by Stacy Finz
Charlie and Aubrey slipped between the fence railings to welcome her. And the three women huddled together, talking.
“You’re burning the steaks.” Cash nudged his chin at the grill and Jace quickly flipped the fillets.
Sawyer turned his attention to Gina. Despite dressing like she was on her way to happy hour instead of traipsing through cow shit, she looked sexy as hell. Long, shapely legs and today she had her hair down and had actually combed it. It fell in soft waves just above her shoulders. And those blue eyes…they glittered.
Charlie brought her over and introduced her to Jace and Cash. “She brought her famous strawberry shortcake.”
Sawyer’s cousins greeted her with handshakes. Gina eyed the setup and Sawyer noted the gleam in her eyes. Before his grandmother died, Grandpa Dalton had built the summer kitchen, which rivaled most people’s indoor kitchens. Sleek stainless-steel appliances, a pizza oven, wood grill, and smoker. Big log gazebo and a bar. For big events, like Jace’s election fundraisers, they set up rows of barbecues to accommodate the crowd. But for anything under a hundred guests, this was more than sufficient.
“I thought you had something else today.” A gentleman would’ve kept his mouth shut and been gracious. But for some reason she pushed his buttons.
“I didn’t want to be rude,” she said, as if she was doing them a great favor by gracing them with her presence. Bringing the cake, though, had been nice. And unexpected. Gina DeRose struck him as a taker, not a giver.
Maybe he was making a snap judgment based on a paltry two meetings—at least the second one had been more positive than the first—but he was a trained observer, after all. And so far he took her for a narcissist. Weren’t most celebrities?
“Gina, you want a steak or a burger?” Jace put a row of burgers on the grill and began to arrange the buns.
“A burger would be great.” She slid a glance at the patties resting on the top rack where they could cook slowly without burning.
Jace was merely adequate in the kitchen, but his burgers were legendary. At least in Mill County.
“How do you want yours?”
“Medium rare,” she said and gestured at the patties. “How’d you prepare them?”
“Egg, pepper, garlic salt, chili powder, and my secret weapon.” When she arched a brow in question, Jace said, “Panko instead of bread crumbs.”
Sawyer watched her nod approvingly. The women pulled her over to the picnic table, where they plied her with questions about FoodFlicks. No one mentioned the elephant in the yard and Sawyer couldn’t help but wonder whether she was still seeing Danny Clay. Whether they were in love or just having sex.
Cheating sex.
“She seems nice,” Cash said.
Sawyer just shrugged and changed the subject. “Any news on Beals Ranch?”
Randy Beals, their neighbor, was upside down on his cattle spread. The Bealses and the Daltons had been friends for generations. But like everyone else who ran cattle in the Sierra foothills, the struggle to keep afloat during drought years was slowly killing them off. Unlike Grandpa Dalton, Randy had borrowed against his land to keep his operation alive instead of culling his herd. Now he couldn’t afford to pay the monthly mortgage bills.
“Haven’t heard anything,” Jace said. “I expect one day we’ll drive by and there’ll be a sold sign on the gate. What happens after that is anybody’s guess.”
“Anybody’s guess?” The vein in Sawyer’s neck pulsed. “What’ll happen is a big-ass development. You know it, Cash knows it, everyone on Dry Creek Road knows it.”
Cash let out a breath. “Not much we can do about it, Sawyer. It is what it is.”
“We can buy the damn place ourselves. Randy said he’d give us first dibs when he was talking about selling last winter.” But even as he said it, he knew how unrealistic it was. Beals Ranch was twice the size of Dry Creek Ranch and twice the price. They could barely afford the bills on what they already owned.
“Let me know when you win the lottery.” Jace sandwiched the burgers between buns and brought the tray to the trestle table, calling, “Food’s up.”
The kids raced over and Sawyer grabbed the medium rare burger and brought it to Gina. The steaks followed and everyone helped themselves to sides.
“Nice spread.” Gina sidled up next to Sawyer. “Does your family do this a lot?”
“Most Sundays, as long as everyone’s here. Jace is the county sheriff and Cash is an investigator for the Bureau of Livestock Identification, so they get called out fairly often.”
“What does a livestock investigator do?”
“Among other things, solve cattle rustling cases.”
“Is that even a thing outside of old Westerns?”
“Like I told you, beef is a billion-dollar business in California. So, yeah, stealing livestock is a thing.”
“No need to get huffy about it.”
“Huffy?” Sawyer quirked a brow. “There was nothing remotely huffy about that statement.”
“Good, then can I borrow your kitchen tomorrow?”
At least this time she was asking. “Why? You planning to go into the catering business now that you’re unemployed?”
“Ha-ha, very funny. I’m testing a new recipe and it took me two hours to bake a simple sponge cake in the cabin’s poor excuse of an oven.”
“Don’t show up before one. I’ve got writing to do.” If she was testing, he was tasting. A guy had to eat, right?
Chapter 4
Gina awoke to loud whoops and barks. For a second, she thought she’d died and gone to hell. Then she remembered where she was and realized she hadn’t died. But the rest of it was true.
It’s temporary, she reminded herself.
She crawled out of bed, padded to the window, and peeked through the blinds. In the distance, past the creek, close to a hundred cows lumbered across a field. Three men on horseback rode in formation, driving the cattle forward, whistling and shouting to keep them in line. Two dogs zigzagged in and out of the herd.
It was a sight to behold, even if it had roused her from a sound sleep. She stood at the window, watching. It was beautiful the way the cowboys seemed to have a sixth sense about which way the cows would move, turning their horses to and fro to keep the animals from straying. She’d never seen anything like it.
Gina grabbed her phone from the nightstand and wandered out onto the porch to snap a few pictures. She zoomed in with the lens and noticed that one of the cowboys was Sawyer. He didn’t look so surly on the back of a horse. No, he was actually smiling. And the cowboy hat…it was hot.
She was just about to post the picture to her Instagram account when she remembered that Wendy had warned her to stay off social media. So many haters had come out of the woodwork that she didn’t dare even lurk on Twitter or Facebook.
Her mother was probably laughing in her grave. How did someone like me wind up with someone like you? Gina forced her mother’s favorite refrain from her head and snapped a few more photos.
For the first time since she’d gotten here, she took the time to look around. Really look. The cabin was a squalid POS, but the land was gorgeous. The creek, the gentle rolling hills, the trees, and the mountains in the distance. And so green. Southern California was a sea of brown in July.
She looked for a place to sit to take it all in, started to take a spot on the upside-down wine barrel and thought better of it. All she had on was a nightshirt and the wood looked like it was splintering. Judging by the bottle rings on the oak, someone had been using it as beer rest, not a chair. Later, as soon as she showered and dressed, she’d do a little shopping on the Internet. Maybe buy a rocker.
The sun had made a full appearance, shining like a big orange ball in the sky. Gina went inside to look at the time. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. She thought about getting back in bed but was already wide awake.
She put a filter in the Mr. Coffee, scooped in some ground Starbucks, and flicked the switch. Another thing on her to-do list: Get a decent grind and brew and a bag of Italian beans. At least her trip to the Dry Creek Market would sustain her for a few days.
She searched through the cupboard until she found the powdered-sugar doughnuts she’d bought. They were a secret pleasure of hers, rooting back to when she was a kid and used to stash junk food under her bed.
While waiting for the coffee to brew, she jumped in the shower and dressed in a pair of denim shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. She mentally added jeans and a pair of sturdy hiking shoes or boots to her shopping list.
Last night, she’d felt like a colossal idiot in her Helmut Lang skirt and Fendi sling-backs. Had she lived in her own little bubble so long that she no longer knew how to dress appropriately to a family barbecue?
Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
Yet, everyone had been extraordinarily nice, especially Aubrey and Charlie. The two women had been kind enough not to mention Danny Clay and kept the conversation to cooking and ranch life. It was a relief to talk about something other than her imploding career.
The truth was Gina was so over herself that talking about Charlie and Jace’s upcoming wedding, about the women’s stepchildren—even about the weather—was a welcome relief. By the end of the evening, she’d so enjoyed herself that she’d forgotten to be miserable. Even Sawyer’s insistence that he drive her the short distance home hadn’t killed her buzz.
For all his dickness, he could be charming when he wanted to. She supposed a man who looked like Sawyer Dalton didn’t have to try too hard. He could scowl and hurl snarky one-liners all day long and still have women fawning over him like he was God’s gift to creation.
She hated men like that.
The coffee was done and she pulled out a mug she’d scoured after finding it hiding in the back of a cabinet. That was another thing she needed, dishes.
She sat at the table that had been left behind, dunked her doughnut in her coffee, and scrolled through her email.
So far, there weren’t any fires to put out. Then again, it wasn’t even nine yet.
She eyed the sad little cabin with distaste, wondering how long she’d have to stay here. Her Malibu house wasn’t a mansion by any stretch of the imagination, but it had a gourmet kitchen, a pool, a spa, and…running water.
It was weird not having to drive to a set or to her office. She was managing her business—or what was left of it—by email. Thank goodness she had a competent, dependable staff working for her that was picking up the slack in her absence. But she was bored. For her whole adult life, she’d worked hard, building her company.
She would think a break would give her a chance to breathe, a chance to sit back and take stock of her life. Yet, all it did was make her stir-crazy. At least she was cooking again. It had been so long that she’d forgotten how good it made her feel.
She washed and put her mug away, did a little internet shopping, and decided to take a stroll around the ranch. This time, she planned to hike on the road. After what Sawyer told her about ticks, she wasn’t taking any chances walking through the brush.
Plus, there were no cows on the road.
The property was vast. Gina didn’t know where it started and where it ended. But there were pastures that seemed to go on forever and lots of outbuildings and barns. Some in better shape than others.
She followed the creek in search of Charlie and Aubrey’s showroom and studio. At the barbecue, they’d mentioned their fledgling business of selling homemade furniture. Although Gina didn’t know a thing about design, she was all for women turning their passions into careers.
The risk was letting the career consume the passion. She knew about that firsthand.
Up ahead, an old weathered barn with a big wooden sign for Refind told her she’d found her destination. An electric tool buzzed as a crew of men framed an adjoining building to the barn. Country music played in the background and no one seemed to notice Gina, who’d had the foresight to wear her hat and sunglasses.
The barn’s large sliding doors were open. Gina popped her head inside, but no one appeared to be around. She felt funny about just walking in.
“Anyone here?” she called, doubtful that she’d be heard over the noise.
“Round back,” someone yelled.
Gina found Charlie sanding a dark wooden secretary that looked straight out of someone’s grandmother’s house. Next to the hutch was an unopened can of turquoise paint and a box of antique glass knobs.
“Hey.” Charlie stopped working and flipped up her goggles. “Welcome to Refind. Come on in. Aubrey’s in her office. I’ll get her so we can give you the grand tour.”
From Gina’s earlier peek, the store had been more than she’d expected. For some reason, she’d envisioned something like an antique mall, a mishmash of items laid out in no particular order. Instead, Refind reminded her of a chic showroom that had been built to look like a barn, rather than the other way around. It was like something you’d find in an upscale town in Vermont or wine country.
They entered from a side door. A section in the corner had been cordoned off for clients to sift through fabric and wood samples.
“That’s temporary,” Charlie said. “Until we get our offices and Aubrey’s studio built.”
The rest of the barn was set up in vignettes: Living rooms, bedrooms, dining rooms, even outdoor rooms. Light fixtures hung from the rafters, interesting art pieces were affixed to the walls, and there were throw pillows and various other textiles everywhere.
“This is amazing.” Gina turned in circles to take it all in. It was even larger than it had looked from the outside.
Charlie led her to the back where heavy canvas curtains partitioned off a makeshift office. “It’s a mess right now. The contractors started a few days ago and now it’s chaos. We’re adding an additional two-thousand square feet. Offices, a workspace for me, and a conference room for Aubrey where she can meet with clients…choose fabric swatches, wood finishes, paint colors, all that kind of stuff.”
Aubrey, who sat at an old farm table that had been turned into a desk, motioned that she was on the phone and made the five-minute sign.
They left her to finish her call while Gina wandered the showroom.
“You make all this stuff?” She sat in a club chair done in gorgeous geometric kilim fabric with leather accents and tried not to salivate.
“I find old pieces and either repurpose them or restore them. That came from a garage sale and was originally upholstered in green pleather.”
“This? You’re kidding.” Gina swiveled in the chair. It was as comfortable as it was stunning. “Can I buy it?”
Charlie laughed. “Of course you can. Where are you going to put it?”
It didn’t match the beachy theme of her Malibu home. Maybe she’d buy a mountain retreat just for the chair. “For now, the cabin.” May as well make the place a little less Bates Motel while she was here.
Aubrey slipped out from behind her fabric wall. “Well, what do you think?”
“I’m buying this.” Gina tested the chair’s rocking capabilities. Smooth ride. Oh yeah, she was going to spend hours in this chair. But for right now there was more to see. She got to her feet and didn’t know where to look first. “Everything is so original…and lovely. How do you both know how to do this?”
“I don’t,” Aubrey said. “I’m an interior designer. Charlie’s the creative one with all the vision.”
“Don’t let Aubrey kid you. She has an eye like you wouldn’t believe. Together we make an awesome team.” Charlie’s entire face lit up and her passion for her work—for this business—was palpable.
When was the last time Gina lit up like that while doing her show? So long ago, she couldn’t even remember.
; “So did the two of you know each other before you met Cash and Jace?”
“Nope. Aubrey lived here first with Cash and Ellie. I came later.” Charlie let out a nervous laugh. “I was escaping an abusive relationship. Jace and his sons took me in. But that’s old news.” She brushed it away, clearly not wanting to talk about that part of her life. Gina didn’t press. “Anyway, I used to own a successful store in San Francisco, started trolling garage sales here and refurbishing pieces. Word got out, mostly thanks to Aubrey, who had lots of clients looking to furnish second homes. And little by little customers started showing up at the barn, where I’d set up a workshop, to purchase pieces.”
“Our aesthetics…well, it’s like we were separated at birth, we’re so in sync.” Aubrey gave Charlie a squeeze. “It only made sense for us to team up. Build on what Charlie had already started at the ranch. The rest is history.”
“How does it work?” Gina asked. “People come here to shop or do you and Aubrey go to people’s homes?”
“Both,” Aubrey said. “At least, that’s how we hope it works out. We’re still in the infancy stage, but the plan is that I use Charlie’s pieces in my design work and that Charlie’s clients use me to put together entire rooms or design their remodels.”
“Wouldn’t you be better off in town?” How would anyone find them in the middle of nowhere?
“Our goal is to lure people to Dry Creek Ranch. The ranch is our inspiration and we think it can be our clients’ inspiration too,” Aubrey said.
It was actually a brilliant branding strategy, Gina thought. Consumers these days liked the backstory on their products. Charlie and Aubrey had such a sweet and genuine narrative to tell.
She could see the tagline now: Home is where the heart is and that’s Dry Creek Ranch. Or: Home on the range. Gina could think of a dozen catchy slogans off the top of her head. Maybe use the ranch’s horseshoe brand on all their labels, she mused. It was really quite innovative.
“And you think people will come this far out?” she asked.