“She still lives here.” I pointed down the gravel road. “She and Sawyer are staying in her late mother’s cabin while their new cabin is being finished.”
“Her mum’s cabin? What about her father?”
I met him around the car. “There’s a story there. Her biological father and mother lived there, but he died when Emma was a baby. Mr. Carrington, who was best friends with Anders, the biological father, stepped in to help take care of Emma and Mrs. Carrington,” I choked. Did I ever miss that woman. She was like a second mother to me, to all of Emma’s friends. “From there, their love blossomed, and they married.”
“When did she pass away?” Miles asked concerned.
“Just over two years ago.”
“You were fond of her.”
“Yes, and of this place. There are a lot of good memories here. Emma, Jenna, Brad, and I used to run all over the ranch and up the mountain trails, especially in the summer. There’s a lake and a stable full of horses.”
“Is that so?” Miles’s eyes darted around looking for the stables.
I figured he might be interested in that. I had seen pictures of him online playing polo or at polo tournaments.
“Horsey!” Henry was excited too.
Mr. Carrington walked out of his grand log cabin with Mrs. Carrington’s mark still on it. Her big pink wreath adorned the door no matter the time of year now. Mrs. Carrington loved pink everything.
“Did I hear someone say horsey?” He set his sights on Henry. Mr. Carrington was a well-known horseman and a sucker for cute kids. Chloe had been known for getting the distinguished cowboy to take her on many “horsey” rides and to even be the horsey on occasion. He was going to make an excellent grandpa.
“Hi, Mr. Carrington, thank you for letting us tour the place today.”
Mr. Carrington was to me in no time, wrapping his big, strong arms around me. “Anytime, honey, it’s good to see you. How’s your girl?”
“She’s great.” I gave him one more big squeeze before letting go. “I’d like you to meet Miles Wickham, my boss, and his adorable nephew, Henry.”
Miles cringed when I referred to him as my boss. I’m not sure why.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carrington.” Miles extended his hand to shake Mr. Carrington’s.
Mr. Carrington took his hand. “Nice to meet you as well. Please, call me Dane.” He gave me a pointed look. “That goes for you too, young lady. All you kids still calling me Mr. Carrington makes me feel old.”
I wasn’t sure I could call him Dane. “I’ll try,” I promised him.
Satisfied with my answer, Mr. Carrington—Dane—knelt so he was almost eye level with Henry who had suddenly become shy and hid behind Miles. That didn’t deter Dane. “How would you like to see my horses?”
Henry’s dark eyes widened, along with his cute grin.
Dane held out his calloused hand. He may have owned half the town and was the wealthiest person I knew, but his hands told how hard he worked for the Ranch. This was his wife’s dream, after all, and he wanted to keep it that way. “How about you come with me and we’ll give some of those horses a treat.”
Henry liked the sound of that. His little hand made its way into Dane’s. Dane stood and took the lead with Henry, who was dressed like a little gentleman. Thankfully, the sunshine was abundant even though it was still cool and crisp. Henry’s wool socks and sweater seemed to keep him warm enough for now.
I pulled my long cardigan sweater, the one Shelby had convinced me to buy—more like practically gave to me for free—tight around me as we made our way to the stables.
“Would you like my jacket?” Miles asked me.
I looked over at him. He was dressed smartly, like Henry, in a midnight blue wool blazer. I wished he wasn’t so handsome. And that cologne of his, mixed with the earthy scent playing in the light breeze, was ridiculously intoxicating. “I’m fine, thank you.” I faced forward, enjoying seeing Henry warm up to Dane and get excited about a couple of squirrels playing in the golden-leaved trees.
Miles apparently had no regard for my senses. He sidled up to me and in a low voice said, “I wish you wouldn’t call me your boss.”
I scrunched my face. “Why?”
“I thought we agreed we were friends.”
“Actually, we didn’t. I think we agreed it wasn’t by chance we met.”
“Your memory doesn’t serve me well.”
Our hands accidentally brushed. Lots of zings coursed through my body. It startled me so much I took a step away from him.
He clasped his hands together as if he felt it too.
Why did I feel like we were flirting with danger? I decided to change the subject. “What do you think of this place?”
“It’s lovely.” He sounded grateful for the change of subject. “It has the creative juices flowing.”
“I’m glad. I need that book.” I almost nudged him but stopped before I made that fatal mistake. No more touching, accidental or otherwise.
“If I haven’t said it before, I am deeply honored that you love my work.”
“Well . . . not all of it . . .”
He pounded his fist against his heart. “Please don’t tell me you read Murder River.”
“I’m sorry to say I did,” I sing-songed. “But at least now I know that a group of crows is called a murder. However, I will be forever creeped out by that knowledge every time I see one.” I got the shivers thinking about the gruesome details of the book and the chopped off crows’ heads left in the protagonist’s bed.
“I’ve learned a lot since that first book.”
“Agreed, but a lot of people did love that book, and your publisher must have, so I wouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I do. I worry that if I can write such drivel and get it published, what if the same thing happens with this book?”
“It won’t.”
He stopped and peered at me. “How do you know?”
“Because . . .” I stammered, “because . . . I won’t let that happen. And neither will Isabella.” I walked off, not giving him a chance to respond. I caught up with Henry and Dane. I took Henry’s other hand to calm my racing heart. I wasn’t sure I liked being open. Or maybe I just wasn’t used to it. I’m not sure I ever would be. Or was it that I would never allow myself to be? It’s not what I wanted. Truly.
Dane grinned between me and Miles, who had quickly caught up to me. Dane’s grin said he wondered if there was something between us. There was—a contract. A contract that protected both of us.
“What breeds do you have?” Miles asked.
“Quarter Horse, Palomino, Paint, and Thoroughbred.”
“I own a Thoroughbred myself,” Miles responded.
“You’re from London, correct?” Dane asked. “Do you own a stable there?”
“I’m a city dweller by nature. I board my pony at the polo club where I’m a member.”
“You’re a polo man. Sorry to say we don’t have any clubs around here. My horses are used mostly for trail rides and working. But if you ever want to take a ride, I do have some English and dressage saddles available.”
“Very kind of you,” Miles replied. I could hear the longing in his voice. He missed his home.
I couldn’t blame him, seeing as I was obsessed with the UK. I knew it wasn’t all garden parties and handsome men with delicious accents and large fortunes. One of the reasons I enjoyed watching the BBC was the realness of it. American television was so stylized, and everyone was glamourous. In the UK, it was gritty. In their crime shows you didn’t get DNA back immediately and the men and women stars were for the most part average-looking people. It was refreshing. Miles was an exception. There was nothing average about him.
I loved Carrington Ranch’s stable. The gray stone and wood structure had a storybook feel to the outside, and inside it was like a deluxe hotel for horses. Several of the horses were out in the nearby pasture, but Henry was enthralle
d with the few that were in their stalls. Dane picked him up and showed him how and where to stroke the horses. Henry was particularly delighted with the foal born just this past summer and her mother. The duo was named Dolly and Madison. Dolly, the Palomino mare, was a favorite of Shelby’s. She was a beautiful, gentle creature. Henry thought so too, by the way he loved on her head. Her foal, Madison, made Henry giggle when Henry fed her a carrot and she tickled his fingers with her mouth.
Miles stood back and took pictures with his phone of everything from the high-beamed ceilings to the tack room and, of course, Henry. His eyes swirling with all the possibilities. Personally, I could picture Isabella here talking to the horses, trying to sort out the mess in her life. More than anything, probably trying to come to terms with her feelings for Dexter. Miles was going to have to write that relationship carefully. Isabella would put up a fight; I knew her battle well. I fought on the front lines with her. Once she fell for Dexter, I would miss my sister in arms in this war I started for myself, but now it felt like I was fighting more and more against myself. How did I ever forgive myself and call a truce?
I wanted Miles to be right. If I looked at it through Isabella’s perspective, maybe I could figure it out.
“Nanny,” Henry called, drawing me out of my own head. “The horsey likes me.”
I took Henry out of Dane’s arms and kissed his cheek. “That’s because you’re so cute.”
Henry reached out again to pet the horse.
“I wish I could spend more time with you,” Dane said to me, “but we have some fences that need repairing before winter hits. Feel free to go anywhere on the property. You know it as good as anyone. Make sure you drop by the house and say hi to Frankie. She said something about making some chocolate chip cookies.” Frankie was their cook and a character. She probably fed us as much as our own parents had in high school.
“I can’t say no to Frankie’s cookies. Thank you for everything.”
Dane kissed my cheek. “Always a pleasure to see you. Bring Chloe by soon, and this kiddo.” Dane mussed Henry’s hair.
“I will.”
Dane turned toward Miles. “I hope this old place makes for some good story material.”
“It most certainly will. Thank you for allowing me to tour your beautiful property.”
“You picked the right tour guide.”
“That I did.” Miles gave me a thoughtful smile.
“May I suggest a walk around the lake?” A mischievous grin lit up Dane’s weather-lined face. “My wife always said there was nothing better than a romantic walk around the lake.”
“Mr. Carrington, I mean Dane,” I spluttered. “Miles is my—”
“Friend,” Miles interrupted. “A walk around the lake sounds lovely.”
Mr. Carrington patted Miles on the arm. “That’s a good man. Have fun.” He walked off chuckling to himself.
That left me standing there holding Henry, staring at my boss while my cheeks burned hotter than the sun. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Don’t be. If circumstances were different, if I were different . . .”
I peered into his conflicted eyes. What did he mean by if he were different?
In haste, he took Henry from me. “Let’s go take a friendly walk around the lake. Shall we?”
I nodded and led the way, not sure what to say. Tension hung between us. Not the angry kind, but the kind when things were left unsaid, or when too much was said. I felt like I was back in high school, walking down the hall after one of my guy friends admitted to having feelings for me and I couldn’t say it back. But this was worse because I did have some feelings, but they scared me and needed to remain unspoken.
The only sounds that could be heard was Henry pointing out every bird and squirrel he saw and the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet. Our trek had us passing several vacant cabins and the empty volleyball courts down to the lake. The Ranch was a quiet place this time of year, as it only had guests during the summer months. It was more of a hobby and a legacy to Mrs. Carrington now. The Carringtons didn’t need the money, but Emma loved walking in her mother’s footsteps and hosting guests who had become more like family.
I hated awkward silence, so I did something about it. “Is Isabella speaking to you again?”
Miles set Henry down so he could do some exploring under our watchful care. By exploring, I meant picking up every rock and stick he could and throwing them or showing them to us if he found them interesting. He may have looked like a little gentleman, but he was all boy.
Miles didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took his blazer off and draped it around my shoulders. “You keep rubbing your arms.”
It was the cruelest, nicest thing a man had done for me in a long time. Holy heaven his spicy smell was driving me mad with desire. Not to mention his thoughtfulness. I had to remind myself that my cerebral cortex was fully attached now and I was no longer an impulsive eighteen or nineteen-year-old who got tattoos because I was dared to by an attractive smelling man, or who slept with her ex-boyfriend because he promised he would love her forever. Neither of those men were thoughtful. They never would have offered me their jackets. Neither offered me anything but lies.
“Thank you,” I whispered and, against my better judgment, I wrapped the warm jacket around me tighter. His scent engulfed me. I held my breath. Then a long ago thought hit me. In the psychology course I had taken in college I remembered reading in one of my textbooks, that if you wanted to do better and heal, you couldn’t avoid triggers. You needed to face them head on and deal with them. I staggered as if I’d tripped on a rock. Miles reached out to steady me. If that wasn’t poetic. I took a deep, deep breath. In that breath, I had an epiphany. It was so strong I had to stop and take a moment. That was my problem. I needed to stop avoiding men. I could never learn to trust myself again until I did. Wow. I so didn’t want to hear that.
“Are you all right, Aspen?”
I blinked a few times, trying to come out of my truth bomb. “I just had a thought about Isabella,” I stuttered. Yeah. That was good. Use the fictional character to deal with real life. Seriously, I needed help.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about her as well. She’s very pleased with this place.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“But tell me your thoughts,” he encouraged.
I started walking again to keep up with Henry because I knew as soon as he could see the lake, one of us would need to grab him before he took a very cold bath.
Miles followed, eager to hear what I had to say.
“It just dawned on me that you have to make Isabella face what she’s been avoiding, namely her father’s secrets, her ex’s betrayal, and emotional intimacy. But she has to come to that conclusion on her own. She’ll never heal if she doesn’t, and if she doesn’t heal, she won’t believe there are any reasons to not only trust Dexter, but to trust herself with Dexter.” Suddenly I was on a roll. “And . . . she needs to understand that she’s never known what emotional intimacy really is, because if she realizes that, then maybe she won’t be so afraid of it.”
Oh crap, my brain was saying. Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. Did you just hear what you said? For the love of all that is good, listen to it. This was all very unwelcome news. I rubbed my heart furiously. At least it made someone happy.
Miles beamed at me. “You are brilliant, love.”
But would I listen to myself?
Chapter Nineteen
The last stop on the tour was the amphitheater. It had special meaning to me because of the pergola that sat front and center. I had watched the three best friends I ever had get married under it. It looked a little sad this time of year with dying leaves clinging to the vines. In the summer, it was covered in pink crawling roses, Mrs. Carrington’s favorite.
“Mr. Carrington and Mrs. Carrington were married under the pergola,” I told Miles while he took pictures of it. I stood close by, but far enough away to not be in any of his shots. “It used to
be at the country club where they got married, but for their first anniversary, he brought it here.”
Miles lowered his phone. “He’s a romantic.”
“He is.”
“I will have to use that bit of knowledge for my story.” He waved me toward the pergola. “You and Henry get under the pergola, so I can take a picture of you.”
I froze in place. “I can’t stand under it.” And why did he need a picture of me?
Miles rubbed his lips together, confused. “Why not?”
“Because the pergola is kind of like a town legend. Anyone who has ever married under it has never gotten divorced. I don’t want to ruin that kind of mojo.”
Miles walked closer to me and Henry, who had been zipping all over the open space, crawling over and under all the wooden benches that lined the rows of the amphitheater. His fancy clothes had attracted a lot of dirt and his shoes were muddy because, yep, he had to check out the lake. Boy could that kid run fast. Miles barely caught him before it wasn’t only his shoes that had gotten wet.
Miles lightly touched the pergola. “Truly no one has ever been divorced that has married here?”
“It’s true. I know several personally, including Emma, Jenna, and Shelby.”
“But you don’t think you’re as worthy as them to stand under it.” He said it as a statement, not a question, and, wow, it felt like punch to the gut.
I placed my hand on my stomach. “Maybe. They each did it the right way. They got their education and grew up before they decided to raise a baby. And they picked good men.” I absent-mindedly picked one of the dying leaves off the vine. “I could have gotten married here. Mrs. Carrington offered it to me, but I instinctively knew even then it wasn’t going to last. Yet I did it anyway,” my voice cracked. I blew out a heavy breath to stave off unwanted emotion. “Anyway, do you want to head up to the main house and get some cookies?” I needed to eat my feelings.
“Aspen, wait.” Miles grabbed the lapels of his jacket I was still wearing and pulled me closer to him.
Whoa. I knew I needed to quit running away from men and emotional intimacy—more like discover what emotional intimacy even was. It would probably be best, though, to do that with someone who I hadn’t signed a contract with agreeing not to get entangled. But when I peered up into his eyes, I wanted to stay right where I was. No one had ever looked at me so tenderly.
My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked Series Book 3) Page 13