Jonah smiled, shaking his head. “No. We had a tiny, two-bedroom house in town that her folks owned. Lisette refused to live on the ranch. In fact, she never saw this place even when it was nothing more than a foundation and framing. She actually dreamed of getting out of Montana altogether. Said she was sick of the winters.”
“I’m guessing she doesn’t still live in town?”
“She did up until a year ago, moving after the massive flooding last year. I was the one who left town when I got a job offer from a firm in Denver not long after the divorce.” Jonah took another swallow as he moved back into the main room, making his way to the tall built-in bookcases in the far corner.
“I would work on this place whenever I came home to visit. Never wanted any help.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “How crazy was it that I was determined to finish it on my own? But my dad and brothers pitched in when more than one set of hands was needed. Took me six years but I finally got it done.”
“It really is beautiful.” She followed him, watching as he looked over her vast array of books. Scattered among them were the half dozen Chinese bamboo plants she managed to keep alive and her collection of crystal miniature turtles, started when her mother gave her one as a birthday gift when she turned ten. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
He turned to face her. “Probably because before I even met you I had plans to kick you out.”
“Kick me out?” She started to ask why, but then it hit her. “Because you wanted to stay here.”
He shrugged. “That was the plan, but then you started gushing about the cabin when we met at the resort—”
“I wasn’t gushing!”
He grinned. “Yeah, you were. Besides, I’m only going to be in town until the resort opens in December. I figured it was unfair to ask you to move, seeing how neither you or my mother knew about my plan. And now that I’ve seen what you’ve done to the place, I can’t imagine anyone else living here.”
Yes, Jonah was only here for a few short months, wasn’t he?
Well, that fit perfectly in her new “live for the moment” lifestyle. Her move to Rust Creek Falls was about finding joy and happiness, two things she felt a lot of whenever this guy was around.
“Well, thank you. Would you like a tour of the rest of the place? We’ve got time before I need to finish dinner.”
“Sure.”
She spun around, gesturing with one hand toward the open space. “Well, as you can see, I kept the few pieces of furniture that came with the cabin. Did you know about those?”
Jonah nodded. “The leather couch was a castoff from my uncle’s law office when my aunt Mary was redecorating it, but I like the pillows and that blanket you’ve got laying over it.”
“Hey, that’s a cashmere throw.”
“Oh, excuse me.” He grinned, and walked to the only other place to sit, a Bergère armchair that had been reupholstered in a faded patchwork quilt. “And where did you get this beauty?”
“At an antique store in Kalispell.”
When she saw his gaze sweep the room again, she waited, wondering if he would say anything about the stuff in the far corner. Deciding she didn’t want to talk about that, she took a few steps back toward the kitchen. “And the dining-room table?”
“A hand-me-down from my folks,” he said, walking with her. “I’m pretty sure it was a hand-me-down to them first.”
“You’re mom gave me some dishes and stuff, the rest I picked up here and there. Oh, and I love the antlers over the dining-room table.”
“Have you told my father that?” Jonah asked with a smile, reaching up to tap one of the lower antlers. “He bought it for the main house, but my mom refused to hang it. The poor thing languished in the attic for years. I asked about it one time and the next time I came back I found it installed.”
“Ah, so that’s why your dad was so happy.” Vanessa winked. “The first time I had Sunday dinner with your family I couldn’t stop talking about it.” She started walking backward into the tiny hallway that separated the back of the cabin from the front.
Jonah followed, peeking into the closet near the back door. “Nice to see the folks put in a washer and dryer.”
“I’m sure I’ll appreciate them even more come winter.” One more step and she’d be in the bedroom. With Jonah. Not that it meant anything. She was the one who’d offered the tour, but still it was a rather intimate place to be with a man she’d kissed after knowing him less than a day.
And didn’t kiss at all yesterday during their zip-lining adventure.
The thought had crossed her mind a few times—okay, more than a few times—but then she’d decided to enjoy the day and just see what happened.
Same plan for tonight.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t mind being in his arms again and having his mouth on hers.
“And last but not least, the master suite.”
Ignoring that glorious bed, she clicked on a small lamp and then headed for her second favorite feature of the cabin. Okay, third after the claw-footed bathtub. “I think I mentioned my love for this tub, right?”
Jonah followed her into the bathroom. He gestured toward a pale green bottle. “Yeah, and bubbles and Harry Potter. I remember.”
She smiled, recalling that moment back at the resort, as well. She then pointed overhead. “But that is hands down the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jonah’s gaze followed, a big grin on his face. “You like that?”
Like it? She loved it.
The only window in the room was high overhead, cut into both the roof and the side wall of the cabin. Half of the glass was horizontal across the ceiling and the other half came down about two feet, allowing a bird’s-eye view of the world outside.
“The sunlight that fills the room during the day is amazing,” Vanessa sighed. “But at night, with just some candles lit, I lie back in this tub and watch the stars.”
Jonah dropped his gaze from overhead, his eyes locked with hers. “Just what I was picturing when I designed it.”
Was he now picturing her just as she described? Naked, hair pinned up haphazardly, covered in bubbles up to her neck?
Number twenty-one: take a bubble bath...with a man.
One of the last items she and Adele had added to the list raced through her mind.
Instantly she saw not only herself lying in the tub, but this incredibly sexy man right there with her, holding her as she leaned back into his chest while hot, soapy water splashed around them—
Jonah pulled in a sharp breath, then looked away before closing his eyes.
Oh, no. Did I just say that out loud? Vanessa bit back a groan. Jeez, no pressure for a second date, huh? “Ah, are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just that...” His voice trailed off as he waved his glass in the air. “Ah, the scent in here...it’s very—”
“Strong? Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Vanessa sniffed, but it smelled the same as always to her. Like her. “My shampoo, body wash and lotion all come from the same line. It’s a mix of gardenia and white flowers with hint of coconut oil and lime. I think it’s very fresh and summery and—”
“Sexy.” Jonah opened his eyes, his gaze on her again as he closed the distance between them with one step. He took one of her curls and gently pulled it through his fingers. “That’s the word I was going for. It’s very sexy.”
Hmmm, she liked that. Almost as much as she liked being this close to him, and the way he tugged on her hair made her think about closing the space between them, but there was food cooking...
“Thanks. I think maybe we should get back out into the kitchen. Dinner is blackened chicken, but we don’t want to do that literally.”
Jonah laughed and took a step back. “After you.”
>
She walked out of the bathroom, her eyes once again going right to that bed. It was probably tempting fate, but she had to ask. “The bed was the only other piece in the cabin when I moved in. It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”
“I made it.”
His simple statement had her spinning around. “You made it?”
Jonah nodded, the pride evident on his face as he looked it over. “Handmade by yours truly from felled trees found right here on the ranch.”
“Oh, Jonah. It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean it.” She laid a hand on his arm, waiting until she had his full attention. “Really. It’s a work of art.”
“That’s high praise coming from an artist like you.” He clicked his wineglass to hers. “By the way, I noticed you don’t have any Vanessa Brent originals hanging in the cabin.”
She tried to swallow the lump that filled her throat, but it wasn’t budging. A healthy sip of wine did nothing to help. “Ah, that’s right. I don’t.”
* * *
Vanessa muttered something about getting the pasta ready, and headed back for the kitchen.
Jonah followed her signature scent that filled the bathroom and now filled his head, not to mention the images his vivid imagination was creating after her words about that damn tub and the innovative skylight he’d put in the room.
Yeah, those images were going to haunt his dreams tonight.
He watched her work at the stove for a moment and he had to admit the smells coming from the kitchen were good.
Almost as good as the one in the bathroom which had made him want to pull her into his arms and start off this second date with a second kiss.
“Hey, how about I get a fire started?” he asked, wanting to do something—anything—to keep busy and take his mind off of...other things.
She looked at him, the gleam in her eye telling him they’d already done that.
“In the woodstove,” he added. “It’s supposed to get chilly tonight.”
“Sure, that would be great.” Refilling her wineglass, she held out the bottle with a silent question. He put his glass on the island and pushed it toward her and headed for the wood stacked on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.
Walking up to the front door earlier tonight, he’d been planning to tell her about the cabin belonging to him. But it only took a simple phrase from her for him to figure out she knew that already.
Then again, talking about his ex-wife hadn’t been part of his plan.
It wasn’t as if he was hiding the fact he’d been married, back when he’d been young and dumb enough to believe in forever, but it seemed once a woman knew he’d been hitched before she became a firm believer that was what he wanted again.
No, thank you.
He was glad Vanessa hadn’t asked a lot of questions about his past, but instead went back to the safer topic of the cabin, which he had to admit looked better than he’d even thought it could.
Not surprising, considering she was an artist.
There was color and texture and life in here now. All things he probably never would’ve thought to add if he’d moved in as planned. To him, it had been just a place to crash until he got the resort finished and went back to Denver. Vanessa had made it her home.
Except for her art.
He glanced around the room again, his gaze catching hold of the easel, standing alongside what appeared to be stacks of blank canvases in the far corner of the room.
Interesting. No slash of paint on any of them.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Vanessa said, heading toward the back of the cabin again. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay. I’ll just wash up in the kitchen sink once I get this going.”
Turning his attention back to the task at hand, it only took a moment for the flames to catch. He had these same style woodstoves in his penthouse in Denver and used them quite often.
Standing, Jonah held back a groan as his muscles protested. He’d spent an hour under the hot spray getting ready for tonight, but after a long day working alongside his brothers, he was going to be hurting tomorrow.
He walked to the kitchen, washed his hands and then reached for his wineglass just as a painting he hadn’t noticed earlier got his attention.
It wasn’t large, but it was colorful with splashes of purples, reds and blues and a big drop of yellow in one corner. Unframed, the stretched canvas seemed to hang suspended on the corner wall in the dining area.
Was it one of hers?
He’d moved closer, studying it, remembering what he’d found on the internet about her earlier tonight.
Yes, it seemed Vanessa Brent—the adventurous volunteer art teacher and country dancing wannabe—was a big deal in the art world. Her works fetched hundreds of thousands of dollars and were coveted by collectors all over the world.
And it’d been that way ever since she was a teenager.
“No, that’s not one of mine.”
Jonah turned and found she’d returned and was once again busy with pots and pans that contained something that looked as good as it smelled. “At first I thought it might be,” he said, “but it looks a little...primitive, compared to your work.”
She went still for a moment, then went back to preparing two dinner plates.
“A friend of mine did that many years ago.”
“I like it.”
“Yeah, what do you like about it?”
Jonah turned back and studied the painting again. “It’s uncomplicated, as if the artist didn’t care what anyone thought. There’s a hint of anger in there, but the pop of yellow says all is forgiven.”
He looked back over his shoulder and found Vanessa standing at the table, two dinner plates in her hands, staring at him. “What? What’d I say?”
She blinked and shook her head, setting the plates down. “Nothing. That was very...insightful.”
Maybe too much so?
Jonah turned away from the painting and headed for the table. “Can I do anything to help?”
Vanessa shook her head again and went back to the kitchen counter for her wineglass and a basket of rolls. She returned and gestured for him to sit, but he waited until she did so first.
“This looks amazing.” He looked down at the meal. “What did you say it was again?”
“Blackened chicken with creamy angel-hair pasta.”
The food was terrific, but Jonah couldn’t get the painting behind him—and Vanessa’s reaction to his words—out of his head.
“Can you tell me more about your friend’s painting?”
She looked at the art over his shoulder, her face taking on a very faraway expression. “It was our senior year of high school. I had passed on going to my prom because I was up to my eyeballs getting ready for a show. My friend wasn’t happy about that, but she came by the next day—still dressed in her prom finery—and found me a bit loopy as I’d pulled an all-nighter.”
Vanessa paused and took a sip from her wineglass. “I wasn’t happy with anything I had worked on all night, so sure that no one would want to even look at my pieces much less buy one.”
“And nothing your friend said could convince you otherwise?”
This time she looked at him. “That’s right. So, she grabbed a blank canvas, some paint and a brush and whipped up that beauty. She then handed it to me with a great flourish and told me I was now the proud owner of a rare, one-of-a-kind piece and if I ever found myself destitute I could sell it.”
She smiled, light coming back into her eyes as she grabbed her fork again. “We both burst out laughing and I felt a hundred percent better. So I make sure I keep it somewhere where I can see it...and remember.”
“So, if that’s true, why, then, are your own canvases bla
nk?”
Chapter Seven
Could he have said what was on his mind in a worse possible way? Yeah, probably. He could’ve just come right out and accused her of being a fraud.
Of course, they both knew that wasn’t true.
Jonah had found out more about her, and her career, just by looking around her space, than during a twenty-minute internet search and the images of her work he’d seen online were impressive.
Bold and colorful and full of life. Just like her.
But none of that passion was reflected in the empty canvases sitting on the other side of the room.
Vanessa slowly lowered her fork back to her plate. “What did you say?”
The hurt in her voice caused his insides to twist. He should backtrack, apologize for saying something stupid. Then again, he had a feeling Vanessa wouldn’t let it go that simply and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want to let it go, either.
“I couldn’t help but notice your artist’s corner seems a bit too neat and clean,” he said. “No soiled brushes, no paint-covered rags, no...”
Spine straight and shoulders pushed back, she appeared almost regal, uncomfortably so as she looked at her plate, jabbing at the food. “No paintings.”
He let his silence tell her she’d correctly finished his sentence.
“Maybe I don’t like living in a mess.” Her focus remained on the pasta and bits of chicken she nudged with jerky movements. “Maybe I cleaned up before you came over.”
Both explanations could be true, but Jonah knew they weren’t.
Yes, the cabin was neat and beautifully decorated, but it was lived in.
Magazines were scattered on a turquoise colored side table next to the chair, her boots laid forgotten by the front door and the couch pillows were messy, almost as if she’d been lying there, waiting for him.
“Maybe,” he finally said. “But I don’t think so.”
She jerked her head up to look at him, indignant fire in her eyes. “And maybe it’s none of your business.”
The fight in her wasn’t a surprise. He was glad to see it. “True, but when I asked you said there weren’t any of your paintings here in the cabin.”
The Last-Chance Maverick Page 9
