Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) Read Online Free Page B

tricks and make everyone else look bad until you land on your face and humiliate yourself.”
    Garret threw back his head and laughed. So he was a little rusty in things. Whitey wouldn’t let him forget the tumble he’d taken on the mountains the first week he was home. They’d been snowboarding, taking bets as usual, and Garret had seriously lost his when he’d missed his landing after performing a three-sixty and falling face first.
    It felt good to be home. He found solace in the arms of the mountains. The guys had no idea the baggage he carried. They wouldn’t treat him differently if they knew. Once, he’d share that baggage and beer around a campfire with friends. They would listen, laugh, then get drunk. Now he kept those burdens to himself.
    Most days, he felt normal. Lord knew he did everything he could to appear normal. Only when he dwelled on the turmoil in his mind did he feel isolated, and he brought that on himself.
    Garret drained his beer, slammed the bottle on an empty table, and handed his cue stick to Chayton. Slapping Andy on the back, he said, “Now this old man is taking his ass to bed.”
    • • •
    Reagan’s gut clenched as she thought of Ray, but she didn’t have words to mourn him as she walked back to the condo with Naomi.
    Naomi went right to unpacking. Reagan sat alone on the bed in her room and stared at her tattered suitcase.
    She hoped to learn more about Ray. Her mother hadn’t told her anything and had grown hateful when she couldn’t convince Reagan to stay in Florida. Her disdain only made Reagan more eager to make this trip and discover how their relationship went wrong.
    Determined to stay as long as necessary, she scooted to the floor and unzipped her suitcase, lifting a shirt in an attempt to unpack. Limbs heavy and weak, she dropped the shirt. Pulling out a sock, the same heaviness overwhelmed her. She watched the sock fall into the suitcase amid other clothes, safe and cushioned among friends.
    She hadn’t felt safe and cushioned in a long time, if ever. She’d wasted the last few years of her life clinging to an anchor that swayed with the slightest flurry, never able to fit in anywhere, even the graphic design career she’d put her whole life into. But besides losing a coveted promotion and living with a dirty cheating slimeball, her life had been tame and boring.
    In another attempt to unpack and make herself at home, she flung a sweater across the room, away from the safety net of the luggage. It landed a few feet away and she reached over and grabbed it, returning it to the case.
    She wanted to be here. She did. But she couldn’t unpack. Not yet.
    If she unpacked, she might actually settle, and she never wanted to settle again.
    She’d brought one bag, stuffing sweaters and shirts and pants into it just as her life was stuffed into the nooks and crannies of emotional baggage. One bag versus Naomi’s five. She didn’t want a lot of clothes to tie her down and if she stayed longer, she could shop for more. With the money Ray had given her, she wanted to shop for more.
    She stood and plopped on the bed, falling into the mound of pillows. A small stuffed moose, propped against the pillows, bounced up and fell over. She gathered him in the crook of her arm like a baby and nuzzled his neck.
    “You’re cute,” she whispered. “Who are you?” She flicked a finger across his floppy horns, wishing he could answer the question she’d been asking herself for the past few years. He wore a crocheted sweater with a moose stitched to the front and his arms stayed open as if waiting for a hug.
    Rising from the bed, she kicked off her boots and paced the room with the moose in her arms. Although it was the master bedroom, Reagan couldn’t tell if it’d been the room where Ray slept. The tan walls and dark wooden furniture were masculine but presented many feminine touches — a sparkly music box on the dresser, the stuffed animal, mounds of pillows, burgundy sheets, and