Beau knew that type of love existed. He’d had it once, and when he’d lost it, he’d been pretty sure he’d lost the ability to feel that way ever again. Charlotte made him feel again, and it bothered him that she would lock herself away because she thought she could never have it.
“It exists,” he said. “You shouldn’t give up hope. I think my parents have the type of relationship you’re describing.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up, pushing all his buttons. She set her laptop on the floor.
“Yes. I’m sure of it. They met at a wedding at Hilltop Vineyards in Pleasant Hill when they were in college. My mother’s family owns the winery, and she was there during the wedding, which my father was attending as a guest. The way my father tells the story, it was love at first sight, but my mother says it was lust at first sight and turned to love after my father refused to let her get away.”
“I love that.” She tucked her legs onto the seat and propped her elbow on the center console, looking adorable with her chin resting on her palm. “Tell me more. Do you know how he won her over? Did your mom play hard to get for a reason, or just because it was fun? Or maybe she didn’t play hard to get at all, and he just thought she was because she was careful? What did their families think? Do they still hold hands and kiss all the time? I love the idea of holding hands and kissing. When they fight, can you tell they still love each other? That it hurts to fight, but they have to do it to clear the air?”
She asked so many questions, and Beau had a feeling those questions were who she was at her very core, part of her quirkiness, part of what made him feel again. Happy was the emotion of the moment, though she put him through a roller coaster of emotions every time they were together. “You want to know about their fights?”
“Yes, probably more than the rest. I think that’s how you know true love. My mom was feisty but careful—”
“Like you.” Beau glanced at her, catching her eye, and he realized he wanted to know about her parents, too, and in what ways she was like them.
“I’m a lot like she was,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “But I think I have a lot of my dad in me, too. He was a passionate man in his beliefs about everything from business to how they raised me. My parents didn’t fight often, but when they did, I remember thinking about how much they hated it. Sometimes couples fight and you want to hide or save one of them from the other. It wasn’t ever like that with them. Even if they told me to leave the room to give them privacy, I’d sit right outside listening, because their voices were my safe haven. They were always saying things like, ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, but…’ and ‘Damn it, Patricia! I love you, but you’re wrong about this.’ They had this mutual respect for their love, and it seems like couples don’t have that anymore.”
Her eyes misted, but she didn’t look away. Beau couldn’t help reaching over and putting his hand on hers, squeezing it reassuringly.
“I remember thinking if that ever changed, I would be lost.”
“And then you lost them,” he said gently, his chest constricting with the harsh reality.
She blinked her eyes dry and nodded. “Their plane went down overseas…”
Her voice trailed off and she looked away, blinking repetitively. He wanted to gather her in his arms, but just as he moved to do so, she drew in a loud breath and faced him again, her expression solemn, eyes drier.
“After they were killed, I came to live with my grandfather. I was lost for a while, but he didn’t let me get too far gone. We’re not supposed to be talking about me. You changed the subject. Or I guess I did. We seem to do that a lot. Tell me about your parents and why you think they have what mine did.”
He had a feeling she tried not to think about how much she missed her parents, and knowing they were killed explained even more. He was the king of bottling up his feelings. He knew how hard it was and how sadness and guilt and other dark emotions could eat away at a person. He didn’t want that for her, but he knew better than to push a person who was hurting.
“Okay,” he said, “but if you want to talk about your family, I’m a pretty good listener.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said. “Now, please tell me about your parents. Is your father as nice as Hal? Is he super serious like you? I want to know all about his pursuit of your mother. And I want to know all about your mom, too. I bet she was pursuing him in her own way, because love is like that. You can’t turn away from it.”
He kept his eyes trained on the road, not wanting to think too much about the truth in her words. “Hal’s a rancher, and my father is an engineer, so you’re talking about two different personalities. But my father is a good guy, maybe a little quieter than Hal, a little more serious. He’s nice, but firm. He pushed us hard, taught us to be part of our community, to treat people well, respect ourselves, and all that. Pretty standard fare for parenting, I suppose. From what my cousins have told me, the apple doesn’t fall far from the Braden familial tree. My mom was the same way when we were growing up, but she has a playful side, and she brings that side out in everyone, including my father.”
“And the good stuff?” she urged as he turned onto the main road. “Their love story?”
As they drove toward town he told her about his father writing love letters to his mother while they were apart and sending her flowers, showing up unannounced for surprise dates. Charlotte listened with bated breath, asking a million questions. Every so often she’d ask if she could use something he said in a story, or she’d say it gave her a great idea and she’d open her laptop and type for a few minutes.
When he was done, he realized he’d been talking for more than twenty-five minutes.
Charlotte sat back with an awestruck expression. “Wow, that’s beautiful. I think my favorite part of their story was when he showed up with a bicycle built for two, a picnic, and flowers. That’s so romantic.”
“I never thought this much about my parents’ relationship. To me, they’re just Mom and Dad. They love each other, and they love us. I guess I’ve always taken it for granted that they always would.”
“That’s why you’re not a romance writer and I am. I love fairy tales and happy endings.”
“Hey, I never said I didn’t like a happy ending.” He slid her a seductively playful look.
“You should read my books,” she said as she set her laptop down again. “They have both kinds of happy endings in them.”
“Thanks, but I prefer to experience happy endings, not read about them.” Her cheeks flushed so bright, he had to grin, and went for a safer subject. “I thought people were addicted to their phones, but not you. You’re addicted to that laptop.”
“Addicted to writing, not my laptop. How else will I get my happy on?” she said cheerfully.
“By living life. Leaving your office every once in a while. Talking to real people.”
“I talk to real people. I’m talking to you, and I have friends I talk to.” She leaned his way again, her beautiful eyes locking on him. “Let’s get back to you. You said you loved and lost. Was your love like your parents’, instant and unstoppable? What changed to make you two break up?”
A wave of apprehension washed through him.
“We’ve probably had enough love talk for today,” he said as ranches and pastures gave way to the narrower streets of Weston, and he turned onto Main Street, which was built to replicate the Wild West, complete with dusty roads, horse posts, and old-fashioned storefronts. He concentrated on the road, trying to ignore the heat of her stare. “The hardware store is right down the road.”
“It must have been a bad breakup. I’d say I don’t mean to pry, but I do. You’re obviously still hurting. Was it recent?”
He felt his walls going up again and remained silent as he turned into the parking lot. Damn it. He didn’t want to shut her out, but talking about Tory wasn’t easy. He cut the engine and met her inquisitive, compassionate, and too-fucking-beautiful eyes.
She placed her hand over his, a
s he’d done to her, and said, “I’m a good listener if you ever want to talk about it.”
“We didn’t break up. She was killed in an accident. It was a long time ago, and I don’t like talking about it.”
“Oh, Beau.” She crawled right up onto the console and embraced him. “I’m so sorry. That’s heartbreaking. No wonder you don’t want to talk about it.”
He was struck dumb for a minute, soaking in her comfort. She’d lost her entire family, and here she was, trying to soothe his decade-old wound. Struggling against the desire to stay right there, he put his arms around her in a quick hug. But she didn’t move away when he lowered his arms. She sighed and continued holding him, her face buried in his neck, her warm breath pushing away the discomfort of having revealed something so private.
She felt too good, too right. He needed to get a grip on his emotions or the next few weeks would be hell. He needed space, but he also wasn’t ready to drive back up the mountain and go their separate ways.
“Thanks, shortcake, but uh, how about if we get your medallion, buy the locks we need, and then maybe we can grab some dinner while we’re down here.”
“Okay,” she said with a heavy sigh.
She made no move to separate herself from him, and those sighs made him want to stay right there. What kind of magical powers did she have that she’d opened doors he’d long ago nailed shut?
“C’mon, shortcake,” he said before he gave in to his emotions.
She lifted her head from his chest, her gaze moving over his face. “Why do you call me shortcake?”
“You’re a tiny gal and you’re sweet as sugar when you’re not talking about porn. What else am I going to call you?”
“Charlotte?” She wrinkled her nose, looking adorable as hell.
“There are millions of Charlottes in the world, but I have a feeling there’s only one you. Now, how about we get going before we end up researching truck scenes?”
Her neck blushed, and it spread up her cheeks. Damn, that was hot, and cute, and not doing anything to make him want to get out of the truck.
“Going!” she said. She pushed his door open and crawled over him.
He slapped her ass on her way out, and she glared at him.
“Who climbs over the driver to get out?” He stepped out of the truck. “You’re like Tinker Bell, flitting about without a care in the world.”
“I was already halfway there,” she said as they walked toward the entrance to the hardware store. “More importantly, if you call me shortcake, what am I going to call you?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he mumbled, putting a hand on her back and guiding her out of the middle of the sidewalk as they passed a group of people.
“Let’s get the locks first,” Beau suggested when they entered the hardware store. “I have a feeling the medallion might take a while.”
“Okay, but if you insist on buying a lock for my bedroom doors, then I need a color-coded key so I don’t mix it up with all the others.” She strode determinedly down the aisle in front of them. The bathroom aisle.
He took her hand and led her toward the other end of the store. “This way, shortcake.”
“How do you know? You live a million miles from here.”
“Guy radar.” He pointed up at the signs hanging from the ceiling at the end of each aisle.
“Short girls don’t look up.”
There were about a dozen dirty jokes on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole, lest he end up sporting his own flagpole. “Great, then you probably won’t care what your medallion looks like after all.”
They found the locks, and Beau picked out one for the French door in her bedroom and the others he needed.
“Where do we get colored keys?”
“The locksmith. How often will you use that door instead of the front door?”
She shrugged. “I use that door in the mornings when I collect eggs, but I leave it open, so I don’t really need a key.”
“Yeah, about that. If you want to leave the doors open, we need to put up a security screen door that locks and has steel grates, so you don’t end up with raccoons or other unwanted visitors partying at your inn.”
“You worry too much about people breaking in.”
“Maybe you don’t worry enough. Let’s pick up screen doors, and after we get the medallion and pay for these, we’ll circle back to the locksmith and get colored keys.”
“Pink, please.”
“Of course.” As if there were any other choice.
“Look, it’s Hal!” Charlotte pointed across the store. At six foot six, with thick hair that was more silver than black, Hal Braden was a hard man to miss. Charlotte grabbed Beau’s hand, dragging him with her as she made a beeline for Hal. She dropped Beau’s hand and wrapped her arms around Hal. “I’ve missed you!”
“Hello, darlin’.” Hal hugged her tight, and Charlotte seemed to sink into him. Hal was in his early seventies, but he still worked on his ranch on a daily basis, which kept him in shape. He was thick chested and thick hearted. Hal was still desperately in love with his late wife, Adriana, who passed away years ago, leaving Hal with a broken heart and six children to raise.
“What a fun coincidence, seeing you here.” Charlotte gazed up at Hal with so much love in her eyes, Beau could feel how much he meant to her. “Thank you for sending Beau to fix the inn,” she said, stepping out of the confines of his embrace. “He’s doing a great job.”
“I knew he would.” Hal opened his arms and nodded at Beau, motioning with his hands for Beau to step into his embrace, which he did.
“How’s it going, Hal?” After Tory was killed, Hal had offered Beau an open invitation to stay with him while he found his footing, but Beau had needed to fly solo. He’d thought he needed to fly solo forever, but Charlotte was making him question that decision.
“All is well over at the Braden ranch,” Hal assured him. “I’m heading out of town to visit Hugh and Brianna. I miss those grandbabies somethin’ awful. I appreciate you coming out to fix up the inn. Charlotte’s parents were very special people. They’d like knowing she was being well cared for.”
“Why does everyone think I need looking after? Burly Beau here wants to put locks on my doors,” Charlotte said with a hint of annoyance, but the appreciative glimmer in her eyes outweighed her snarkiness.
“You know why, darlin’. Family knows no boundaries. Everyone needs looking after. Even your man, Beau. It’s good to see you out and about. Your mama wouldn’t have wanted you to disappear from the rest of the world. She’d want you to create your own fairy tale.” Hal looked at Beau and said, “I knew you were exactly what she needed.” He patted Beau on the shoulder. “Give your family my love, and you keep watching out for our girl. She’s stubborn, but the best of them always are.”
As he walked away, Charlotte said, “I love him so much.”
“He’s the best.” Beau took her by the arm and said, “This way, shortcake. You have more shopping to do.”
He had thought picking out the medallion might be a trying process, but it took Charlotte almost an hour to pick out the doors. Most of that time was spent trying to decide on the color, but the decorative scrolls also played a major role in her decision. He’d never known choosing between brown, black, or white could be so time-consuming. She finally chose the most elaborately decorated white security screen doors he’d ever seen, and then she turned those hopeful doe eyes on him and asked him to paint the scrolls pink. How could he say no to that? But now he realized choosing the medallion would rival the time it took to choose the doors. They’d been staring at the display for thirty minutes, and Charlotte still had a displeased look in her beautiful eyes.
“What’s wrong with this one?” Beau pointed to an intricately decorated medallion that would go perfectly around her chandelier. “I can paint it pink.”
She looked thoughtfully at the display. “They’re all round or square. They feel u
noriginal. When I’m lying in bed, I don’t want to see something boring, or feel like I could be in anyone’s bedroom. I want to see glittery stars or…”
“Something magical.” Why hadn’t he thought of that? Charlotte created entire worlds for a living. Of course she’d want something unique, and on top of that, she seemed to have a not-so-secret affinity for fairy tales and fantasy-level relationships.
Her eyes lit up. “Yes! Exactly!” She threw her hands up toward the ceiling, as if relieved someone finally understood her.
Beau took her hand and walked out of the aisle.
“Where are we going now?” She hurried to keep pace.
“The lumber department.”
“What is it with men and wood?”
He grinned.
“Ohmygod. Beau! Really, why the lumber department?”
He was suddenly acutely aware of the feel of her hand in his, and when had she wrapped her other hand around his forearm? She’d probably done it in an effort to keep up by using his momentum. “You want magical, and there’s only one way to achieve that. I’m making the medallion for you.”
She squealed and threw herself at him when he was midstride, nearly sending them both to the floor. He caught her around the waist and lifted her off the ground to keep from plowing her down.
“Damn, girl. I nearly trampled you.”
Wide, happy eyes gazed back at him as she said, “Thank you.”
“For what? Dragging you out of your office to pick out things you don’t want?”
“Yes, because what we want isn’t always what we need.”
“That’s funny,” he said as he set her feet on the floor, but she didn’t drop her arms from around his neck, and man, was he glad she didn’t. The happiness shimmering in her eyes changed in the space of a breath to something rich and seductive. “I was just thinking that, for the first time in forever, what I want might be exactly what I need.”
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