But there was always that indefinable something, like the feeling that had triggered his desire to pull on a shirt.
Whatever was going on was so damn contradictory and confusing....
“Is that the kind of rescue mission you’d like?” he said with a laugh.
Baxter didn’t rush to convince him. “Now and then. There are too many risks and complications that go with sleeping around to do it very often.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t get naked with anyone last night.” He had seen—and touched—Adelaide’s bare ass. That was memorable. But, in deference to what she’d been through, he wasn’t going to mention it. Maybe the rest of the circumstances surrounding her ordeal would go public. The incident was too sensational for word not to spread. But nobody had to know about the private hour he’d spent in Milly’s home, removing slivers. “Do you remember Adelaide Davies?”
Baxter’s gaze lighted on everything that was out of place. He’d been a neat freak since he was a little kid. “Adelaide who?”
“Went to high school with us. Would’ve been a sophomore when we were seniors.”
“I don’t recall anyone by that name.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. We were at San Diego State by the time she graduated, and she left town right after.” Noah dropped onto the couch and dangled one leg over the arm.
Baxter sat in the opposite chair, but he did so with his usual decorum. He wasn’t wearing one of his hand-tailored suits. He worked at a brokerage house in San Francisco Monday through Thursday, but his hours were flexible. Maybe he was taking two days off this week instead of one. Anyway, even his casual jeans and shirts came with expensive labels. He was stylish, well groomed, always had a perfect haircut and smelled like the men’s department at Macy’s.
But Noah tried not to file any of that under the “gay or not g*y” headings going on in the back of his mind. He refused to define Bax—someone he was supposed to know better than anyone else—according to stereotypes. He was still hoping his so-called g*ydar was wrong....
Actually, he didn’t care if his best friend preferred men. He’d deck anyone who had anything to say about it. He just didn’t want Baxter’s preferences to include him. Any admission along those lines would be far too weird.
“She’s back?”
“Just returned.”
“And you didn’t sleep with her? You’re falling off your game, bro.”
Noah scowled. He wasn’t that big a player. Living in a small town made it impossible to screw around very much—and maintain any respectability. It wasn’t as if he went out looking to get laid. Not very often, anyway. Women had always sort of...come to him. “Why do you keep bringing everything back to sex?”
“Isn’t that what you usually want to talk about? How hot your latest conquest was?”
Maybe he did talk too much about the women in his life. But he was trying to convince himself that the loneliness that had begun to plague him in recent years wasn’t going to taint his whole existence, that the life he led was fulfilling and would continue to be fulfilling even if nothing changed.
Besides, he couldn’t think of a better way to put Baxter on notice that he wasn’t about to get intimate with another man.
“She was beaten up! Of course I didn’t sleep with her. If you’ll listen, I’ll tell you what happened.”
“Fine.” Baxter spread out his hands. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Forget it.” Flipping him off for being so damn facetious, Noah got up and headed to the kitchen.
Baxter chuckled as he followed. “Now you’re clamming up?”
“You don’t really want to hear.”
“That’s not true. I’m dying to learn every sordid—or not so sordid—detail. Did you punish the guy who was giving her trouble, or what?”
Noah turned to face him. “She was in the mine.”
At this, Baxter sobered. “What do you mean ‘in the mine’? What mine?”
“The one we used to party in at the end of our senior year.”
“The Jepson mine? She couldn’t have been. They closed it off after—” his voice softened “—after Cody.”
Noah didn’t want to think about his brother. Ignoring the reference, he once again shoved away the memories of the June morning he heard his brother had been found. “That’s what I thought, too,” he said.
“But...”
He pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge and shook it before offering some to Baxter.
“No, thanks.” Baxter’s lip curled in disdain. “I wouldn’t drink from one of your glasses to save my life.”
“Because you’re OCD.”
“Because you barely rinse them before you use them again.”
Just to bug him, Noah drank from the container. “Wasn’t enough for you, anyway,” he said, and tossed the empty carton across the kitchen and into the trash can.
“Nice shot.” Baxter transferred a stack of dirty dishes to the sink before leaning against the counter. “Back to Adelaide Davies. How’d she get into the mine? And how did you find her?”
“I was riding past the entrance when I heard a woman call for help.”
“That must’ve freaked you out.”
“Yeah. It was twilight and cooling off, so it’s an odd time to run into someone up there. I certainly wasn’t expecting to perform a rescue mission.”
“That entrance is no longer sealed off?”
“It is. This was an ancillary opening. Someone had torn away the boards and, after beating her up, threw her down into the hole.”
Baxter blinked several times. “You’re kidding.”
Noah could understand his surprise. Nothing like that ever happened in Whiskey Creek. There’d been rumors that Sophia DeBussi’s husband, the wealthy world-traveler Skip, knocked her around once in a while, but that was the only hint of violence that had occurred in recent years. “No. And get this...she’d been taken from her bed.”
“Kidnapped? That’s what she said?”
“She didn’t have to say. It was obvious. She had rope burns. And she was in her underwear.”
Baxter whistled. “That’s serious. How badly had she been beaten up?”
“One eye was swollen shut, and she was all scraped and bruised.”
“Who did it?”