a few stories, had the men at the bar smiling, and then eased into other topics.

“Seems like everyone still lives here in town.”

“Yup. Seems like.”

“Chad Mickleson still live around here?”

“Yup.”

Dane nodded, took a sip of his beer, tried to act casual. He had a guess as to who had taken those pictures, and he wanted to talk to the guy. “You know how I can get ahold of him?”