“I was cutting my own grass before you came back to town, young man. I can manage.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know that. Just offering.”
“You have a job to do, Wyatt. I won’t be bothering you while you take care of Paige.”
“Could I have the recipe for these cookies, Mary Beth?” Paige blurted. “They are absolutely delicious!”
“Why of course, dear. I’ll write it out for you.”
Wyatt didn’t bother to point out that Gran had a computer and could email the recipe. Nope, not going there, especially when he’d just had his ass handed to him over something as simple as cutting her grass. In fact, he decided it was best to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the visit.
It was best, but probably not likely.
Chapter 11
It was almost hot in Eagle’s Ridge at the end of June. Paige was wishing she hadn’t worn boots. Flip-flops would have been more appropriate. But it had been cool on the mountain this morning, so she’d dressed accordingly. It would have definitely been cool in Seattle. In fact, she’d checked her weather app and found it was raining.
Of course it was.
But here it was sunny, even if clouds threatened to turn the day to rain. They’d drifted in a couple of hours ago, right about the time Paige and Wyatt had arrived at his grandmother’s house.
She liked Mary Beth. The woman was smart, sharp, and unwilling to give an inch. She wasn’t like any grandmother Paige had ever known. In her circles, a seventy-eight-year-old woman would have had enough plastic surgery to make her look like a wax-museum replica of herself.
Mary Beth didn’t look a day over sixty, but none of it was due to surgery. It was probably due to the horse Wyatt didn’t like. And maybe the fact she cut her own grass.
Whatever the reasons, Paige thought Mary Beth was cool.
After they’d eaten cookies and talked about horses and cooking, Wyatt said it was time to go. Mary Beth had packed up a dozen cookies to go with them, and they’d walked out into the afternoon heat and climbed into the truck. He’d asked Mary Beth to go to lunch with them, but she’d refused.
“I’m hosting a canasta game at three. I have to get ready.”
They’d said goodbye, and now they were making their way back through the neighborhoods of Eagle’s Ridge. It was a cute town, but not the kind of place Paige could ever live. It wasn’t vibrant. There were no clubs, no coffee shops—well, one coffee shop—and no designer boutiques. To live with that day in and day out? She had no idea how people did it.
Not to mention, the restaurant situation was dire. So dire that Wyatt pulled into a parking lot on the bridge and turned the key. “No Man’s Land is the best diner in town,” he told her. “We can get a bite to eat and then get your socks.”
“Sounds great.”
Paige gaped at the worn old building and figured there were no little cafes with three-Michelin-starred chefs hanging about. Probably no tablecloths or wineglasses in this place either. Not that those things made the food taste better, but they definitely made for a relaxing dining experience.
“Wyatt, how you doing, sweetie?” an older woman asked as they walked inside.
“Hi, Brenda,” Wyatt said, returning the hug she gave him.
Brenda gave Paige the once-over. It was a friendly perusal. “Been hiding your girlfriend from us, Wyatt?”
Clearly, Hildie Fontana had been burning up the lines of communication in Eagle’s Ridge for the past couple of hours.
“This is Nicole,” Wyatt said. “We’re talking about renewing our relationship. No guarantees.”
“Hi,” Paige said, shaking Brenda’s hand.
“Well, darlin’, you sure are a pretty thing. You two come on over here and have a seat by the window.”
She led them to a booth that looked out on the river. It was a lovely view, even if there were no tablecloths. Brenda handed them two plastic menus.
“Do you know what you’d like to drink?”
Paige smiled. “What kind of white wine do you have?”
Brenda shook her head. “Oh honey, no alcohol in No Man’s Land. Never has been.”
Paige glanced at Wyatt for an explanation. No wine? Was this town dry or something?
“Eagle’s Ridge was founded by four men. Two of them had a falling out and stopped speaking to each other. They lived on opposite sides of the river, so this spot became a sort of DMZ—demilitarized zone—where no arguments were allowed. It’s much easier to prevent arguments when there’s no alcohol. So there isn’t, and never will be. Right, Brenda?”
“That’s about the size of it. Though the Westbrooks and Tuckers have made up now, haven’t they?”
Wyatt nodded. “Yep.” He turned to Paige. “Ryder Westbrook and Bailey Tucker fell in love about three months ago. The feud is officially at an end.”
“Wow. Only took, what, fifty-some-odd years?”
“More like sixty-five,” Brenda said. “Been going on for a long time.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have water with a lemon,” Paige said, deciding that asking for sparkling water was probably not a good idea.
“Water,” Wyatt said.
Brenda walked away and Paige studied the menu.
“Confused?” Wyatt asked.
“A little. HALO pancakes drowned in rocket fuel?”
“Just pancakes and syrup. You in the mood for breakfast or lunch?”
“Lunch.”
“If you like hamburgers, give the Bunker Buster a try. Bailey Tucker is a chef and she came up with a variation on the usual. There’s smoked cheddar, avocado, and garlic aioli on that one. It’s really good.”
“Bunker Buster? Sounds terrifying.”
Wyatt snorted. “Sam—that’s Bailey’s dad—insists on the military names. It’s just part of the tradition.”
“This town is… surprising,” she said. “I feel like I’m in a military museum.”
“Not your style, huh?”
Paige lowered her gaze, studying the menu again. “I appreciate the military and what they do. But I don’t understand all the terms. I feel a little lost, if I’m honest.”
“Eagle’s Ridge is a popular tourist attraction. Partly because of our military traditions, and partly because we have great outdoor activities. It’s high season at A To Z Watersports. My friends Adam and Zane can barely keep up with demand. We also have a huge celebration coming up for the July Fourth weekend. There’s a parade, a carnival, and a fireworks display. Not quite worthy of Washington DC—but damn close.”
Paige felt an unfamiliar twang strum against her heart. It took her a moment to realize it was envy. It wasn’t that she suddenly liked small towns or wanted to uproot her life and quote—find herself—unquote in the pristine beauty of Eagle’s Ridge. No, the envy had to do with belonging. Wyatt belonged here. No matter where he went in life, what he did, this place was waiting for him.
She didn’t have that. She had a father who’d married a much younger woman and started acting like an idiot and a mother who’d moved to Europe with her artist boyfriend. Paige didn’t have that sensation of belonging anywhere. She’d been raised all over, though Seattle probably had the biggest claim on her affection.
But even then, she didn’t have the kind of connection there that Wyatt had here. In fact, since King had started messaging her, she’d felt more disconnected than ever. She’d realized that, aside from Lily Ashwood, she really didn’t have any friends to speak of. Oh, she had people she could call, people who pretended to be besties with her, but that was the money talking, not a true sense of connection and affection.
The moment she couldn’t do something for them, they melted away like snowflakes in the rain.
She set the menu down with a sigh. “It’s too bad you don’t have any upscale dining for the tourists.”
“You don’t like it here?” He looked perplexed. She didn’t bother to point out the military decor and the lack of tablecloths—or wine, for heaven’s sake.
“I�
��m sure the food is great,” she began. “But sometimes a girl wants baby lettuce with heirloom tomatoes, house-made buttermilk ranch dressing, and deconstructed avocado toast.”
“I’m not going to ask about that last one,” Wyatt said with a frown. “But they’ve got salad here. And Brenda makes her own dressing.”
“Would that be the Fields of France salad and the Eisenhouser dressing?”
Wyatt snorted. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Brenda returned then and Paige ordered the salad with toast and avocado slices on the side. She’d construct her own avocado toast. Wyatt ordered the Bunker Buster.
“We do have an upscale restaurant, by the way,” he said once Brenda was gone. “Bailey opened Blue Moon at the beginning of May. It’s been packed since.”
Paige stared at him over the giant plastic cup of water. “And you brought me here?”
He glanced out the window at the admittedly gorgeous scenery. “You got a problem with No Man’s Land?”
“No, but a glass of wine might be nice. And a tablecloth.”
“Those two things add more than fifty percent to the bill.”
“Yes, but I’m paying, so what does it matter?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Thought it was going on my expense account.”
“For which you get reimbursed.”
He nodded. “True. But I don’t want to make a bad impression on my first assignment.”
“I’m sure it’s expected when I’m your client, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. Doesn’t mean I intend to live like…” He didn’t finish the sentence, picking up the fork and knife folded in a paper napkin instead. He broke the seal and smoothed out the napkin with the silverware cradled inside.
“Like a king?” she finished for him.
“Poor choice of words.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s a ridiculous made-up name. I refuse to be intimidated by it. So he thinks he’s my king? No, I don’t accept that.”
Her words were brave, but whoever this guy was, he had rattled her. The photo proved he knew where to find her. He wasn’t just a random crank who watched the show. He’d sent her vague threats in the past that had unnerved her—but the photo, and bringing her cat into it, took the threats to a whole new level of crazy. She was definitely intimidated. She didn’t plan to admit it though.
“Thanks for changing the subject back there, by the way,” Wyatt said.
It took Paige a minute to realize what he was talking about. “The cookie recipe? You’re welcome.”
“I was in big trouble there. You saved me.”
Paige couldn’t help but smile. “Your grandmother is a fascinating woman.”
“She’s stubborn.”
“And you aren’t?”
He turned his head for a second, gazing at the river rushing by below. “Maybe I am.”
“Maybe so.”
He met her gaze again. “I’m sorry about Hildie. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
She tried not to feel disappointment. He wasn’t saying kissing her was bad. Just that he shouldn’t have done so. Well, maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe she shouldn’t have kissed him back.
Too late. That cat was out of the bag.
“I liked it,” she said, dropping her gaze at the last moment because she couldn’t seem to look at him and admit it at the same time.
“So did I.”
Her heart soared.
“But it can’t happen again,” he continued, and her spirits deflated like a punctured balloon. “I have to protect you. I can’t let it get personal between us. Mistakes happen when it gets personal, and I won’t take that chance.”
“It’s okay, I understand.”
But she didn’t. Not at all.
Chapter 12
Wyatt ended up taking Paige to Walmart for her socks. Big mistake, because she got fascinated with all the stuff available in the store. At first it was cute, but then he ended up downright amazed at how unfamiliar with the retailer she was.
She’d walked up and down the aisles, picking up one thing after another, either marveling over the price or making a comment about the usefulness of the item. The woman had literally never been in a Walmart in her life.
Or, if she had, the experience was so long ago that she didn’t remember a thing about it. In the end, she bought socks, a metric ton of toys for Fluffy, DVDs, junk food, and a box of wine. Yep, in Washington State, land of good wine, the woman who could afford anything she wanted bought a box of wine.
“It’s good wine,” she’d said defensively when he’d given her what must have been a disbelieving look.
He’d held up both hands and said, “I believe you.”
He’d had his fill today of women who gave him hell for the slightest implication that she was wrong about something. Gran had ripped into him about cookies and lawn mowing. He’d learned his lesson.
They headed back up the mountain. It was late in the day by the time they reached the cabin. Wyatt carried Paige’s stuff inside. By the time he set her bags on the counter, he remembered that he’d planned to make her ask him for help instead of automatically doing stuff for her.
Well, hell. He’d screwed that one up.
She was holding that damned cat, cooing to it, except the whole thing was ridiculous because the cat was huge and Paige wasn’t.
Wyatt went over to his computer and booted it up so he could check the perimeter electronically. He’d seen no signs of incursion when they’d returned, but it was habit to check everything anyway.
There was nothing. A check of the visuals revealed some squirrels, a few deer, and a bear.
Paige had disappeared into her room with Fluffy. Wyatt headed for the bathroom near the guest room. He stopped hard in the hallway as the scent of something foul wafted to him.
He’d passed the laundry room, where the litter box resided, but this smell seemed to be coming at him from a different direction. He followed it down the hall. Into his room.
And there, in the middle of the bed, was a pile of what could only be crap.
He stared, blinking, for almost a full minute. That feline bastard.
Wyatt strode back down the hall, all the way to Paige’s room, and thought about pounding on the door. But that might scare her, so instead he settled for a knock, though he was seething inside.
Damned cat.
“Paige, open up. I need to talk to you.”
The door flew open and she stood there with wide eyes. Her feline companion lay in the middle of the bed, stretched out, tail flicking, blue eyes giving Wyatt the once-over as if to say Oh yeah, puny human?
“What? Is something wrong?”
“No. I mean yes. But nothing big.” He swore internally. “Actually, it is big. Huge. A pile of shit in the middle of my bed.”
Paige’s eyelashes fluttered as if she were trying to comprehend. And then her mouth dropped open for a split second before closing, her jaw hardening. She spun.
“Fluffy, what did you do?”
He licked his paw, completely unconcerned. Paige whirled around again.
“I am so sorry. He never does that. I mean, not since I tried to have a roommate for a while. Mr. Fluffypants didn’t like her and…” She swallowed. “Anyway, when she moved out, his incursions stopped.”
Wyatt would have laughed if he weren’t so pissed. Incursions? The damned cat was an operator, moving silently into his enemy’s stronghold and wreaking havoc before the enemy knew what was happening.
And all the while, he lay on Paige’s bed, staring at Wyatt as if he’d gotten the upper hand.
“I’m not moving out.”
“No, of course not.” She bit her lower lip between her teeth and he had a strong urge to suck that lip into his mouth. His groin began to ache at the thought.
No. Not appropriate. She’s a client.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, pretty hazel eyes wide and innocent. “If you want to go back to Walmart and buy a new comforter, I’m happy to
pay.”
“I am not going back to Walmart tonight,” he growled. “You’re going to clean up your cat’s mess and wash the comforter.”
She drew herself up in her hoity-toity pose. “I’d really rather pay for a new one. Just throw it out, Wyatt. It’s no big deal. They had so many to choose from, and they weren’t expensive at all.”
He reached up and gripped the doorframe, giving her a casual look. Was he holding himself back from wringing the cat’s neck? Or showing his biceps to their best advantage even though he was pissed? And if he was showing off, what the hell did that say?
“Princess, you may be accustomed to throwing perfectly good stuff away because your daddy has more money than God, but around here we know the value of a dollar. There are people who’ll spend tonight under a bridge, who’d love that comforter, cat shit and all, and you say toss it and buy another one? No. Hell no. Your cat did this, you fix it. And use that money to buy someone a blanket who really needs it.”
Her cheeks were red. She tilted her perky nose up and he thought they were going to do battle right then and there. But she stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her.
“Fine.”
She marched past him, into the kitchen, and grabbed a roll of paper towels. Then she went into the guest room. He followed, of course. She stopped short and stared.
“Oh my.”
“Yeah, oh my is right.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Do? Nothing. I got him a litter box, didn’t I?”
Paige turned. “You did, but you also insisted on calling him Spike. I told you he didn’t like it.”
Seriously, was she crazy cakes or what? “He’s a cat! He doesn’t know the difference.”
Paige smirked as she unwound a wad of paper towels. “Oh really? Tell me why else he did it. Did you swat him or something? Yell at him? Take away food?”
“No, none of those things.”
“But you did call him Spike instead of Mr. Fluffypants.”
“It’s a ridiculous name.”
“I told you to call him Fluffy. You didn’t listen. You have also been rude to me. He senses it.”
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