She extended her arms to retrieve him. “Thanks.”
“Get the gate, please. I’ll carry this upstairs.”
Grateful for the help, she hurried to open the gate and then the back door. As they walked through the house, she chatted about the two old men playing checkers and how peaceful the square had been. When they reached her room, she pushed open the door. “Prop him up against the far wall.”
He did and then turned, smiling. “That power drill spoils the image of a frontier man. If you want, I’ll cut it off later.”
The impact of his smile hit her square in the chest, and she drew in a jittery breath. “Thanks, Finn. That’s thoughtful.”
His blue eyes twinkled as he sauntered past her. “Oh, and Vena.”
“Yes?”
“If this flat guy doesn’t work out—” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and winked “—don’t forget you’ve got a three-dimensional one close by.”
Chapter Seven
AN HOUR LATER, VENA wandered downstairs, curious if Finn needed any help with the restorations. After revealing her real reason for being in Dry Creek, she’d hoped her energies would focus on creating the living exhibit. Unfortunately, her thoughts kept returning to Finn and their interaction in the kitchen on the second day. What she wouldn’t give for a repeat session of playful questions and answers.
The roar of a power tool sounded in the dining room, and she headed toward it. Finn stood on a ladder, drilling a hole into the wall molding. Just the sight of him caused her heartbeat to go into overdrive. She had no problem looking past the faded jeans, torn T-shirt, and sawdust to the man underneath.
In all honesty, the engagement with Nick never stood a chance. Or any relationship she’d had in the last decade. When compared with Finn, they’d all come up lacking. Only in her wildest dreams had she envisioned them having an adult relationship. This was a one-shot chance. Her future marital success counted on getting him out of her system—now and forever.
Too bad she didn’t know how to do that.
“How long are you going to stand there and stare?”
To cover her shocked gasp, she coughed and forced her gaze around the room. “Actually, I’m admiring how much work you’ve finished.”
Drill still in position, he glanced over his shoulder. “Uh-huh. How’s your writing coming?”
“Fine.” She lied and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I got hungry. Got a favorite casserole to recommend?”
“Help me finish this, and I’ll take a break.” He grinned and motioned with his chin. “Can you hold up that box of screws?”
“Sure.” She picked her way across the floor littered with wood scraps, tools, and sawdust. Lifting the box so he could reach it, she leaned against the wall and focused on his muscular thighs where they rested against the ladder. “I forgot to ask what happened when Tootie came over the other day.”
“Yeah, that was the strangest thing.” He rested a forearm on the ladder and glanced down. “Tootie brought an armload of vegetables and just dropped them off. I’d been concerned about what I, or we, should say—you know, depending on which of us saw them first. As she was leaving, I blurted out you’d had an allergy attack and came back to The Shamrocks. She said she knew the answer would be logical. Then she winked and said this was a better place for you after all.”
What did better place mean? “And she wasn’t upset?”
“She didn’t seem to be, but…” His voice wavered.
“But what?”
“I’m not sure. The look in her eyes was conspiratorial, like she knew more than she was admitting. Know what I mean?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense, when two days ago the main concern was your reputation, you know?”
At least her exit hadn’t upset the ladies. “I got the impression Ruth was more concerned than Tootie. I know the note I left wasn’t very explicit. Thanks for making my excuses.”
“Done here.” He set down the screwdriver and descended the ladder. “Let’s eat.”
In the kitchen, they dished up cold pasta salad and iced tea. Vena liked the companionable feeling of working side by side with someone else in the kitchen. So this was what she’d been missing by living alone all these years. “Mmm. This isn’t half bad. Have you considered going along with this matchmaking scheme for a while longer? Say, until the end of next week? Save us a lot of time on meal preparation.”
He snorted and jabbed a fork in her direction. “Oh, so I sacrifice my time and energy to the eager ladies, and you eat up the bribes?”
Pouting, she stretched a hand across the table and patted his, her skin tingling from the contact. “You poor thing. I’m sure it has been hard.”
“Hey, don’t laugh. This situation was creepy.” He ducked his head and stared at his food. “I’ve had women come on to me before. The fact these women used their cooking skills to impress me was just plain embarrassing.”
Too excited by the physical contact, she eased away her hand and grabbed her glass for a cooling drink. “No doubt.”
He shrugged. “In my line of work, a certain amount of schmoozing comes with the territory. But the minute I met these local women, I saw hopes for a church wedding in their eyes. Almost as if the type of person I am didn’t matter. I was just an available male of marriageable age. Is that weird or what?”
“I’ve heard about women like that.” Women who knew what they wanted and went after it. Jealousy flashed across her thoughts. “But you can’t fault the Gray Ladies. They’re only guilty of pushing two single people toward happiness.”A warning clanged in her head, and she stiffened. Was that why the ladies stopped objecting to her staying at The Shamrocks?
“So, how have you managed to stay single?”
Meeting his speculative gaze, she swallowed hard, wishing for the bravery to reveal her real reason. How would he react if she told him no men had ever met the standards he’d set? That would probably scare him off just as quickly as a tuna noodle casserole or the echo of church bells. “I’ve always blamed that on my childhood.”
“Your parents are still married, aren’t they?”
“Sure, and they make a great couple.” Her fork stabbed at a pea, and metal screeched against the ceramic plate. “They just never learned how to be parents.” Parenting meant spending time with your offspring, not counting on grandparents to take on the role. How had they gotten sidetracked onto this topic?
He scratched his chin and nodded. “This morning, I remembered how you hung around here a lot. I wondered why that was.”
Irritation ran through her. Now he thought of her with pity. Definitely the wrong time to bring up her past yearnings. “What’s on your list for the afternoon?” She stood and carried her plate and glass to the sink.
“More of the same.” He joined her and rinsed his dishes. “How about you?”
“Back to the computer.” She forced a smile.
He leaned a hip against the counter and grinned. “Hate to admit it, but I’m grateful for the company. If I can help you, let me know.”
He’d help with her project? Other than Nana and Anita, no one had ever offered her support like that. “Do you mean it?”
“Maybe I can help with the male character.” His eyes narrowed. “Brady, right?”
Still stunned, she hesitated before answering. “That’s right.”
“Maybe I can add something. I am a guy, you know.”
Only too well. No way could she blurt out that she’d used Finn as the model for Brady McNeel. Too revealing a statement, especially since she’d started this project in Los Angeles, weeks before ending up at The Shamrocks. “Well, I’m blocked with what Lola would—”
“Lola? Another writing friend?”
“No, she’s my female character. Lola Danforth.” She ignored his chuckle and continued, “She’s about to meet the man whose mail-order bride ad she answered.”
“Mail-order?”
“In the second half of the nineteenth century, a lot of wome
n came west in response to ads and after brief correspondences with men. Land was plentiful, and the men came seeking their fortunes, but most were single.” She leaned over and put her dishes in the dishwasher. “Once the men established themselves, they advertised for wives in eastern newspapers.”
“Sounds like you’ve done your research. This is interesting.”
“And where I’m stuck.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’ve written to this point, but can’t figure out what she would say at their first meeting.”
“What kind of guy advertises for a wife?”
“Brady owns the largest and grandest saloon in town. He’s been busy establishing his business. He’s a man who doesn’t tolerate those who don’t pull their own weight. He figures those folks have no business being out west.”
Finn nodded. “Nothing wrong with that attitude.”
“He’s loyal to the few people he counts as friends.” She worried Finn would recognize himself in her description. Brady was everything good she remembered about Finn from when they were growing up. Just older and a bit rougher around the edges so Brady would fit better in his own era.
“And you say dressing up helps you write?” He gave her a sideways glance.
“Did for me.”
He pointed a finger toward the second floor. “Are there clothes for Brady in that big suitcase I saw in your room?”
Surprise at his question released a laugh. “I didn’t have much faith Anita’s plan would work. Plus I had no idea you’d be here.” A sly grin crossed his face, and her stomach flipped with curiosity.
“Sounds like fun.” He paced to the middle of the kitchen and back. “I do need a break. What clothes do I need to dress like a bar owner?”
She squinted, savoring the chance to study him from head to toe. His worn T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and hung loose over faded jeans that clung to trim hips and corded thighs. A few days’ worth of stubble shadowed his jaw. Definite hero material. Her gaze moved back to his face, and she tapped her lips with a forefinger. “Mmmm.”
“Should I grab the digital camera? Might be faster.”
She grinned, enjoying how he squirmed a bit under her perusal. “Sorry. But I’m picturing the men’s clothes in the museum’s collection. Maybe black pants and a tailored shirt, preferably white. Do you have black boots?”
Finn crossed his arms. “We are in Montana, remember? Owning boots is an unofficial state law.”
Her mouth dried at the resulting bulge of his biceps. “Silly me. How about a bolo tie?”
“Maybe in Da’s closet. I’ll just be a minute.” He started into the hallway and poked his head back. “What’s the name of the bar?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten into that much detail yet. Why?”
“Thought it might help with the costume. I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.” He winked, and then he was gone.
Slowly, Vena walked upstairs, pleased with how great Finn was being about her writing. Not since she’d shown Nana her first attempts at short stories had Vena felt so much support. Nana had loved her stories, but Vena always passed off her compliments as nothing more than grandmotherly pride.
She had just finished getting into the red dress when she heard a tapping at her door. She opened it and gasped, heart pounding. Talk about a dream coming true. “Brady, I mean Finn. This is exactly how I pictured Brady. You look perfect…” The man was definitely hot and making her that way, too. She fanned both hands before her flushed cheeks. “Um, I mean, your outfit is great.”
Wearing the clothes she’d suggested, he stood before her, filling the doorway with his presence. Over the white shirt, he’d added a black leather vest and a red garter circled one bicep. He jammed a brown Stetson on his head and raised a forefinger to its brim in courtly salutation. “How’s this hat?”
Tossing it aside, he replaced it with a green visor with a ‘Chicago Bulls’ inscription. “Or this one?”
At the eagerness in his voice, she giggled. After the subterfuge of the past couple days, sharing her writing proved such a relief, she felt giddy. “Definitely the Stetson. That visor would be better for a bank teller.”
As he stretched for the brown hat, he leaned over the bed, tempting her with a view of hard thigh, narrow waist, and tight rear. A perfect specimen for her exhibit’s hero, or any woman’s cowboy fantasy—in any era.
If only she dared tell him how sexy he looked.
“Vena?” Finn snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Where are you?”
“Sorry, I spaced out for a second. Thinking about the character.” She arched her back and rolled her shoulders, working out the tension.
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
His voice was low and compelling. She complied. His strong hands massaged the tightness at the base of her neck. Her head slumped to the side, giving him better access. Everywhere his fingers moved, each inch of skin tingled. “Ooo, how did you know?”
Finn chuckled. “The symptoms aren’t hard to recognize. I grew up watching Da do this for Ma as she washed dishes or worked on the ledgers.”
His fingers worked, pushing and massaging. She told herself to relax, but his magic touch only stirred her longing.
“Have I lost you again?” His warm breath tickled her neck.
“Let me enjoy this heavenly sensation.” Stringing words together was tough. “Add this to your list. I love full body massages, and I pay a king’s ransom for them.”
“Tell me where to submit my bill.”
As he touched a tender spot, her head lolled forward. “Ooo, right there.”
“Is writing that stressful?”
Vena fought against blurting out that the simple feel of his hands on her body had tripled her frustration. Before she reacted impulsively and embarrassed them both, she stepped from under his hands. “Thanks. That was great.”
His blue-eyed gaze was intent. “One good thing.”
“What’s that?” She ran her hand along the skin of her neck, savoring the heat he’d created.
“You didn’t jerk at my touch. That’s progress on this ‘couple’ situation.” He winked and flexed his fingers. “Any other areas need massaging?”
She shook off that tempting thought. “If I didn’t earlier, I want to thank you for helping. The outfit is great, and when I look at you, I get a perfect picture of Brady.” Vena scanned the bedroom. “Pretend this is the private sitting room of a hotel. You sit on that chair and act like you’ve been waiting.”
Finn moved across the room and sat, resting his hat on his knee. “What’s next?”
“I’ll go into the hall and make my entrance. I already told you the set-up for this meeting, right? We’ll make up the conversation as we go along.” She stepped toward the door and then peeked over her shoulder, her heart warming at the sight of him assuming different poses in his chair. “Remember, Brady doesn’t know what to expect when that door opens.”
Finn frowned. “Tell me your character’s name again.”
“At this point, it’s Lola Danforth.” She paused, wondering if explaining the whole character development would help his acting. “Previously known as Lola LaDonna, but that was when she was a madam.”
“A madam?” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Interesting. Anything else I need to know?”
“Just that she’s desperate to improve her life. This marriage of convenience may be her last chance.”
Finn nodded and jerked a thumb at the door. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Vena moved out to the hall and smoothed the red satin of her ball gown. She tapped twice on the door.
“Enter.” Finn spoke in a lower tone.
Butterflies attacked her stomach, and she took a deep breath. As soon as she opened the door and stepped inside, she wished she’d grabbed a purse or a shawl to hold on to. She pressed her lips into a modest smile. “Mr. McNeel?”
“Ma’am, you must be Miss Danforth.” Wearin
g a reserved smile, he approached her, hat held at his left side, and extended his right hand. “I hope your stagecoach ride from St. Louis wasn’t too unpleasant.”
His hand swallowed hers, and her attention was drawn to his intense gaze. His face was schooled into a serious expression, making him seem remote and mysterious. She searched his eyes for a hint of their familiar joking twinkle. A gentle squeeze of his hand prompted her to speak. “Although a bit dusty, the ride was tolerable. I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“If I had known what I was waiting on, I might have been more anxious.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “May I say, Miss Danforth, you are lovelier than I had hoped?”
Finn’s voice, smooth as molasses, caressed her ears, and her stomach tumbled with her building excitement. Vena almost groaned at how thickly Finn was laying on the Irish charm. She averted her gaze, her mind racing for a response. Lola would know the importance of a memorable impression. Releasing his hand, she dragged one finger along the inside of his palm before clasping her hands in front of her waist. “Thank you, sir. You are ever so kind.”
His eyes narrowed, and a smile jerked at the corner of his mouth. “Excuse my manners, ma’am.” He reached for her hand and tucked it into his elbow, escorting her across the room. “This sitting room seems inadequate for proper courting. Of course, you must take the chair.”
Vena ducked her head to hide a smile. He was really diving headfirst into this skit, and his gentlemanly manner was very convincing. Carefully arranging her skirts, she sat and placed her hands in her lap, eager for what came next.
Finn tossed his hat on the bed and grabbed the inside edges of his vest. “Miss Danforth, I am a man who believes in shooting from the hip. I intended my letters to be clear on the conditions of our…” He rocked on the heels of his boots. “I hate using the word ‘contract,’ that’s much too businesslike. What word would you prefer?”
Rekindled Dreams Page 9
