Starting Over (Nugget Romance 4)

by Stacy Finz

  From the little Sam had talked to Cecilia at Emily’s wedding, she thought the woman was lovely. Sam had never met the Rossers.

  Sophie brought Sam’s salad and grabbed a seat at their table.

  “Who’s taking care of Lilly today?” Darla asked.

  “She’s upstairs with Mariah. We’re trying to get the apartment ready to rent.”

  “You have any prospects?” Harlee asked. Sam had seen the apartment and it was not at all what she would’ve expected for a flat above a bowling alley. It had lots of open space, great views, gleaming hardwood floors, and oodles of old-world charm.

  “I think Tater wants it,” Sophie said. “He’s been living in a rental cabin out in the boondocks and would like to be closer to town now that his parents are getting older.”

  Tater had always been a mystery to Sam. With his grizzled face he could be thirty or sixty. It’s not like she could tell from his voice, because the man barely spoke. But Nate liked him. Sometimes she’d see him standing near the kitchen window conversing with the Ponderosa cook. That was the thing about Nate. As sophisticated and Harvard and big-time hotelier as he was, he fit in around here. He played basketball with the guys at the police station, got his hair cut at the barbershop, and hung out sometimes with Griffin at the Gas and Go.

  “That would be perfect,” Harlee said. “Then he could just roll out of bed to get to work.”

  “Exactly.” Sophie laughed and turned to Sam. “Have you seen Nate? I went over to the inn a little while ago, but he wasn’t there.”

  “No. Brady said he had an errand to do.” Sam speared a tomato in her salad and popped it into her mouth, wondering if Nate would tell Sophie that they’d slept together. He and Sophie were best friends, after all.

  “Speaking of Brady, how’s that going?” Darla asked. “I want to get my hands on his hair. The guy is so hot.”

  Harlee nudged her best friend. “Hey, you have Wyatt.”

  “It doesn’t mean I can’t admire a good-looking man. Uh . . . it’s sort of my job as a stylist.”

  Harlee rolled her eyes. “What’s his story? It’s like he materialized out of nowhere.”

  Just like Sam. She’d only been here six months, but already felt like part of the town. She had wonderful friends, a great house, and an even better job. Here, no one cared that her family’s money was older than California. And here is where she met Nate. And lost him.

  “He seems to be fitting in well,” Sam said. “I don’t know what brought him here, but he came at a perfect time.” Maybe, like Sam, he’d been running from his past, looking for his future.

  Sam finished her lunch and went back to the inn, feeling even more melancholy than she had before. Talking about Harlee’s wedding hadn’t helped, not that Sam wanted to get married. Not after her last catastrophe.

  “Hey.” Andy, who stood behind the front desk, wearing his usual morose attitude, nudged his chin at her. “You got a delivery.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s inside your office.” He rubbed his fingers together. “Big bucks.”

  Apparently he planned to keep her in suspense during the four steps to her office. Andy. She shook her head and went to see what it was. Dozens of red roses sat in a vase on her desk. At a glance, she’d say three or four dozen. They had to be from George. Her father must’ve finally figured out that you get more bees with roses than by selling off your daughter’s prized summerhouse.

  She took the time to inhale the flowers’ sweet aroma, then picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Thank you for the roses, Daddy.”

  “You’re welcome,” George said. “But I didn’t send you roses. If you’ll come home, though, I’ll buy you an entire flower shop. How did your meeting go?”

  The question surprised her, since he’d never taken her job seriously. For Sam, his interest was even better than flowers.

  “It went great,” she said. “Thanks for asking. I think you would like this Fifi Reinhardt. She’s incredibly bullheaded.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, but Sam could hear the smile in his voice. “The Reinhardts. Real estate, right?”

  “Yes. You know them?”

  “Nope, don’t believe we’ve ever met. So who sent you flowers?”

  Good question, since Sam had thought it was George. “I don’t know. Come to think of it, maybe it was Fifi.” It was something someone like her would do.

  “Hmm. You get any further along with that VP job?”

  “No. Nate doesn’t think I have enough experience.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Come home.”

  Maybe visiting Connecticut for a week was a good idea. She could hide from Nate until she got over her embarrassment and come back in time for Landon Lowery’s family reunion. “I don’t know, Daddy. I’ll have to see if I’ve accrued any vacation time.”

  George let out a loud harrumph. “If you haven’t, quit.”

  She shook her head. Her father might be making strides, but he still didn’t get it. “I’ll let you know.”

  “You do that. And, Samantha?”

  “Yes?”

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Daddy.” Suddenly she missed him so much her chest ached.

  After hanging up the phone, Sam searched the bouquet for that ubiquitous white envelope, which she grabbed out of the holder, opened, and read the card.

  I’m pretty sure I love you too, which will

  probably screw up everything.

  Nate

  She read it fifteen times and even cried a little bit.

  Chapter 20

  Sam headed down the hall to Nate’s office as if she were walking on air. Happiness flooded every fiber of her body. And her heart did cartwheels at the possibilities of what their life could be together.

  He loved her. And God, did she love him—the man who’d been her nemesis since moving to Nugget. She could hardly believe it. But didn’t they say that love came when you least expected it? And Sam could safely say that she’d never dreamt of finding Nate Breyer.

  Not here. Not now.

  The door to his office was shut. The poor man was hiding, clearly wanting to give her time to digest his message. And she supposed the flowers were his way of apologizing for running out on her after he’d made love to her on the kitchen counter, of all places.

  She went to knock but heard him talking on the phone, so she cracked the door an inch. He sat with his back to her, looking out the window, caught up in his conversation.

  “I’m glad you liked her, Fifi, and I’m glad we’ll be doing business together . . . Yeah, she definitely has good ideas . . . No, I don’t think she can get you Sting. We’re leaving that feat up to you. But Samantha definitely knows what she’s doing.”

  Sam got a lump in her throat. That was high praise from Nate and it made her a little emotional. She’d obviously come a long way in his eyes. And he loved her.

  “Well, she’s definitely got that going for her,” Nate continued. “Being a Dunsbury certainly has its privileges—and connections.” There was a long pause. “No question her name will add gravitas to your event. Are you kidding? Why do you think I put her on the job?” He laughed, and as if suddenly sensing he wasn’t alone, turned his chair, catching a glimpse of Sam in the doorway. “Hey, Fifi, I have to go.”

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” he said to Sam by way of a greeting. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you get my note . . . the flowers?”

  “Is that why you gave me Fifi’s event, because I’m a Dunsbury?” Sam said, stunned.

  “It impressed her, so why not?”

  “Why not?” She jerked her head back and blinked back tears. “Because you were using me . . . my name . . . my connections.” Just like Royce had. She heard his mocking voice in her head: The dumb cow is nothing more than a for-show wife.

  “You gave me the assignment because my social status impressed Fifi, not because of my abilities. I’m just a token,” she said,
and spun on her heels, running out of the inn.

  She needed to get out of there, to be alone where she could cry and no one would see her shame. So Sam got in her car and drove away, just like she’d done in New York. After Royce. This time, however, she only made it as far as the Nevada County line before turning back to Nugget. Back to her house in the woods, where she could spend the rest of the afternoon under the covers, like she should’ve done in the first place.

  But when she got home, Nate was sitting on her front porch. She thought about pulling away, but was nearly out of gas and didn’t feel like running into anyone she knew at the Gas and Go. On her way out of the car, her heel caught on the hem of her pants and she had to grab for the door to keep from falling on her face. Graceful.

  She marched up the stairs, where he’d made himself comfortable in her Colin rocker with his feet propped up on the railing.

  Nate stood up. “Please tell me what I did wrong.”

  “If you don’t know, we have nothing to talk about.” She pressed the code into her keypad and started to go inside when he held the door closed.

  “I get it,” he said. “I tell you that I’m falling for you, so you drum up some ridiculous offense to give you an excuse to run. Just like you did with what’s-his-face.”

  She pointedly glared at his hand, flicked it away, went inside her house, and slammed the door in his face.

  He pounded on it. “Come on, Sam, talk to me.”

  “Please go,” she called through the door. She watched through her window as he paced the porch, then finally got in his car and drove away.

  The man had used her pedigree to get business for his hotel. He’d traded on her name. All along, she’d thought that Nate had assigned her the job because of her capabilities and competence. Because she had the grit to clean up Tracy’s mess. She thought he believed in her. But he’d dangled her in front of Fifi Reinhardt like a shiny party favor.

  Here’s a Dunsbury. She’ll impress your rich friends and bring in big donors.

  No wonder Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis had chosen publishing as her vocation. She’d got to lock herself in a room to read book proposals all day, instead of exposing herself to the vultures. How could Nate do this to her? How could he tell her that he loved her? It was like déjà vu.

  The dumb cow is nothing more than a for-show wife.

  Apparently she was nothing more than a for-show event planner, too.

  “Sam in yet?” Nate asked when he arrived at work the next morning. He’d passed her office on his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, but her door was closed. After a good night’s sleep, he figured he could talk some sense into her.

  “She called in sick,” Brady said, and handed Nate a plate of coffee cake. Nate loved Brady’s coffee cake, but today he had no appetite.

  Sick. Great!

  “I think there’s something going around.” Brady gave him a pointed glance and passed the cream.

  Yeah, she had the avian flu and was getting ready to fly right out of Nugget—and his life. Nate knew it. As soon as things had started getting hot and heavy between them, she’d concocted the ludicrous drama about him using her to get Fifi’s business. A: He wanted Fifi’s business, but he didn’t need it bad enough to put Sam in a bad position. B: He would never intentionally hurt Sam—he loved the woman, for God’s sake. C: It was bullshit. Fifi was impressed with the fact that Samantha was a Dunsbury. So what? Who better to help plan a fund-raiser for the opera than a big-time philanthropist for the arts? Someone who knew exactly what high-society guests would expect from a function like this. Even Randall, who’d been with him since the beginning, didn’t have her background for this kind of event.

  But that’s not why he’d given her the project. He’d given it to her because the damn party was scheduled for September and she was the most competent person on his event staff to pull it off. After he saw what she’d done at Emily’s wedding, he was 100 percent sold. Hell, he’d been prepared to make her the vice president of event planning for Breyer Hotels in a few more months.

  Clearly, however, she was pulling a Kayla and was just looking for an excuse to pull the plug. On him and the Lumber Baron. The sad part was that he’d known better but he’d still fallen for her, convincing himself that it would be different this time. That she was the real deal. Well, forget her. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need her.

  “If anyone wants me, I’ll be across the street getting a haircut,” Nate told Brady, then stomped across the square to Owen’s barbershop.

  It was Darla’s day off, but Owen agreed to give Nate a trim. “Heard some high-tech mogul’s coming into town to stay at your inn.”

  “Yeah, where did you hear that?”

  “I’ve got my sources. Who is it? That Apple fellow, Steve Jobs?” Owen snapped a cape around Nate’s neck.

  “You’re kidding me, right? Steve Jobs died three years ago. His death made international news.”

  “I must’ve missed it,” Owen said. “Well, whoever it is, it can’t beat Della James.”

  The country music star had come to Nugget last summer for a photo shoot for her cookbook—the one Emily had ghostwritten for her. People here were still talking about her temper tantrums, which were legendry in the music industry.

  “Not too short,” Nate told Owen, who could get a little overzealous with the scissors.

  “You’re not going to spill the beans?”

  “Nothing to spill,” Nate said. Even if he told Owen that their mystery guest was Landon Lowery, the barber wouldn’t know the famous game-maker from Adam.

  “You want me to clean up your neck?” Owen didn’t bother to wait for an answer, just got out the clippers. “How about Clay and Emily’s wedding? Folks here will be talking about that one for a long time. Your girl Sam did one hell of a job.”

  Used to be his girl. For about ten seconds. “It was a nice wedding.”

  Owen let out a low whistle. “How much you think that bar tab was? I saw folks double-fisting drinks.”

  “I have no idea. You almost done?”

  “Now hold your horses, boy. You want this done right, don’t you?”

  Nate didn’t really care. He’d only come because he wanted to get out of the Lumber Baron, away from Sam, who wasn’t even there. Home, sick, his ass. But maybe he should cruise by her house just to make sure. God, he was an idiot.

  “Griffin got himself another tow truck,” Owen said. The man talked in non sequiturs. “Waste of money, if you ask me. He’d be better off investing in a snow plow. But I suppose if the roads are clear, there won’t be as many vehicles getting stuck, which would put his tow business under.”

  “I’m sure it’s a huge conspiracy.” Nate didn’t know why he was taking out his foul mood on Owen. Most of the time he sort of enjoyed the guy.

  “So I hear you and Lucky Rodriguez are in cahoots.” Owen made it sound like they were planning bank heists.

  “We’re working together on a couple of joint packages.” No need to get into details. Now that Sam was leaving, who knew what would come of their barn-wedding plans.

  “Interesting how he came home at the same time as Raylene, isn’t it?”

  “Who’s Raylene?” Nate asked, only mildly interested.

  “Little gal from the Rock and River Ranch. Used to be the toast of Nugget. Head cheerleader, homecoming queen, Plumas County Rodeo Queen. She married some rich fellow up in Denver. Word is that he cheated on her with her best friend and she drove his Escalade into the swimming pool.”

  “Nice.”

  “Years ago, there was a scandal at the Rock and River, something involving Lucky. Some people say he shot a ranch hand for molesting Raylene.” Nate suspected that was a crock, but folks here loved their drama. “Whatever it was,” Owen continued, “Lucky blew out of town the next day. Only came back to visit his mama. Until now, of course, when he comes moseying back to Nugget at the same time as Raylene.”

  “He bought property here, Owen. He’s doing tons o
f work at the old Roland camp. It’s not exactly like he just moseyed into town. Escrow, construction, that kind of stuff requires planning.”

  “An awful big coincidence if you ask me.”

  Whatever. Nate didn’t know why he got caught up in town gossip. Half of it was wrong and the other half was nobody’s business. “He’s probably here to dig up the ranch hand’s corpse before Raylene goes to the authorities. You and the rest of the Nugget Mafia ought to stake out the place. There might be a reward.”

  Owen muttered something about Nate being a smart aleck and used a fat brush to wipe the hairs from his neck. He took off the cape. “You’re done.”

  On Nate’s way back to the Lumber Baron he bumped into Rhys in front of the police station. “How’s it going?” Nate said, and looked at his watch as if he was in a big hurry. He wasn’t in the mood for chewing the fat with his brother-in-law. He was actually hoping that Sam had gotten over whatever ailment she supposedly had and had come to work.

  “All’s quiet on the Western front,” Rhys said.

  “Good to hear,” Nate said, and started for the inn.

  “Hey, come into my office for a few minutes.” Rhys held the door to the police station open, motioning for Nate to follow him in.

  “Uh . . . I’ve got a thing back at the Lumber Baron,” Nate said.

  “You can spare a few minutes for family.” When Rhys put it that way, there wasn’t much Nate could do but go inside.

  “Hi, Connie,” Nate said to the police dispatcher whose desk sat right near the door.

  She pointed at her headset to let him know that someone was talking to her and, without missing a beat, got up and poured him a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks,” he whispered, to which she nodded her head.

  He went into Rhys’s office and took a chair. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just thought we should have some quality time together.” Rhys flashed him a smart-ass smile.