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Buzz buzz buzz.
Grace batted at the alarm clock, but to no avail. It kept up the annoying buzz until she turned it off. Five-thirty a.m. Far too early to get up.
Although she lived on a ranch, she wasn’t used to getting up this early.
What had Sam – and Harriet – talked her into?
But she knew she couldn’t blame them – not entirely. She was curious about Emmett and how he was doing. If he was giving Parker a hard time about his latest painting there must be a reason for it.
After she and Harriet had baked the brownies, Harriet had invited Sam for dinner. At first he’d declined, but Harriet had insisted until he’d given in. There had been four of them, including Coop. Tess and Garth had made other plans – meeting friends at the wine bar in Spring River Bend.
What was her sister up to? Was she trying to be a matchmaker now she was happy with Coop?
If so, Grace didn’t need her sister’s help.
Kicking off the bed covers, she padded to the shower. After dinner, which Harriet had organized, Sam had said goodnight, and headed toward the B & B cabin near the farmhouse. She’d accompanied him, reasoning that it would look strange if Harriet showed him his lodgings instead. Besides, Coop and Harriet looked like they were getting snuggly on the living room sofa.
It hadn’t taken long to show him the one bedroom cabin with bathroom and tiny kitchenette.
“Come to the farmhouse for breakfast,” she’d told him, when she was half out the door.
“Thanks.” He’d smiled at her, and all her insides melted to jelly. That was the effect he had on her. And that was the reason she hadn’t wanted to go to Wyoming with him.
She was doomed. The more time she spent with him, the more hopeless her crush was. He would never see her as an eligible female – heck, he probably didn’t even see her as a woman. Just a girl two years out of college who’d worked for his brother.
Grace pulled on a pair of taupe wide-legged pants and a pink wrap top, wondering if the outfit flattered her curvy frame, honey blonde hair, and brown eyes. She hoped it wouldn’t be too hot for the pants – but since they were catching a flight, she wanted to wear something practical. And this outfit had nothing to do with wanting Sam to see her in a different light. Not at all.
She brushed her hair, fluffing it a little, but not too much – she didn’t want to have bed hair! Finally she was satisfied, stifling an “Eek!” at the time. At this rate, they wouldn’t have time for breakfast.
Grace hurried to the kitchen. There was no sign of Harriet, which meant either her sister was still sleeping, or she’d spent the night at Coop’s.
She checked the refrigerator for eggs and bacon, then realized Sam might be outside on the porch, too polite to knock.
Opening the front door, she spied Sam walking across the courtyard.
“Hi.” She smiled, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.
“Hi.” He returned her smile.
Why did he have to look so good in the sunrise? He looked freshly showered and shaved, and wore a similar outfit to yesterday’s – but today it was charcoal.
“Come in.” She held the door open. “I was just about to make breakfast.”
“Sounds good.” He entered the house, his scent of spicy citrus teasing her senses.
He followed her down the hall. Grace told herself to breathe evenly. If this was the effect he had on her now, how was she going to make it through the flight and the drive to Emmett’s house?
Once they reached the kitchen, she grabbed some ingredients from the fridge and bustled to the stove.
“Eggs and bacon okay?” She tried not to look at him.
“Fine.” He paused. “Do we have time for that? I’m happy with some toast or cereal.”
This time she did look at him. In surprise. He’d always seemed sophisticated, and she thought he’d appreciate a fancier breakfast than just toast or cornflakes.
“What time do we have to leave?”
“In half an hour.” He checked his sleek silver watch.
“I’ll put on some toast while this is cooking.” She heated the pan and cracked three eggs into it, added bacon, then bent down to get the toaster out of the cupboard.
“I can put the coffee on,” he offered, when she grabbed a loaf of bread and stuck two slices into the toaster.
“That would be great.” Smiling, she gestured to the coffee machine. “Do you know how to work it?”
He scraped back his chair and strode to the machine, looking it over. “It seems similar to mine at home.”
“Harriet bought it,” she informed him as she flipped over the eggs and bacon.
“It’s a good model.” He fiddled with the machine, turning it on and inserting two capsules.
“Mugs are over there.” She motioned to a cupboard near him.
He took out the mugs, and concentrated on the machine, the kitchen filling with deep growling noises.
Grace studied the sizzling contents of the skillet, until she determined their meal was done.
The toast popped up with a ping.
“It’s ready.” She carried the two plates to the table, and sat down, watching Sam complete the coffee making process and carry the two white mugs to the kitchen table.
“Smells great.” His brown eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled, as he sat down opposite her.
“So does the coffee,” she replied, taking a sip, the heat of the mug warming her hands.
They ate their breakfast, making small talk about their upcoming flight. When they’d finished, Grace piled the dishes in the sink, hoping Harriet wouldn’t be annoyed when she saw them.
“We better get going.” Sam looked at his watch.
“I’ll just grab my purse.” She hurried down the hall to her bedroom and grabbed her handbag. Last night she’d checked she had everything she needed in there, like her wallet, phone, and keys.
“Got the brownies?” Sam waited for her in the hallway.
Her eyes widened as she realized she’d forgotten one of the most important items. She’d been so caught up in Sam’s presence, wondering what he thought of her cooking, her outfit, the kitchen for goodness’ sake, that for a short time she’d overlooked grabbing the brownies as well.
She rushed into the kitchen, located the wrapped package, and joined him in the hall.
“All set.” She was positive her face was flushed.
“Let’s go.”
Sam opened the passenger door of his SUV. She scrambled in, trying not to squash the brownies.
The fifty-minute drive to the airport was the longest and shortest drive of Grace’s life. At first she didn’t know what to say to Sam – she’d exhausted her supply of small talk over breakfast.
He asked her some questions about the ranch, and she answered, but she couldn’t remember what she’d said. It was intoxicating – and dangerous – to be in such close proximity with him.
His scent was even more enticing in the confines of the car.
He must be inundated with women wanting to date him. Like the stylish women who accompanied him to fancy events, such as the opera and opening night at the theatre. When she’d paged through the social pages of the newspaper while living in Seattle, his photo was usually there, a fashionable woman on his arm.
Grace wasn’t glamorous or stylish. She was just – Grace. A girl who loved reading, worked in a bookshop, and cleaned bed and breakfast cabins.
He must be in desperate need of getting this painting finished in time for the exhibition, to have come all this way to ask for her help.
When they arrived at the airport, he checked them in, and they waited at the gate for their flight after passing through security.
Finally, they were able to board the plane, only five minutes later than the scheduled time. Grace sank into the plush first class seat, stretching out her legs. This was the first time she’d flown better than coach, but Sam seemed to take it all in stride. But why wouldn’t he? He was a millionaire.
During the flight Sam told her about the artists they’d acquired in the last year, and again how Parker hadn’t been able to hang on to any of his assistants since Grace had left. If it was a subtle plea for her to move back to Seattle and take up her former job, then it was unsuccessful. Sitting next to Sam, her unrequited feelings for him making her self-conscious about everything she said, reiterated to her how hopeless her crush on him was. Why would she move back to Seattle to feel like that every time he stopped in at the gallery?
Once the plane landed at Jackson Hole airport, Sam picked up the rental car he’d arranged yesterday, and they left the airport.
Grace cleared her throat, realizing she’d forgotten to ask him a very important question.
“Is Emmett expecting us?”
“No.” Sam continued to focus on the road ahead of them.
She stared at him in surprise. “What if he’s out? What if he’s gone away for a few days? It will be a wasted trip.”
“He shouldn’t be anywhere except his studio, finishing that painting.” Sam’s voice was grim.
“Have you told him that?” She raised her eyebrow.
“I shouldn’t need to,” he replied, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
“Hmm.” She sank back against the plush leather seat. This SUV was top of the line, just like the one Sam drove to the ranch yesterday.
“What does ‘Hmm’ mean?”
“If the painting isn’t finished, he must be having problems with it. And that means he mightn’t feel like being in his studio, staring at the canvas, wondering why he can’t complete it or what’s gone wrong with it.”
“What do you think he’s doing?” He cast a swift glance at her.
“He might be fishing in his lake. Or hiking in the woods around his house. Or visiting friends.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t been to his place.”
“I haven’t. But he’s told me about it.” Her gaze flickered to him. “Over cups of Earl Grey when he’s visited the gallery.”
“If he’s not home, then we’ll have to find him.” Sam’s voice tightened.
“I need to go to work tomorrow,” she reminded him. “At the bookshop. My actual job.”
“I know.” His tone was short.
Grace caught her breath when they finally drove through the rustic wooden gates of Emmett’s property. It was just as the painter had described it to her.
Tall pine trees lined the dirt driveway, as if guarding the way to a hidden dwelling. The SUV bounced and jolted along the rutted road, making Grace glad she wore her seatbelt.
“This road needs fixing,” Sam muttered, frowning through the windscreen.
“Maybe he doesn’t like having too many visitors,” she pointed out, entranced with the scenery.
After a few more jolts, they drove into a small clearing. In front of them was what could only be described as a storybook cottage, made out of golden stone.
“Oh!” She couldn’t help her exclamation.
Next to the house was a smaller dwelling, which Grace knew from their conversations was his studio. On the other side of the house, a single car garage was made out of the same golden stone, the wooden door shut.
“Let’s hope he’s home.” Sam exited the vehicle, as if the magic of the setting was lost on him.
Grace got out more slowly, looking around her. It seemed to be the ideal place to paint, read, or write. No wonder Emmett didn’t like travelling – why would he, when it seemed he lived in a perfect setting for his work?
Sam rapped on the heavy wooden door, which looked as if it were designed to keep visitors out.
Silence, apart from a bird cheeping in a nearby pine tree.
Sam’s jaw firmed and he knocked again, this time louder. Grace almost jumped at the sound of his raps.
A minute later, she heard footsteps approaching and then the door was flung open.
“What do you want?” A grumpy voice asked them.
A man in his seventies with short gray hair stuck up in different directions glowered at them from the doorway. He was of medium build and medium height, and his olive shirt sported a couple of blue paint splodges.
His glower slowly turned into a smile when he saw Grace.
“Grace!” His tone became friendly. “What are you doing here?”
Before she could answer, Sam said, “We’ve come to see you about the painting you owe my art gallery.”
“It’s not ready.” The smile faded from the man’s face.
Grace frowned at Sam. He was not handling Emmett the right way at all.
“I’m sorry we’re barging in on you like this, Emmett,” she said pleasantly, “but Sam—” she gestured to her ex-boss “—is very worried about your painting not being completed on time. He told me it’s going to be the showpiece of your whole collection and he needs time to find the right frame and the perfect place in the gallery to hang it. And when he told me he was having problems getting in touch with you, I did wonder if everything was okay?”
“It’s good to see you again, Grace.” The artist smiled at her. “Come in and we’ll have a cup of tea.”
She returned his smile and held up her package. “I made some brownies.”
“You were a fool to let her go,” Emmett told Sam as he motioned for them to come inside.
“I know,” Sam replied with feeling. She glanced at him quickly. She wished she knew what that feeling was. Regret? Exasperation?
They followed Emmett down a short hallway and into a great room – there was no other word to describe the huge living area, with vaulted mahogany ceilings stretching high into the air. Light streamed in from the numerous large windows, and colorful rugs adorned the floorboards.
“It’s beautiful, Emmett,” Grace breathed, taking everything in.
A large squashy leather sofa and two rocking chairs complemented a wooden coffee table that looked handcrafted. Bold colored afghans decorated the backs of the rocking chairs.
“Thanks.” Emmett looked a little diffident. “I don’t get many visitors.”
Grace nodded, remembering he told her after his wife’s death he’d turned to his work more than ever. She just hoped he wasn’t lonely.
“Would you like me to make the tea?” she asked.
Emmett shook his head. “I’ll do it. You’re my guest.”
She handed him the brownies, noting he’d used the singular of guest, not plural. Had Sam noticed?
If he did, he didn’t say anything, just looked around the room pensively.
“Sit.” The artist gestured to the sofa, then departed down the hall.
Sam checked his watch. “We’ve just got under ninety minutes to get this done.”
She glanced at him. “Maybe you should go for a walk outside and let me handle this.”
“Why?” He looked at her in surprise.
She quickly looked around to see if they were still alone, but kept her voice low. “I don’t think he likes you.”
Sam’s laugh sounded like a bark. “Yeah, I got that.”
“Emmett and I can have a nice chat and enjoy our tea and brownies—”
“You mean you don’t want me to have any brownies?” He mock-frowned. “That’s cold.”
Before she could answer, the artist came back into the room, carrying a tray.
“Here we are.” He set the tray down on the coffee table. Three thin old-fashioned teacups filled with tea, a small pitcher of milk, lemon slices, and a tiny bowl of sugar beckoned to them, along with Grace’s brownies arranged neatly on a plate.
“Thank you.” Grace smiled at the artist. She sat on the sofa and helped herself to a cup.
“About your painting, sir,” Sam began, grabbing a brownie and balancing it on his saucer.
“Oh, that.” The artist waved a hand. “I’ll show Grace in a bit and we can talk about it. Right now I’m interested in hearing what Grace has been up to. I couldn’t believe it when that Parker guy called me and said my painting was late.” He sipped his tea and looked over at Grace apologetically. “I’d actually forgotten it was due then, so I’m afraid I was a bit short with him over the phone. And then when he said you didn’t work for him anymore, well, I’m afraid I am prone to the artistic temperament at times.” He looked sheepish.
“I know,” Grace said sympathetically. She put down her teacup and fished in her purse, pulling out a pad and pen. “You can call me anytime.” She scribbled on the paper. “Here’s my phone number. I work part-time at the local bookshop – actually, I’m hoping to buy it – but I’m home in the evenings.” She held out the piece of paper to him.
“Well now, I think I will take you up on your offer.” Emmett beamed at her. “What’s this about you living on a ranch? I wasn’t sure if Parker was joking or not.”
“It’s no joke,” she told him, explaining how she and her sisters had inherited the ranch from the great aunt she was named after, and their uncle.
By the time she’d finished, she’d finished her cup of tea and eaten two brownies. Only then did she notice Sam frowning at her.
She glanced at him, furrowing her brow in return, but he didn’t say anything.
Emmett must have caught their interplay, because he rose from the rocking chair.
“I’ll show Grace my studio now.”
Sam rose as well, but the artist waved him away. “You’re welcome to stay here, take a load off.”
When Sam looked like he was going to say something, Grace said quickly, “We won’t be long.”
For a moment she thought he would ignore her unspoken message, but he sank back down onto the couch.
Grace followed Emmett out of the house and next door to the studio. He opened the door, and she caught her breath. Canvases of various sizes and shapes littered the walls. On an easel in the center of the room was a painting in progress – a magnificent landscape featuring a pine forest.
She practically tiptoed to the painting, taking in the craftsmanship of the brush strokes.
“Does this depict your property?” She gestured to the painting.
“Yep. This piece of land is behind the house. But I’m having trouble with the sky – I can’t get the right shade of blue.”
“Mm.” She viewed the painting again, and then took a few steps back. “I see what you mean.”
“If I make it too dark, then the painting looks too murky. But if I make it too bright, even though that is the real color of the sky here, it’s too much of a contrast to the trees.”
“Mm,” she said again. She’d studied art history in college – that was how she’d gotten the job at the gallery, but that didn’t mean she could paint. Emmett had probably forgotten more about painting than she’d ever learn, so it wasn’t as if she could advise him on how to finish the painting.
He sighed. “This is what’s been taking me so long. I’m stuck on that part.”
“I know you’ll find a way to solve it,” Grace’s voice was sincere.
“Just having you here has made me feel better about it,” he said.
“It’s a wonderful painting.” She gazed at it once more.
“The exhibition is next week.” He paused, then glanced at her pink top and then at the painting and then back at her.
“This might work.” He sounded excited as he experimented with pink and blue. “Yes, it might work,” he murmured to himself.
Grace watched him focus on mixing colors, then he seemed to remember she was still there.
“I’ll continue with it for the rest of the day,” he promised, putting down his brush. “Thank you for coming to see me.” He smiled.
“I’m glad I did.”
They walked back to the house. Sam paced the great room, waiting for their return.
“I’ll send the painting as soon as I can,” Emmett said. “And I won’t change to another gallery – for now.” He cast a glance at her. “But if Grace ever opens her own gallery, then I’ll be her first artist.”
“Understood.” Sam nodded. He held out his hand. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“If you ever need to come here again, make sure Grace is with you.” The two men shook hands.
Emmett escorted them to the front door. Then because he reminded her of her grandfather, she impulsively gave him a hug as they said goodbye.
She waved to him as Sam started the engine and they jolted their way down the rutted dirt drive.
“What did you say to him?” Sam asked as they turned onto the main road.
“This and that.” She looked at him curiously. “Why do you own an art gallery?”
“Parker and I inherited it from our grandfather. I own fifty-one percent and Parker owns forty-nine percent.” He shook his head. “Parker said he wanted to run it and I agreed, as long as I could check on things whenever I wanted. And until now, things have been going pretty smoothly.”
“Mm.” When she’d started work at the gallery, Parker had told her he’d been running it for a couple of years.
“What?” He glanced at her before returning his gaze to the road ahead of them. “You don’t think I know what I’m doing?”
“I didn’t say that,” she protested.
“You didn’t have to. Usually Parker handles the artists and I check the books.”
You mean I handled the artists.
Parker liked greeting the artists and seeing their latest works, but he seemed to enjoy interacting with the clients the most and getting them to part with their money for the latest paintings in the gallery. He was quite good at that.
“What about all the events you attend?” She could hardly believe she was asking him this question.
“What events?” He looked puzzled for a minute, and then his brow cleared. “You mean other gallery openings, and going to the theater, that sort of thing?”
“Yes.”
“It’s boring.” He shook his head as if he didn’t want to think about it.
“Then why do you—” she stared at him, noting he kept his gaze on the road ahead of them. Only the slight tightening of his fingers on the steering wheel alerted her that he might feel a bit uncomfortable talking about this.
“It’s a good way of getting the gallery name out there, and meeting potential new clients.” He sighed. “This was supposed to be Parker’s domain, but one night he didn’t turn up when he was supposed to. He had a meeting with a potential new client at this gala event.”
“What happened?”
“He called me at the last minute, knowing I’d bail him out. And I did. I took the meeting, getting there only a few minutes late, and sold the new client a painting as well. After that—” he shrugged “—I took over that part of the job.”
“Do you really need to attend all those events?” she asked curiously. “Surely the gallery is doing well?”
“It is – as long as Emmett’s exhibition goes ahead. But this was the way my grandfather did business, and I guess when we inherited the gallery, it seemed a good way to continue.” He cast a quick glance at her. “But now I’m not so sure.”
She was dying to ask him about the glamorous women he had on his arm at each event – at least the events that were chronicled in the newspaper, but she didn’t want to know the answer. What if they were all real dates? What if he played the field like his brother Parker?
Besides, once they returned to Spring River Bend she wouldn’t see him again. He’d catch the plane back to Seattle, and she would carry on with her plans to buy the bookshop and continue to live on the ranch with her sisters – her single-no-more sisters.
“Perhaps Parker could take over evening duties.” When he didn’t reply, she forged on, “Going to galas and all the rest of it.”
“Maybe,” he said slowly. A smile edged the corner of his mouth. “After this, he owes me.”
Sam seemed slightly happier as they drove the rest of the way to the airport. They boarded their flight, and landed at Billings right on time.
Grace’s stomach growled, and she hoped he hadn’t heard. It was now eight p.m., and apart from a quick bite at the airport at lunchtime, she hadn’t had anything to eat. She wished she’d brought an extra package of brownies with her.
“Hungry?” Sam asked as they walked out of the airport, the sun low in the sky.
“Yes.” She couldn’t lie.
“We can grab something on the way back.”
She nodded, following him to his vehicle. As she scrambled into the SUV, her stomach gave another embarrassing gurgle. She was just glad he wasn’t inside the car yet.
They stopped at a fast food place on the outskirts of Billings. Sam pulled up to the drive through window, paying for both of them, ignoring Grace’s protest. He parked in an empty space in the lot and turned off the engine.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said as he ripped open his paper sack.
“Thanks.” She took a dainty bite of her chicken burger, not wishing to seem out of control ravenous, although that was how she felt.
She sneaked a peek at him under her lashes, noting the way he ate his burger, as he needed all the fuel he could get.
When they finished eating, and drinking their sodas, he balled up his paper bag.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t fancier.” He turned to look at her. “Maybe we should have gone inside to eat.”
Even with a fast food bag in his hands, he still looked sophisticated and handsome. Way out of her league.
“It’s okay,” she said, feeling satisfied after the quick meal.
He looked as if he wasn’t totally buying her answer.
“Why don’t you show me this bookshop you want to buy?”
“Now?” She automatically checked her watch – it was eight-thirty p.m. “It will be closed.”
“You don’t have a key?”
“Not on me.”
“You could still point it out to me,” he suggested, starting the engine.
“Okay.” She leaned back in her seat, suddenly feeling weary. It had been a long day. If Sam wanted to detour to see the store she wanted to buy, she wasn’t going to argue.
“It’s in the town square,” she told him as they neared Spring River Bend.
He nodded, and drove slowly along the square, past the green lawn of the small park in the middle of the town square.
“There it is.” She pointed to a small bookshop, painted white, with large glass windows showing off the fully stocked bookshelves waiting within.
“Hmm.” He stopped the car and stared out the window at the shop.
“What does that mean?” She crinkled her brow. A couple of lights were on inside but the store closed at five. The owner usually kept them on for security reasons, although the crime late was low in the area.
“It looks pretty small.”
“It’s bigger inside,” she informed him.
“And you can make a living from it?”
“Yes.” Her furrow turned into a frown. “The current owner works there full-time and employs me for twenty-five hours per week.” She didn’t mention to him that sometimes the owner came in late and left early when Grace was at the shop. She didn’t think Sam needed to know that.
“I thought bookshops were on the decline – that people preferred to read e-books.”
“Not here. Sometimes we have author signings and a lot of the locals attend.” Which was true. But the authors were usually people who lived in the region and were happy to have a small signing close to them.
“Have you checked the accounts?”
“Yes.” That was the first thing she’d done when she’d told Jasper, the owner, of her interest in buying the store. She wasn’t an accountant, or even a bookkeeper, but the figures looked okay to her.
“Why is he selling?”
“His wife wants to move to California because it’s warmer. And her parents are getting older and she wants to be closer to them.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin, then slowly pulled out onto the road again. “So if you’re taking over the bookshop, you might need to hire an assistant.”
“Maybe,” she agreed cautiously, wondering what he was thinking. “Or I could just handle the shop myself for now, and then hire extra staff later on.” She wanted to be sensible with her meager finances, and most of the time when she worked there, they weren’t run off their feet. She was sure she could manage on her own.
“Is the stock included in the price?”
“Yes.” She’d made sure it had been, otherwise she knew she wouldn’t be able to afford it. As it was, Grace didn’t know where she was going to get the money to buy the store. She just knew that this would be the perfect opportunity for her to have something of her own. She loved books. And reading. “I’ll check the accounts for you.”
“You will?” They were now driving out of Spring River Bend.
“Yes.” He made it sound like a promise.
“But I’ve already looked over them.” She wasn’t sure if she liked him offering to do that. She knew she could ask Garth, Tess’s husband, to check them for her, or recommend an accountant.
But she’d wanted to do this all on her own.
“It’s the least I can do after dragging you to see Emmett today,” he said, driving along the highway toward her ranch.
“I didn’t mind seeing him,” she said truthfully.
“Parker should have handled the whole situation better,” he muttered.
She thought it best not to say anything to that.
Soon they arrived at the ranch. Sam pulled up outside the farmhouse. The porch light was on, casting a warm yellow glow over the pink floral swing.
“Thanks.” She turned to him, unbuckling her seatbelt, suddenly wondering what she was actually thanking him for. Her fast food dinner? His offer to look over the bookshop accounts? Or the chance to see Emmett again?
“I should be the one thanking you,” he said ruefully. “You’ve really helped me out today, Grace. I won’t forget it.”
“You’re welcome,” she murmured.
Harriet bounded down the porch steps, a smile on her face.
“How was the trip? Do you want something to eat? I saved you some beef casserole.”
“No, thanks.” Grace hopped out of the SUV. “We grabbed something on the way home.”
“How was the artist? Did you get him to finish his painting on time?” Harriet looked from Grace to Sam and back again.
Sam had gotten out of the vehicle as well.
“Grace did.” He smiled.
“I knew you would.” Harriet led the way to the house. “Would you like a coffee, Sam? I could make you a cappuccino. Or a mocha, or a latte, or—”
“Say yes,” Grace whispered to him as they followed her sister into the house.
“That would be great, Harriet,” Sam said. “As long as it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Harriet waved a hand in the air and then hurried to the kitchen.
“Did something happen today?” Grace eyed her sister. Harriet seemed very cheerful.
“Oh, Grace.” Harriet turned from the coffee machine and almost jumped up and down on the spot. “Coop says we should start organizing the wedding!”
“Already?” Grace’s eyes widened. Harriet and Coop hadn’t been engaged for long.
“I know!” Harriet’s face was radiant. “He says he doesn’t want to wait. We can have a church ceremony in Spring River Bend and the wedding reception here, maybe.”
“Here?” Grace looked around the shabby, old-fashioned kitchen.
“Maybe not here here.” Harriet poured some milk into a stainless-steel jug. “I thought I’d talk to Tess and see what she thinks. Maybe we could have a marquee in the paddock or—”
“Have the reception in Tess and Garth’s new house?” Grace raised an eyebrow.
“Well, Tess might suggest that. And if she did, I’m not going to refuse.” Harriet’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, Grace, it’s so exciting!”
“I’m happy for you.” Grace smiled at her sister. And she was. But she was also aware that she was going to be the last single sister. Oh, well. She’d have her bookshop and all the Katie Fforde books in the world to keep her warm at night. As well as her comforter and hot water bottle.
“Where are you and – Coop, is it – going to live?” Sam had settled himself at the kitchen table as if he’d always lived there. Strangely, for once he didn’t look out of place with his designer suit, only slightly rumpled from the long day, as he leaned back in the hard wooden kitchen chair.
“We’re going to live in his quarters out there.” Harriet waved a hand in the direction of the porch. “And he said he’s going to build us a house!”
“He did?” Grace sank down on a chair opposite Sam.
“Uh-huh. He’s already spoken to Tess about it, and she said go for it! Not that she could refuse really, since we all own an equal share in the ranch and she and Garth have already built their own huge log home.” She turned to face Sam. “Have you seen it?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“He should, shouldn’t he, Grace?”
“It’s quite something,” Grace said.
Harriet finished making the coffee, the machine whirring and buzzing as it poured the shots of espresso.
Grace wrapped her hands around the mug Harriet set in front of her, although she didn’t really need the warmth – it had been a pleasant summer’s day.
Sam sipped his cappuccino, appreciation creasing his face. “This is really good, Harriet. Better than I make.”
“I am a barista.” Harriet grinned and sat at the table next to Grace, holding her own cup of coffee. “Tell me all about your trip.”
“In a sec.” Grace savored the nutty caramel notes of her cappuccino. Her sister made the best coffee.
“It went well.” Sam said, after taking another swallow of his coffee. “Grace sweet-talked Emmett, the artist, into finishing his painting on time, and we managed to catch the five o’clock flight back to Billings.”
“That’s great.” Harriet looked at her sister. “How did you do it?”
“By being supportive,” Grace said. “You know I like Emmett, Harriet. And his paintings are wonderful.”
“Yes, they are.” Harriet nodded. “Grace dragged me to one of his exhibitions in Seattle,” she informed Sam.
After a minute, Harriet finished her coffee and scraped her chair back, covering her mouth with her palm as she yawned. “I think I’ll go to bed now. I’m glad everything went well today.” She yawned again. “I’ll see you in the morning, Grace.” Her gaze flickered to Sam, then back to her sister, before she hurried out of the kitchen.
Grace wasn’t sure if her sister had just fake-yawned or if it had been real.
“Well.” Sam took another sip of his coffee.
“Well.” Grace looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. Was it really nine-forty-five p.m. already?
“I guess I’ll get going.” Sam stood, taking his cup over to the sink.
“I guess.” Did her voice sound wistful?
“I’ll come to the shop tomorrow and look at the accounts.”
“Okay.” She rose from the table and gazed at him. His dark hair looked a little ruffled, but it suited him. And there was a hint of nine p.m. shadow on his jaw, which made him look even more handsome – and sexy.
“Where are you going to sleep tonight?” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth she wished she could take them back. Her cheeks flamed.
“I’ll drive back to Billings and check into a hotel.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.
She took a deep breath. “You could always stay here. In the guest cabin, like last night.”
“No one’s staying in it?”
“I don’t think so. Let me check.” She crossed the kitchen and pulled out an old fashioned wooden drawer. Inside was a large reservation book. She flipped through the pages.
“No.” She held up the book to him, hoping he wouldn’t notice her hands trembling. “There’s no one booked in for tonight.”
“That would be great,” he said. “I’ll get my stuff from the car.”
“Okay.” She grabbed the cabin key from the hook in the kitchen and followed him out of the house.
What was she doing? But it made sense. What sort of person would she be if she let him drive all the way to Billings and then all the way back to Spring River Bend the following morning, just so he could look at the books for her?
A sensible person.
She was never going to get over her crush on him if he was right here, on the ranch.
He shut the trunk as he got his bag out, and they walked side by side to the cabin.
“I thought your bed and breakfast business was doing well,” he said as she unlocked the door.
There was really no need to keep the doors to the cabins locked when there weren’t any guests – they were out in the country and didn’t have many callers apart from the Coltson brothers on the neighboring ranch, who’d helped them out numerous times when they’d first moved in. But she and her sisters had agreed that it would give their guests peace of mind to know security was taken seriously.
“It is,” she replied as she stepped into the cabin. One of her sisters had neatly made the bed, and the whole space looked inviting and welcoming in a charmingly rustic way.
“We’re not booked every night, but we have enough guests that we’re making a decent profit.”
“That’s good.” He smiled down at her.
She held her breath. They stood so close – only a quarter of an inch separated them. His faint, spicy scent of citrus teased her nose, making her want to do nothing more than to step into his embrace.
But she couldn’t. Could she?
He took a step back and the moment was over.
It was obvious he didn’t have feelings for her – why would he? No matter that he’d told her he didn’t like going to those evening galas to promote the art gallery – he’d still gone, with a glamorous woman on his arm. She couldn’t compete.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He set his bag on the floor, next to the double bed.
“Come to the house for breakfast.” She swallowed. “I have to start work at nine, so we could eat at 7.30.”
“No problem.”
He seemed to take up a lot of space in the small cabin. Grace turned and hurried toward the door. If she didn’t want him to know how she felt about him, she had to get out of there.
“Good night,” she called out once she was safely out of the cabin, closing the door behind her.
She thought she heard a muffled goodbye, before she strode to the house, not looking back.
Why did Sam Hartwell have this effect on her? And what was she going to do about it?
