“I know,” she said, surprising him once more—although there had been that slight flicker of recognition in her eyes when they’d first exchanged introductions. But then, she’d covered it well, and he’d dismissed the suspicion.
“So you knew all the time?”
She nodded. “I haven’t always lived in Henderson. But the explosion at the migrant camp is common knowledge. It was an accident, wasn’t it?”
Drew blinked in confusion. “Yes, but I was charged and found responsible. Before we get to that, how about starting with the small fact that from the first moment we met, you knew my identity? You must have known where I spent the last five years.”
“Well, yes…but I don’t see why that should upset you.”
“I’m not upset!” When she winced at the volume, he lowered his voice. “So why the pretense? Why avoid the issue?”
“I wasn’t avoiding anything. You didn’t seem anxious to rake up your past, so I was merely being polite.” She looked sympathetic. “I can’t imagine being locked up for any length of time. That must have been terrible.”
“I survived.”
“I don’t suppose you want to talk about it.” She clearly knew the details about his past, but she was asking him to open up and trust her. It was asking too much.
“No.” His face hardened. His time in prison added up to five lost years he could never replace. He could accept it, make amends where he could and move on. Or let it destroy him. He couldn’t share that fear with a living soul.
After refusing Olivia’s offer, Drew went back to Oakridge. He planned to take care of some business in town and leave the following day.
He searched through the bedrooms and found a dry mattress, then dragged it downstairs into the den where there was a fireplace. Soon a fire blazed.
Once the house took on some warmth, he set about organizing the kitchen. Luckily the generator, which was kept in reserve for emergency use, still worked. His needs were simple, his grocery list basic—coffee, bread, cheese, apples. He’d fared a lot worse.
Later Drew stretched out on the mattress, unable to sleep, thinking of Olivia and her sad life. She was beautiful, with wide-set gray eyes and an effervescent smile.
She was also Ira Carlisle’s daughter.
He assumed she’d inherited a share of Stone’s End. Keeping the large produce farm operating efficiently, not to mention managing the rich timber resources, had to be a challenge. He wondered how she managed it with so little experience. Despite the evidence of family, she seemed curiously alone.
Drew knew the setup at Stone’s End. He doubted much had changed while he was away. Olivia’s brother, Jared, lived nearby, but he was away at the moment. He was a busy veterinarian, not a farmer. Drew recalled Ira resenting his son’s lack of interest in Stone’s End. On the other hand, her sister loved the farm—but Jessie had moved to Virginia when she married Ben Harding. Then there was Fred. And Ramon Morales was probably still around, managing the farm.
Five years earlier, Ramon had nearly lost his wife and child in the explosion at the migrant camp. Drew frowned at the reminder. Ramon would not be pleased to see him.
It was all so complicated!
Drew was sure of only one thing—he’d kissed Olivia, and she’d responded with every ounce of her delectable being. Drew tried to put that enticing image of Olivia out of his mind.
Gradually, with each deep breath, the day’s tension faded.
He dreamed of her. After all the dark days, Olivia was a bright ray of sunshine, something he desperately needed.
But inevitably, after the daylight, night falls.
The following morning, Fred Cromie turned up early at Stone’s End. He was not his normal cheerful self.
“Morning,” he muttered, hooking his hat on a peg by the back door. Without waiting for an invitation, he pulled up a seat at the kitchen table and sat down.
“How about some breakfast?” Olivia offered.
“I sure could use a cup of coffee.” He peered at her more closely. “You don’t look too chipper.”
Olivia reached for the pot of coffee. “I’m fine.”
She poured a cup and set it in front of Fred. As her father’s oldest, dearest friend, he’d assumed Ira’s role as Olivia’s protector, a situation Olivia accepted with grace.
Fred added cream and two sugars to the strong brew. He took a swallow. “So what’s going on between you and Drew?”
Unsure, Olivia chose her words carefully. “He’s trying to get his life together. I admire that.”
“The point is…Drew Pierce isn’t the kind of man you should be seeing.”
“And what kind is that?” Olivia carefully set her cup on the saucer. “Hasn’t he paid for one careless mistake?”
Fred shook his head. “Maybe he has and maybe he hasn’t. Can’t say I ever saw a skunk shed his stripes, have you?”
Despite her irritation at Fred’s refusal to see Drew’s positive qualities, she smiled. “No, I can’t say that I have.”
Fred didn’t smile back. “You need to know that you’re heading for a whole lot of heartache if you let Drew Pierce smooth-talk you into thinking he’s changed.”
Olivia guarded her natural instinct to spring to Drew’s defense. “Please don’t worry about me. Drew is no threat.”
Before leaving town, Drew had to make a stop at the bank. He sat in the bank president’s office and stared at the contents of a safe-deposit box. He shook his head in amazement.
Instead of the small trust he’d expected, he’d inherited blue-chip stocks from his great aunt, a woman he hadn’t seen in years.
“I never guessed she had so many,” he said. She’d never married and lived a simple life. For some reason, she’d chosen him as her sole heir.
Wesley Tyler stared at Drew’s black eye. “Have you had some trouble in town?”
Reminded of his most recent run-in with Olivia, about 110 pounds of trouble, Drew said dryly, “Just a minor mishap. Now, about these stocks.”
Wesley calculated the sum. The amount staggered Drew. “She wanted you to have a fresh start.”
A fresh start.
Drew absorbed the words. The money opened up all sorts of new possibilities. “I saw the bank repossessed the mill. What’s the bottom price?”
“The farm and the sawmill are being sold as a complete package.” He mentioned a ballpark figure that made Drew blink.
“What if I can raise it?”
“The auction is in three weeks. The place has been on the market a long time. Getting it operating again would take a lot of effort,” Wesley warned, his lack of approval obvious.
Drew smiled grimly. “Thanks for the advice.”
He left the bank, then walked down Main Street, aware of a stirring sense of familiarity. He stopped outside the sawmill with its sprawling empty lumberyards.
The name Pierce was still emblazoned in gold on the window of the main office building. Drew felt an undeniable connection. He owed the town some restitution after the destruction he’d caused. And perhaps it all boiled down to a simple truth. If Drew didn’t salvage the sawmill, who would? Who would put the town back on its feet?
He didn’t have all the answers, but it wouldn’t hurt to look around the sawmill, talk to a few people.
In an attempt to raise the money to buy the sawmill, Drew visited a car dealer, where he met with an unwelcome surprise. His car had depreciated in value. The proposed offer was a fraction of what he expected.
Like a lot of recent developments in his life, it wasn’t what he wanted, but he’d settle for what he could get.
Several days later, Drew drove past Stone’s End. Instead of continuing straight on the road toward Oakridge, he turned. At the abrupt maneuver, the car tires skidded on the loose gravel.
The old farmhouse stood on the hill like a silent sentinel, watching, judging him, as he turned into the drive. Apart from a fresh coat of white paint and a new front porch, the place hadn’t changed much. It still fel
t like enemy territory.
Shaking off that thought, Drew climbed the porch steps, then knocked at the door.
Olivia greeted him with a surprised smile. “Drew, please come in.” She was wearing a loose green smock, stained in a wide array of bright colors.
Drew stood there on the threshold, drinking his fill of her with his eyes. And with each delectable inch, he knew that he was only kidding himself. Although he wanted to buy the sawmill and atone for his mistakes, this was a good part of the reason he wanted to stay in Henderson. This sweet, exasperating slip of a woman.
“Hi, Olivia.” With a crooked smile, he stopped resisting. He bent, intending to greet her with a casual peck on the cheek, but instead, his mouth homed in on hers. She’d obviously been sampling her own cooking. She tasted spicy. And hot.
Catching her breath, Olivia stood back.
“I was just finishing up for the day.” Her cat curled around her ankle. She picked up the animal before it could escape through the open door, closing it firmly behind Drew.
“Nice cat.”
“Jewel likes to roam. She’s a house cat, but she doesn’t seem to know it,” she explained with a light laugh. She stared at his eye. “That looks painful.”
“It looks a lot worse than it feels,” he assured her. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” His gaze fell on an untidy collection of fabric and dyes spread out on the table behind her.
“Not at all. Please excuse the mess.” Olivia turned to the table. “It’s easier to mix my own dyes than try to find the exact colors I need for each project. I was just finishing up for the day.” She capped the bottles of dye, then stored everything else in boxes. “Give me a couple of minutes.”
“I wanted to talk to you, but I can come back another time.”
“No, this is fine. If you can stay, we can talk over supper.” She removed her smock to reveal a red turtleneck and a denim skirt.
Drew slid his hands into his pockets. “Don’t go to any trouble.”
“I won’t.” She smiled. “Chili okay? It’s been slow-cooking all day. I’ll only be a minute.” She walked toward the pantry—a utilitarian section off the country-style kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”
That was a tall order. Drew instinctively looked to the chair by the window. Ira was no longer there; yet the memory of his presence filled every corner of the room.
Chapter Seven
The house had been remodeled with gleaming hard-wood floors, dotted with colorful rugs in warm earth tones.
Olivia’s creations, Drew assumed.
She had several ongoing projects set up on wood frames. One rug in particular caught his eye. She’d reproduced a red sumac shrub in glowing detail, with shades of red ranging from reddish-orange to burgundy. He looked more closely, and found a red cardinal perched on a branch, blending into the leaves with striking simplicity.
Another nature scene depicted a dragonfly among the orange daylilies. A hummingbird folded its wings into a lilac bush, and so it went. Her artistic use of nature’s camouflage was clever and subtle.
How much of Olivia lay hidden beneath the bright effervescent exterior? The question intrigued him.
Absently he picked up a sketch pad. He recognized the scene—a lake and a pair of deer.
When Olivia came back with a steaming bowl of chili and rice, she found him studying one of her sketches.
He turned to look at her, his gaze warm with admiration. “You never mentioned you were so talented.”
Inviting him to sit down, she flushed with pleasure. “It’s not finished yet.”
Drew joined her at the round oak table. “And you sell these original designs?”
She nodded. “I have arrangements with several specialty shops on the West Coast. I also work with a couple of interior decorators. Those are guaranteed sales.”
“You do all this by yourself?”
“I have an assistant, Rita Morales.”
The name meant something to Drew—a reminder of all that had gone wrong. He didn’t react outwardly, but warning bells went off in his head. What was he doing?
How could he think of a future when the past was still there to haunt him at every turn?
Apparently unaware of his tension, Olivia continued, “I’ve got great plans. I want to expand, add a workshop to the house. Some day, when I can invest in the business, I’d like to raise sheep and supply my own wool.”
So she had dreams of expanding and turning her business into a larger enterprise—complete with raising her own sheep and spinning wool.
Spinning dreams.
Drew took one taste of the chili and choked. Olivia handed him a glass of water. “I’m sorry, I forgot to warn you.”
He drank the water in one long swallow before finding his voice again. “That’s stuff is lethal. What’s in it?”
“The usual. And a jar of hot banana peppers,” she said with mock innocence. “And of course, I couldn’t leave out some fresh jalapeño peppers.”
“Of course.” He swallowed more water.
She dropped a generous spoonful of sour cream into his bowl of chili. “This should cool it down. Maybe you’d prefer something else? I should have warned you I like it hot.”
He smiled stoically and picked up his fork again. “This is fine. I’d forgotten food could taste this good.”
“The recipe’s Southwestern.” She smiled back at him and picked up her fork. “My chili takes getting used to, I’m afraid. There’s fresh corn bread,” she offered. “And a tossed salad.”
Drew helped himself to both before raising the subject of the farm. “I heard Jared was away. How do you manage this place on your own?”
“Ramon Morales has been managing the place for several years now. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Then there’s Fred, of course. Things are a little tight right now,” she admitted, “but I’m sure next year will be better.”
“Spoken like a true farmer.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The conversation dwindled out over dessert. “Coffee?” She handed him a cup, then stirred sugar into hers. “From what you said the other day, I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“I was planning to leave, but something’s come up that might mean a change of plans.”
Her eyes clouded in confusion, softening the gray to shimmering pewter. “What do you mean?”
“I think I may have found a way to stay in Henderson. It involves reopening the sawmill. To do that, I need your help.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s fairly simple—a business deal.”
Suddenly he couldn’t continue under Ira Carlisle’s roof. The old man’s presence was everywhere. Drew’s plan required putting aside old differences and entering into a partnership. He could clearly recall a time when his father and Ira had attempted to merge both families by uniting their children—Drew and Jessie—in marriage. And Drew had gone along with the plan. But that time had ended in dissension.
Now Ira’s youngest daughter was in control.
While Olivia hesitated, Drew stole her next line.
“I have a business offer,” he said, laying his cards on the table. “As you probably know, the sawmill is for sale.”
Her eyes widened with apparent surprise. “It’s been closed since I got here. Are you interested in reopening?”
“It’s a possibility I’m looking into. But I can’t do it alone,” he said.
“But what does that have to do with me?”
“It would be simpler to show you. How about going for a walk? It’s not that cold. And there’s a moon.”
Olivia looked up in surprise. “All right.”
He waited while she put on a jacket.
“Where are we going?”
He grabbed her hand. “I want to show you something.”
Outside, a full moon rode the clouds. Dry leaves crunched under their feet. The night felt cold, but not freezing. They didn’t go far, just to the to
p of a knoll, where Drew stopped abruptly.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward a line of trees bordering fields. “There. What do you see?”
She frowned. “Is this a trick question?”
“No.” He laughed. “You mentioned some plans to expand your business. That, Olivia, is the answer to your financial problems.”
“I don’t understand. It’s only trees.”
“Not just trees—ash, maple, oak and hemlock. Do you know what that timber is worth?”
She gasped when he mentioned a huge sum. “I had no idea.”
“I want to reopen the sawmill. But I can’t do it alone. We could do it together.”
She turned to look at him. “But how?”
“We could be partners—business partners. If I can pull off the deal and buy the sawmill, I still can’t raise the money to buy standing lumber up front. If you’d accept a bank note promising payment at the time of sale, we could both have what we want.”
“I wish I could say yes, but it’s complicated.” She could see the disappointment in his face.
“Don’t give me an answer right now. Sleep on it.”
“That won’t make any difference.” Olivia didn’t have the luxury of time to agonize over her decision. In one stroke, Drew had presented her with a problem and a solution. She could agree to his business proposal in exchange for his signature on a marriage certificate. The union would be temporary, just long enough to meet the terms of her father’s will.
“I realize it’s a lot to ask.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m sorry…I tried to explain last night.” She clasped her hands together.
“There’s no need for long explanations.” His mouth in a tight line, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Joining forces would mean taking a calculated risk on me. I don’t blame you for being cautious. Forget I asked.”
As he turned away, she grabbed his arm, wrapping her small hand around the bulk of his forearm, covered in a thick sheepskin-lined jacket. “Please don’t be angry. It’s not what you think.”
Dark-haired, dark-eyed, he turned to look at her, his eyes wary. And suddenly her decision was easy.
The Wedding Bargain Page 8