by Jillian Hart
Tucker wouldn’t likely forget that kiss anytime soon. Maybe never. He could tell himself he wasn’t capable of love, that in all his twenty-eight years he’d never fallen for any woman.
Thanks to Sierra, that was no longer true.
Chapter Eleven
Cady Winslow knew the moment Frank Granger stepped foot inside the inn’s front door. Not one single thing changed—not the rise and fall of the conversations in the lobby surrounding her, not the crackling warmth from the fire snapping in the drawing room’s stone hearth and not the crush of the well-attended open house. Butterflies settled in her stomach. Her palms went damp. Her knees tried turning to jelly.
Yes, she knew her symptoms when Frank Granger came into sight. She pivoted in her dress shoes, aching for the first look at him. Her pulse hit a staccato beat as her eyes found him. My, he was handsome. The guards protecting her heart tumbled down. The crowd vanished, her surroundings faded, except for the tall, strapping man ambling her way.
“This place is mighty fancy. Looks like something out of an upscale magazine.” He didn’t look right or left as he came to a stop before her. “I’ve got your mare outside. Figured since we were coming over, I might as well trailer her up. Autumn’s putting her in the corral, if you want to go see.”
“I do.” When he held out his hand, palm up, her fingers landed there without thought.
It felt as natural as breathing to fall into step at his side, moving in unison with him through the crowd. Voices called out, coming as if from miles away, so distant she couldn’t recognize a word or sound above the fluttering thud of her pulse in her ears. She didn’t remember crossing the lobby because of the comforting security of his calloused, much larger hand enveloping hers.
When he withdrew his touch, her surroundings swam back into focus. The din of conversation returned with a surge, as if too loud to bear. The sunshine streaming through the windows burned her eyes, brighter than it had ever been.
“Here. This will keep you warm.” His winter coat settled around her shoulders and he moved in close. She could hear the whisper of his breathing as he helped her with the sleeves.
“Thank you.” Head spinning, knees trembling, she prayed with all her might she appeared calm and normal because it was not how she felt.
The door swung open and the Wiseners stormed in. Smiling proudly, Tim Senior with his mayoral stance surveyed the inn. “Hi there, Cady. What a fine place this is. Tim Junior told us all about it of course, so we knew it would be nice. But this is something else to see.”
“Your son did a fine job with the renovation.” Cady tried to make her brain work appropriately, but it was on overload. The only thing in focus was Frank, dark hair slightly tousled from the wind, ruggedly handsome and mighty of character.
“Cady, this is marvelous.” Martha, Tim’s wife, charged in, unbuttoning her coat. “I haven’t seen the final touches. Very well done.”
“Thank you.” A shot of cool air breezed over her. Frank held the door open and her feet carried her to him of their own accord. Without thought, she was at his side, waltzing past him through the threshold and pausing to wait for him on the wide, old-fashioned porch.
“This was quite a project.” His boots reverberated on the boards as he drew near. “You must be glad to see this renovation done.”
“Yes, it’s been a challenge, but I’ve loved every minute.” They tapped down the wide steps together and onto the concrete walkway that rolled pleasantly toward the packed parking lot, where a florist’s van was pulling in. Frank veered left and so did she. They followed the path ribboning through the grounds. “It’s a dream come true.”
“You don’t get too many of those in this life. Seems that when a good dream comes true, you ought to really enjoy it.”
“That’s my plan.” She felt shy and her tongue tied up.
Frank seemed a little uncomfortable, too. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I suppose you’ll be busy running this place.”
“I’ve hired an executive manager.” Relax, Cady. She took a deep breath that wound up being a very shallow one. No man had ever affected her like this. She felt inexperienced, as if the past decades of her interactions with men hadn’t existed, both professional and personal—emphasis on unsuccessful interactions there. “I retired from a job working up to a hundred-hour weeks, sometimes more. I don’t want to do the same thing here.”
“Smart. You want to take it easier these days?”
“That’s one reason I left New York.” Frank had the nicest dimples, making it so hard to concentrate. She couldn’t remember what she’d intended to say next. Way to go, Cady.
Frank didn’t seem to notice. His gait slowed. “Then I guess you will have more free time. Maybe you might like to go out to dinner with me.”
“With you?” As in a date? Her feet froze to the ground. The February sun faded and she shivered. Had her ears deceived her or had Frank Granger just asked her out?
“I understand if you want to take a pass.” He shrugged his shoulders, endearingly and ruggedly self-conscious. “I’ve been told I’m not the best at dinner conversation. Truth is I haven’t been on a date since I was nineteen. That can’t be good. It would be smart to avoid me.”
“I haven’t been on a date in a long time either.” The wind breezed against her with a gentle touch, and she no longer felt the crisp bite in the air. Gazing into his perfect blue eyes, her soul stilled. Never had she been more sure of anything in her life. “Yes. I would like to go to dinner with you.”
His dimples returned to full wattage as he fell into stride beside her. “How does a week from Friday sound?”
“Great. Things should be calmed down around here by then and into a routine.” Had she ever been this happy? If so, then she couldn’t remember it.
They continued on. Up ahead the fresh white paint on the fence boards and new stable contrasted pleasantly with the fallow grasses. One day the corral would hold several horses for guests to ride, but only one horse stood in the field, a golden mare with a white mane, a creature so lovely it hurt the eye to see.
The mare’s head shot up, she whinnied a happy greeting and raced up to the fence. Autumn strolled into sight behind the truck and trailer, followed by her two strapping brothers.
“Cady!” Autumn sailed into her arms for a quick hug. What a sweet girl. “I think Misty likes her new digs. She’s been racing around, checking everything out. We brought over her tack and some essentials. We’ll get the hay unloaded in the barn.”
“You shouldn’t be working. I’ll call to the front desk. I’ve hired someone to handle the horses.” She reached into her pocket, doing her best to concentrate. Frank had finally asked her out. She couldn’t believe the moment had been real. Did her excitement show? Could anyone tell she was jumping for joy inside?
Frank gave no sign that he felt anything of the like as he ambled up to the fence. “Hi, Misty.” He rubbed the mare’s nose with the ease of a man who’d been around animals all his life. The quarter horse nickered, speaking to him in her horsey way. He mumbled back, quite as if he understood everything.
The sunlight burnished his mighty physique. As impressive as he was, his kindness mesmerized her. She could not help the tumble of her heart, falling further in love with the man. He’d asked her out! She still couldn’t believe it.
Her cell rang as she closed her fingers around it, so she dragged it out of her pocket and squinted at the screen. The front desk was calling. “Hello?”
“Two things.” Eloise, the inn’s executive manager, got right to the point. “The florist just delivered several bouquets for the guests, but there’s one for you.”
“For me?” That couldn’t be right. “You mean for the inn.”
“Nope. It has your name on the card, from someone named Frank. Two, Jonah is here and wants to ask you a few questions for the town paper.”
“Tell him I’m on my way.” Cady slipped the phone into her pocket, loath to leave. She sid
led up to the fence to lay her hand on Misty’s warm, velvet neck. The mare nickered, torn between the humans on either side of her. She let Cady pat her nose and then offered it to Frank.
“Guess you have to go?” Across Misty’s forehead, his blue gaze searched hers.
It was regret she read there and something else—latent happiness. She knew because the same sparkle danced in her soul. Frank was interested in her. That was a prayer come true.
“Yes. I’ll send Rocco out.” She should have remembered to ask for him on the phone. “He can take care of all of this.”
“I don’t mind.” His assurance came softly in a tone that held a hundred unspoken promises, as if this moment between them was only the beginning.
Happiness lifted her up as she gave him a little wave and turned away. It wasn’t easy to leave him, but she knew he would be joining her inside soon. Her shoes didn’t touch the pathway as she hurried back to the inn.
“I’m going to have to cut your hours.” Darla Rogers, the diner’s owner, stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee.
The lunch rush was gone—not that it could accurately be called a rush, Sierra reasoned, as she fidgeted in her chair. She wasn’t the only one squirming. Around the table, the other employees were attempting to cope with the news. Were they fighting a bad sense of foreboding in their stomachs, too?
“I’m keeping one waitress on per shift. Carol asked for tonight, so Sierra, you are off.” Darla’s shoulders slumped. “I wish things were different. Business has been slow.”
Wow, not the news she needed to hear. First, don’t panic. She had savings to rely on for a while—a short while. But neither had the news come as a complete surprise. With the economy, folks weren’t eating out as often.
“Maybe it’s just the time of year,” Sandi, the cook, chimed in hopefully. “Things will pick up when the weather turns warm.”
“It’s the economy. It’s my upcoming divorce. It’s a lot of things.” Darla sighed, obviously unhappy. “I need to cut your hours significantly. It’s the only way to keep the doors open.”
But for how long? That was the question no one dared ask. This wasn’t the first time they had been in this situation. The diner had been sold or closed down more than a few times over the years. Some businesses had a hard time surviving in a small ranching town, good economy or not.
The door swung open, letting in a gust of chilly air. The sun was out, but clouds were moving in. It smelled like snow as the door banged open wide. A delivery man stumbled into the diner behind a vase of pink carnations. Several dozen blossoms bobbed amid a sprinkling of white freesia, and the fragrance was sublime. What a lovely bouquet.
“Sierra Baker?” The young man glanced toward their table, since the diner was otherwise empty.
“That’s me.” Confused, she shook her head. Why would he call her name?
“Then this is for you.” He sauntered over.
“For me?” That couldn’t be right. She didn’t get flowers, not these days. Not unless Owen picked them for her. She stared in disbelief as the delivery guy set the vase on the tabletop.
“Enjoy. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He ambled off the way he had come, the door whooshed closed and she was left blinking at the arrangement, which apparently wasn’t a figment of her imagination. It sported a card with jaunty handwriting she recognized from her school days.
“Woo-hoo!” Sandi beamed.
“I knew it.” Connie clapped enthusiastically. “Tucker Granger is sweet on you, girlfriend.”
“No. He can’t be. Tucker?” Surely there was another explanation. A perfectly rational one, although the only one flashing into her mind was his kiss. His amazing kiss.
Why couldn’t she forget that kiss? A sensible woman would drive all traces of it from her mind, delete it like a computer virus and toss it out like the enormous, gigantic, colossal mistake it was.
Even if it had been a very nice and exceedingly sweet mistake.
“No, Tucker isn’t serious.” She shook her head, refusing to believe it, refusing to let in the tiniest hope. “He will fly out of town as fast as he can find transportation once his leg is healed. There isn’t anything keeping him here.”
“Trust me.” Sandi breathed in a good whiff of the fragrant blossoms. “I’ve known that family all my life. I’ve kept them under close observation. That young man is exactly like Frank. Hardworking, loyal and doesn’t give his heart easily. When he does, it’s for keeps.”
Why did her stomach flip over? Why did hope flicker to life against her will? She stroked one pink petal with the tip of her finger. Tucker wasn’t hers to keep. She didn’t want to keep any man. She had Owen to protect, a living to make for him and no time to fall in love. So why did her mind spin in that direction, giving her all sorts of visions of an impossible future? Tucker riding Jack with Owen, Tucker watching rodeos with Owen, Tucker barbecuing hot dogs on her front porch for Owen.
Impossible. Images that could never come true. Why was she torturing herself like this? And worse, why was she upset at the prospect of those dreams of Tucker not coming true?
I’m not in love with him. She set her jaw, grabbed the vase and stood. The meeting might not be over, judging by the puzzled look Darla gave her, but she didn’t care. She had to be upset over the loss of hours and the corresponding wages. That was why her throat felt on fire and the foreboding in her stomach had migrated to her chest. It had nothing to do with Tucker, nothing at all. At least, it gave her comfort to think it was true.
In the coatroom, she set the vase down and opened the card with her name on it. Tucker’s handwriting. He’d gone to the trouble of driving over to Sunshine to order the flowers in person. She tried not to read anything into that as her eyes scanned the note.
I’ll confess that kiss was no accident.
She so did not believe what Sandi had said about him being a serious man. Serious? Hardly. She could hear the humorous lilt in those words. Easier to tell herself he was simply being charming because the alternative frightened her more than she wanted to admit.
Do not fall in love with him. She slid the card into her purse, zipped up her coat and tucked the vase into the crook of her arm. As she tapped out the back door and across the parking lot, the floral scent put a spring in her step she could not seem to contain.
The sunshine dimmed as cloud cover moved in and it felt like a sign. If she lost her heart to a man she couldn’t have, how foolish would that be? Monumental. She had to be firm, keep her affections hidden and refuse to acknowledge them so they would fade away.
Her SUV waited curbside on Second Street. After she stowed the vase, buckling it in so it wouldn’t tip, she was at loose ends. A glance at her watch told her Mom would have already picked up Owen from day care, so she started the engine and headed home. The heat from the vents stirred the aroma from the blossoms, making it impossible to forget the man who’d sent them.
Not an accidental kiss. She gripped the wheel tighter, ambling down Second and turning right at the medical clinic. Why did he have to go and confess it? Worse, why was she missing him? Why couldn’t she get the man out of her head? He’d haunted her for days and nothing could dissipate the tenderness she was beginning to feel for him or the effect of his kindness, the poetry of his kiss.
Lord, don’t let me make another mistake. She wasn’t sure if God could hear her. Tiny flakes of snow appeared, falling weightlessly, effortlessly on the wind. By the time she pulled into her driveway, white covered the ground, obscured the grass and highlighted the big black pickup parked in front of the door. Tucker’s truck.
“Mom!” Owen bolted onto the porch, bundled up in his warmest jacket, a hat, mittens and his snow boots. Puddles bounded alongside him. “Guess what! Tucker’s here.”
“So I see.” Sierra turned off the engine and unbuckled, aware of the man lumbering toward the carport. Don’t look at him. She had to keep cool, act as if she wasn’t thrilled to see him. Because she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. She op
ened her door. “Tucker’s here. The question is why.”
“To make the best spaghetti ever!” Owen answered, clasping his hands together. “And it smells good, too.”
Puddles barked as if in perfect agreement.
“A promise is a promise.” Tucker stood over her, more good-looking than ever in a simple black parka, a blue knit cap and wash-worn Levi’s. The power of his gaze and the magnetism of his presence seemed to demand her attention. “Didn’t I say I would come over and cook for you?”
“I don’t remember agreeing to anything so suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” He laughed at that, opened the back door and freed the flowers. “No need to doubt my intentions. You didn’t think I could cook, so I’m here to prove it to you.”
“I don’t need proof. I’ve changed my mind. I’m willing to take you at your word.” She could not keep her gaze from meeting his and the impact ricocheted all the way to her soul. Not exactly the reaction she was hoping for.
“So, you are starting to trust me. That’s progress.” He winked, stalking on his long, athletic legs through the tracks of snow he and Owen had made. “It’s Valentine’s Day, so I thought it was the perfect excuse.”
“For what?” She tapped up the steps, hardly aware of her shoes slipping on the slush.
“To see you again.” He held the door open for her, so close she could see the hints of five o’clock shadow on his lean, square jaw. “Don’t let the flowers fool you. I almost went with roses, but you don’t strike me as the roses type. It’s too expected, too easy. Every man in the florist shop ordered roses, including my dad. So I went with something unexpected, because that is exactly how I feel about you.”
“Unexpected?” She wrinkled her brow, stepped through the doorway and froze in place.
The most delicious aroma emanated from her kitchen, where a covered pot simmered on the stove and a teapot steamed nearby on the counter. An embroidered linen cloth covered the table, set with her best dishes. Owen must have shown Tucker where they were. Tall candles stood in beautiful cut-crystal holders, waiting to be lit. The morning’s dishes, which had been sitting in the sink, were gone, washed and put away.