by Jane Porter
She didn’t know, but she pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, and began inspecting the shelves of books on both floors to get a lay of the land before heading into the back room to take a peek at the boxes filled with books. She opened one, and then another, and it looked as though every box consisted of vintage books and there were over a dozen boxes stacked in the storage room. Rachel didn’t know if Lesley had bought the books from various customers, or perhaps she’d picked them up at estate sales or flea markets. Either way, these boxes of books had been sitting here for years, waiting for someone to go through them.
There was just so many, and the two floors of the store were filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves, and the shelves were crammed full. Where did one put the new books? And how was she supposed to decide what belonged on the shelves, and what should be discarded?
Obviously tattered paperbacks could go, and books that had duplicates already on the shelf would go, but what if one of the books had value? What if one of them was rare, or a first edition?
She exhaled hard, blowing her wispy bangs out of her eyes. She wasn’t going to allow herself to get mired in doubts. Of course there would be a learning curve, but if she was practical and organized, and willing to do the research, she’d know what to do with the books. And she had some time right now. She was here for a week, maybe two. Why not tackle some of the books collecting dust in the storeroom? Sorting books didn’t mean she had to keep the bookstore. In fact, sorting through the stock was probably an important first step to selling Paradise Books.
Footsteps sounded on the floorboards and a voice called out a deep hello.
“Hi,” she said, popping out of the storeroom.
A tall, broad-shouldered cowboy in worn cowboy boots, dark Wranglers, and a heavy winter coat smiled at her, and removed his black cowboy hat. “Zane Nash,” he said, extending his hand.
Rachel took his hand. “Rachel Mills,” she answered, giving his hand a shake.
“I was given instructions to find you and introduce myself.” His smile was wry. “I didn’t realize you’d been here a few days already. I apologize for not coming by sooner.”
“I only arrived last night,” she corrected cheerfully. “Who gave you instructions?”
“Lesley.”
“You know Lesley?”
“She was practically a second mom to me.”
Finally someone who knew Lesley well. “It’s really good to meet you. I have a million questions.”
“I’ll try to answer them if I can.” His gaze swept the interior. “It’s nice to see the store open again. It was closed far too long.”
She felt a stab of guilt. “It’s actually not open. I’ve just been doing some inventory, trying to see what’s what.” Rachel hesitated. “Does Lesley have any family in Marietta anymore?”
He shook his head. “No. She was widowed young, before she had kids, and she never remarried.”
“So how did she end up in Australia?”
“Her sister moved there, and she wanted to go see her. It was just supposed to be a visit but she decided she liked Queensland, and stayed. But she’s been missed. She had a way of looking after others, and I’m grateful for all she did for me growing up. I got my love of books from her.” He glanced past her to the boxes filling the storage room. “What’s all that?”
“Books from the back room.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m not totally sure what to do with all of them. The bookstore is full, and yet there are hundreds more back here. What was she planning on doing with them?”
“Probably get them on the shelves when she returned from Australia.”
“But where? The store is full.”
“Lesley was creative when it came to making room for new books.”
Creative or compulsive, Rachel wondered, even as a thought crossed her mind. “She didn’t have a database for her books on the shelves, did she? Or any other formal record of her stock?”
“She has a set of binders beneath the counter with a list of books, but I don’t know how up to date it is.”
“Nothing on a computer?”
“Lesley didn’t like computers. She wasn’t very tech savvy. I tried to help her set up an online bookstore once, but she said it was impersonal. She loved hand selling and customer interaction. But she could have made some real money if her books were available online. She has a section of first editions in the tall glass cabinet near the counter, and she has a lot of specialty books that are probably collectibles, from nineteenth-century novels to the history of Montana and copper mining, etc.”
“History and literature are not my area of expertise.”
“No? But it’s still impressive you’re giving it a go. Paradise Books was practically my second home. I hated seeing it closed for so long.”
She hadn’t decided what she was going to do, but she didn’t tell him that, thinking it wouldn’t exactly endear her to him. “Did Lesley know how you felt about the bookstore?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she give it to you then?”
Zane shrugged, unperturbed. “Maybe because she knew I wouldn’t want it. It’s one thing to enjoy spending time somewhere. It’s another to make it your job.”
Rachel thought of her office in Irvine, and the blinds she tended to keep closed against the bright California light to avoid glare on her computer screen, as well as the long, long hours she spent at her desk. If she’d known at the outset of her career what her days would be like, would she still have chosen it? “True.”
“Lesley said you’re a CFO in California.”
“Not a CFO, just an accountant with a large accounting firm.”
“She made it sound like you’re quite successful.”
“I suppose I am pretty good with a calculator.”
“Unfortunately, you won’t need a fancy calculator here. The bookstore business is kind of slow. Lesley didn’t need the income. Her late husband left her in good shape. This was more of a passion than anything else.”
She processed this a moment. “I wish I’d known her better. I’ve only met her a couple times in my life, and I feel a little guilty that she’s given me something she loved so much.”
His big shoulders shifted easily. “Don’t feel guilty. Enjoy it.”
Enjoy it.
Enjoy, she silently repeated after Zane left. But how? Rachel knew nothing about making a small business profitable, never mind a bookstore. And the thing was, she was far too careful with her money, to blow her savings on a losing proposition. It was risky using a couple of weeks of her vacation time on this visit to Marietta—the president at her company was far from thrilled that she was taking time off now—but she needed to figure out what she wanted, and the only way to do that, was evaluate all her options.
Which reminded her, it was growing late and unless she wanted to show up for drinks at the Graff Hotel covered in dust and dirt, she ought to lock up and head back to her room at the Bramble House for a shower and change of clothes.
*
The Graff proved to be a surprisingly grand hotel from the turn of the century, built behind the old train depot, and from the same warm red brick that dominated Main Street. Festive wreaths decorated the front doors, and Rachel caught a whiff of fresh, fragrant pine as she stepped inside. A towering Christmas tree filled the lobby, and dark green garland with rich red velvet bows festooned the windows and doorways. It might be early December but it was already Christmas here at the historic hotel.
A uniformed bell captain pointed her to the pub where she spotted Atticus right away, seated at a corner booth. He rose as she approached the table and smiled. He’d changed into dark trousers and a black turtleneck sweater that hugged the planes of his muscular chest and emphasized his strong angular jaw now shadowed with five-o’clock stubble.
She’d thought him handsome in his three-piece suit but he was almost overwhelming now. He was so… fit… and confident, and that lazy, sexy smile of his was doing ridiculous things to her p
ulse, making her insides fluttery. That fluttery sensation in her middle didn’t subside as she sat down and it was disconcerting to say the least.
“Good to see you,” he said, his gaze meeting hers and holding.
His eyes, she realized, were blue, a light, piercing blue and they made her feel a little too warm, and a little too vulnerable. She made a show of peeling off her coat and removing her scarf and mittens.
“Good to be here,” she said briskly, determined to regain her equilibrium. Just because Atticus was, well, Atticus, it didn’t mean she couldn’t manage to keep things purely professional. “It’s my first time at the Graff. It’s a really lovely old hotel.”
“It looks particularly appealing now with the Christmas decorations.”
“You’ve stayed here before.”
“I’m friends with the owner, Troy Sheenan. He lets me stay in his suite whenever I’m in Marietta, and in return, I handle some legal things for him.”
“Seems like a fair trade.”
“He doesn’t have me do much, so I think I’ve gotten the better end of the bargain.”
The waitress arrived to take their drink order, and after she’d gone, Atticus asked her how she’d spent the afternoon.
She told him about the visit from Zane Nash, and the discovery that there were binders with records on books, but no electronic database. “The glass cabinet near the front is where she keeps the really valuable books, and apparently she has an excellent collection of books on Montana and the West. I haven’t taken a look at those yet, but I did some dusting and cleaning and discovered an entire back room filled with boxes. There are so many books in there. I’m beginning to think that Lesley never met a book she didn’t love.”
He leaned back against the dark green leather booth. “Not everyone would view inheriting a store that size as a blessing.”
“Especially a store that hasn’t been introduced to the technology age. A store that size needs a database, not just to manage stock, but it would allow one to sell books online. I understand Lesley loved her customers, but relying on foot traffic limits sales.”
“Especially during Montana winters,” he agreed. “From what I gather, they begin in October and continue through April or May.”
“It’s certainly cold now.”
“First time visiting Montana?”
“Second. Last time I was here I was in preschool. We came for a wedding. Apparently I was the flower girl.” She saw his expression and shook her head. “I don’t remember any of it.”
“So what’s your connection to Lesley, and Marietta?”
“My mom grew up here. She was born in Missoula but moved as a baby to Marietta. Her dad, my grandfather worked for the US Forest Service, and my grandmother was an elementary school teacher but she gave up teaching when they moved to Marietta. From what I gather, they were happy here, but then during my mom’s senior year of high school, my grandfather was transferred to the Flathead Lake area, but my mother stayed behind, and lived with Lesley’s family until graduation in June.” Rachel looked across the pub to the fireplace where a fire crackled and popped. “My mom went to university in Missoula, and she met Dad there. He was earning his PhD and then when he got a job offer in Southern California, she followed him out.”
“That’s how you ended up in California.”
“It’s all I’ve ever really known.”
“And your parents? What are they doing now?”
“Dad has retired and Mom”—she broke off, brow furrowing—“she passed away a number of years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“You’re not that old.”
“Just turned thirty.”
“Again, not that old. It must have been a difficult loss.”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak, the weight on the past suddenly impossibly heavy and then she managed a small, nonchalant shrug. “I don’t think about it.” And that much was true. She hated thinking about her mom and the horrendous cancer that had taken three years to kill her. “Too much to do.”
Their drinks had arrived and they made small talk for a bit before Atticus drew a folder from his briefcase and slid it across the table. “I had the bookstore appraised eighteen months ago. I had it appraised again recently, just to make sure the numbers hadn’t changed.”
“And?”
“They’ve pretty much stayed the same.”
“It will be interesting to see how your numbers compare to mine. I’ve done my homework, too.”
“I expected you would,” he answered, lips curving faintly. “Your profession is a lot like mine, time is money, and we probably both bill in fifteen minute increments.”
“I hate having my time wasted.”
“Something else we agree on.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “What do you want out of this? What’s the magic number to make this deal happen?”
“I’m not sure I have a magic number, at least not yet. This is all new to me, and I flew out to Montana on a research trip. I’m here to figure out what I want, and what the bookstore means, and the best moves for the future.”
“That makes sense. Here’s my bottom line—I want the bookstore, and I’ll compensate you fairly, generously, but I also understand you need time. That’s not a problem.”
She took a sip from her glass and then looked at him, trying not to let his pretty face confuse her. She wasn’t used to having drinks or interesting conversations with men like Atticus. “Why do you want the bookstore?”
“I want the building. I have a vision for it. And I don’t want to compromise that vision.”
She noticed he said building this time, not store. “What do you want to do with it?”
“Turn it into a restaurant.”
“A restaurant?”
“Location and setting are a big part of a restaurant’s success. I think the bookstore’s location on the corner makes it perfect for an upscale steak house.”
“There are a lot of places you could do this in Montana—”
“I like Marietta. It reminds me a lot of Last Stand in Texas. Marietta draws folks from Bozeman and Livingston interested in a date night and fine dining, and then you have the seasonal traffic from tourists heading to Yellowstone.”
“And all the books?”
“They’d find new homes,” he said easily.
Too easily, she thought, tensing. And for the first time since meeting him this morning, she didn’t trust him. He didn’t care about the books. The books were in the way. He wanted the building and then he’d dispose of the books one way or another. In fact, for all she knew he’d simply have them carted to a dumpster.
Rachel felt rather queasy. She hadn’t thought she cared about the books, either, but Lesley had taken care of them for years. One didn’t just carelessly dispose of Lesley’s books.
“I didn’t need to travel to Montana to get comps on the building. I came here to understand the business,” Rachel said slowly, carefully. “This was Lesley’s passion for twenty plus years. It’s a one-of-a-kind business. There aren’t many independent bookstores in Montana, much less bookstores that have been in business in the same location since 1945.”
His blue gaze met hers. “Which is why you’ll see I’m making a significant offer.”
She didn’t look away, nor did she reach for the folder. She’d do that later when she was alone. For now, it was enough to know that he was serious about the bookstore. She should be relieved. She hadn’t thought she wanted it, and the fact that there was a buyer, and a hungry buyer, should reassure her. He was giving her the perfect solution to a financial nightmare, and she should be excited… even grateful. Why wasn’t she?
Didn’t she want to return home and resume the life she knew?
Again, her tiny office with the darkened blinds flashed through her mind, and this time the memory made her feel a little sick. She’d sacrificed so much—travel, fun, friends, relationships—and maybe in the past she co
uld justify the decision to pour everything into her work, but not anymore. She wasn’t happy at Novak & Bartley. She hadn’t been happy for a long time.
Maybe that was why she wasn’t in a hurry to sell Paradise Books. The store teased new beginnings, and new opportunities. She knew what waited in Irvine. Marietta was a brand-new adventure. Was it time to try something different? Was she ready for a change?
Atticus studied her intently. “You don’t know what you want to do, do you?”
“My head says I can’t possibly keep it.”
“But your heart…”
She laughed grimly. “Oh, no, I don’t ever listen to my heart.” She saw his expression and made a face. “I don’t trust it. Hearts and feelings are unpredictable. I prefer numbers and equations; those can be relied on.”
“If you know that about yourself, then you know you’re not going to keep the store, because it’s not going to be profitable.”
“What if there was a way to make it profitable?”
“I have no doubt that if anyone could do it, it would be you, but tell me honestly, would you really give up your job and your career to make a go of a used bookstore in Paradise Valley?”
She sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Put like that, no. But at the same time, there is a lot for me to think about. I only recently inherited the store. It’s still all so new to me. I’m still getting used to the idea that I own a business in Montana.”
His dark head inclined. “I respect that.”
She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t, and she exhaled, feeling some of the tightness in her shoulders ease. “The easy thing to do would be to sell to you. I could cash out and fly home and never have to think about the store again, but that seems so unfair to do to Lesley. If she’d wanted to sell it to you, why didn’t she?”
“I think if she’d gotten to know me, she would have liked me.”
“I don’t think this had to do with you per se, but the store itself. I think she wanted me to have it… but why? That’s the part that’s keeping me up at night. Why did she give it to me? I don’t know, and that’s what I need to find out.”