Eight

Talulah puffed her cheeks full of air she blew out as she read Brant’s message. The air conditioner was working fine. It just wasn’t doing her much good in the basement.

She walked into the sitting room and gazed out the window at the road. She didn’t see anyone, but she suspected Charlie was keeping a close eye on her house. If Brant came over, it would only add to town gossip.

After the funeral. After all the cooking. “Damn.” Still, she needed to keep her distance from Brant. No big deal. I can live without it.

“Don’t worry?” she mumbled. Why take the risk?

He didn’t answer right away. She thought he might not answer at all. But after a few minutes, her phone dinged again.

Talulah felt her jaw drop. She’d never expected Brant to say anything like that. She had no idea how to respond.

Can I come? he asked. I never got to eat my other croissant. ;-)

She kneaded her forehead as she tried to decide. They could be friends, couldn’t they? Charlie and his family shouldn’t be able to dictate who she saw in Coyote Canyon.

She had a feeling that this was a pivotal decision, another potential mistake. But despite all the fallout from Saturday night, and her family and the funeral, she couldn’t quit thinking about Brant, either.

Brant was careful to watch for cars he might recognize as he drove to the other side of town, but he felt fairly confident that Charlie wouldn’t be monitoring Talulah’s house this evening. He spent Monday nights with his folks. His mother cooked for the whole family, and, since his father had been diagnosed with prostate cancer, he rarely missed it. Everyone was optimistic George would beat it, but he’d only just started treatment and no one knew for sure whether the chemo would be effective.

Still, to avoid causing further hurt and anger, Brant parked in the big barn behind Ellen’s house where no one could see his vehicle, and walked over to Talulah’s. As he climbed the stairs to the front porch, he had a final look around and didn’t see anyone.

Talulah was playing her music again. It wasn’t as loud as it had been the first time he’d come to the house, but he had to knock twice before she let him in.

“Where’s your truck?” she asked, peering out as he slipped past her.

“In a safe place.”

“Good.”

She was wearing a form-fitting black dress that hit her at midthigh, with no shoes, and she had her hair pinned up, probably to help combat the heat. A light sheen of sweat covered her face and arms, and he could see a few damp tendrils of hair curling at her nape.

It was difficult not to touch her after having had full access to her body. The impulse hit him immediately and was much stronger than he’d anticipated. He’d offered to come over to move the air conditioner, and had hoped to reassure himself that she was okay after what had happened. But she’d offered dinner and she’d dressed up enough that this felt more like a date. She was wearing makeup and perfume—a scent he liked.

Those could be signals. And yet...with her bare feet and the way she’d done her hair, she came across as casual at the same time. Maybe they were getting together as friends tonight, and she wouldn’t be happy if he tried to touch her. She didn’t step toward him, didn’t give him a hug.

“Dinner smells great,” he said.

She wiped her upper lip. “I just showered, but cooking makes it even hotter in here.”

“I’ll take care of that right now.” He put the bottle of wine he’d brought on the dining table, which was already set for dinner, and went down to get the air conditioner.

“Thank God,” she said, once he’d hauled it up and she could feel the cool air it was pumping out. She indicated an appetizer she’d made that was sitting on the counter. “Try that dip and see what you think.”

He scooped some up with a cracker and nearly moaned when he tasted it. “Wow.”

She was cutting lasagna in a pan on the stove, but looked over her shoulder. “You like it?”

“It’s incredible. What’s in it?”

“You might enjoy it more if I don’t tell you,” she joked. “It’s not very healthy.”

He could tell it contained artichokes and green chilies; he knew she couldn’t be talking about those. Which left sour cream or whatever the rest of it was made of. “It’s worth it.”

She opened the oven and pulled out a loaf of toasty garlic bread sprinkled with grated Parmesan cheese. “Would you mind cutting the bread?”

“Not at all.” He was yanking out drawers, searching for a knife, when she handed him one.

“Have you heard from Charlie since he stormed out of here?” she asked.

“Nope.”

She carried their lasagna to the dining table. “Have you tried calling him?”

“Not yet. I want to let him cool off first.”

“How long do you think that’ll take?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. We’ve never had anything like this happen.”

She sighed. “Well, take it from me. He can hold a grudge for a long time. His whole family can.”

He found her wounded expression sort of endearing. “You’d like to be friends with him?”

“Of course. It’s not as if I never cared about him.”

He dipped another cracker and took a bite. “I don’t think Charlie’s capable of accepting anything less than what he really wants, Talulah. In case you haven’t already figured it out, he still has a thing for you.”

“I can’t imagine how,” she said, sounding exasperated as she took a green salad out of the fridge and stuck a pair of tongs in it. “He hasn’t even seen me for fourteen years.”

“Maybe not in person, but he follows you on social media.”

“Really?” she asked in surprise. “He’s never commented on any of my posts...”

“Because he’s lurking.”

She handed him a corkscrew for the wine. “There’s not much to see on my personal Instagram. I don’t post very often. I’m too busy trying to come up with compelling content to promote the dessert diner, so I’m usually posting on that account instead.”

He popped the cork on the J brand pinot noir he’d brought. “You’ve put up a few pictures of you and Paul.”

She blinked at him. “Charlie’s mentioned that?”

“I’ve seen them, too,” he admitted.

“When?”

“Last night.” He’d scrolled through her pictures again today, several times actually, since he couldn’t get her off his mind, but he didn’t volunteer that. “I was curious about this business partner of yours. Aren’t you afraid of messing up your ability to work together? What would happen to the dessert diner then?”

“It’s a risk,” she said. “That’s partly why I resisted letting our relationship drift in a romantic direction. I’d hate to ruin it. But he’s so adamant than we’re perfect for each other. And I do like a lot of things about him.”

“Name some of them,” he said.

She turned off the oven and hung up the hand towel. “Well...he’s sweet and attentive and conscientious and an incredible pastry chef. Because we’re both committed to making the diner succeed, we have a common goal, which is nice. And we share a love of good food.”

The dude he’d seen had been super fit. There’d been several pictures of them hiking. “He likes the outdoors?”

“He does. He’s going on a backpacking trip to Europe with a buddy for three weeks when I get back.”

“You’re not going with him?”

“Someone has to stay and take care of the diner.”

“I see.” Brant decided he didn’t much care for Paul, even though he had no good reason to feel that way. “Do you think you’ll marry him?”

She stopped piling the chunks of bread he’d cut into a serving basket and took a moment to consider the question. “I might try.”

“That means he could be the next poor sucker standing at the altar while you flee your own wedding,” he joked.

She gave him a dirty look. “He’s fully aware of the risk he’s taking.”

“Meaning you warned him like you warned me?”

“Basically.” Finished with the bread, she started stacking the dishes she’d used to make the meal in the sink. “It would be stupid to fall in love with me. I warn everyone I get involved with.”

Folding his arms, he leaned against the counter as he watched her work. “Maybe that’s your problem.”

She dried her hands. “What do you mean?”

“Giving a guy a challenge is never a wise thing to do, unless you want him to try.”

“I’m not giving anyone a challenge,” she said. “I’m making sure the men in my life proceed with caution.”

Chuckling, he shook his head at her response. It was cocky, and yet it wasn’t. He could tell she was only trying to avoid hurting anyone else. And he found her honesty appealing. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he said.

“I’ll try to believe you mean that in a good way,” she muttered.

He merely grinned. “Averil stopped by Sunday night,” he said as he handed her a glass of wine.

Her eyebrows slid up. “What’d she want?”

“To tell me to stay away from you.”

She’d been lifting her glass to her mouth, but at this her hand froze. “I hope she doesn’t think I’d ever go back to Charlie.”

“She said you’d only break my heart.”

“Did you tell her that’s impossible?” she said with a laugh. “That I’ve found the one person who’s totally safe with me?”

Had she? Was his heart that untouchable—as untouchable as hers? “I told her I can take care of myself.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

He burst out laughing. “I believe you really are.”

She clinked her glass against his. Then, after taking a sip, she asked tentatively, “Do you think Averil still hates me?”

“Of course not.” Charlie’s sister had said as much, but he didn’t want to let Averil make Talulah feel any worse. “She’s just protective of her brother.”

“Would she rather I’d married him?” Talulah asked. “Been miserable and made him miserable, too? Maybe the Gerharts should be thanking me, because our marriage would’ve ended in divorce. I wasn’t in love with him enough to marry him.”

He took another sip of wine. “Is that true for the other guys you were with, as well?”

“I guess.” She dunked a cracker in the dip. “What else did Averil say?”

It was easy to tell that she cared more about Averil than Charlie, so they were entering territory where the truth could ruin the night. Brant definitely didn’t want to let things go in that direction. “Enough about the Gerharts. Let’s not waste our time talking about them.”

“Because Averil does hates me,” she said sadly, seeing right through his attempt to divert her.

“She doesn’t understand what you’re up against.”

She nodded and, again, he felt the compulsion to touch her, to draw her close. Instead, he said, “Why don’t we eat? You’ve done a lot of work here and dinner looks incredible.”

“Okay.” She gestured at the bread. “Can you grab that?”

Brant ate so much that Talulah couldn’t help teasing him about it. “Jeez. If you ever come over again, I’ll have to make you your own pan of lasagna,” she said as he finished off a second giant helping.

He flashed her a heart-stopping smile. “I might not get another invitation, so I’m making the most of this one.”

“You think I should invite you back?” she asked in surprise. She hadn’t been able to eat much herself. She was too busy fighting her attraction to him.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to keep us out of trouble!”

“It’s too late for that.” Putting down his fork, he pushed the empty plate away. “Hopefully, the Gerharts will judge me on my lifelong relationship with them and not on a few weeks’ involvement with you.”

A few weeks? Not just one night? Charlie wasn’t the only consideration. What about her family? She was determined not to get another call from Debbie tomorrow concerning her behavior. “I’m trying to do something admirable for my parents and sister.”

“What does that have to do with me?” he asked.

“More than you probably realize,” she grumbled, finishing her wine.

“Do you want to explain that?”

She didn’t. It was too convoluted. “No.” They were both unattached, both adults and should be able to decide for themselves. And yet... Coyote Canyon didn’t really work that way.

He seemed disappointed she was no longer open to a physical relationship, but he didn’t say anything. She could tell from the way he looked at her and flirted with her and touched her whenever possible that he was interested in a repeat of their night together. She craved the taste and feel of him, too, which was why she was reluctant to hold his gaze for more than a second, and she stepped away whenever he got close. She was afraid she’d give in.

“What are your parents up to these days?” she asked, launching into a new subject. She didn’t know the Elways well, but she’d seen them around the high school and other places when she lived here and could still remember how much Brant resembled his father.

“They’re living in town while they’re taking care of my grandmother, who’s eighty-nine. My brothers and I are buying the ranch from them.”

“How often do you see your folks?”

“Fairly often. My dad drives out to look things over now and then. And my mom cooks for us three or four nights a week.”

“Are you kidding?” she said with a laugh.

He didn’t seem even slightly embarrassed that his mother continued to take care of him and his brothers. “It gives her something to do,” he said with an unconcerned shrug. “And she knows we’d just go out to eat if she didn’t. By the time we’re done working, no one’s eager to spend an hour or more in the kitchen—although we might grill a steak now and then.”

“I bet she’s a good cook.”

“She is,” he said without hesitation. “And so are you.”

“I’m a professional. I should be good.”

He relaxed into his seat as he finished his wine. “Tell me about your dessert diner.”

“I dreamed about opening my own place—a restaurant or something—for years. So I’m excited that it’s working out for me.”

“Was this Paul’s dream, too?”

“Once we met and became friends, and I started talking about it, he got on board. I doubt he would’ve done it without me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s much easier to tackle such a big endeavor with a partner. You can pool your money and share the work as well as the risk.”

“That’s the upside,” he said. “The downside is that you have to compromise if you ever disagree.” He poured her more wine.

“True. We don’t argue very often, but we do have our differences occasionally.”

He added a splash more wine to his own glass. “What types of things do you disagree on?”

“I’m a cautious person—”

“Some would say overly cautious,” he broke in, and she knew he was teasing her about her fear of commitment.

“I’d rather not get into anything I can’t get out of,” she admitted. “I don’t like feeling trapped.”

A half smile curved his lips. “Why do you think you’re so afraid of that? Has something terrible happened that’s made you leery of close relationships or—”

“No. Nothing like that. I just hate disappointing others.”

His eyebrows went up. “You see the irony, right?”

“Of course. But like I told you before, it’s the fact that I have trouble saying no that gets me into the engagement in the first place. Then I try to convince myself it’s the right thing to do and that I’ll be glad I did it in the end...”

“And then the wedding comes up and you panic.”

“Exactly.”

He rocked back onto two legs of his chair. “How is Paul going to be any different?”

“I’m older, for one. I’ve learned a few things about myself since I lived here.”

“You’ve also warned him,” he said, his lips twitching as though he was tempted to laugh.

“I have,” she said, scowling at him for being amused by her predicament. “I think that’s only fair.”

He shook his head. “He’s going to have his hands full with you.”

“Fortunately, he’s a patient man.”

“Which, no doubt, makes you feel obligated to stick with him. So how is it, exactly, that this relationship is taking a different path?”

“I want to find someone eventually. Get married and have a family. Don’t you? And maybe he’s the best guy for the job. Maybe I just don’t have a good feel for when I’ve met the right person.”

“I have a different take on that,” he said, sobering.

She eyed him speculatively. “What’s your take?”

“I think you should only commit to someone you’re dying to be with. You shouldn’t have to talk yourself into anything.”

“What if I never have that experience? What if I’m not built that way?”

“Everyone’s built that way. That’s how you know when you’ve found ‘the one.’” He raised his fingers to indicate quotation marks.

“Spoken like a true authority on the subject,” she said, cracking up. “Have you ever found someone you feel that passionate about?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, somewhat grudgingly. “But I’m willing to wait.”

“You could be wasting your time,” she pointed out.

“Then I’ll remain single. That’s better than trying to force something that wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’m not forcing anything,” she said. “I admit I’m not head over heels, but I care about Paul.”

“Enough to marry him?”

“Desire could develop over time.”

“How long have you known this guy?”

She’d already told him she met Paul years ago, clear back in culinary school, so she knew he wasn’t actually seeking an answer. “You’re saying I should’ve figured that out by now.”

“Bingo.”

“Not every relationship takes the same course.”

“I’m not suggesting that. But shouldn’t you feel more than you do?”

“You asked me how Paul and I approach our business and what we might disagree on,” she said, hoping to guide them to safer territory.

“And you said you were cautious. I take it he’s not.”

“He doesn’t even consider the possibility of failure. He’s pressing me to open another dessert diner, but I’m afraid that will spread us too thin. And if it doesn’t work...”

“You’ll be in over your head.”

“We could lose it all,” she agreed.

He put his empty glass back on the table. “I’d like to come see the diner sometime.”

She hadn’t expected that response, or his interest in general. Part of her was eager to show Brant what she’d created. It’d taken a lot of work, and she was proud of it. The other part, however, was reluctant to have him meet Paul. It was one thing to indulge in a quick fling before she committed herself to her business partner; it was another to welcome the man she’d slept with to their restaurant. “If you’re ever in Seattle, you’ll have to stop by.”

He chuckled. “That was a lukewarm invitation if ever I’ve heard one.”

“Paul will be there,” she pointed out as if it should be obvious.

“If you and I are just friends, what does that matter?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t come up with a good answer. So she checked the cuckoo clock her aunt had hung on the wall after a trip to Germany—one of the few times she’d left Coyote Canyon—and said, “It’s almost eight. I’d better get the dishes done so I can make some more food for the funeral.”

He helped carry their plates into the kitchen and put the leftovers in plastic containers they crammed into the fridge with all the gelatin fruit salads.

She was standing at the sink, filling it with hot, soapy water when he came up behind her, penned her in with a hand on either side and looked at her through their reflection in the window. “Thanks for dinner,” he murmured.

Although he wasn’t actually touching her, she could feel the heat of his body and was shocked by how difficult it was not to lean back. She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man so much, which added to her shock. This was Brant! But now she knew what sex with him was like—and she couldn’t forget it. “Of course.”

“You’d like the air conditioner to remain here in the kitchen for the next few days, right?”

Just a few inches. If she leaned back that far, she knew his arms would go around her. He’d probably turn her around and kiss her. And then...

A shiver of desire rolled down her spine, but she summoned her resolve and continued to avoid contact. “Yeah. I won’t be able to go back to sorting and packing until after the funeral.”

“When’s that?”

She glanced down at his hands, remembering what it was like to feel them on her body. They were nice hands—large and masculine yet gentle when they should be. “Thursday.”

Because she didn’t respond in any way that invited him to touch her, as he’d probably hoped, he stepped back. “What time?”

After using a dish towel to dry her hands, she turned to face him. “At two. Why?”

“I was planning on attending the service.”

Her gaze fell to his lips. They had to be the best lips she’d ever seen—perfectly formed. She had to force herself to look up at his eyes. “Why? You barely knew Aunt Phoebe.”

“I don’t want you to have to face Charlie and his family alone.”

She was having trouble thinking clearly, because there was this other part of her brain that kept weighing the decision she was making right now and hoping for a different outcome. “I know at least part of his family will be there, but...surely Charlie won’t come.”

“I’d count on it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll be a good excuse for him to see you. I think he’s hoping you’ll suddenly realize what you walked out on and change your mind.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not to him.”

She sighed as she imagined her ex-fiancé glaring at her across her great aunt’s coffin. She was definitely making the right choice by not sleeping with Brant again, not only for her and Paul, but for Charlie, who’d been hurt badly enough. “Either way, it’ll be fine,” she said. “Jane’s hoping to make it home by then.”

“Jane can’t pick sides, Talulah. That’ll ruin her relationship with Averil.”

What he said was true. Jane had tried to remain neutral for the past fourteen years, but since she and Averil still lived in the same small town, Talulah knew they were a lot closer than she and Jane were these days. And she knew that if Jane went to the funeral, she’d have to be very careful how she handled it. It would actually be smarter for her to stay away and avoid the whole issue.

Talulah would be by herself at the funeral. But it was only for a few hours. She’d just have to get through it, because she didn’t want to endanger Jane’s or Brant’s relationships here in Coyote Canyon by expecting their support. “I can manage on my own, so it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“It’s not? Because I feel responsible for what you’re going through.”

“Don’t. Everything started long before Sunday, remember?”

“You really don’t want me to go to the funeral?”

“No. Don’t feel duty-bound to protect me. What you need to protect is your relationship with Charlie—the same way Jane has to protect her relationship with Averil.”

“Except that freezes you out—in both instances.”

“If you ask any of the Gerharts, they’ll tell you I deserve it,” she said with a wink.

He frowned but acknowledged her wishes with a reluctant nod. “Fine. You’ll call me if you need anything, though?”

“Of course.” She had no intention of bothering him again, but she didn’t say that.

“Okay. Good night.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head before walking to the back door.

She followed him so she could lock up behind him. “Thanks for coming over.” And showing some concern, she mentally added. She had to admit that had felt nice.

“Dinner was delicious.”

She smiled, and he walked out, heading across the property toward Ellen’s.

With a sigh of relief, she congratulated herself for handling the evening so well. She hadn’t touched him once, let alone kissed him.

But as the seconds stretched and she imagined him getting closer and closer to his truck and driving away, her heart started to pound.

She didn’t want him to leave! This could be her only chance to be with him again.

In a sudden panic, she ripped open the door. “Brant?” she called out.

She could hear the surprise in his voice when he answered. “What?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she blurted and held her breath as she waited for his response. Would he ask what she meant or would he know instinctively?

He didn’t say anything, but he was coming back. She could hear his footsteps even before he reached the rectangle of light spilling onto the ground. And she could tell he knew exactly what she meant when he gave her a sexy smile, stepped into the house and used his foot to close the door because his hands were already pulling her to him.