Afterward, he wrapped her in a towel and gathered her close. “I know you have to write, and I have work to do, but I don’t want this feeling to end. Spend the morning with me. Show me Snow White’s cabin. Take me on the walk you used to take with your grandfather.”
Even in her euphoric state, her knee-jerk reaction was to say she needed to write. It was so strong, she had to visualize pushing it away and putting it under lock and key in order to move past it. That scared her as much as it fascinated her, because nothing had ever made her happier than she felt at that very moment.
“What do you say, Char? Just a few hours?”
“I’d love that,” she said.
Just as the panic of falling farther behind on her deadline creeped in, he kissed her, pushing it away once again.
BEAU HAD BEEN with Tory so long, he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been in love with her, and in the years since, not only hadn’t he felt anything for another woman, but he hadn’t thought he was capable of it. He knew life could change in an instant, but he’d never imagined it changing for the better.
After collecting the eggs, they made omelets—or rather, he made them and she watched like he was creating art. Beau realized how much he’d missed having someone special in his life. He noticed other things about himself, too, like how interested he was in what Charlotte had to say and how the more he learned about her, the deeper he wanted to dig. After breakfast, as they walked hand in hand through the woods on the trails she’d once walked with her grandfather, she shared stories about her family, holding his rapt attention.
“My grandfather used to sing the whole way down to the barn. Did I mention that he had the worst singing voice ever? It was awful, which is probably why I can’t carry a tune across the street. But I always loved listening to him sing, and he didn’t care if he was off-key. I loved that about him, that he could be happy even with his weaknesses.”
The longing in her voice was inescapable, and Beau’s desire to explore all of her emotions made his chest feel fuller, bringing a level of happiness he’d thought he’d never feel again. Just as he acknowledged it, guilt piled on like dirty laundry.
“Because it wasn’t a weakness to him,” he said to distract himself from the guilt. “It was only seen as a weakness by others. Your grandfather sounds like he was a strong man, which makes sense since you’re so strong.”
“Thanks. He definitely taught me to be strong.” She pointed through the trees, looking radiant in her sexy, colorful sundress. “We’re almost there. That’s the tip of our barn. When I was growing up in Port Hudson, I had the most beautiful horse named Winter. My parents took me to a rescue ranch to pick her out when I was six, and I fell in love with her the second I saw her. She was eighteen, and dusty white with one big brown eye. She’d lost the other when she was a foal. My parents tried to get me to take a younger horse, but I knew she was meant to be mine. We brought her with us when we came for the summers, and I used to ride her everywhere. My father also loved to ride, and at the time my grandparents had a horse named Princess.”
Beau pushed a branch out of their way. “What happened to the horses?”
She ducked under the branch and walked down the hill toward a thicket of trees blocking the view of the barn. “Winter died when I was sixteen, and the year after my grandmother died, we lost Princess. But they left us with great memories,” she said cheerily.
She pulled him through a gap in the trees to a clearing. A babbling brook snaked along the left side, and a small rustic barn with a steep-pitched roof lay just ahead. The brook had several rocky-ledged waterfalls, which were clearly man-made, adding a mystical feel to the beautiful setting. Vibrant wildflowers poked out between long blades of unkempt grass. Beau was struck with a vision of Charlotte as a young girl playing in the grass, dreaming up fairy-tale worlds as her horse grazed nearby.
“Gosh, I haven’t been down here in years,” she said as they headed for the barn. “It looks smaller than I remember.”
“Years? You do realize you live on your own little slice of paradise, right?”
“Yes, and I know I don’t appreciate it as much as I should, but stories do not write themselves. And I guess life has gotten in the way of my walks.”
“We need to fix that,” he said, noting the damage to the peak of the roof, the missing shingles, and a few rotted boards he could fix while he was there. “How long has it been since you’ve ridden?”
“Since Winter died.”
He lifted the iron drop-bar latch on the barn door. “There are no locks?”
“There’s nothing to steal,” she said with a sassy grin as he pulled open the door.
The musty smell of old wood, hay, and years gone by assaulted them.
Charlotte stepped inside and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. “I love this smell. I miss it.”
The peaceful look on her face gave him that tight feeling in his chest again. Beau pressed a kiss to her lips as she opened her eyes. “It’ll smell even better if we clean it and air it out. This is the difference between the real world and the fictional one you live in.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m pretty good at conveying things on the page.” She walked down the center aisle of the dusty barn, peering into each stall. She lifted an old leather harness from a wooden hook on the wall and sniffed it. “The smell never really goes away.”
She set it back on the hook and walked toward him.
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her. “I don’t think your sweet scent will ever go away, either.”
“Beau…” she said a little shyly.
He touched his lips to hers, loving the way she could be brazen one minute and tentative the next. “It’s true. I came here expecting to be completely focused on work and nothing else. And then there you were, crawling on top of a handcuffed blow-up doll. I haven’t been able to think straight since.”
“You’ve had the opposite effect on me. I had writer’s block so badly I could barely string sentences together, and now it’s like you’ve opened a vein.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about you using me for research,” he teased.
“I’m not using you for research. Or at least, not anymore.”
He chuckled. “Maybe we both need a dose of real life while I’m here.”
His cell phone rang, and he begrudgingly pulled it from his pocket. Nick’s name flashed on the screen, and his chest constricted. Goddamn it. He didn’t need his brother checking up on him. He sent the call to voicemail, his walls creeping up around him again.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” she asked.
“No,” he said as he headed out the door. “Let’s go see the cabin.”
She hurried after him. “I can give you privacy if you want to call whoever it is back.”
“It’s just my brother Nick. I know what he wants.”
“And I take it you don’t want to talk about whatever it is?” She laced her fingers with his and stopped walking. “Beau, last night you said two of your brothers had texted and I noticed that you didn’t reply to them either. I’m sorry for being nosy, but is something going on between you and your family?”
He clenched his jaw, scanning the tree line for the trail, and headed toward a gap in the trees. “Do we follow that path to the cabin?”
“Yes, but…” She sighed, hurrying to keep up.
He felt bad for being short with her and stopped walking. “I’m sorry. There’s some stuff going on back home that I’d rather not think about.”
“Maybe talking about it will help.”
“It won’t. Look, I like hanging out with you, and I don’t want the ugliness of that situation to ruin the little time we have together.”
“Hanging out?” The hurt in her eyes cut right through him. “Is that what you call this after what we’ve done together? Because I hang out with Cutter, and I’d never let him do those things to me!” She stalked away.
“Goddamn it.” He caught up to her and step
ped into her path so she had no choice but to hear him out. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I’m upset, okay? I’m angry, confused, and not thinking clearly, but it has nothing to do with you. I like being with you, and I haven’t felt like this, or been this close to anyone, in a very long time. I just don’t want my life to fuck it up.”
“Your life? Don’t worry, Beau. You’re doing a good job of messing it up all on your own. I realize we barely know each other, but it still hurts to be shut out.” She crossed her arms and shifted her eyes away.
He wrapped her in his arms, hating himself because she was right. She had no idea of the noose he’d worn like a bow tie for so long it had become a part of him. He kissed the top of her head and said, “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m pretty messed up this time of year. Or maybe always, but especially now. I don’t want to hurt you or lay my crappy past on you.”
She gazed up at him, sunlight reflecting in her serious eyes. “I laid my crappy past on you, and you didn’t run from it.”
“Charlotte,” he said softly. “I don’t think I could run from you if you were holding a gun to my head. You’ve found parts of me that I thought had died a long time ago. I’m sorry for snapping and for shutting you out. You don’t deserve either, but it’s hard for me to control it when it comes to this. Please don’t push it right now, okay?”
“I’d like to agree, but it would be a lie.” She shrugged apologetically. “I take it this is about the girlfriend you lost?”
He turned around, wondering if he should have walked away before they’d ever kissed, because when he looked into her eyes, it was impossible to remain steadfast in his resolve to keep his distance.
She walked around him until he was staring directly over her head to avoid falling back into her beautiful eyes. She jumped so her eyes met his and said, “Beau!” She jumped again. “Please”—jump!—“talk”—jump!—“to”—jump!—“me.”
He couldn’t help but haul her against him. “Where did you come from?”
“From two people who were madly in love,” she answered. “And from what you told me, so did you. We’ve both lost people we loved. If anyone understands what you’ve gone through, it’s me. I think it might help to talk about your feelings, to honor them instead of letting them choke the life out of you every time you think about her.”
He felt like a fish on a hook. Every time he tried to swim away, one look at Charlotte reeled him back in. Except that analogy didn’t work at all. A fish would die if it were caught, and he had a feeling Charlotte was the only thing that could breathe life back into him.
She wound her arms around his waist and kissed his sternum. “Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”
“That’s all, huh?”
She held up her finger and thumb and mouthed, Just a little bit.
“You drive me crazy, shortcake.”
“Maybe you need a little crazy in your life.”
Chapter Ten
“KEEP YOUR EYES closed,” Charlotte said as she led Beau down a stone path lined by rough-hewn tree stumps, which were connected with long branches like velvet rope stanchions. They stood before the Tudor-style home her great-grandfather had renovated to look just like Snow White’s cabin. The chocolate-colored A-line roofs sloped nearly to the ground, dipping where roofs shouldn’t dip, as if they’d melted in the sun. Between the taller peaks were two small dormers, and just below, another drippy roof sheltered a bay window beside the arched barnwood front door. A crooked stone anchored the right side to the rocky patio.
“Okay,” she said, excited to share one of her favorite places with Beau, hoping it might ease the sting of whatever was eating away at him. “Open your eyes.”
His eyes opened, but they didn’t find the house. They landed on her, and the emotions in them made her stomach tumble. Beau didn’t say a word. He simply kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks. She melted a little more with each touch of his lips, and when he cradled her face the way she’d come to anticipate, she held her breath, hoping he wasn’t going to tell her they’d made a mistake.
“I have had my eyes closed for so many years; it’s going to take some time for me to adjust to your beautiful, bright light. But I see you, Charlotte, and I want to see more of you. I also want you to see more of me, but it’ll take time.”
Forget melting at his kisses. His words, expressed with such sincerity, turned her to a swoony puddle of goo. She went up on her toes, meeting him in a dreamy kiss full of hope and unspoken promises. His thumbs caressed her cheeks as their lips parted, and a new smile she’d never seen before softened his features.
“I came out here to fix up your place. I had no idea I might be on the agenda.”
“Neither did I. I don’t want to fix you,” she said honestly. “I just want to know you.”
He lowered his lips to hers in a slow, drugging kiss. Then he glanced down at the oddly shaped maroon, forest green, and peach slabs of rock and cobblestones bound together with thick white concrete beneath their feet and said, “Have we entered Fairy Tale Land?”
“I know I have,” she said breathlessly. The amusement in his eyes brought her back to reality. “Sorry. It’s not my fault that your kisses give me the best kind of high.”
He touched his lips to hers. “Yours too, shortcake.” He glanced at the house. “Are we about to be greeted by seven whistling dwarfs?” He took her hand and headed for the door. “This house is phenomenal.”
“It is amazing, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” His gaze swept over the roofs. “Actually, I take that back. I’ve seen roofs that slope like this, but usually on houses that are in complete disrepair, not purposefully built. Please tell me you lock these doors.”
She reached into a nearly invisible pocket in her dress and withdrew a blue-and-yellow polka-dot key. “Voilà!” She handed it to him.
“Polka dots.” He chuckled. “We’re going to clean out that barn and lock it up, too,” he said as he unlocked the door.
She loved his enthusiasm, but though she was having a great time this morning, the voice in the back of her head reminded her of her deadline. “I don’t have time to clean out a barn. I have a book to write.”
He pocketed the key, giving her a get-serious look. “By we I meant me. You’ll sit your pretty little ass down by the brook and type away on your laptop.”
“Oh, will I?” She knew she would. He was her inspiration for this story, and more importantly, she wanted to be with him. “Don’t you have enough work to do around here? You’re only here for another few weeks.” Her stomach sank as she said it. She finally felt something real, something good enough for her to be standing outside instead of sitting at her keyboard. She hated that their time together was ticking away.
His brows knitted, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing. As if he didn’t want to think about it either, he shifted his gaze away and said, “I’ll make the time. I don’t like the idea of your family’s legacy rotting away or being left open to God knows what.”
“Bears and other creatures, right?” she teased, pushing thoughts of his leaving away. “Maybe we should buy a security door for the barn.”
“You need that security door,” he said.
“Who are you, the evil witch Gothel?”
“Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Gothel is the witch who locked Rapunzel in the tower.”
He swept her into his arms and said, “Trust me, shortcake. I have no interest in locking you in a tower. I want to get you out of that inn so you can experience life. With your laptop, of course.” He gave her a chaste kiss. “Although, having you shackled to my bed? Now, that might be fun.”
Her mind raced at the prospect as he turned the knob and pushed the door open. The scents of cedar and love filled her as they stepped inside.
His gaze swept over the hand-sculpted stucco and stone walls, none of which were straight. He ran his hand along the carved wooden cap on the
half wall separating the living room from the cozy eating area and looked up at the exposed-beam ceilings, saying, “Wow. Your great-grandfather did this? This is amazing. Did he hand-carve all the beams?”
“With his own two hands. The beams, these wood caps on the half walls. He made every arched door, and he purposely made them all different sizes and widths, and he made the intricate iron hinges, too. I wish I had known him.” She took his hand, leading him through an archway carved into a giant tree trunk to the kitchen. Pine cabinets with elaborately carved doors were built into the uneven walls on one side of the room. On the other side sat an old-fashioned iron stove, begging for a teakettle. Its flue wound up behind it and disappeared into a stone wall in which a rounded brick oven was built, bringing back a wealth of warm memories.
“When I was little, my grandmother made pizza in the brick oven. I’ve never tasted anything so good, except maybe the steak you made the other night.”
“I bet you have great memories of this place. No wonder you like fairy tales.” He marveled at her great-grandfather’s handiwork. “Charlotte, this attention to detail is insane. Nothing is plumb, and the ceilings look like frosting. I love how he made it wavy to fit the storybook home. And these pine cabinets? Look at the way each door is arched and a different size than the next. He must have worked endlessly to achieve this. This wasn’t just a renovation. This is a masterpiece.” He crouched to inspect three small arched openings between the countertop and the cabinets above.
“Aren’t those nooks cool? My grandfather said his father made everything. He even made the steps from trees on the property.” She pointed out of the kitchen to the stairs that disappeared behind the tree-trunk archway.
“Cool doesn’t even come close to what he’s done here. Look at this. Every step is a different size and shape.” Beau crouched and ran his hands over the wood. “They’re smooth as butter. Can we go up?”
“Yes, but be careful. One step is missing.” Excited that he loved the house as much as she did, she hurried upstairs, slowing to step over the missing tread.
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