Rosie.
She confounded him and challenged him, but she’d also cast some sort of sweet spell over him. Last night when they’d eaten dinner together he’d thought what a nice change it made from having dinner with the guys at the bunkhouse. Later, when he was trying to sleep in the narrow bed that had suited him just fine for the past ten years, he’d found himself wondering what it would be like to sleep with Rosie beside him.
It wasn’t just the sex, though he imagined that would be great.
It was the cuddling after. The warmth of another body beside him all night long. And waking up to feminine curves and a sweet smile, instead of three unshaven men, grouchy as bears before their first morning coffee.
These kinds of thoughts were dangerous.
When he’d graduated from high school, the job at Three Bars Ranch had suited him perfectly. He’d brushed aside his mother’s suggestion he go to college. He liked reading, but wasn’t fond of other scholarly pursuits. He wanted a job that kept him active and allowed him to spend time outdoors, not cooped up in some office.
Guys had come and gone from the bunkhouse in the ten years he’d worked for Pete Proctor. A few had been jerks but, for the most part, his fellow ranch hands were good to work beside during the day and fun to drink beer with at night. Friday nights spent chatting up the women and dancing at one of the local bars was enough social life for his taste.
But his tastes were changing.
Much as he loved his job hanging out with the guys and living in the bunkhouse was getting old.
He wasn’t sure what had spurred the shift in his thinking. His mother dying. His new responsibility for his sister. Or meeting Rosie.
Then again, maybe it was none of the above, but simply a function of aging. Maturing. In another year he’d be thirty. It was an age that made a man take stock. He had no house, no degree, no special woman in his life. Hell, half the guys he’d gone to school with were fathers already.
At least he had some money socked away. He wasn’t a big spender and most of what he made went straight into savings.
As he whizzed by the sign welcoming him to Marietta, Brant lowered his speed, then headed to the Big Z Hardware to pick up the paint he’d ordered by phone during his lunch hour. The owner, Paul Zabrinski, helped him carry the gallons to his truck, complimenting him on the choice of colors.
“Not my doing. That was what the customer wanted.”
“And who would that be?” Paul asked, handing over the last gallon can.
“Rosie Linn. She works at the chocolate shop.”
“Ah, Rosie. Good of her to stay and look after her father the way she did. Her older brother’s some sort of big time screenwriter in L.A. they say. Must take after his father.”
“How so?”
“Brams Linn wrote bestselling thrillers. I’ve read a bunch of them. My dad is a big fan. Owns the entire collection.” Paul offered his hand. “Thanks for your business. Hope the house turns out well. Let me know if you have any problems with the paint.”
Five minutes later, Brant pulled up at Rosie’s tired-looking house, parking in the lane beside her detached garage. Before knocking on the back door, he ran his fingers over the kitchen window frame. Paint flecked off in his hands.
He shifted his gaze upward, and was surprised to see Rosie looking back at him. She was sitting at the kitchen table and had obviously been working at something on her laptop, but the moment she spotted him she slapped it shut.
“Come on in,” she called out.
The screen door was unlocked, just like yesterday. He paused at the entrance to the kitchen, trying to figure out why she looked different. And then it hit him—she was wearing glasses. They looked geeky, but in a cute way.
“Like the librarian look. Very sexy.”
She whipped them off, and somehow the clip that had been holding back her hair snapped off at the same time, sending her curls bouncing down to her shoulders.
“Good,” he said. “Now toss your head back. Wish I had a camera.”
“Oh, stop it.”
To his great disappointment, she snagged the clip from where it had fallen to the floor and refastened it in her hair. “I can’t believe it’s after six already.”
“Just thought I’d check in before I started scraping. Didn’t mean to interrupt your… whatever you were doing.” He glanced at her laptop and the notepad beside it.
She didn’t explain, just pushed both to the far end of the table. “I’ve never prepped a house for painting before, but if you show me what to do, I can help.”
“It’s not rocket science. You just scrape away as much loose paint as you can. The idea is to have a smooth service for applying the new paint.”
“That makes sense.” She picked up her phone, scrolled, then frowned. “I was just wondering where my new roommate is. Apparently she’s invited to a barbecue at her family’s ranch.”
So it would be just the two of them. He wasn’t sorry to hear that.
Turned out Rosie was no slouch when it came to physical work and she managed to look damn cute while she was doing it.
Brant paused often to watch her and had to keep reminding himself he was here to work. He’d always thought she was cute, but lately he could not keep his eyes off her.
She had a way about her that grew on a man. And though she didn’t dress to flaunt her figure, she sure had a great one.
By seven-thirty it was too dark to keep working.
“I’ll come by tomorrow to finish this up,” he said as he folded up the ladder. “Should be able to start painting this weekend. According to the forecast the weather’s going to cooperate.” It was supposed to stay warm and dry for the next fourteen days, but beyond that, he knew they couldn’t count on anything. This part of Montana was usually hit with a hard frost before Halloween.
“I’m excited to see this old place get a fresh coat of paint. She sure needs it.” Rosie brushed paint flecks off her jeans. “Hungry? There’s stew leftover from last night if you’re not picky.”
It was just the invitation he’d been waiting for. “As it happens, I have a merlot in my truck that might pair well with that.”
She did a double take. “Marvelous. I’ll get out the white linens shall I?”
By the time he’d stowed the ladder and retrieved the wine, Rosie had the stew in the microwave and was setting out bowls. She glanced at the bottle in his hand.
“Oh, you really do have wine. I thought you were joking.”
“I have to admit I hoped I’d get invited to dinner again.”
“Stew was that good, was it?”
“Stew was fine. The company was even better.”
For a moment their glances held. Then she opened a drawer and tossed him a corkscrew. “Glasses are in the cupboard over the microwave.”
During the meal they talked about the other repairs needed at her house, and then Rosie asked him if he knew Sara Maria read college level books about philosophy.
“No, but it doesn’t surprise me. She was always good at school, though Mom had to go to bat for her every year to get her teachers to accept her in their classrooms and work around her idiosyncrasies. When she graduated last year, Mom hoped she’d apply to college. She had the marks for a full scholarship.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“The idea of college just seemed too big to her I guess. And Mom was probably too tired to push it. Getting Sara Maria through regular school was hard enough.”
“Sounds like your mom was pretty special.”
“She was.” When they were both finished eating, he got up to clear the table. “And so was your dad, I hear. The owner of the hardware store was telling me your dad was a bestselling novelist.”
“It’s true.”
“That’s impressive. Do you have any of his books?”
“Of course. They’re in my parents’ bedroom. My dad did all his writing there. Want to see?”
She was obviously proud of her father, which was kin
d of adorable.
“I do.”
He followed her down the hall to the spacious master bedroom. The spotless room had a museum-type aura about it, no doubt because it hadn’t been lived in for many months. Brant’s attention went first to the bed, pristinely made, with a folded quilt at the edge. Rosie walked past this, to the far corner where a large desk was flanked by a filing cabinet and a bookshelf.
First thing he noticed was a portrait of a happy-looking couple in their fifties. The woman had the same round face as Rosie, the man was clearly overweight and had kind, brown eyes. “These your parents?”
“Yes. They had that photo taken shortly after my mom’s cancer diagnosis.”
“They were older then, your parents?”
“Mom was almost thirty when she had Daniel, and forty-one with me.”
“There’s a big gap between Sara Maria and me, too.”
“Not the easiest way to have a family. I was only six when Daniel moved out of the house. I hardly knew him until Mom got sick. After that he was a lot better about phoning regularly. And he came home every Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Brant nodded, but made no comment about there being a lot of days in the year between Christmas and Thanksgiving. During that time he supposed Rosie had shouldered the brunt of the care for their parents.
“And here are the books.” Rosie pointed to a row of mass market paperbacks on the lower shelf. “All twenty-two novels, in order of publication.”
“Impressive.” He opened one at random and read the dedication, which was to “my son Daniel Linn, the screenwriter.”
“Sounds like your dad was pretty proud of your brother.”
“We all were. And I still am, of course. He’s working on an idea for TV series right now. If it gets backing, it will really make his career.”
“Sounds exciting. Guess you can’t wait to move there and be a part of it?”
She nodded.
“It’s good to have dreams.”
“Do you?”
He focused on Rosie. She was so easy to talk to. And so pretty. It was a wonder the men of Marietta weren’t lined up at her door. “I’m more about living for the moment.”
“Is that a fact?”
He nodded.
They were standing so close, their shoulders just inches apart. He could see sandy-colored freckles on her nose, and the sweep of her eyelashes as she glanced from him to the bookshelf.
He reached out to touch her hair, which was trying to escape her hair clasp again. “I think this is about to fall out.” Indeed as soon as he touched it, the plastic clip fell to the floor and curls tumbled thickly around her sweet, round face.
Her gaze locked in on his and her pink lips parted.
Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea in the world. But he had to kiss her.
Gently sliding one hand around her waist, brushing the back of her head with the other, he pressed his lips to hers.
For several intoxicating seconds all thoughts were swept from his mind.
Then he felt her hand on his chest. A soft push away.
“What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t a good idea. We have a deal. We’re… business partners.”
“That’s one way to look at our situation. Here’s another. We’re two friends doing favors for one another.”
“A week ago you barely knew my name.”
“New friends then. And you know what happens to men and women who become friends? They often turn into lovers. It happens every day.”
“But—I’m going to be moving.”
“You’re here now. Let me ask you this—did you like the kiss?”
Eyes luminous, she nodded.
“Then how about we try it again?”
*
Rosie would have been happy to kiss Brant all night long but when the back door opened and she heard her new roommate call out hello, the mood was broken. As they pulled apart, she stared into his eyes.
“Reality check. Did this really happen?”
His smile was slow but assured. “Yup. And it’s damn sure going to happen again.”
He was so cocky. She ought to set him down a notch. But why? She’d finally kissed her cowboy and it had been even more amazing than she’d dreamed. Why shouldn’t she kiss him again? Take a page out of his book and try living for the moment.
Might be fun.
Heart skipping with excitement she took his hand and led him out to the living room. Portia had just settled into her favorite corner of the sofa, her mobile tablet in hand.
“Oh.” Portia’s gaze went from Rosie to Brant, then to their connected hands. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt…?”
“Not a problem. I was just showing Brant my father’s books.”
“Getting late. I was about to leave anyway.” Brant nodded at Portia, and then smiled at Rosie. “Tomorrow?”
She liked the sound of that. “Tomorrow.”
“I’ll see myself out.” He touched her arm one last time before leaving. A few moments later, she heard the door shut behind him.
Portia raised her eyebrows.
“Very interesting. Want to share?”
“We did go into the bedroom to look at dad’s books. And then… he kissed me.”
Rosie wanted to say it again, to sing the words, to dance around the living room.
A tiny voice cautioned her to be more careful. This was so new. She needed to study her own feelings a bit before she talked about them too much.
“You look head over heels, Rosie. I’m happy for you.” Portia’s smile couldn’t mask the sadness in her eyes, though.
Rosie plopped down on the other end of the sofa. “How did your appointment go with the doctor?”
“Fine.” Portia glanced down at her tablet, then sighed. “I like her. We had a long appointment. She said I’m perfectly healthy.” Portia swallowed. “And confirmed the fact that I’m pregnant.”
The news was as expected, but Rosie suspected Portia had held out hope that somehow the drug store kit had been faulty. Not sure of the right thing to say at that moment, Rosie reached over to squeeze her arm.
“She gave me a referral to a clinic for prenatal classes. And a prescription for multivitamins.”
She lifted her head. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I’m so confused, Rosie. And scared.”
Rosie murmured sympathetically. She really had no words of comfort to offer. In Portia’s shoes, Rosie would feel exactly the same way.
“I’m only twenty-two years old and my life is a mess. How can I possibly have a baby?”
“The father…” Rosie asked tentatively, wondering if he was someone who could help Portia with this decision.
But Portia shook her head emphatically. “This is my call. I have to figure out what to do on my own.”
“Maybe, but you should have support. I’m here and happy to listen. But you should talk to your family, too. One of your aunts or your sister. Your mom.”
Portia gave another vehement shake of her head. “I’m not ready for that. So far, you’re the only person who knows, Rosie. You have to promise to keep my secret.”
Chapter Twelve
Thursday wasn’t a regular work day for Rosie but she was covering a shift for Dakota. As she crept out of her bedroom, she found Portia asleep on the sofa. Her heart ached for her friend when she saw the pile of used tissues on the floor beside Portia. Poor thing must have cried herself to sleep.
Since Portia wasn’t on the schedule today, Rosie didn’t want to wake her so she tiptoed about the house, feeding Huck and letting him out for his constitutional, then grabbing a muffin and an orange for breakfast, before slipping out the back door to walk to the shop.
As bad as she felt for Portia though, memories of her evening with Brant kept putting a smile on her face. At the shop, when she slipped on her apron and fastened her ponytail, she was reminded of the way Brant had released her hair before he kissed her. He really seemed to like her wild, uncontrollable curls.
&nbs
p; Which made her feel a little more kindly disposed to them as well.
Cheerfully, Rosie bustled around the shop preparing for opening. At quarter to ten, Sage arrived, riding her bicycle as she often did when the weather was nice. She waved at Rosie through the front window, then circled around to the rear of the store, where she locked her bike.
Rosie went to the kitchen to talk to her. “Good morning. Did you have a chance to take Rachel that pie yesterday?”
“Sure did.” Sage removed her bike helmet and gave her head a slight shake, causing her long braid to swing side-to-side. “Rachel loved it and is sure her customers will, too. She wants to meet with Sara Maria first though and iron out some details.”
“That’s great. Thanks Sage.” The opportunity to feel productive and earn some of her own money would be great for Sara Maria’s self-esteem. It would also give her an opportunity to meet new people, and hopefully ease the transition when it came time for Rosie to leave.
“It was my pleasure. Very thoughtful of you to try and help that young woman.” Sage slipped her apron over her neck and then tied the straps around her slender waist. “I’m expecting a shipment of beans from Venezuela today. With any luck I’ll have my first batch roasted today before I have to go home.”
Very few chocolatiers made their chocolate from fermented and dried beans the way Sage did. In her place, Rosie wouldn’t have bothered. But Sage was a purist and nothing made her happier than working through the complicated steps of roasting, cracking, grinding and conching the beans.
Artistic black and white photos, showing each step of the process, were framed on the wall behind the cash register. Of all the steps, Rosie was proficient only with the last one, that of tempering the chocolate so the fats achieved a chemical bond. The resulting product could then be used in any of their many chocolate products.
Working all day surrounded by the heady aromas of cocoa, vanilla, caramel, and a multitude of other delicious flavors never got old for her.
“When I move you have to send me care packages of chocolate.”
Sage laughed. “I’m sure you’ll find excellent chocolatiers in L.A.”
“None as good as you.” Rosie noticed the clock on the stove click over to ten. “Oops, I better go unlock the door.”
Melt My Heart, Cowboy (Love at the Chocolate Shop Book 1) Page 10