by Amanda Tru
Beau followed the sounds of Shelby moving around and headed back into the short hallway. The door to the left was now cracked slightly, and he pushed it open. Unlike the rest of the cottage, this room was still shrouded in darkness. He felt along the wall and flicked the light on. It took him a second, but eventually, he recognized stacked canvases against a wall. A paint-splattered drop cloth covered the floor and, near the window, was a large object covered in a cloth. He took a step in, just to see what it was.
“Don’t go in there,” said Shelby, pushing past him, blocking him from moving further into the room. She narrowed her eyes at him and placed her hands on her hips. “This is off limits.”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t know where you went to.”
“The kitchen is that way.” She pointed at the door. “I’ve already looked in here for Anne… and a note. I didn’t find either.”
“Okay,” said Beau holding both hands up. He heard the door snick closed behind him as they made their way to the kitchen. “Anyone you can call?”
She began to run her hands through her hair tangling her fingers in it. Shelby growled as she finger-combed it and pushed it behind an ear. “Yeah. I mean it’s a long shot but…” She went to the drawer nearest the stove and pulled out a cracked, black leather address book. “May I use your phone, please? I’d use mine, but it died on me earlier.”
“Sure.” He pulled it out of his pocket and tapped in the code before handing it to her.
“Hmmm wouldn’t have pegged you for a fancy phone,” said Shelby, looking from the address book to the phone.
“And what kind of phone am I supposed to have?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A flip phone. Seems more appropriate for a rancher.”
“I haven’t used a flip phone in years,” said Beau with a snort. “That one works best, is relatively cheap, and has good service. I think I did pretty good picking it out.”
“I stand corrected.” She held the phone up to her ear. Beau could hear the faint ringing on the other end. After four rings, it went silent, and he could hear a man’s voice on the other end.
“Peter! I’m so glad I got a hold of you,” said Shelby, relief evident in her voice. “Hey, are you with Anne? She’s not here.”
Beau leaned against the edge of the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest. Emotions raced across Shelby’s face as she listened intently to Peter. He couldn’t help but be fascinated by it. How is it that one person can feel all those things at one time?
“I’m sorry, Peter, it couldn’t be helped.” Shelby quickly glanced at him and then turned her back to Beau. He could hear her furiously whisper at the other person. “No, I’ll be there as soon as I can. It’ll be tomorrow. I need Ed to fix my car first. Don’t you dare tell her that. I’ll be there at nine.”
Beau straightened from the table. Shelby’s shoulders began to shake, but she didn’t say anything, just held out his phone. He hesitated for a moment before taking it from her.
“Everything okay?”
She shook her head and sniffled once. “No, not really.” She sounded so forlorn that he wanted to hug her and let her know it would be okay.
“What happened? Shelby, come here and sit.” Beau pulled on a kitchen chair, scraping it against the floor. “Tell me.”
She sniffled once more and scrubbed her hands across her eyes. “Sure, why not?” When she turned, he could see her small nose had turned red, and her eyes were wet with tears. She slid into the chair and leaned her arms on the table. Beau snagged a chair, turned it around, and straddled it. She kept her eyes on her hands and fiddled with the white lace cloth that covered the warm wood of the table.
“I guess she was tired of waiting for me to come home, so she climbed up into the loft to bring down the decorations. She tripped and fell down the last few feet of the stairs. If Peter hadn’t stopped by for dinner, she would have laid there for another hour or two with a broken leg.” Her composure cracked. “And it’s all my fault.”
She laid her cheek on the table and covered her head with her arms. “I was supposed to be home hours ago. But my boss—sorry, former boss—and I had a disagreement, I lost my job, and my car broke down and I had to walk in the rain, and I nearly got hit by a truck.” Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobbing.
Guilt swamped Beau at the mention of his part in her very bad day. He rubbed the back of his neck. “That sounds like a pretty rough day, but doesn’t Anne take some of the blame? She did go up into the loft on her own.”
The sobs tapered off as soon as they’d begun. Shelby lifted her head, tear tracks running down her face, and narrowed her eyes at him.
“You don’t understand. She just wanted to help make her cottage pretty. And I didn’t want her to because,” she hiccupped, “I had just finished getting everything just the way I wanted it. Me. I didn’t want her to ruin it.” She turned away from him.
Beau crossed his arms over the back of the chair and leaned his chin on his forearm. He didn’t agree with Shelby, but it didn’t sound like she wanted to hear what he had to say about it.
“I think that you need a hot shower, a decent meal, and a good night’s sleep. My mom always said there wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed by a decent night’s rest.”
When she didn’t turn around, Beau got off the chair and went looking for the coffee. “I’ll make some coffee and see if I can’t find something for you to eat. Why don’t you go get something dry on?”
Her hair bobbed as she pushed back from the table. “You’re right.” Small teeth tugged on her bottom lip. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me. But thanks.”
She hurried from the room before Beau could disagree with her. He turned back to the coffee and got it going. He opened the oven and found a Dutch oven with the lid on. That was the source of the delicious dinner he’d smelled earlier. He grabbed a pair of oven mitts sitting on the counter and put the warm dish on the stove. A moment of rummaging through the shelves yielded a plate and some silverware. He set the table and was putting coffee in two mugs when she appeared, shifting from one sock-clad foot to the other.
Shelby’s toes curled in the heavenly warm socks. They’d been a great bargain at the thrift shop, and she’d bought them at Anne’s insistence. Guilt and grief flooded her at the thought of Anne. Peter had been right. She was to blame for Anne’s accident because she’d handled herself poorly at work. Now she had to go face a strange man in her kitchen. A slip of paper was stuck in between the mirror and the frame of the dresser. Anne’s handwriting declared the words of Isaiah: Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee.
She gripped the edge of the dresser and bowed her head. Dear God, help me with these worries. Lend me your strength. In Your Son’s name, amen.
With less trepidation, Shelby pulled on her favorite sweatpants, long-sleeved T-shirt, and heavy knit sweater. God wouldn’t give her more than she could handle. She could deal with at least one of her problems. Namely, the man in the kitchen. She plaited her hair and squared her shoulders. She could do this.
But as she neared the kitchen, she hesitated when she saw him pouring coffee, absorbed in what he was doing. His tousled dark hair definitely needed a cut, and his clothes were spattered with mud. Stubble covered Beau’s jaw, and there were definite dark circles under his eyes. She felt guilty about that, too. She sighed, catching his attention. She met Beau’s direct gaze and felt her cheeks heat up. Maybe she’d put on too many layers.
“Thanks again,” said Shelby, breaking the awkward silence. “I don’t normally dump my personal tragedies on total strangers.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he turned back to the coffee. “Told you earlier my name was Beau.” He held out a mug to her. “We’re not strangers anymore.”
“Right,” said Shelby as she took the mug from him and blew across the top before taking a sip. She immediately regrett
ed it. “Ouch.”
He chuckled. Great. Now she looked like a clueless, babbling idiot.
“Dinner’s on the table.” He nodded to the single setting, filled to the top with a hearty stew. “Seems your friend left it in the oven.”
Beau pulled a chair out for her to sit on. Shelby hesitated for a moment before sliding into it and allowing him to seat her at the table. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on the receiving end of such courtesy. Not for a long time. She glanced at him as he sat down too, but this time properly.
“Would you mind if I said grace?” His eyebrow raised but he nodded to her. Shelby bowed her head and offered a short prayer of thanksgiving. He echoed her soft amen, and his eyes were soft when they locked gazes.
“I take it that Anne is in the hospital for tonight?”
Shelby blinked. “Um, yes. Peter was pretty clear on that point.” As he’d been on several others. She stabbed a chunk of potato with a fork, trying not to think about Peter.
Beau took a sip of coffee and watched her eat. It should have felt odd, but it didn’t. It felt comfortable, and that made her uneasy. She raised the fork halfway to her mouth and lowered it again.
“She’s in Bishop. I don’t know how long she’s going to be there for, though.” The thought of all the hospital bills piling up soured her stomach. “Just that the doctor wanted her to stay until the leg was healed.”
“Right,” said Beau, holding the coffee cup in both hands. His fingers wrapped around it, making it look smaller than it was. “Do you need a ride down? I’d be happy to help.”
“Oh no.” The silverware clattered against the plate. His eyebrow shot up. “What I mean to say is that I can get a ride with Ed.”
“Ed Sharpe?”
“Yeah, he’s worked my car before. I’m sure he’d be willing to help me out,” said Shelby, picking up her fork again. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
He made a non-committal sound before taking another sip of the coffee. “I’ve been thinking about something you said earlier.”
“What’s that?” Shelby popped a piece of carrot in her mouth and tried not to roll her eyes in ecstasy. Anne did make a mean vegetarian stew.
“You said you decorated this place,” said Beau, his eyes thoughtful as he gazed about the room.
She nodded as guilt crept back in, pushing aside the warm glow the food had made.
“Well here’s the thing.” He sat his cup down and leaned forward on his arms, face earnest. “I need some help. Decorating and such. Elizabeth was supposed to finish it. But she decided to elope and left me holding the bag.”
“Who’s Elizabeth?” A sudden rush of jealousy hit Shelby out of nowhere, shortly followed by pity. Had this woman left Beau at the altar? If so, it was awful. “And why did she elope?”
“Elizabeth?” Beau blinked, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “She’s my sister. Her fiancé swept her off to the Bahamas to get married.”
Relief broke through Shelby. Then she berated herself for even feeling jealous in the first place. She must be much more tired and worried than she thought.
“Let me back up.” He gave her a wry grin before settling back in his chair, holding the coffee cup between his hands. “Elizabeth renovated our ranch house. Mostly anyway. Problem is that she’s invited half the town to a Christmas party and left before she finished doing what she said she would. So now I have to pick up where she left off and truthfully, I’m not” he waved his hand, “a decorator like you are.”
Shelby straightened up in her chair. “You want me to renovate your house for Christmas?” A vision of a bachelor pad with a sad string of lights blinking along a bare, eggshell white wall came to mind. She swallowed hard. “I think you’re overestimating my abilities.”
“I can handle the renovating. There’s not much more to do, anyway. But the rest?” Beau raised the coffee and saluted her with it. “You’re just what I need.”
Butterflies fluttered in Shelby’s stomach, and she dropped her eyes to the table. She picked at the napkin next to her soup bowl.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Shelby, mumbling. “I just like my space to be pretty.”
She didn’t mention that creating a beautiful space helped her work through artistic blocks. Considering how much decorating she’d done during the past two months, she would have thought her artistic blocks would be gone.
They weren’t, and it was more than a bit frustrating. No point in telling him that, though. He wouldn’t be interested in her art—or lack thereof—anyway. Time to change the subject.
“More coffee?” She dropped the napkin so she could hop off of her chair. She pulled the pot off the burner and brought back to the table. “There’s a bit left.”
He shook his head and pushed the chair back. “Thanks, but no. I’ve got to get back to the ranch. Long day ahead of me.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and picked out a small white card from it. “I’m serious about the job. I’d pay well. And you’d have help toting and carrying if you need it.”
She stared at the card he held out to her, frustration and anger warring inside her. Take the pity job or beat the streets in town to look for a job. “I’m not a charity case. You can give the job to a professional.” She stepped back from the card.
The faint smile that hovered at his mouth disappeared. He put the card back into his wallet and slid it into his back pocket.
“I’m sorry to hear you think that.” Beau looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he gave his head a little shake. “Get a good night’s sleep. And lock the door behind me.”
Before she could take her rudeness back—or apologize for it—he took one long stride through the doorway into the other room. Seconds later, she heard the front door open and close again. Her shoulders drooped with sudden exhaustion. What would Anne have done in her place? Probably take the job and have done such an excellent job that she’d have her own decorating show on television.
The front door snicked open and then thumped shut. Shelby hurried into the living room but only found her bag just inside the door. She felt the shadow of a smile curl her lip before she squashed that flat. No. He had just offered a pity job, for heaven’s sake. He was probably dating someone, if not married. Also, he was a rancher. She rolled her eyes at the excuses that flitted through her mind. It really had been a long day.
She flopped onto the old sofa covered with a vintage quilt she’d found in a trunk in the cottage’s loft. There was no point in any kind of relationship, anyway. She owed too much to Anne to abandon the woman for a guy. Even a handsome one.
The bag had dried out and, when she peeked inside, Shelby found that everything appeared to be dry as well. A sigh of relief hissed from her as she pulled the undamaged sketchbook from its depths and opened it. With the sketchbook balanced on her lap, she rummaged inside the bag until she found her fountain pen. Thinking over her day, Shelby popped off the pen’s cap and allowed it to glide freely across the page.
A single image repeated then formed from the swirls and swoops of the ink across the creamy page. Beau’s eyes looked back at her. Shelby groaned. Sketching usually helped her process the day, but apparently, it wasn’t going to happen that evening. She snapped the journal shut, flicked the lights off, and went to bed.
The storm played itself out overnight, a fact for which Shelby was incredibly grateful. It may not have snowed, but the promise of a chilly winter hung in the crisp air. Keeping in mind how cold she’d been in the rain the night before, Shelby dressed for the day. She was warm and snug in a heavy wool pea coat, white knit beanie, and a long scarf wrapped around her neck.
Shelby bounced down the side of the highway, keeping well to the side of the road. It felt like she could take on the world this morning. Beau was right. A good night’s rest made a world of difference.
His offer had been on the shadowed edges of her mind since she’d woken up. To work for him or not. She couldn’t decide on a good answer, eithe
r way. Maybe because it was a pity offer. She flinched from the thought and then berated herself. She wasn’t above pity offers, not if she needed to pay the bills. Still, it pricked her pride.
Shelby was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t see the large bear of a man until she was nearly on top of him.
“What’s this?” rumbled Ed, the lingering traces of a Scot’s accent curled the edges of his words. “Now what in the wide world could possibly make a pretty girl look so disgusted with it?”
He took one long step toward her, wiping his hands on a filthy red rag, and opened his arms. Shelby didn’t need another invitation. She hurried to him and let his arms enfold her in a big hug. Despite his resemblance to a brick wall, Ed was a gentle soul and hugged her carefully before setting his hands on her shoulders. He peered down into her eyes from his great height, a merry twinkle in his eye.
“It wasn’t me that put that look on your face was it, lass?”
“No, it wasn’t you, Ed,” said Shelby, patting his arm. “I’m mostly disgusted with myself.”
“Hmm, come inside and tell me about it, then.” He put a beefy arm around her shoulder and herded her into his office. “Here, have a cup of tea.”
She took the hot beverage gratefully. Her fingers were almost numb, despite the gloves she put on before heading out the door.
He settled into the beat-up office chair behind the metal desk left over from the first world war. “Now girl, tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’ve some bad news,” said Shelby, twisting the cup in her hands. She really didn’t want to have to tell him about Anne, but better from her than someone else. Like Peter. “Anne fell down the stairs last night.”
