It hadn’t been anything dramatic; he’d simply stopped calling Brynne, stopped passing her notes, walking her home after class, that kind of thing.

Yeah, he’d been a mega jerk.

He’d also been seventeen.

He said as much to Sara, who was not appeased.

“And now you’re nearly thirty-five. What’s your excuse this time?”

“You,” Eli said stiffly, “are not being helpful.” He pushed back his chair, stood. He had a meeting with Dan Summers in his office in fifteen minutes to go over the information Dan had culled from Freddie Lansing’s personal laptop.

“Call Brynne, Eli. Apologize. If she’s willing to speak to you again, then listen and keep your slapdash psychological insights to yourself.”

Eli bent, kissed his sister lightly on the top of her head. “Interesting speech, Sara. Especially coming from a woman so burned-out on men that she won’t even have coffee with a guy, let alone risk loving one.”

“Get out,” Sara said, still testy. “I don’t want to talk to you right now, Eli. In fact, I want to do you bodily harm!”

“Since you have access to a Glock, I won’t argue.”

Festus was already pressing his nose to the back door. Poor critter wasn’t used to this much human interaction.

He wanted to escape, and so did Eli.

So he left, feeling more frustrated and more confused than when he’d arrived.

BRYNNE HAD FLED to her apartment when Eli dropped her off behind the restaurant, without giving him so much as a backward glance.

Upstairs, she’d rushed into her bathroom, splashed her face repeatedly with cold water and combed her hair.

Only then, having gathered her dignity around her like a blanket, did she go downstairs.

Clay was gone.

The lunch rush had slowed to a crawl, and the few customers occupying the tables and booth were late arrivals, having missed the drama.

Miranda sat at the far end of the counter, next to the jukebox, playing one of her endless games of solitaire. Frank, the fry cook, was washing glasses behind the bar.

“He left?” she asked Miranda, in a low voice.

“You mean that handsome fella from Bean Town?” Miranda countered lightly. “Yeah, he’s gone. Had to get back to Kalispell and catch a plane.”

“That’s it?” Brynne almost hissed. “He just drops in here, wrecks everything and then leaves?”

“He said he’d call or text later,” Miranda said, her tone noncommittal. “Where is that damn four of spades?”

“The bastard,” Brynne said.

Miranda looked up, smiled. “A bastard he may be, but he’s a good-looking one, that’s for sure. Doesn’t measure up to the sheriff, of course, but he’s mighty easy on the eyes, just the same.”

“He’s a liar and a cheat!” Brynne found a cloth and began scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the counter.

Miranda sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, that’s the way some men are.”