by Devney Perry
“You’re welcome.” I looked to Nolan. “Anything you want to add?”
“I think you covered it all,” the corners of his mouth turned up, “boss.”
Smug bastard. As CEO, he had just as much authority to approve this purchase as I did. He just liked to toss that word around to remind me who was really in charge here.
“I’ll have the attorneys contact the church and start drafting a contract,” he said. “We’ll get everything transferred over to the foundation as soon as possible. And Ms. Doon, we’ll expect you to stay on as director.”
Willa gasped. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, I’m grateful, but it wasn’t about keeping my job.”
Nolan smiled. “We know. That’s why you’re the best choice for our camp director. And as long as things are going well, the job is yours.”
“I just—I can’t believe this is happening. It was a long shot, sending that proposal. I never . . .” She pressed her hands to her cheeks again. “Thank you.”
“Congratulations. Let’s celebrate.” Nolan clapped me on the shoulder. “Willa, now that we’ve got business out of the way, would you mind giving us the rest of the tour?”
She nodded, composing herself once again. “I’d love to.”
“And afterwards, would you mind showing us around town a bit?” I asked. “We’d love a recommendation for dinner and drinks.”
Willa nodded again, her face beaming. “I know just the place.”
“Then lead the way.” Nolan waved her on, then leaned close as we followed. “Now aren’t you glad we stayed?”
Days like today were the reason I stayed so in tune with the foundation’s activities. Outside of the countless hours I put in at the firm, I didn’t have hobbies like my friends did. I didn’t golf or own a yacht.
I worked.
Hard.
Nolan didn’t need me along for these foundation trips, but the truth was, I didn’t want to miss out. I didn’t want to miss the chance to make someone’s dream come true. Or the opportunity to put my family’s fortune to better use than buying my mother diamonds or my sister divorces.
“Fine. I’ll admit, this place isn’t so bad. Once you get past the smell.”
* * *
An hour later—after we’d finished touring the camp and Willa had driven us around town—Nolan and I followed her through the steel door of the Lark Cove Bar.
“This is . . . quaint,” I muttered. Were those peanut shells all over the floor?
“They have the best drinks in the area and their pizzas are amazing.” Willa smiled over her shoulder but it fell when she took in my grimace. “But there’s a fancier place up the road in Kalispell. It’s about forty-five minutes, but we can go there. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“This place is perfect.” Nolan placed his hand on my shoulder, his dark skin a stark contrast to my white shirt. “We don’t need fancy.”
“Okay. Good.” Willa relaxed and walked over to a table.
“We don’t need fancy,” I whispered to Nolan. “Just sanitary.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re fired.”
He chuckled and looked at his Rolex. “That’s the first time you’ve fired me today, and it’s past four. Usually you fire me before noon on these trips. Maybe the Montana air agrees with you.”
I huffed. “I can’t wait to say ‘I told you so’ after we get food poisoning.”
“Let’s get you a drink.”
“Finally, he says something intelligent.”
We were both grinning as we joined Willa at a tall, square table in the middle of the bar.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Great.” I smiled as the wooden stool creaked under my weight. With my back to the door, I studied the room.
The ceiling was high, with exposed iron beams running from one side to the other. Much like the floors, the walls were paneled with battered wood. Though instead of being covered in peanut shells, they were filled with signs and pictures. It reminded me of those chain restaurants—the ones all ending in an apostrophe S. Applebee’s. Chili’s. Bennigan’s. Except this décor hadn’t been staged but pieced together naturally over the years.
The L-shaped bar was long, running across both of the back walls. There had to be at least twenty stools along its path, and judging by the wear and tear on the foot rail, it was the place most people chose to sit.
Including the five patrons seated near the bartender.
“Welcome folks. Be right there.”
Willa looked over her shoulder, giving the guy a shy wave. As she spun back to the table, her fingers tugged at her hair in an attempt to hide her red cheeks.
Nolan and I shared a grin, then each continued silently scrutinizing the bar as we waited to place our order.
Neon signs advertising various beers and liquors littered the windows facing the parking lot. Next to a large flat-screen on one wall, a set of antlers was adorned with a bunch of hats. Wait. Was that a bra?
The Fourth of July was over a week ago, but the decorations were still up. A red, white and blue banner hung above the jukebox, and a handful of tiny flags sat in a cup on the bar.
This place was as far removed from my favorite bar in the city as you could get, but at least they had alcohol. Though, I doubted the Lark Cove Bar carried my preference.
“Gentlemen. Willow.” The bartender appeared at our table, depositing three cardboard coasters and a paper boat of peanuts.
“It’s Willa. Actually.” She tucked her hair behind an ear, sitting taller. “With an a.”
“Damn. Sorry.” He shrugged off his mistake—one I had a feeling he’d make again. “What can I get for you?”
“I don’t suppose you have Macallan 18,” I asked.
It had been a long day, flying out early this morning and then being assaulted with reminders of Emmeline once my feet had touched the Montana soil. Today called for whisky.
The bartender grinned, then ran a hand over his blond buzz-cut hair. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Nice.” The Lark Cove Bar might not be pretty, but whoever stocked their shelves had good taste. “I’ll have a double. Neat.”
“I’ll have the same,” Nolan said.
“You got it.” The bartender smiled at Willa. “And for you?”
“Just, um, a beer. Anything is fine,” she stuttered, blushing again as she stared at the stubble on his jaw. “Thanks, Jackson.”
“Be back.” He tapped his knuckles on the table, then ambled back behind the bar.
“How long do you think that bottle has been up there?” Nolan leaned over and asked as Jackson stretched to pull down the Macallan from the highest shelf.
I opened my mouth to comment on the cobwebs in the upper corner, but stopped when a swish of dark hair caught my eye.
From out of a back room, a woman emerged and smiled at Jackson, then at one of the regulars as she set down a pizza pan.
Her simple black tank molded to her breasts and flat stomach, leaving her tanned arms bare. Her jeans sat low on her hips, cinched tight with a black leather belt that was just a shade darker than her long, thick hair. Her white smile was full of straight teeth, except for one in the middle of the bottom row that sat slightly off-center.
It had been over six years—nearly seven—since I’d spent the night with my hands wrapped up in that hair. Since I’d memorized that smile while I’d held Thea in my arms.
Years, and she looked exactly the same.
“Logan, do you want pizza?”
I shook my head, sliding off my creaking stool. “Excuse me for a moment.”
At my movement, Thea’s dark eyes—nearly black, like her hair—swept the room. She smiled at me for a second, but the expression fell away and the color in her face drained as recognition dawned.
She remembers me. Thank god, she remembered me. I was man enough to admit that it would have crushed my ego if she hadn’t remembered me. Remembered that night.
I still thought ab
out it now and then—whenever I was in the neighborhood of that hotel. Did she ever think about it? About me?
I’d gone back to her hotel bar once, months after we’d hooked up. But she hadn’t been there. The staff had told me that Thea had quit and moved out of the city. I’d been disappointed and pissed at myself for waiting too long—I’d been busy with work. Then life had moved on. Not long after I’d tried to find Thea again, I’d met Emmeline.
Still, I’d never forgotten Thea, even after all these years.
I’d never forgotten how those dark eyes had lulled me under her spell. How her amazing body—the perfect balance of toned, lean muscle to soft, feminine curves had felt beneath mine.
As I crossed the room, I held her wide, unblinking stare. “Thea.”
Her body jolted at my voice. “Lo-Logan.”
“It’s been a long time. How are you?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it without a word.
“Hey, Thea,” Jackson called. “We’re finally cracking that bottle of Macallan you insisted on buying.”
I grinned. That was why the Lark Cove Bar carried Macallan. She’d bought my favorite whisky for her bar, even if it had never been served.
“I . . .” Thea took a long breath, shaking her head and closing her eyes. When she opened them, the shock of seeing my face was gone.
But instead of the confident, sexy woman I’d expected to see once the surprise had faded, I saw fear.
Why would Thea be afraid of me? I’d treated her with nothing but respect during the night we’d shared. Hadn’t I?
Before I could say anything else, she sprang into action, grabbing a shot glass and slamming it on the bar. Then she reached behind her, swiping a bottle of tequila from a middle shelf. With a flick of her wrist, she poured the shot, not spilling a drop.
“Drink that,” she ordered. “We need to talk.”
I am so grateful for the incredible team who supports me through every book. Thanks to my editor, Elizabeth Nover, for teaching me with every project and pushing me to get better. To my proofreader, Julie Deaton, and my formatter, Stacey Blake, thank you for polishing each book to a shine. Thanks to Jenn, for the hours spent reading this at the last minute and giving me such helpful input. To Kaitlyn, for always being there to help, no matter what I need. Thanks to my cover designer, Sarah Hansen, for creating my beautiful cover. And to my publicist, Dani Sanchez, thank you for your amazing guidance and advice. It is such a pleasure working with you all.
To all of the bloggers and my fellow authors who have helped spread the word about this book, thank you for your incredible support. To my ARC team, thank you for the excitement you bring to each release. And to Jenn, Ana, Karen and all the members of Perry Street, thank you for being my cheerleading squad.
To my family and friends, thank you for all your love and encouragement. For believing in me when, at times, I don’t believe in myself.
And lastly, to my readers. There are a lot of books in this world. I am honored and so very grateful that you chose to pick up one of mine. Thank you.
Jamison Valley Series
The Coppersmith Farmhouse
The Clover Chapel
The Lucky Heart
The Outpost
The Bitterroot Inn
The Birthday List
Devney lives in Montana with her husband and two children. After working in the technology industry for nearly a decade, she abandoned conference calls and project schedules to enjoy a slower pace at home with her kids. She loves reading and, after consuming hundreds of books, decided to share her own stories.
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