by Tracy March
“I’ll give them points for presentation,” Holly said.
Lindsey held her breath and skimmed the single paragraph.
Dear Miss Simms,
Welcome to Thistle Bend. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Please join us for tea tomorrow at two o’clock at 388 Knobby Creek, not far from Narrowleaf Pass. We have some very special items to donate to the museum, and we want to present them to you personally. Looking forward to meeting you.
With warmest regards,
Millicent and Merribelle Montgomery
Lindsey exhaled, embarrassed at herself. Had she really imagined Carden had sent her something fancy like that, sealed with a heart? “It’s from Millicent and Merribelle Montgomery.” She handed the note to Holly, who read it then passed it to Darlene.
“Oh boy,” Darlene said lightly. “More donations.”
Lindsey tugged her thick inventory binder from beneath several papers on her desk. “We can’t possibly display all that we have already.”
“As if you’d want to,” Holly quipped. “I must’ve gone through twenty boxes of donations and cataloged every single item. It’d take a genius to make interesting exhibits out of most of most of that stuff.”
“But there’s no telling what useful treasures Milly and Merri could add to our collection,” Darlene said with a quirk of an eyebrow. “Right, Holly?”
“No telling.” Holly bunched her lips. “Have you ever been up to their place?” she asked Darlene.
“Never been invited. Have you?”
“Nope.” Holly took a sip of her limeade. “But I’m dying to hear what it’s like.”
Holly and Carden had hinted that Lindsey might get the most interesting stories in Thistle Bend from the old Montgomery sisters. Would the same be true for their donations? Lindsey had a mile-long spreadsheet listing donations, and a binder made thick with the printout. But, as Holly said, it took unique items with stories of their own to create compelling exhibits. Lindsey agreed that much of what they’d received didn’t meet that standard and would go straight to the archives despite its role in Thistle Bend’s heritage. Two old women described as “Charmed meets The Golden Girls with a little Bewitched thrown in for fun” were bound to have something curious to contribute.
“Should we put the tea on your calendar?” Darlene asked.
Lindsey ran her fingers along the filigreed edges of the envelope, and over the smooth, heart-embossed wax. “I think we should. Sounds like it’s an invitation I can’t refuse.”
Chapter 13
Aspen was gorgeous in the summer, but Carden hadn’t been interested in hanging around town after the tedious business meeting he’d endured—not counting the two-and-a-half-hour drive to get there. He’d hardly been able to concentrate during the meeting for thinking about Lindsey. Not the best state of mind to be in while he’d been choosing which parcels of Crenshaw land to designate as wildlife refuges. For all he knew, his ranch property might’ve made the list while he’d sat daydreaming about her sitting on his workbench in the moonlight, the strap of her dress off her shoulder, his hips clenched between her thighs. Thinking about it again now during the drive back to Thistle Bend had him shifting in the seat of his pickup, determined not to get a hard-on. Damn being so distracted.
Lindsey had him losing his mind.
And my control. And my common sense.
Carden knew all too well where situations like the one with Lindsey last night would lead him, and he couldn’t allow himself to go there again. He got his fair share of action—with women outside of Thistle Bend. That made it easier to walk away from casual encounters that left him physically satisfied, but emotionally empty. Thistle Bend was too small to give him the distance he always craved afterward, so he’d steered clear of women there. But now there was Lindsey—definitely not a hit-it-and-forget-it kind of girl, and she was smack dab in the middle of Thistle Bend. All the danger signs were there but he was drawn to her despite them. He changed when he was with her—taking in her brightness and reflecting it back, on fire with the heat of the sun.
She was different than the rest.
Like Amanda…
His insides knotted as he envisioned her—long dark hair, whiskey brown eyes, a voluptuous body that had brought him pleasures he’d never known. How naïve of him not to have wondered where she’d learned all her moves. How naïve of him to put his heart out there for her to shatter when she’d left him. How could that pain be so fresh after all these years?
Carden couldn’t risk that again. He had to get Lindsey out of his head. He had to avoid seeing her. If he’d had his wits about him last night, he wouldn’t have volunteered to paint Dean’s cabin. He had wanted to help out Dean, and the painting project would put him right there at Lindsey’s house for a number of days. The idea had appealed to him at the time, when her kisses were fresh on his lips. Hell, it appealed to him now. But being around her would only tempt him more, and he’d proven that he couldn’t resist her. He had plenty of his own work that needed to get done anyway. Maybe he’d pay one of the ranch hands to paint the cabin. But the thought of giving another guy that job—and the opportunity of seeing her every day—sent an unfamiliar pang of possessiveness shooting through him. He clenched his jaw and struck the steering wheel with his palm.
As for tonight, he’d go straight home. Watch a Rockies game. Drink a beer. That would keep him occupied for a few hours. He’d miss the first inning or so but—
His cellphone rang. He shook the pain out of his hand, pressed the button on the steering wheel and answered.
“Carden Crenshaw.”
“So far so good.” The familiar sound of Gran’s voice filled the cab of the pickup and made him smile.
“You’ve lost me already, Gran.”
“Lindsey delivered her proposal to the museum’s board of directors this afternoon.”
Lindsey…Carden resisted the urge to pinch his eyes closed. He couldn’t get away from the girl.
“I’ve just finished reviewing it,’ Gran said. “Looks as if you two have been busy.”
Carden’s heart ricocheted against his ribs. “What do you mean?”
“She’s proposed the model town and railroad as the centerpiece of the museum. Even has a designated space for it in the floor plan.”
“Good.” Carden liked to hear her so excited. “I’m happy everyone will be able to see Pops’s handiwork.”
“Yours, too,” she said. Papers shuffled on the other end of the line. “I’ve got a list of exhibit categories here, too. There are several areas where I’d expect the family to be represented—most all of them, really.”
Carden was beginning to wonder if building a Crenshaw family museum might satisfy her more.
“So you’re happy with the way things are turning out?” Hopefully he was done being the Crenshaws’ ambassador and she could take over from here.
“I’m pleased with the proposal. We’ve gotten off to a strong start, but I heard that Lindsey had dinner at The Canary with Tansy and Oscar last night.”
She’d heard from someone other than Carden. “I’m sure the Karlssons are going to be represented in the museum, too,” he said. “Just not as prominently as we will.”
“I already knew that.” She’d lowered her tone. “Believe it or not, I don’t care how prominently we’re represented. I just want Lindsey to get one important thing right. The Crenshaws did not steal that land deal. Period.”
Carden slowed the pickup as he rounded a sharp mountain bend. “I wouldn’t think she’d consider portraying it that way now that she’s accepted the model from us and proposed it as the museum’s centerpiece.”
“We can’t be certain of that. Maybe she figures the Crenshaws are being given top billing with the model front and center, so she’ll favor Tansy and Oscar when it comes to the land deal.”
“I don’t—”
“We can’t let that happen. I had hoped we’d unearth the evidence that proves what we already know. Even aft
er all my volunteer hours going through donations, I never found it. Neither did Tansy, or she’d be lording it over us for sure. Old bat would probably build Thistle Bend’s first billboard to advertise the news. Unless…”
“What?”
“Unless she found something that proves the Crenshaws aren’t the thieves the Karlssons have made us out to be all these years—and she’s hiding it.”
Carden had heard that conspiracy theory his entire life, and he’d hear it a hundred more times before the land deal was officially documented in the museum. He’d always figured that if the deal was dirty back when it was done, someone would’ve darn well proven it by now. Maybe Gran was right. The Karlssons might already know that the deal went down fair and square, but they still insisted on playing the victims.
Bunch of whiners.
He’d never met one of them he liked.
“Lindsey submitted an excellent top-line proposal,” Gran said “Exactly what we asked for. But it doesn’t go deep enough to tell me what she’s planning to present about the land deal.”
“Then let’s give it a little time and see what she submits when the details are due.”
“We can’t risk using that strategy.”
Carden winced at her tone.
“I wish we could bide our time,” she said. “But we can’t. Not with Tansy and Oscar influencing Lindsey.”
Carden gripped the steering wheel. It was enough of a struggle to get her out of his head without hearing her name over and over again. “Then maybe you should just ask her about it,” he said, his words too fast and too sharp.
Gran let them hang in the air with the road noise, just like she’d done ever since he was a kid. Carden’s sass had always been met with stony silence and an icy-blue glare—worse than any reprimand.
His gut twisted with the guilt of talking to his seventy-nine-year-old grandmother as he had. “Then we wouldn’t have to worry,” he said calmly.
“I was thinking you could ask her. Maybe work it in after you two talk about what color you’re going to paint Dean’s cabin.”
Carden rubbed his forehead hard and dragged his hand down his face. Was there anything she didn’t know or didn’t tell? “I’ve decided to let one of the ranch hands handle that.”
“Then you need to do some rethinking. You’ve set this up perfectly for us. Now go over there, take your time painting that cabin, and find out what’s going on. It means a lot to this family.” She paused as if she could see him, narrow-eyed and shaking his head. “Maybe even more to me.”
“I’ve gotta go, Gran.” He clicked off of the call, determined not to let her get to him. Determined to stay away from Lindsey. But once he hit the city limits of Thistle Bend and the hardware store came into view, his plan was shot to hell. He whipped his pickup into the parking lot, cut the engine, and leaned his head back on the headrest.
This wasn’t about Lindsey. It was about getting started on a job he’d committed to do for Dean. And about making sure things went the Crenshaws’ way in the museum—for Gran and his family and himself. He’d get the job done, get some answers, and then get as far away from Lindsey as he could.
—
The sun had started to set behind Paintbrush Peak as Carden sucked in a deep breath and knocked on the front door of Dean’s cabin. Gauzy curtains moved ever so slightly behind the screens in the open front windows, nudged by the evening breeze. He caught the faint sound of voices—a television or radio—above the swish of his heartbeat in his ears. The thought of seeing Lindsey had him all stirred up, partly because he didn’t want to feel this way, but mostly because he did.
The door swung open and there she stood, barefoot, in cutoff shorts. She wore a mint green camisole under a filmy white blouse, unbuttoned, the hem of it skimming her slender thighs. Her hair was long and loose, just the way he liked it.
“Hey there,” she said with a wisp of a smile and tipped her head toward Paintbrush Peak. “You brought me a sunset.” And there it was, that brightness that made him…happy.
Carden turned to see the sky ablaze with a mix of colors that had been muted just moments before. Orange, bright yellow, blue. “Custom made.”
She looked him up and down, and he stood a little straighter. “Aren’t you all business?”
He glanced down at his outfit. Dark slacks, striped oxford, boots. He hadn’t taken time to go home and change. “Just came from a meeting in Aspen.”
“That’s quite a drive, isn’t it?”
“Couple hours each way.”
She scrunched her nose. “Long day.” She held up her hand, palm out. “Wait here.” She ducked inside and left him wondering why she hadn’t asked him in, wishing she had, in spite of himself. He reached over and peeled a patch of curling paint off the cabin—one less spot he’d have to scrape.
Lindsey stepped outside carrying two longneck beers. She closed the door behind her and handed him the full one, keeping the half-empty one for herself. “Wouldn’t want to miss the rest of the sunset.” She sat on the porch step and motioned for him to join her.
He settled in beside her, catching the seductive scent of her perfume. “Did you just chug half that beer or did you get started before I got here?”
“Just chugged it.” She grinned.
He clinked his bottle against hers. “Easy there.”
“Truth is, I was celebrating—having a beer, watching the Rockies game.”
Warmth surged through him and he took a slug of his beer. This girl drank a beer and watched baseball to celebrate? There was no hope for him if she kept surprising him with things that made them seem so…matched.
“Celebrating the excellent proposal you submitted to the board?” He gave her a knowing glance.
She narrowed her gaze on him. “Yes,” she said hesitantly. “The submission part, at least. Someone else will have to decide if it’s excellent.”
“Someone already has.”
Her pleased smile nearly drew him in for a kiss, but he fought the urge and brought his beer to his lips instead.
“I don’t know if I’m more pleased that someone liked it.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Or more disturbed that people who aren’t on the board know that already.”
He grinned. “No such thing as a secret in this town, so don’t bother trying to keep one.” Another Cardenism he’d do well to keep in mind when it came to his attraction to Lindsey. He couldn’t act on it any longer and expect it to stay under wraps.
Although there is one…
Lindsey blinked several times, focused on the sunset, and took a sip of beer.
Before they lost any more light, Carden reached into his back pocket and pulled out the stack of paint swatches he’d picked up at the hardware store. He fanned them out and presented them to Lindsey. “What’s your pleasure, ma’am?”
She gazed at the colors and absently licked her lips. The hard-on he’d managed to will away earlier rallied for a comeback.
“Hmm…” She pressed her finger against one of the cardboard cards. “Not gray. That gray paint on the place now is kind of dull.”
Carden stifled a grin.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s white.”
She turned her head quickly and looked at the cabin, her hair swishing featherlight against his shoulder. “Stop.” She faced him, her eyebrows drawn together. “That paint was once white? Because it’s gray now.”
Carden shrugged. “No argument from me, but the paint is white.” He gave her a crooked smile. “The dirt is gray.”
She rolled her eyes. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, playfully pull her to him, and kiss the top of her head. His heart begged him to do it, but his hands stayed still.
“Either way, we should brighten up the place.” She examined the fanned swatches and pulled one from the pile. “This one ought to do it.”
“Yellow?” He should’ve guessed.
She nodded. “But not obnoxious yellow.” She examined the small square of pain
t and traced her fingers across it like she’d skimmed them over each of his abs last night. “You can’t go wrong with a paint called Lemon Cream—a couple shades lighter than butter. Should be perfect.”
Carden put the stack of swatches back in his pocket and aimed his gaze at the one Lindsey held in her hand. “You going to give that back to me?”
“I was thinking I’d keep it. You can remember Lemon Cream, can’t you?” A smile tugged at her lips. She took the last sip of her beer and set the bottle next to her on the porch.
“You never know. I might come back with Lemonade or Lemon Zest. Maybe even Lemon Lime.”
“Oh no you won’t.” She tore the paint swatch and handed him the half with the name printed on it.
He slipped his piece in his shirt pocket, and cast a sidelong glance at her, eyes narrowed.
“I want to check it out in the daylight tomorrow.” She stood and tucked her piece under the street number next to the door. “If it’s awful, I’ll let you know.”
Vivid colors swept across the vast sky and the jagged top of Paintbrush Peak appeared purple beneath the sinking sun. No doubt that swatch of Lemon Cream would look brighter in the morning. “Good idea.”
He worried that she wasn’t going to rejoin him on the step, then she gracefully sat beside him, farther away than before. She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands. “About last night…”
Carden’s heart took off like a spooked horse.
She shook her head slowly. “I probably shouldn’t have—”
“I got carried away, too.” He gulped down at least a third of his beer. He might have to break his rule and drink another one tonight. I got carried away—what a huge understatement. He’d lost control with her. For a few freeing minutes, he’d acted on instinct without worrying what would happen next.