Last Chance Rebel. Maisey Yates

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      She turned, walking back toward the register, feeling weary down to her bones.

      The bell sounded behind her and she turned again, about to let whoever it was know that she was closed. But it wasn’t a customer. It was Alison, carrying two boxes that Rebecca knew would be filled with pie. And following closely behind her was Lane, two bottles of wine in her hand. The door closed behind them and opened again as Cassie walked through also carrying a pastry box.

      She had managed to forget entirely. Tonight was the weekly girls’ night, and the Trading Post was hosting this week.

      “Hi,” she said, feeling even more tired. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to do the socializing thing tonight. The little group of friends, comprised of the female business owners on Main, had become an important source of companionship in her life over the past few years. But there were some things she had always felt most comfortable dealing with on her own.

      Or not dealing with at all as she hid away in her mountain cabin. Whatever. It was her drama, her prerogative.

      “Hello,” Cassie said, her voice chipper. “God bless Jake. He’s up to his neck in diapers and is at least pretending to be completely cheerful about it.”

      Of the group, Cassie was the only one with a husband and children. The rest of them had become pretty confirmed bachelorettes. But if anyone could entice Rebecca into thinking that maybe a husband and kids wasn’t the worst idea, it was Cassie. She was always disgustingly happy.

      “What’s the plan for tonight?” Alison asked, walking to the back of the store and setting her box of pies down by the register. “We are not watching another male stripper movie,” she said, directing this comment at Lane.

      “I incurred the entire rental expense for that atrocity,” Lane said.

      “But my life, Lane. I want my life back.”

      “It was two hours,” Lane said. “Calm down.”

      “Two hours when I could have done anything else.”

      “And yet, I notice you didn’t get up and leave during the movie,” Lane replied.

      “I was waiting for the payoff. I assumed that at some point someone would get naked. Instead, there was so much talking,” Alison groused.

      “Well, whatever we decide to do, there are snacks,” Cassie said, lifting the tops of the boxes Alison had brought, and also the box she’d brought, and revealing two different pies and an assortment of pastries.

      “Snacks are good,” Rebecca said. “Of course, I haven’t had dinner.”

      “This is dinner,” Cassie said, advancing on the pie.

      “I need a drink,” Lane said, going back behind the counter and rummaging until she produced the wine glasses that Rebecca kept back there for these occasions. “You, Rebecca?”

      “I’ll just make some coffee. I have to drive back home after this, and I don’t think I can stay long enough to wait for the buzz to wear off.”

      “Rough day?” This question came from Alison.

      “Just tired.” She was a liar. A cagey liar.

      Her friends knew about her accident. She found that until she divulged the source of her scars it was just a weird eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. But nobody knew who was responsible. In fact, she kept the details as private as possible.

      She kept it simple. She had been in a bad car accident when she was eleven, and it had left permanent scarring. The end.

      “Are you sure?” Cassie asked, busying herself starting to brew coffee.

      “Yes,” she said, “I’m sure. Also, Cassie, you don’t need to make me coffee. That’s what you do all day.”

      “I’m well aware of what I do all day, Rebecca. But I don’t want to drink the swill that you call coffee. I’m a connoisseur. An artisan.”

      “I’m not going to argue,” Alison said. “Mostly because I just want you to make the coffee.”

      “Well, you spent all day making pie. So I suppose I’ll allow it,” Rebecca said.

      “Nobody allows me to do anything,” Cassie said. “I’m independent and free. I do what I want.”

      “Right,” Lane said. “I imagine if Jake gave you some orders you might take them.”

      Cassie wiggled her eyebrows. “Depends on the orders.”

      Rebecca always felt a little bit uneasy when the conversation took this kind of turn. Lane and Alison were currently single, but Alison had been married before, and Rebecca couldn’t imagine Lane was as pathetic as she was. Rebecca had no experience with men. And it wasn’t something she ever felt like discussing.

      That meant a lot of smiling and nodding was required of her at moments like these.

      Right now, she was all out of smile and nod. She just felt depleted. Alison seemed to notice.

      “Okay, Rebecca. What’s really going on? You’re being supernaturally quiet.”

      “I’m contemplative,” Rebecca said.

      “No. You really aren’t,” Lane said.

      She let out a long slow breath, using the opportunity to try and think of a very vague way to disclose what had happened today without giving too much away. “I just had kind of an unexpected brush with the past.”

      Lane snorted. “There’s small towns for you. Your past is basically your present because nobody ever leaves.”

      “Thank God my past left town to keep Sheriff Garrett from breathing down his neck,” Alison said, referencing her hideous ex.

      “Not that kind of past.” Though Rebecca thought as soon as she spoke those words that she probably should have let the group think it was an ex.

      Alison arched a brow. “Intriguing.”

      “No, it isn’t. I... I had an encounter with the man who caused my accident when I was a kid.” There, that wasn’t so bad. She’d said it.

      Then she began to reevaluate her “not so bad” assessment. Her three friends were looking at her with very wide eyes.

      “He came into the store.”

      “You actually know who caused your accident?” Alison asked.

      “Yes,” she responded.

      All her friends knew was that she had been in a bad accident that had left scars. And of course, that was bad enough. But there was more to it. More that she had never really wanted to talk about with anyone else. And, now was no exception.

      “What did you do?” Lane asked.

      “I kicked his ass out,” Rebecca responded.

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