Page 205 of Promise Not to Fall for the Rich & Famous

Wes piped up. "Well, I'm sure he'd like to hear about it."

Rem lifted his whiskey glass to observe the gold liquid in the light. "Yes, and I'm sure he'd also like to hear about yourreasonfor volunteering in the first place."

Nash shook his head. "I don't care what he has to say about my decisions. You guys are more like brothers to me than he ever will be."

It went quiet, and Nash took a swig of his beer, hoping it would quell the odd tension in the air. He didn't like the topic of his brother; it was like discussing religion or politics; people rarely viewed things exactly the same way, and no one person could know what it was like to fill another man's boots.

The odd thing was—Wyatt’s life experience came closer to Nash’s than anyone else’s ever could, yet they still viewed the world through entirely different lenses. That sad fact confused Nash more than it pained him.

"Well, twenty hours down, sixty more to go," Thatcher said, that hopeful expression on his face once more.

Nash nodded, but he wasn’t so sure he could put in the rest of those sixty hours. The fact was, he’d put in close to an extra hour each day that week helping Tucker with a few odds and ends around the cabin; turns out the man was nursing a back injury of some sort. That alone wouldn’t be a problem if Nash could count the extra time toward the hours he’d signed up for.

Unfortunately, they could only credit him four hours a day, which is why he’d said no to the overnight campout thing with the youth next week. It’d take, like eighteen hours of his time and he’d only get credit for eight. He was starting to wonder whyhe’d signed up for this to begin with. But when he remembered, Nash guessed he deserved it.

"You’re not trying to back out, are you?" Rem asked.

"No, but I wish I could."

"Sounds to me like you’re considering it," Wes said accusingly.

Nash narrowed his eyes at him. "I’m not, but Iamthinking about telling them I have a brother named Wes with a big, bleeding heart who’s just dying to take my place. How about that?”

Chuckles sounded around the table.

"Fifty bucks says she’s there,” Thatcher said, “and that you’ll finally get to meet her.”

Nash shook his head. "I doubt it. I bet she never eventhoughtabout going there—stupid tabloid. And you know what? I actuallyamthinking about backing out.”

“I knew it,” Wes said.

“I can say I have a back injury.” Still, he hated the idea of doing that, especially since a few of their staff were on vacation. The center was counting on Nash to keep the activities running in their absence.

“A hundred,” Thatcher blurted. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that she’ll show up. If I’m wrong, I’ll pay up. But if I’m right and sheisthere, you owe me."

“I’ll go in on this,” Rem said, his expression thoughtful as he turned to Thatcher. "I’ll meet your hundred. If she shows, you’ll get a hundred from each of us. If not, it’s coming out of your pocket.” He turned to Wes. “You in?”

Wes shook his head. “Nope. Don’t care either way.”

Nash rolled his eyes. “You should care for my sake. This woman could be your future sister-in-law. I bet Rosie would like her.”

Wes grinned. “I bet she would, too, but you’re dreaming, buddy.”

“Sounds like you’re pretty confident that she’s not there,” Rem urged. “If you’re right, you could put an extra hundred dollars in your pocket, courtesy of Thatcher and his wishful thinking. It’s no wonder he and Nash get along so well.”

Wes chuckled. “True.” He locked eyes with Thatcher across the table. “You ready to pay out if you’re wrong?”

Thatcher shrugged. “As ready as I am to cash in if I’m right.”

“Then count me in, too,” Wes said.

“Just one stipulation, though,” Thatcher added. “He has to put in all eighty hours before we call it ‘cause she could show up on the last day.”

“True,” Rem said, pointing to Nash. “But what about this NDA you signed? You’re not going to be able to tell us either way.”

Nash gave that some thought. “Hmm…how about this: I won’t say whether she’s there or not because—like Rem said, I can’t. But what Icando, after the eighty hours is up, is tell you guys who won the bet. On your ends, you guys can’t utter a word of it.” Nash was glad he was talking to a table full of cowboys who didn’t care a lick for Hollywood gossip. “Especially,” he added as he remembered someone who did, “to Grandma C.”

“Good call,” Wes said.