Maisie laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Hope you get out of here soon.” She gave him a little wave, showing off her finger that had been splinted, and left the room, followed by Amelia.
Hayes dropped his head back against the soft pillow. Today sucked, and when Beckett returned to the room with a deep frown, Hayes knew it wasn’t about to get any better. “What is it?” he grumbled.
Pity shone in Beckett’s eyes. “Nash said to consider yourself on vacation. Ten days.”
“Fuck that,” Hayes snapped, pushing up off the bed, his cowboy boots hitting the floor. “Did you tell Nash the doctor is just being cautious?”
Beckett nodded. “He wouldn’t listen. It’s a new policy, I guess. Symptoms of a concussion can show up seven to ten days later. His insurance now requires this for any fall.”
“I didn’t even hit my fucking head,” Hayes snapped. He couldn’t sit around for ten days. Silence wasn’t good for him. He needed to wake early, exhaust himself, and fall asleep instantly at night. Silence made his memory clearer. Too clear, bringing back all the things that haunted him.
When Hayes reached the door, Beckett said, “You realize you need to be discharged.”
Before heading out the door, Hayes grabbed his Stetson cowboy hat off the chair and shoved it back on his head. “I’m leaving. Either you’re driving me to talk to Nash or I’m taking a Lyft, but this is happening.”
Obviously agreeing for the sake of it, Beckett gestured out to the hallway. “Lead the way.”
The second Hayes entered the hallway, the nurse sitting behind the nurse’s station called, “Where are you going? You haven’t been discharged!”
Hayes didn’t look back and marched his way out of the damn hospital. Sure, he’d hear about this later. River Rock was a small community, and he knew that nurse from somewhere but couldn’t place her. The gossip train would get ahold of this and run with it, but he didn’t do hospitals.
Within minutes, Hayes’s ass was planted back in Beckett’s truck, and they’d left the hospital behind.
Beckett remained silent until twenty minutes later when they rolled up to River Rock’s downtown. Quaint brick storefronts hugged the street. The little town had everything from Blackshaw Meats, which was a division of the Blackshaw family’s cattle company; to the local watering hole, Kinky Spurs, that catered to the twenty- and thirty-somethings of River Rock; to the animal hospital and the police station all on the one road. Beckett only broke the silence when they’d passed the police station where Hayes had started his career before moving to Denver.
“She’s sweet with you,” Beckett said.
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.”