Hayes glanced sidelong. “Who?”
“Maisie.” Beckett looked away from the road to give Hayes a wide smile. “She’s got a soft spot for you.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“Yeah, friends, right.”
Sarcasm dripped off Beckett’s statement. Hayes snorted. “Got something to say?” He’d been friends with Beckett far longer than he had Maisie, and Beckett didn’t miss much.
Beckett shifted against his seat and gave a soft laugh. “Nah, nothing to add here.”
Not needing Beckett pointing out that something between him and Maisie had changed, Hayes turned his attention back to the window as thick evergreen trees rushed by. Hayes wanted Maisie. In his life. In his bed. But that would only complicate everything. Besides, Maisie was his dead wife’s best friend. There had to be some rule book that suggested that was a bad idea. But he also knew Laurel and was well-versed in her heart. She’d want him to be happy, and in the deepest parts of his heart that would always belong to Laurel, he knew that if he made any other woman happy, Laurel would want that woman to be Maisie.
Hayes shook the thought from his head. The idea was terrible, the complications great. He cared about Maisie. Deeply. She’d pulled him out of the darkest time of his life, and he owed her everything. But she didn’t deserve to be pulled into his still-messy life. Especially since there was a lie hanging between them.
One that would destroy everything.
Maisie believed Laurel had been murdered in a robbery gone wrong. That’s what the media was told and what the newspapers printed. The truth was, Laurel had been murdered by a gang member on a case Hayes was working.
The lie was so embedded now, even Hayes had trouble finding the truth anymore. He couldn’t risk Maisie knowing he kept the truth from her, in fear she’d never forgive him. He couldn’t risk losing her.
When Beckett finally pulled into the long driveway that worked its way up to the log house and the barn, Hayes refocused his thoughts. He needed to figure out how to get Nash on his side. Hayes got out of the truck before Beckett could even turn the engine off. He made it halfway to the barn when a firm, “Hayes,” was said behind him.
Great. That hard tone didn’t bode well for Hayes’s plan. He turned, finding Nash behind him, arms crossed over his chest. “Hey.”
While a few years younger than Hayes, Nash could hold his own against anyone. Fit and strong, Nash was a retired bull rider. He had messy brown hair and sharp blue eyes. Next to him, dripping saliva onto Nash’s worn cowboy boots, was his loyal yellow Labrador Retriever, Gus.
“Care to explain why you’re here,” Nash demanded.
Beckett strode by, patting Hayes on the shoulder. “I delivered your message,” he said to Nash. “And he didn’t listen, like I said was going to happen.”
Nash’s eyes narrowed on Hayes. “Time off is nonnegotiable. You’re taking the ten days. Go home.”
Most men cowered if Hayes glared at them. Nash glared back. Hayes had two choices: accept the vacation time or quit. The latter wasn’t an option. The job was a good second best to his love of the law. “What will it take for me to lessen that time?” he asked, softening his expression, hoping that worked in his favor.
“A note from the doctor saying one hundred percent that you do not have a concussion,” Nash said. “Otherwise, don’t step foot on the farm. Clear?”
“Yeah, clear,” Hayes muttered. Fuck. No doctor would sign such a note. The liability was too much of a risk.
“He’s a nasty one,” Nash said, obviously changing the subject for Hayes’s benefit. Nash studied the gelding out in the field before addressing Hayes again. “We’ll start some groundwork with him while you’re away, but I take it you want us to leave him for you?”
Hayes gave a firm nod. “You’re damn right I do. That horse and I have unfinished business.”
Before Nash could reply, tires crunching against gravel had Hayes glancing over his shoulder. A police cruiser slowly made its way up the driveway.
“Expecting a visit from the cops?” Hayes asked Nash.
“Not that I know of,” Nash replied.
When the cruiser came to a stop next to Hayes, Darryl Wilson, the scruffy-bearded, dark brown-haired cop rolled down his window. Not only had Darryl graduated high school with Beckett and Hayes, Hayes and Darryl had gone through police academy together. They’d been close friends until Laurel’s death. Hayes couldn’t face the reminder of the job he loved and the life he’d never have again. Darryl was also married to Maisie’s cousin, Penelope. With his elbow resting on his open window, Darryl said to Hayes, “You left the hospital without a doctor’s discharge.” Darryl glanced at Nash. “Hey, Nash.”
Nash nodded in greeting.
Narrowing his eyes, Hayes folded his arms. “Do tell: How did you find out I was even in the hospital?”
Darryl offered a bemused smile, warming his amber eyes. “Your nurse is the wife of the sergeant.”
Damn. That’s how he knew her. “Fuck. Whose wife?”