Resisting Mr. Tall, Dark & Texan

by Christine Rimmer

  Pete nodded. “I know you will.” And then he started in about Ethan’s plans to expand into shale oil extraction once he got to Montana. Same old yadda yadda. Extracting oil from shale was cost-prohibitive. The environmental impact wasn’t good. As always, Pete reiterated all the drawbacks he’d reiterated any number of times before.

  Patiently, Ethan reminded him that the higher the cost per barrel of oil, and the more depleted the oil reserves, the better it looked to be investing in oil shale. He reminded his stepdad yet again that the technology for extraction was constantly improving and TOI didn’t want to end up behind the curve on this.

  Eventually, Pete ran out of red flags on that subject. They finished their lunch and parted in the club parking lot, where Ethan submitted to another big hug.

  “I know I tend to be a little overcautious,” Pete said when he let Ethan loose. “But I want you to know that I—and your mother, too, of course—not only love you and wish we could keep you right here in Midland forever. We also realize you have to get out there and break some new ground. And we admire the hell out of you for that, son.”

  The smile Ethan gave his stepdad then had nothing but love in it. “Thanks, Pete. In some ways, you were always way ahead of the rest of us. It took me a while to appreciate how far ahead.”

  Pete was looking a little misty-eyed. “See you at the board meeting.”

  “Yeah, see you then.”

  Ethan went back to the office.

  Big mistake. Lizzie was waiting.

  She rose from her desk as he approached his office door, blew a strand of almost-blond hair out of her eye and tried to get his attention. “Ethan, I—”

  “Not now, Lizzie. I’ve got important calls to make.”

  “But—”

  “Later. Soon.” He pushed open his door, went through and shut it behind him. Fast.

  He spent the next few hours answering phone messages, dealing with email and clearing his desk as much as possible, because he—and Lizzie, too, whether she was willing to admit it yet—would be on their way to Thunder Canyon bright and early Thursday morning.

  The board of directors meeting was happening down in the main conference room. That meant he had to leave the safety of his office and get past Lizzie again.

  No problem. He waited to go until she actually had to buzz him to remind him of the meeting.

  And then he flew past her desk with a “Hold any messages. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

  She didn’t even look up. She knew there was no chance they would be discussing unpleasant subjects again that day.

  The meeting included a catered meal and was over at a little after eight. No way was he going home that early. Not with Lizzie, who was both his assistant and his live-in housekeeper, lying in wait for him there.

  So he called a couple of friends and they went out for a beer. The bar had the Rangers game on the big screens. Ethan stayed to watch them beat the Angels five to four.

  By then it was after eleven. One of his buddies invited everyone to his place for a final round. Ethan went. And he was the last to leave.

  He didn’t pull into the driveway of his four-thousand-square-foot house in a newer, gated subdivision until after two. All seemed quiet, only the outside lights were on. It looked to him as if Lizzie had given up on him and gone to bed.

  Terrific.

  Very quietly, he let himself into the utility room from the garage. Lizzie’s rooms were on the ground floor, in the back, not all that far from the garage entrance, so he took extra care not to make a sound. Everything was dark and quiet and the house smelled faintly of baked goods.

  His mouth watered. Cookies? No. It smelled more like…muffins. Maybe blueberry. He really loved Lizzie’s blueberry muffins. In fact, he could use one right now.

  Following his nose, he tiptoed down the short back hallway toward the dark kitchen.

  He got one foot beyond the doorway when the kitchen lights popped on. He blinked against the sudden brightness and growled, “Lizzie, what the hell?”

  “Ethan, there you are.” She stood by the island, wearing a very patient expression and a robe that looked as if it might have been made from some old lady’s bedspread. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get home.” The muffins were on the counter, behind her, looking all fat and golden and tempting. “This is getting ridiculous. You realize that, right?”

  “Are those blueberry?”

  She nodded, but she didn’t step aside so he could grab one. “We need to talk.” A weary sigh escaped her. “You want some coffee?”

  He had that sinking feeling. She was determined to leave him. He knew that. She had a dream and she wouldn’t let go of it. And he was running out of ways to avoid having to let her go. “I shouldn’t have paid you so well,” he grumbled. “You saved too much, too fast.”

  She shrugged. “You couldn’t help it. You’re a generous man.” She looked down at her feet, which were stuck in a pair of floppy terry-cloth slippers the same old-lady blue as her robe. “You’ve been so good me. When my dad died…I don’t know if I could have made it without you.” Slowly, she lifted her head and they looked at each other.

  He gave in. “Okay. Coffee.”

  She knew he was no fan of decaf, but coffee kept him awake when he drank it at night, so she brewed decaf anyway. That was the thing about Lizzie. She knew what he wanted—and what he needed—without his having to tell her.

  He took a muffin, grabbed a napkin and sat down at the table by the dark bow window. She used the single-cup maker, so the decaf was ready in no time. She set it down in front of him. He waited until she took the chair across the table before he broke off a hunk of the muffin and put it in his mouth.

  Fat blueberries and that sweet, buttery, pale yellow muffin. How was it that Lizzie’s muffins always managed to be light and substantial, both at once? Delicious. Lizzie’s muffins—like her cookies and her cakes, her pies and the fat loaves of bread she baked—always made him feel good. Satisfied. Happy with the world and his place in it.

  At home.

  Yeah. That was it. Lizzie made him feel at home.

  She said, “I’ve been thinking about that severance bonus you mentioned.”

  He ate another bite, savoring it, before he spoke. “Three months, it’s yours.”

  She shook her head. “It’s just too long.”

  “Two, then.” He pulled out all the stops and put on a sad, pleading expression. “Two months. Lizzie, you’ve got to give me a little time…”

  A little time. Who did he think he was kidding?

  There was only one Lizzie. She made it possible for him to lead exactly the life he enjoyed—no commitments, no strings. He worked hard and played hard, and when he got home, there was no one there nagging him. Just the sweet smell of something baking in the oven and Lizzie offering a nightcap. Or a bedtime cup of decaf and a fat blueberry muffin.

  He not only needed to keep her from quitting, but he also needed to find a way to make her see that opening a bakery was a dream best left to die a natural death. He needed her to keep working for him. And to keep being his live-in best friend.

  He picked up his coffee and sipped.

  Not much got by Lizzie. Now, she was studying him with pure suspicion in her eyes. “What kind of scheme are you hatching?”

  He rearranged his expression, going for total harmlessness, as he set down the cup. “Montana will be fun. A change. Change is a good thing.”

  She made a humphing sound. “In spite of your plans for getting into oil shale, how likely is it that you’re going to be building an office there?”

  “Very likely.” He hoped. “I have family there. Two brothers. Cousins. And my sister and my other brothers are making noises like they might want to settle down there, too.”

  “An invasion of Traubs.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way exactly.”

  She snorted. “I would.”

  He reminded her, “And I have found a house there.�
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  “You mean you had me find you a house there.”

  “That’s right. And you did a great job.” At least judging by the pictures she’d shown him online. Neither of them had actually been there yet. But the lease was for only six months. If he didn’t like it, he’d find something else.

  She was giving him that don’t-kiss-up-to-me-because-I’m-not-buying-it look. He didn’t care much for that look. She said, “How about this? You go, I stay. I hire and train my replacement while you’re gone.”

  Not a chance. “Forget that.” He ate another bite of the amazing muffin. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “About?”

  “I want two months out of you in Montana. Forget training your replacement. When the two months are up, I’ll find my own assistant.”

  She wrinkled her very assertive nose. “Montana. Ugh.”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve been there. Thunder Canyon is like everyone’s dream of a hometown in the mountains. And the scenery is spectacular.” When she only sat there staring at him mournfully, he reminded her, “You get a giant bonus. For only two more months.”

  She slanted him a sideways glance. “Two months would be it. The end. You accept that?”

  He didn’t. So he lied. “Absolutely.”

  “Fine,” she agreed at last. “Two months. I go with you to Montana. I get that big bonus and you find your own new assistant.”

  “Deal.” He popped the rest of the muffin into his mouth and offered her his hand across the table. She took it and they shook.

  He was careful to keep his gaze steady on hers and only to smile on the inside, to give her no clue that he was lying through his teeth. There was no way she was leaving him. He just needed more time with her to make her see the light.

  Two months in Thunder Canyon should be just the ticket.

  Chapter Two

  Late Thursday afternoon, Ethan parked his rented SUV on Main Street in Thunder Canyon. The early-June sun shone bright and the air was crisp and clean, with a cool wind sweeping down from the mountains. In the distance, snowcapped peaks reached for the wide Montana sky.

  He was thinking he would walk the three blocks to the Hitching Post, the landmark saloon/restaurant that had stood for well over a hundred years now at the corner where Main jogged north and became Thunder Canyon Road.

  But then, a few doors down, he spotted his sister-in-law Erika. The pretty brunette stood peering in the window of one of the shops. Beside her was a gorgeous blonde. Ethan knew the blonde, too: Erin Castro, his brother Corey’s bride-to-be.

  As Ethan approached, Erin turned her back to the window. She sagged against it, hanging her head. When she spoke, Ethan heard the tightness of barely controlled tears. “I can’t believe this. I talked to him yesterday…”

  Erika peered all the harder in the wide front window. “I’m so sorry, Erin. I really don’t think there’s anyone in there. And all the display cases are empty.”

  Erin tipped her head back and let out a moan. “How can this be happening? Oh, Erika, what am I going to do now? The wedding is Saturday.”

  Erika turned around and leaned back against the window, next to Erin. “I can’t believe he would just…vanish like that.” Right then, she glanced over and saw Ethan lurking a few feet away, waiting for them to notice him. She frowned. “Ethan? Hey, I didn’t know you were already in town.”

  He nodded. “Got in an hour ago. My assistant shooed me out of the house. She doesn’t like me underfoot while she’s trying to unpack—and why do I get the feeling something has gone wrong here?”

  Erin let out another moan. “Because it has.” She aimed a thumb over her shoulder at the sign that said Closed Indefinitely in the shop window. The shop was a bakery. La Boulangerie was written in flowing script across the front windows. “I came over to make my final payment on my wedding cake only to find that the baker, apparently, has skipped town.”

  Erika said, “She paid him two-thirds in advance. Can you believe that? This is fraud, plain and simple.”

  “It’s a disaster, that’s what it is.” Erin raked her shining blond hair back off her forehead with an impatient hand. “I don’t even care about the money at this point. I care that it’s Thursday….” A whimper escaped her. “Thursday.”

  Erika wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll figure out something. There are other bakeries in town.”

  “I can’t believe it. Forty-eight hours until the wedding.” Erin’s huge blue eyes swam with tears. “The whole town is coming. And. No. Cake.”

  Ethan never could stand to see a woman cry. Plus, as soon as he’d realized what the problem was, he had the solution. “Erin, dry those tears. And come with me, you two. My car’s right there.”

  His brothers’ women looked at him as if he was a couple sandwiches short of a picnic.

  Erin sniffed. “Ethan, we’re both glad to see you and we’d love to spend a little time with you. But right now we’ve got to find someone who can deliver a six-tier wedding cake by Saturday.”

  “I’m with you. I get it.” He took Erin’s arm and wrapped it around his. And he offered his other arm to Erika. “And believe it or not, I happen to know the best baker in Texas.”

  Erin remained unconvinced. “That’s great, Ethan, but there’s no time to fly someone in from Texas.”

  “I know. And that’s not a problem. The baker in question is right here in town—whipping the house I’m renting into shape, as a matter of fact.”

  “Uh, he is?”

  “Actually, her name is Lizzie. She’s a genius of a baker. She’s at my house and we are going there now.”

  Lizzie stood in the formal living room of the house she’d rented for Ethan, BlackBerry in hand, and checked off the afternoon’s already-accomplished tasks.

  Unpack 4 Ethan. Check.

  Unpack 4 self. Check.

  There was more in the same vein. But overall, the house was in pretty good shape. It had come quite nicely furnished and she’d hired Super-Spiffy Housekeeping to make the place shine. Also, the Super-Spiffy folks offered a shopping service. Lizzie jumped on that, too. As a result, the pantry and fridge were now fully stocked and ready to go.

  Now, to figure out what to whip up for dinner. It would have to be something she could make up ahead and stick in the fridge, just in case Ethan wandered in later with an empty stomach. And cookies might be nice. Her mama’s recipe for butter pecan sugar cookies maybe. He could never get enough of those.

  Yeah, okay. She totally spoiled him and she knew it. But when she baked, she was spoiling herself, too. There was nothing like the smell of cookies in the oven. Or sourdough bread. Or a sweet fruit kuchen. Or a nice devil’s food cake.

  The smell of something baking always made Lizzie feel that all was right with the world. It brought back memories of her childhood, as vivid and real as if they were happening in the here and now, so many years later. Memories of the little child-size table she had in the back of the family business, the Texas Bluebell Bakery. Of her mama singing “Au clair de la lune” and “Frère Jacques” as she decorated a tall, splendid wedding cake or even asked for Lizzie’s help to cut gingerbread men from dark, spicy dough. When Lizzie baked, she saw her maman’s heart-shaped delicate face, her pink cheeks and radiant smile. She saw her dad as a young man again, a happy man. He’d met her maman when he was in the army, stationed in France, and he’d loved her on sight. So he’d swept her off her tiny feet and brought her home to reign over the bakery he’d inherited from his parents. Lizzie’s dad had lived for her maman.

  And when her maman was gone…

  Lizzie blinked and shook her head. No point in going there. She had a meal to prepare. And then she had butter-thick cookie batter to mix with toasted pecans, roll into sugared balls and flatten with the round base of a glass.

  She was just turning for the kitchen when she heard the front door open.

  Ethan appeared from the foyer, ushering a striking blonde and a curvy, big-eyed brunette in ah
ead of him. He spotted her. “Lizzie, there you are.”

  She laughed. “Ethan, what are you up to now?”

  He put an arm across the blonde’s shoulders. “Lizzie, meet Corey’s beautiful bride, Erin Castro.” He hooked the other arm around the brunette. “And this gorgeous creature is Erika, Dillon’s wife. My brothers are such fortunate men.”

  Lizzie recognized the two from family photos. “Hey, great to meet you both at last.”

  Erin said, “Hi,” kind of limply. Erika echoed the word. Both women looked a little…what? Unhappy, maybe, and worried. Especially Erin.

  Lizzie gestured toward the living-room sofa and chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll brew a pot of coffee and see if there’s anything sweet around here…” She turned for the kitchen.

  “Coffee would be great,” Ethan said. “And it’s you we came to see.”

  She stopped, turned. “Me?”

  The women shared a glance. Erin spoke. “Ethan seems to think you might be able to save me from disaster.”

  “Yikes. There’s a disaster?”

  “There certainly is. A cake disaster. I went to finalize payment on my wedding cake today and found out the baker has skipped town.”

  Lizzie let out a groan of sympathy. “But the wedding is Saturday, isn’t it?”

  Erin gave a sad little sigh. “Exactly.”

  Ethan said coaxingly, “And I told them that you’re unbeatable in the kitchen. And that you’re planning to leave me to open a bakery…”

  Lizzie grinned, pleased. “You want me to do the wedding cake.”

  Erin let out a cry. “Oh, it’s too much. Way too much to ask.” She put her hands to her pink cheeks. “I’m so sorry we bothered you.”

  “Hold on, now.” Ethan tried to settle her down.

  But Erin would not be “settled.” She turned to Erika. “We really have to get going. I need to work this problem out and I need to do it yesterday…”

  Lizzie ached for the poor girl. “Hey, did I say no?”

  Erin blinked. “But I… Well, could you? Would you?”