Page 97 of Confessions

“I just want things straight.”

“Me, too.”

He stared at her a long minute, then took the glass from her outstretched hand and lifted it a bit. “Cheers.”

“Here’s mud in your eye.”

“Better than a foot in the mouth, I guess.” He smiled then, a long slow smile that touched a corner of her heart, before he placed the glass to his lips.

Carlie’s heart did a stupid little somersault and she knew that she’d misjudged her reaction to him. She’d hoped that after meeting him, her fascination for him would fade, but instead, the more she was with him, the more intrigued she was and try as she might, she couldn’t forget that single, long kiss.

“I heard you plan to leave town,” he said. She guessed his information had come from Kevin. “That you’ve got big plans to model. L.A. or New York. Right?”

She felt heat flood her face. “It’s a dream,” she admitted. “I worked on the school paper, taking pictures. And so after I graduated, I took a job in Coleville at a studio, just doing grunt work—filing, typing, developing negatives—that sort of thing. And then the owner of the studio—his name is Rory—asked me to pose for him. So I did.”

Clouds gathered in his eyes. “So the rest is history?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Hardly.”

“No contract with the Ford Agency?”

“Not yet.” She relaxed a little. He was teasing her and the twinkle in his hazel eyes wasn’t malicious—just interested.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to get out,” he admitted, then drained his drink.

“You don’t?” She didn’t believe him. Kevin had acted as if Gold Creek was the end-all and be-all. She’d suspected that he hadn’t always believed it, but that once he’d lost his basketball scholarship and his dreams in the process, he’d forced himself to settle for a job in the mill and now was rationalizing...or pouring himself into a bottle. Though she’d never voiced her opinion, she thought Kevin spent too many nights on the third stool of the Silver Horseshoe Saloon holding up the bar and watching sports on television. He’d even given up on city-league basketball with friends. She expected his brother to feel the same.

“Sure. I don’t plan to hang out here any longer than necessary.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“See as much of the world as I can. Maybe join the army. My dad thinks I should enlist first and let the military pay for my schooling when I get out.”

“You want to go into the army?” she repeated.

“Why not?” He slanted her an uneven grin. “You know, join the army, see the world.”

“I don’t know. It sounds so...rigid and well, kind of like prison.”

“It’ll be a challenge.”

“You have a thing for guns, or something?”

“I have a thing for adventure.” His eyes glimmered a fraction as his teeth crunched down on the ice cube. All at once she could imagine him creeping through some foreign jungle, rifle slung over his back, searching out the enemy. There was a part of Ben Powell that seemed dangerous and forbidden—a part of him that longed to walk on the edge.

“It’s peacetime, remember?” she said, feeling more than a little nervous. She hated guns. Hated war. Hated the military.

“There’s always action somewhere.”

“And you want to be there.”

“Beats sitting around this Podunk town and ending up hoping that the mills don’t shut down and praying that some jerk like H. G. Monroe III keeps on handing out paychecks that barely cover your bills.” He frowned darkly and his jaw grew hard. “I don’t plan on working at the Bait and Fish for the rest of my life and I’m sure as hell not going to sign up with the Monroes or the Fitzpatricks.”

“But you would with the army.” Carlie didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm. Her father had worked at Fitzpatrick Logging for nearly thirty years. He was a foreman and made decent money. Time after time Weldon Surrett had told his only daughter that Thomas Fitzpatrick had given him a job when there was no work, he’d kept the logging company running in bad times and good, he’d spotted Weldon as a dedicated worker and promoted him. Carlie was convinced her father would lay down his life for Thomas Fitzpatrick, even though she didn’t completely trust the man.

When Roy, Thomas’s eldest son, had been killed last fall, her father had cried and forced his small family to attend the funeral. It had been painful that rainy day and the fact that Carlie had sided with Rachelle in defending Jackson Moore had caused friction in the family as well as friction at Weldon’s job.

Almost everyone in town believed that Jackson Moore had killed his rival. Everyone but Rachelle and her friend, Carlie. It had been an argument that simmered around the apartment for weeks after Jackson Moore left town.