They ended up at Boone’s—part tavern, part gas station, part general store, and just about the only thing on the road between Camp Firefly Falls and Briarsted, the nearest town. As it was a Sunday night and early at that, the place wasn’t too busy. A handful of patrons filled booths or stood around the pool tables. Kansas played on the jukebox in the corner, and as she watched a waitress sashay by with a slice of pie a la mode, Sarah half expected to see Dean Winchester waiting in a corner. But the star from Supernatural wasn’t hanging around with a cocky smile and a willingness to drive her away from her predicament in his ’67 Impala. She’d have to find her own way out of this.
Her actual companion wasn’t the friendly, easy-going guy she’d flirted with at the lake. Beckett’s blue-gray eyes had chilled to flint since inventory. Sarah couldn’t blame him. Nobody appreciated being lied to, and when it came down to it, he was the one responsible for the safety of both his staff and the campers those staff members would be working with. He had every right to be pissed.
Sarah didn’t hesitate to order a beer. She figured she’d need it to get through this mess and explain it in such a way that Taylor still had a job to come back to. They remained silent, studying the menu, until the waitress returned. In honor of Dean, she ordered a cheeseburger. Once the waitress left, Sarah tipped her longneck back for a healthy swig, then wrapped her hands around the bottle, as if it were some kind of anchor. “I did not lie on my application.”
“Really?” Beckett’s sarcasm thudded on the table between them like a stone.
Sarah held in a wince. How to get through this without throwing Taylor under the bus? “The truth is, it wasn’t my application.” She lifted her gaze to meet his and found him staring, his own beer halfway to his mouth.
“How’s that?”
Truth, she decided, insofar as possible. “I’m not Taylor Meadows.”
“You’re—” Evidently deciding he needed alcohol for the rest of this story, he drank deep. “Then who the hell are you?”
“Sarah. Her identical twin sister.”
Beckett only blinked. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.” To prove it, she pulled out her phone and found a recent picture of the pair of them. Taylor was a little leaner, definitely tanner, but otherwise, only someone who knew them could easily tell them apart.
He studied the picture for a long time, then turned that penetrating gaze on her. She wanted to squirm, but held still. He handed the phone back.
“Okay, so that’s one part of the mystery solved. Now you want to tell me exactly why you’re impersonating your sister?”
“Because she asked me to.” Even as the words fell from her lips, she realized how lame they sounded.
His brows winged up. “This is a thing y’all do for each other on a regular basis? Having some fun, screwing with people?”
“No. Well, not since we were about twelve, anyway. And this one time in college when she forgot to renew her driver’s license.” Shut up. You’re not helping your case.
“So why now?”
Why indeed?
To buy herself some time to think, Sarah took another pull on her beer. “She’s caught in a difficult situation in the job she’s leaving, one she’s obliged to try and accommodate because of an even more difficult situation in her personal life.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
Sarah told him the story of Jax and the untenable position Taylor was stuck in. Their food came somewhere in the middle of the tale, so they ate while she talked and he listened. Other than muttering a few choice curses about Taylor’s ex, Beckett stayed quiet until she’d finished.
“That sucks for her, it really does. Why didn’t she just call up Heather or Michael and talk to them about it?”
Sarah opened her mouth, closed it again. Because that would have been the responsible, adulting thing to do. “I didn’t ask. She came to me for help.”
“But you could’ve said no.” His tone implied she should have.
“I told myself the same thing. Right up until I said ‘yes.’ The thing is, I can never say ‘no’ to bailing Taylor out.”
“Why not?”
“I’m the oldest.”
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Beckett gave her a bland stare. “By how much?”
“Fifteen minutes, but sometimes it feels like fifteen years. I’m the responsible one who has her shit together. Kind of goes with the territory.” Sarah realized that made her sister sound like a flake. “Not that Taylor is irresponsible. When it comes to safety for climbing or rafting or any of the other things she does, she’s serious as a heart attack. It’s the money management and, I guess you’d say, interpersonal stuff, where she has trouble.”