“Did you bring my makeup?” Danielle asked cheerfully, plopping down beside me. I shook my head.

“Nope, I didn’t get a chance to go home,” I told her. “Car trouble. I had to catch a ride from Puck.”

“Really . . .” she drawled, her voice full of questions.

“Really,” I answered, the word final.

Danielle studied me thoughtfully for a minute, then shrugged. That was one of the things I loved about her—she knew when to let shit go.

“I’ll borrow yours, then,” she announced, reaching for my purse. She dug through it, pulling out a brightly colored little bag that held my makeup. I’d made it last month out of an old silk kimono I’d found at the Kingston thrift store.

“You know, you could be selling these. Did you ever talk to Regina about putting some in the tea shop?”

“Not yet,” I replied. “Been too busy with school. Sewing purses won’t pay the bills—I need to stay focused.”

“You might be surprised.” Danielle popped open my compact mirror and studied her face. “Fuck, I’ve got so many freckles that I want to scream. Raelene Korgee told me they’ve got this amazing new foundation at Ulta, up on ninety-five. I want to try some, but it costs a fucking fortune. I don’t suppose they’ll give you samples, seeing as you’re a professional?”

I shook my head, feeling some of my tension release. Danielle always had that effect on me—she was just so down-to-earth. Grounding.

“I wish. I’m getting low on all kinds of stuff. They say the tips are good here. Maybe I can buy some new fall colors,” I replied. Seriously? my conscience hissed. You’re going to buy makeup while your mom is trapped with Teeny and his guns?

Danielle smoothed on my dark red lipstick, smacking thoughtfully.

“Is this too much for me?”

Glancing at her, I shook my head.

“No, you can pull it off.”

I heard a squawking, and looked up to see a line of geese flying overhead. Summer was ending too fast . . . Soon the snow would fall, bringing a slow commute and winter power bills. Despite its charms, living in a hundred-plus-year-old building had some downsides, and heating was one of them. How much money would Mom need to get away, realistically? Could I afford to help her?

“Blake promises the tips are good. I’ll bet they’ll be better if we show some skin. If not, there’s always the fallback position.”

“What’s the fallback position?”

“We’ll work up at Shanda Reed’s place, of course.”

My eyes widened, and I turned to her, scandalized.

“Isn’t that . . . ? I mean, I’ve heard rumors, but . . .”

“It’s a bordello, all right,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “Or so they say. Girls can make a lot of money that way.”

“You are so fucking full of shit. You’d never work there!”

Danielle burst out laughing, shaking her head.

“You should see your face!”

“God, you freaked me out,” I replied, smacking her shoulder. She smacked me back and suddenly we were pushing each other so hard I fell off the bench. Danielle came after me, and we rolled to our backs, still laughing.

“It really is a whorehouse,” she said. “Blake told me all about it last night—he was super drunk. He said they never take local girls, though. It’s an old hotel up past Quincy, way back in the woods on an old lake. Used to be a little resort or something, back before the interstate went through. He told me that Shanda Reed has it set up as a bordello, and that the women working there make a shit ton of money. Guys from the mines, and coming in from Montana.”

“Why doesn’t the sheriff shut it down?”

“Oh, like that’ll happen. When’s the last time the sheriff sent anyone up here? Quincy is another fifteen miles past Callup, he’s probably forgotten it exists. Hell, Shanda would shoot him if he stuck his nose in her business. She’s a total bitch—my mom went to school with her. Hates her. Nope, I’ll bet Shanda pays them off and they stay away. Win-win. So that’s my new fallback plan—if all else fails, we can start whoring.”

I sobered abruptly.

I’d already been a whore. Maybe not one who got paid, but I knew all about servicing men. So did my mom.

“Being a prostitute isn’t a good thing,” I said abruptly. I sat up and started gathering the makeup that’d spilled out across the grass. Danielle stared at me, her face startled.

“Are you okay? I was just joking, you know. I’d never do that. If I ever get desperate, I’ll just go work at a strip club. No need to go full whore when you can just wiggle your ass and collect money.”

I shrugged, forcing a fake smile.

“Sure, I’m great. It’s about time to start work, though. Let’s hit the bathroom and then go get ourselves started, sound good?”

FOUR

My first night at the Moose started out well, which was a damned good thing given my afternoon. It was busy, too, which I appreciated. The more I worked, the less I had to think about the Mom Situation. This was good, because the Mom Situation made me think of California, leading to memories of my extraordinary night with Puck.

Sexy Puck. Scary Puck. Puck pushing me against his truck and shoving his cock into my stomach, growling in my ear . . . It’s a particularly fucked-up twist of fate, having your best sexual memories tied together with the kind of pain, suffering, and fear I’d felt the night we met. One of those gifts that keeps on giving, you know?