Just Say Maybe: A Thistle Bend Novel

by Tracy March

  The breeze blew into the window of the SUV and swept Holly’s ponytail across her face. She pushed it away and smiled. There she was, going all lawyer, trying to manage her expectations. Precedent or no precedent, she wouldn’t find out if it was a date until it happened. But she’d be hard-pressed to focus on much else until then.

  At least she didn’t have to sit at her desk all afternoon and wonder. Her time was flexible right now as Thistle Bend’s real estate market churned through its predictable cycle—chilly during the harsh winters, simmering in the sunny summers. It had started warming up, and it would be red-hot come July, when she’d be buried by paperwork.

  Perhaps spending the afternoon helping her grandpa plant this season’s garden would divert her focus from Bryce. More likely she’d plant the peas where the carrots were supposed to go this year, and confuse the basil seedlings with the oregano.

  Holly squinted against the sun gleaming on the glass of her grandpa’s greenhouse as she approached. Beyond, his giant raised garden plot basked in the direct sun, the dirt rich and ready for planting. She parked her SUV near the welcoming ranch-style farmhouse that had been the scene of countless memories for her. Scanning the lawn, she envisioned her eight-year-old self and her friends frolicking at her traditional farm-themed October birthday party—pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, sack races, bobbing for apples and dunking them in caramel—as her parents and grandparents cheered them on. She’d blown out the candles on her basket-weave-iced cake, wishing every birthday would be like that one.

  Holly sighed wistfully. As she approached number twenty-nine, a few of her friends remained in Thistle Bend, but most had relocated all across the country. Her parents had recently moved to south Florida, trading severe winters and gentle summers for year-round heat, and her grandma had passed away five years ago. Bittersweet warmth crept into her heart as she gazed at the greenhouse—full of seedlings that would become this year’s garden, planted in memory of her grandma.

  She grabbed her gardening gloves from the passenger seat, got out, and headed for the barn, a large structure that stood thirty yards behind the garden plot and greenhouse, and in front of a large aspen grove. The barn had been built several years ago of reclaimed wood of multiple hues in a patchwork design, and covered with a tin roof. Her grandpa had graciously granted permission for it to be the subject of numerous paintings and photographs during every season of the year. Holly’s favorite hung behind her desk in her office—a large photo taken in the fall and hand-tinted by a local artist.

  As she neared the barn, the pungent scent of cow manure tinged the air. Parked around the side were two well-used pickup trucks. The white one—although it could hardly be called white anymore—belonged to her grandpa. The familiar royal-blue pickup was from Crenshaw Ranch, and clearly the source of the smell.

  She stepped into a shadow just inside the wide-open barn doors. Over near the tractor, her grandpa explained to Carden Crenshaw the importance of adding organic matter to gardening soil. Now that Holly had met Bryce, Carden—tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and buff—was the second-best-looking guy she knew. They had grown up together in Thistle Bend, where the Crenshaws were regarded as the town’s royal family. But Carden had always been down-to-earth and kind. Now he was executive director of the Crenshaw Family Trust and the owner of a cattle ranch. He’d been heralded as one of Colorado’s most eligible bachelors, and not just locally. A statewide magazine had put him on a short list, with pictures and all, making the designation official. But these days he was off the market—ever since Lindsey had shown up in town and stolen his heart.

  No doubt Carden had heard her grandpa’s explanation before, since he was gracious enough to contribute cow manure to the Birdsong garden every year, yet he patiently listened and nodded. Holly’s heart hitched as she watched her grandpa, looking more like a lifetime farmer than the retired president of Thistle Bend Bank. He was still handsome at seventy-three, with his side-parted silver hair and glimmering hazel eyes.

  My eyes.

  He reached into a pocket of his well-worn overalls and offered Carden some cash.

  “No way.” Carden raised his hands, palms out. “You’re doing me a favor taking that crap off my hands.”

  Holly laughed, stepping out of the shadows and joining them.

  “There’s my girl.” Her grandpa pulled her into a tight hug. She didn’t want to let go when he released her, but she made herself. He’d know something was up if she clung too long. All she could do was hope that he could handle the news that someone was buying the lodge.

  But that someone is Bryce, so things will be okay…right?

  Her stomach knotted. She had no confidence on which to base her hopes. She’d seen the guy exactly twice and knew next to nothing about him.

  “Thanks for the organic matter,” Holly said to Carden, making quotation marks with her fingers.

  “Happy to help.”

  “It takes a lot of manure to keep this town stocked with fruits and vegetables.” Her grandpa straightened his spine, proud to have a purpose. After her grandmother had died, Holly and her parents had worried that he might wither away without her. Instead, he’d taken increased interest in the small garden they used to grow together, and it had become his passion. Not only because it brought back fond memories of her, but also because it gave him a way to stay connected with people in town. During the summers he was the Santa Claus of fruits and vegetables, leaving baskets of whatever was fresh on people’s front porches and not taking a dime in return. He also provided fresh produce to the local restaurants, occasionally accepting a free meal in return. Even then, he’d tip the server the amount of the bill.

  “Don’t worry,” Carden said. “My cows are an evergreen source. They’ll keep you and the Montgomery sisters supplied all summer long.”

  Millicent and Merribelle Montgomery were two little old sisters who lived outside of town, up near Narrowleaf Pass. When Lindsey first came to Thistle Bend, Holly and Carden had described the sisters to her as a TV-show mash-up—Charmed meets The Golden Girls with a little Bewitched thrown in for fun. Some of the townspeople swore they had special powers, but that remained in question. What couldn’t be questioned was the extraordinary deliciousness of the baked and canned goods they made fresh from their garden and greenhouse. They always sold out at the farmers market on Sundays and their Internet business was booming.

  Carden turned his attention to Holly. “Heard you had a surprise visitor at your office today.” He raised his eyebrows knowingly.

  Holly knew who he meant, but she wasn’t about to let on. “I did. Lindsey brought me a limeade at lunchtime. You and your girlfriend each get check marks for good deeds today.”

  “And then who showed up?” Carden asked.

  Holly’s grandpa looked on curiously.

  Her cheeks warmed, but she tried to play it casual. “A new client.”

  “Of the tall, blond, and rugged variety, according to Lindsey. And possibly single.” Carden gave her a gotcha smile.

  Holly stifled a grin. “It was all business, so I wouldn’t know anything about his marital status.”

  “But he’s buying a place in town?” Carden asked.

  “Yep.” She hoped her one-syllable answer would satisfy his curiosity.

  Tilda the barn cat sidled up against her grandpa’s leg and he leaned down to pet her.

  “Which one?” Of all the days, usually quiet Carden had decided to go all twenty-questions on her.

  She leveled her gaze on him and shook her head—several short, quick shakes before her grandpa straightened to standing. “One of the commercial ones.”

  Carden furrowed his brow for an instant, but seemed to get the message. Her grandpa would find out about the lodge soon enough, but it didn’t have to be this afternoon.

  “Which one?” her grandpa asked, tucking his hands in the pockets of his overalls. “I can’t see a guy like that buying the shoe store that’s for sale.”

  Holly’s chest tig
htened. Most of the time she was grateful that he never missed a thing. This time, not so much. “The Lodge at Wild Rose Ridge,” she said softly, hating to tell him, yet knowing it was best that he heard the news from her.

  He bowed his head and stared at the ground.

  Carden caught her gaze, winced, and mouthed, “Sorry.”

  Holly lifted one shoulder and gave him a you-couldn’t-have-known look.

  “According to Lindsey, you seemed to like the guy,” Carden said to Holly, clearly trying to soften the blow. “Maybe he’ll turn all the bad that place is known for into good.”

  Her grandpa placed his hand on Carden’s shoulder. “I’m willing to keep an open mind, but he can’t bring Camellia back to life.”

  Chapter 4

  Bryce caught sight of the lodge in the distance, about five hundred feet up the mountain overlooking glimmering Turquoise Lake. A whirl of emotions tightened his chest every time he laid eyes on the place. Not only because of the potential he saw in it, but also because of the animosity he’d likely face as he worked to restore faith in the project now that there was a different man behind it. But there’d been so much trouble associated with Adam Evanston in the past—bullying town council members, withholding payments to contractors, mistreating employees…

  Bryce couldn’t take responsibility for the past, but he would be accountable for everything that happened moving forward. He vowed to run an ethical operation, and change the perception of the lodge. A spectacular four-story structure of wood, glass, and stone would amount to nothing without the support of the townspeople.

  “The view is sick whether you’re looking from the lake up or the lodge down,” he said to Holly, who rode shotgun in his rented Jeep. He could hardly believe that she was the real estate lawyer George had recommended. No doubt he’d looked like a stunned monkey when he realized she was the same unforgettable girl from the ridge trail who’d ranked his dismount from the bike and sacrificed some of her PB&J.

  The elusive perfect ten…

  Not an ounce of understatement there. She’d had him at “Are you okay?”—her voice captivating him before he’d even gotten a look at her. She had been a knockout when he’d met her on the mountain—an adventure sportsman’s fantasy girl. But then to find out she was a highly respected real estate attorney? Confident, professional Holly had slain him too, with her long, loose hair and shimmering hazel eyes. He could still picture her in that soft, flowing blouse, whiskey-colored leggings, and boots. The business casual look really worked for her, and he’d had to sit down before she figured out just how much it was working for him.

  Bryce stole glances at her as often as possible as he guided the Jeep up the rugged road to the lodge, gripping the wheel, steadying it over sharp rocks and maneuvering it through muddy pits.

  “Are you the same guy I saw tearing up the ridge trail?” Holly asked teasingly. “If you’d taken it as carefully as this, I wouldn’t have had to share my PB and J.”

  He liked her playful challenge, and wished that he could take it. “I’d kill this track in my own Jeep, but paying for a damaged rental is not in my budget—especially since there are no alternate routes to this place and I’ll be spending enough repairing this road.”

  Bryce could’ve sworn Holly tensed for a second, because of what he’d said or because the front tires of the Jeep had just sunk into a huge divot? She’d seemed to handle all the other obstacles like a champ. He eased the Jeep forward and cut the wheel hard, managing to keep one of the back tires out of the pit and the Jeep level as they headed up the final rise.

  The lodge came into view, appearing much less spectacular close-up than it had from below. Having been shut down nearly five years ago, it was severely weathered by the harsh seasons. The timber siding had faded, and some had gone to rot. Except for the upper areas of the grand expanses of glass that rose up to the peaked eaves, most of the windows had been boarded over, and some that were exposed had been broken. The stone was dull from years of neglect and in need of a good pressure washing. Spindles were missing from the railings of the vast decks surrounding most of the building, and doors drooped on their hinges. Wildflowers sprouted around the foundation—pink, purple, and yellow bright spots in the otherwise dour color palette. The majestic mountain rising behind the lodge—with its silver-green aspens and rich emerald spruce trees—made the lodge seem more shabby than grand.

  Bryce swallowed hard, even though he had known what to expect. He’d taken a quick tour of the property with George a month ago, and seen it the other day when he’d been on the bike, but he’d swear the lodge had aged years since then.

  The dilapidation couldn’t have come as a surprise to Holly either, considering the Wild Rose Ridge trailhead was just behind the lodge and she’d hiked that way on Tuesday. Bryce’s pulse ticked up along with his estimates for how much money it would take to restore the place. He’d been given some rough numbers, but even the most thorough professional couldn’t calculate the real cost until they got down to the dirty work—the foundation, the moisture, the wood rot, the roof. If Holly was judging by the state of the lodge as it looked right now, she probably thought he was crazy to buy it.

  Bryce was thinking the same thing himself. He’d been indulging in risky behavior since he could crawl. Leaping off mountain ledges. Surfing on storm-stirred waves. Name the dangerous adventure and he was up for it. But buying the lodge was something different. He owned one in Costa Rica, but it hadn’t been near the challenge that this one would be. Los Halcón Lodge had been fully operational when he’d taken over, and it had an established reputation as one of the top adventure lodges in the region.

  No major disrepair.

  No checkered past.

  No stigma.

  But this lodge had affected people, and not in a good way. Its demons still lingered, and Bryce was determined to exorcise them—the riskiest undertaking of his life. He planned to start changing people’s minds about the place, beginning with Holly.

  “Is George meeting us here?” she asked as he pulled the Jeep to a stop in the empty once-gravel parking area, now riddled with weeds and wildflowers.

  Bryce grabbed a bulky ring of keys from the console and jingled them. “We’re on our own. George got the chance to show a few high-dollar houses to some buyers today, and I didn’t want him to miss the opportunity.”

  “I don’t guess he’s worried about us damaging the place,” Holly teased.

  “Hardly.” Bryce got out, pocketed the keys, walked around the Jeep, and opened her door.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, stepping out. Her legs seemed to go on forever in the skinny jeans she wore tucked into low-cut distressed leather boots with fringe. And she might’ve been the first girl he’d seen rock a cardigan. Hers was ivory, open-weave, and drapey, with tassels along the bottom that swung when she moved. Beneath it was a sheer lavender tunic with a lacy tank underneath.

  “This is gonna be something.” She tipped her head toward the lodge, her hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. “I’ve never been in there before.”

  “Really?” He leaned inside the Jeep, pulled his backpack and an LED camping lantern from the rear-seat floorboard, and closed the door.

  “It opened right after I went to college. I was home on breaks and in the summers, and I’d come hiking up here, but I never went inside.” Her tone told him she’d stayed away on purpose, which made sense, considering what she’d said about the lodge yesterday.

  “How I feel won’t affect my ability to represent you professionally at closing.”

  Clearly she had bad feelings about the place and he was dying to know why. He warned himself to be careful what he wished for. He’d be hearing plenty of negative stories soon enough. Even so, hers interested him the most.

  “This is the first time I’ve been inside without supervision,” he said, working to keep things light. He slung his pack onto his back.

  “What would you call me, then?”

  There were plenty of
things he would call her—beautiful, mysterious, sexy—but not out loud.

  Not yet.

  He nudged her with his elbow. “My accomplice.”

  She gave him a wicked grin, stirring up a little storm of desire that threatened to whirl into a full-blown tornado. “But I’m your lawyer.”

  “George approved of you as my chaperone when I told him you were coming.” He set his gaze on hers, and tugged at one of the tassels on her sweater. “But today’s not about business.”

  Something changed in Holly’s eyes—they became a brighter gold, a richer brown.

  “I just want you to relax and enjoy…a tour of a dilapidated lodge.” Bryce smiled and so did she. He guided her toward a side entrance with rickety wooden-plank steps that led up to the wide, covered entryway. The bottom step was broken in the middle, jagged splinters lining the break on each side. A chipmunk skittered out from underneath and scampered over to a nearby boulder.

  Private Property. No Trespassing. Violators Will Be Prosecuted. Holly read the sign posted next to the steps.

  “Think we should proceed, counselor?” he asked.

  “You said this wasn’t about business.” She winked and started up the steps, leaving a tinge of her perfume in her wake. Something alluring, with cedar and citrus and fresh spice.

  Bryce’s pulse thrummed as he happily followed her. They reached a door beneath an overhang and he read the adjacent sign. DANGER. Cave Area. Unauthorized Persons KEEP OUT. Both he and Holly scanned the overhang above them and the planks below. He nodded. “I think we’re good.”

  “Is that your professional assessment?” she asked lightly.

  He pulled the keys from the pocket of his jeans, found one labeled Service Entrance—Left Side, and opened the door. “Nope. Just wishful thinking.” He winked. “You still with me?”