The Next Right Thing (Harlequin Superromance) by Colleen Collins Read Free Book Online Page A

the center accommodated a dozen or so girls, ages thirteen to seventeen, most of whom were court ordered to be there. All of the girls attended counseling and in-house lifestyle courses as well as going on field trips to Hoover Dam and Red Rock Canyon. Some of the girls took academic courses within the facility while others attended the local public school.
    On her community-service days, Cammie changed into jeans, T-shirt and sneakers before leaving the casino. Because Mojave Desert winds could turn chilly this time of year, today she’d also worn her powder-blue hoodie with Denver Nuggets in big yellow letters across the front. She dug the Nuggets, but they were on such a losing streak, she felt like less of a sports fan and more of a cheerleader for the underdog. She was starting to think her team was a bunch of brawny bridesmaids who’d never make it to the altar of the NBA finals.
    After toeing off her sneakers in the living room, she headed into the kitchen with its lingering scents of bread, tomato sauce and garlic, and tossed her purse onto the dining room table next to a handwritten note.

    Food’s in fridge. Eat!

    He’d signed it with a big XO.
    Some things never changed. Uncle Frankie had been there for her when she was growing up in Denver, and he was here for her now in Vegas. At six foot, her uncle had that swarthy-brawny-Italian thing going for him, although his love of food was evident in his paunch. As he liked to say, he’d never met a pasta he didn’t like.
    He’d also never met a glass of Chianti he didn’t like. Bottles from his favorite vineyard filled the wine rack underneath framed photos on the wall of the pope and Frank Sinatra. Cammie was an occasional drinker. Sometimes she joined him with a glass or two at dinner, and sometimes, like now, she needed a couple of belts all by herself. Not that Chianti could erase her memory. It wouldn’t be that easy.
    She selected a bottle, half read its label, her mind elsewhere. After Mr. Cool’s surprise visit today, she’d managed to get through the rest of the afternoon at the Cave, had even made some okay tips. She’d managed her duties at Dignity House, too, which mostly involved ensuring the teens finished their chores and did their homework. Cammie, still reeling from her encounter with Marc, had thought she was keeping it together until a fourteen-year-old named Takira commented that she looked “tink.” When Cammie had asked what that meant, another girl had translated that it meant awful —as in feeling bad kind of awful.
    Everybody seemed to have a line on her emotions today. First Val with the glum. Then Takira with the tink. They were right. Cammie could add a few more, like rejected, angry and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it to anyone else, contrite.
    And smitten.
    Oh, yeah, still head-over-heels gaga over a guy who had no idea. Totally oblivious. Clueless. She snorted a laugh. Even when she used that term today, he’d thought clueless referred to something else. If there was a superclueless, that was Marc.
    And to think she had the brilliant idea that running away to another state would fix that. Hell, she coulda stayed in Colorado and not put herself through all these changes!
    But she had. Turned her life inside out only to be starting over from scratch, same throbbing heart on her sleeve.
    She slipped the bottle into the rack, wanting something stronger than a glass of vino.
    A few minutes later, she poured some vodka into a blender jar filled with ice cubes, a drizzle of limencello and a hearty squeeze of a lime. A few whirring, grinding moments later, voilà, a pitcher of... She took a sip, wincing as she puckered her lips.
    “Too much lime,” she rasped, heading for a cabinet. She retrieved a bag of granulated sugar, added three hefty spoonfuls to the concoction and punched the pulse button again. She took another sip and smiled.
    “When life hands you limes, make spiked limeade, baby.”
    Picking up the blender