What the Bachelor Gets

by Kristina Knight

  Callie couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t wanted more from Gage. The boy she knew had grown up, but that didn’t mean he wanted the same things she did. Callie wanted family and roots. Something to hold on to. Gage might own the ranch, but he didn’t live there. No one did. The place hadn’t been updated in the last ten years. It didn’t show neglect or decay, but it also didn’t show love. Maybe it could be enough that the ranch was his bolt-hole, the place he went when he needed to get away. Callie rinsed her hair and shut off the spray before wrapping herself in a thick towel.

  Maybe not updating the buildings was Gage’s way of holding on to the memories. A sign he knew the importance of family. Of legacy. She combed her hair at the vanity, then slipped her arms through the sleeves of her favorite oversized T-shirt, and got into bed.

  Maybe they didn’t have to want all the same things. Maybe attraction to one another and a focus on their business goals could be enough.

  • • •

  “Good morning.” Callie’s voice was sleepy over the phone.

  “Hey,” Gage said, wide awake. Dreams about kissing Callie made him sleep like a baby, and he’d woken at the crack of dawn. Waiting until after eight to call her had been torture, so he’d distracted himself with a five-mile run and a bowl of cereal that was more sugar than grain. But it tasted like peanut butter so Gage gave himself extra health points. “Did I wake you?”

  “No, I always sound like a zombie in the morning.”

  “Good to know. Want to have lunch?”

  “Not at 8:03.” But her voice sounded more alert.

  “I was thinking more like one. At that little drive-in with the good fro-yo? I have another meeting with Heck today. New presentation, new offer. We could meet after. I’d bring you along, but you don’t have such a good track record with property development.”

  “Neither do you, at least from what I’ve seen.”

  “There’s the feisty girl I know. So lunch?”

  “Sure. I’ll be there at one. Gage?”

  “Yeah?” A long moment passed with neither saying anything.

  “Do you always charm women with greasy cheeseburgers and fro-yo?”

  Gage considered his options and once again opted for the truth. “Only the important ones. The rest get fancy dinners and gambling. I’ve found that bright lights, sequins, and gambling chips keep people from talking too much.”

  “I’ll see you at one, then.”

  “Good.” Another long moment passed, and he could hear her light breathing on the other end of the line. “Hey, Cal? When I said ‘only the important ones’?”

  “Yeah?” Her voice was a whisper over the phone line.

  “You’re the only one important enough to share fro-yo and cheeseburgers with.”

  She sighed, and he imagined the smile on her face when she said, “There’s that charm.”

  A sticky note on Gage’s office phone told him Barb would be out that morning, but, organized woman that she was, she’d left a stack of manila folders for his review and had highlighted a couple of possible properties from the classified section. One a foreclosure and another in probate. Gage looked up each using a book put out by the county assessor’s office and quick Internet searches. He put the folder away to focus on the meeting with Mr. Heck, thinking about the notes from the Utah project. The image of moonlight on the rocks outside Callie’s condo stuck in his mind, and he sketched out a xeriscaped version of the dude ranch’s lawn, including a smaller version for each of the cabins.

  Last night with Callie interrupted his thoughts more than once, but he worked through the feel of a phantom kiss and pushed aside the image of her hand in his as they wandered along Fremont Street. His computer buzzed a reminder for the meeting, and Gage looked at the sketches. Not bad. And Heck didn’t need to know the silhouette on the porch was Callie and not a random tourist.

  The drive to the dude ranch seemed to flash by, mostly because Gage’s mind was on Callie and lunch instead of the meeting that might allow him to protect another piece of Nevada desert. He knocked on the front door, and Mr. Heck ushered him inside.

  “I should let you know there’s another offer on my table,” the older man said as he eased his form back into the green recliner. He coughed, long and hard. Gage took the chair beside him.

  “Anyone I know?”

  Heck smiled. “PRO-TEM. Presented a plan to make this place a working ranch again, not just a tourist trap.”

  Shit, he hadn’t planned on that. And what was PRO-TEM doing presenting that kind of plan? They developed strip malls with one-size-fits-all restaurants and tacky T-shirt shops. Not that Gage had a ton of room to complain, but at least his development held locally owned businesses and fine-dining restaurants instead of fast food. He took a breath. He’d already beaten the rival firm once this month; he would do it again.

  He changed his tactic. “Bringing this place back to a cow or horse operation would be amazing. I’m not sure it’s a financially secure idea, even for a developer with deep pockets like PRO-TEM. No one thinks of ranching as a get-rich-quick scheme, not anymore, but they also don’t go into it expecting to lose money.”

  Heck shrugged, and a faraway look came into the old man’s eyes. “They seem to think they can make a go of it. And this place was a working ranch for a lot of years before the economy turned in the seventies. I just thought you should know there’s another option before you go into your pitch.”

  “I appreciate that.” Gage leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands before him. Working ranch or eco-friendly resort, Walt Heck needed to make a decision fast. The old man coughed into his elbow. He looked tired. Alone. Gage could move in for the kill, or he could talk to him. He handed the folder of sketches and plans to Walt and sat back.

  Near the end, all Caleb had wanted to do was talk about old times—the years before Helena gave in to her addiction and before that, when he’d been a kid growing up during the wild days of Vegas’s first growth spurt. Gage had hated sitting down to listen to those old stories, and most of the time he only half listened. Which was probably why he didn’t remember most of what Caleb had told him. He didn’t owe anything to Walt, but he also didn’t like the idea of the man being so alone out here.

  “What was this place like all those years ago?”

  Walt smiled. “A little wild. We’d hear sirens now and then late at night. Sheriff’s department chasing drunks or, occasionally, a mobster. After WWII, my dad found a shallow grave on the back side of the property. A mean-looking guy with a beat-up face and two bullet holes in his temple was buried inside it.” Walt told story after story, about the wild, mob-controlled Vegas, the laid-back eighties. The nineties, when travel agents tried to convince people Vegas was family friendly, and then the resurgence of gambling, strip clubs, and partying that Hollywood stars brought back after the Millennium. It was like getting a crash course in Vegas, and although Gage knew most of the tall tales, he listened to the old man for more than an hour.

  Like he should have listened to Caleb all those years ago.

  Maybe working with Walt would be a kind of penance. Maybe helping Callie was, too, because God knew she’d helped him through one of the darkest days of his life. Even if she didn’t know just how dark. He’d never repaid her back then. Now seemed as good a time as any.

  “That’s enough of my rambling. You have a proposal for me.”

  “It’s in the file.” Gage started to go into his hard sell but pulled back at the last minute. Walt needed to make a decision, but it had to be his own, and Gage wasn’t going to scare him into signing the papers. So he took the softer approach. “I think reclaimed lumber would be amazing in the cabins. Xeriscaping the yards would ensure we aren’t using too much water, and greywater and rainwater systems would help even more.” Gage stood. “I think our plan has a better long-term success rate. Ranching is a great business, but it’s fickle, and once you sell, you can’t know how long they’ll wait to turn a profit. Tourists will alw
ays pay for a nice place to stay, and eco-tourism is a huge growth industry right now. The important thing is that you make a decision, either way, while you still can.” When Walt began to stand, Gage held up his hands. “We both know probate courts and the government can tie property up for years. I can show myself out.”

  He got into the SUV and started for the drive-in. Heck would make the right decision, but Gage didn’t feel right about pressuring a sick old man. And if that made him soft, at least none of his competitors had been around to see it.

  Chapter Ten

  Callie hummed to herself over breakfast the next morning—leftover pizza from the night before. After meeting at the drive-in for lunch, Gage had insisted on a tour of the new spa. Which led to a heated kiss in the couples massage room. She contacted Connor’s paper about advertising for the grand opening the following week, but with the spa set up and nothing to do, it had been easy to agree with Gage’s assessment that late July was not the time to be stuck inside an office building.

  They wound up cruising Lake Mead on his houseboat for a while and then taking a dip in the cool water as the sun went down. And then they ended the night sitting on her living room floor, watching Outlander on cable and eating pizza from a local brick-oven place. Gage rooted for the English, Callie rooted for the Scots.

  She checked her calendar. Today she had an appointment with a party planner to finalize last-minute details for the grand opening the following week, and plans to organize the main supply closet with Mandy, because when Gage unloaded, he’d stacked as much product on the main shelf as possible. Callie had her own way of organizing, and it didn’t mesh with Gage’s haphazard lines of oils, creams, and lotions. The painters would finish in the private rooms later this week, and then the artwork could be hung. All in all, this move was going smoothly.

  She wondered what Gage had on his plate in the next few days, and then pushed the thought out of her mind.

  Flirting with Gage, having dinners, even kissing him, was one thing. She was not going back down the road of ignoring her needs to lavish attention on the goals of another person. Standing firm and staying focused was the key to making this business venture count, to replanting her Vegas roots.

  Her email pinged. Inside was a picture from her parents. They were somewhere in the Yukon, and Harley had convinced Rose to go zip-lining. Callie shook her head. They looked so happy. Happier than she had seen them in years, even before she left for school. Maybe this move really was the best thing for them. It just sucked that the best thing for her parents put distance between the three of them. She emailed back, telling them about the new location but leaving out Gage’s investment. If either of them knew how close she was to losing everything, they would cut their trip short. She couldn’t take this away from them.

  Callie tossed her bag into the car a few moments later and drove to the spa. She had a handle on this. Tuesday’s event would get the spa in the local papers. She was kind of dating Gage, but she wasn’t jumping in at the deep end. Vegas would be her town again, and soon.

  She spotted Gage’s truck parked in the front parking spot and couldn’t stop a smile. He stood against the side in worn jeans and another tee that looked like it should maybe be turned into dust rags. He pushed away from the truck and leaned to put his arms against the open window of her Bug.

  “Morning.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at work? Or at least dressed for work, Mr. Executive?”

  “Benefit of being the boss. I work when I want.”

  “Lucky you,” Callie mumbled as she climbed from the seat. She didn’t have much room to talk. Knowing she would be reorganizing closets and finalizing the party, she’d worn her favorite jeweled flip-flops, leggings, and a floaty camisole. She threw her bag over her shoulder. But then, who expected a spa owner to dress in Donna Karan suits every single day? Property development—meeting with bankers, talking to investors—required a whole other level of professional dress.

  Not that she minded how Gage looked in those jeans.

  “Work hard, play hard. It’s a great motto.” He held the door to the building for her once she got it unlocked and followed her inside. He whistled low when he saw the finished reception area. “This place came together well.”

  Callie was impressed, too. The painters had finished yesterday, and while the new paint smell was still fresh, the coat of mossy green was relaxing and set off the parquet flooring nicely. Overstuffed chairs were grouped around the room, and along the back wall she’d set up a desk for manicures and two spa pedicure chairs. The place wasn’t as glitzy as some of the casino spas, but the atmosphere was relaxing even without the instrumental music she planned to pipe through the speaker system hidden in the ceiling.

  “We’re still setting up the coat check system, and I need to figure out something for the reception desk, but we’re nearly ready for opening day.”

  “I knew this place would be great for your business, but you’ve already put your spin on it.” He wandered around, poking his head inside closed doors and nodding as he went. Callie distracted herself by unloading the stack of magazines from her bag, and a few vases, spools of ribbon, and silks from a box. In one of the magazines there was the perfect centerpiece for the reception desk. There had to be. She didn’t want a corporate bouquet or Mylar balloons, and her potted plant needed the direct sunlight from her office window. Maybe she would check Pinterest, too.

  While she mulled over her options and began flipping through the decorator pages, Gage finished his solo tour—he owned the building and had been on two tours with her already; he could handle this one on his own—and returned to the front.

  “So I didn’t just happen by.”

  “Nooo,” she said sarcastically. But she added a smile so he wouldn’t take offense. Gage’s freewheeling work schedule was great for him. She would have that one day, too, but for now, she needed to be focused. But she didn’t have to be snotty. “If you’re in the market for a massage, I can hook you up.”

  His eyes darkened, and a shiver ran down her spine. “Maybe later. I thought you might want to come out to the ranch this morning. Rollie’s leaving with the pup around noon.”

  “I don’t need to say another good-bye to an animal I’ve barely spent any time with, but thank you. I have a meeting with the party planner, anyway.” She nibbled her bottom lip for a moment. Focusing on work didn’t have to be a 24/7 job. Now seemed as good a time as any to try to figure out where that middle ground was. “How about dinner?”

  A few hours later, Callie cursed her dinner idea. The party planner was late, and somehow Callie’s description of “classy but contemporary” had become “boho chic,” and there was no way she was throwing a grand opening party for her spa with workers in long peasant skirts or wearing coin belts. Two hours later, they’d worked out a solution, but that threw her closet reorganization off, and now she was going to be late.

  She pulled into her drive just before six and sprinted inside. She needed to change her dusty clothes and do something with her hair, because she was not going to be seen with Hottie McBody Gage without looking her best. And she had roughly ten minutes to figure it out.

  Settling on skinny jeans, wedge-heeled sandals, and a striped tank with a trapeze hem, Callie jumped in the shower to get the grime off. Fifteen minutes later, she stepped into her kitchen and screamed.

  Gage stood at the fridge, holding a bottle of water. Her shriek made him squeeze the bottle, and water spouted out the opening, drenching him. He coughed and sputtered and grabbed the towel off the oven rack to wipe his nose.

  “Damn, Cal, give a guy some notice next time you decide to try out for the role of Loudest Screamer in a horror flick.”

  She put her hand to her heart. “What are you doing here?”

  “Date? You? Me? Remember?”

  “No, I mean in my kitchen. How did you get in?”

  “I knocked. Door opened. I came in.” He coughed once more and blew his nose into the towel. “Why does
water hurt so bad when it’s sucked through your nose?”

  Callie took a breath and willed her heart to stop trying to pound through her rib cage. “It’s just Gage. It’s okay.” She must not have secured the door. It was no wonder; she’d been in such a hurry.

  “Just Gage who just nearly drowned.”

  “That bottle is barely six ounces, you’ll survive.” She checked the front door.

  “Thanks for the sympathy.”

  Callie focused on Gage for the first time since he nearly scared her out of her skinny jeans. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I think you might have scared every neighbor on this street.” He blew his nose again and put the towel on her clean kitchen counter. Callie shivered.

  She pulled a paper towel from the rack on the underside of her upper cabinets, moved the trash can to the side of the counter, and slid the dirty towel into it.

  “It’s just water.”

  “Water that’s been in your nose.”

  “Don’t you wash your towels in water?”

  “Not water that’s come out of someone’s nose.”

  “You seem really focused on my nostrils.”

  “You seem completely recovered from the near drowning.”

  “I was always a good swimmer.” He grinned. “I’m fine. And I’ll buy you a new kitchen towel.”

  “I can’t believe you used my Charlie Brown pumpkin towel as a tissue.”

  “I can’t believe you have a Halloween towel on display in July.”

  “It was my favorite.” Callie pulled another Charlie Brown towel, this one decorated with Easter eggs, from the towel drawer and arranged it just so on the rack.

  “Seriously?” Gage dug through the drawer, coming up with towels for Christmas, Labor Day, Valentine’s Day, all with Charlie Brown themes. “Didn’t Chuck and the gang have a Fourth of July special?”

  “Nope.” Callie blotted a fresh towel over Gage’s damp shoulders. “There was an eight-part miniseries about the founding of America, though. And I had a towel with fireworks, but there was an incident.”