Bailey hated the mixed feelings she got hearing Paul’s name. He’d barely left her mind since dropping her off. Had she said too much? Did she appear too pathetic?
“Mom, you’re not trying to set us up, are you?”
A terrible idea given their history…and the fact she’d dreamed about him last night.
“Of course, not. This is business. Paul lives and breathes all things Marietta. Besides, according to his secretary, he’s having coffee with our new Chamber of Commerce lady, Jane Weiss.”
Meaning Paul had moved on? Good. That’s good. A part of her even meant it. Didn’t she?
Chapter 4
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Paul rocked back in his chair to keep from pounding his fist on his desk. He’d returned from his coffee date with Jane, where she’d surprised him with news of her impending marriage to Sam McCullough, to be handed the phone. “It’s Marla Sawyer. Again,” Bev, his secretary, said, her tone as exasperated as she ever got.
“Well, Marla,” he said, wishing he’d skipped that extra shot of espresso. “I’ll take a look at it this weekend. When are you leaving? I’ll need to put an ad in the paper.”
As a renter, Marla was every landlord’s worst nightmare. Paid rent when she felt like it. Complained about stupid, piddly things. Wanted perfection in a sixty-year-old farmhouse that hadn’t been perfect on its best day.
But things were looking up. She’d just informed him she and Jack were moving.
“End of August. Jack will want to be here for the fair. Can’t believe it’s going to last two weeks. It’ll cost me a fortune, but since it’s our last, we might as well to do it up right.”
“Your last ever? Does this mean you’re not coming back to Marietta?”
“Oh, who knows? Jack feels some kind of loyalty to OC. Says he’ll work for him again next spring if OC’s able to keep the business open.” She gave a snarky laugh. “Like that’s going to happen. The man lost his leg, and now he’s going to sit around and wallow in his sorrow till his liver gives out.”
Her negativity made Paul’s Café Americano curdle in his belly. He managed to pin down a firm date of departure then asked, “How are my horses?”
“As good as you’d expect with nobody riding ’em. Jack feeds ’em every day, but they’re too damn wild for me. I ain’t gonna get tossed off and break something just for a break in the rent.”
How did this happen? Paul asked himself. How did a businessman as sharp as he was reputed to be wind up trading rent in exchange for feeding and watering—and supposedly exercising—four horses? Man, had he gotten screwed.
“I have to get back to work, Marla. Consider this your notice, then.”
He made a note on his calendar and texted Bev. His next renters were going to come with references and a big deposit.
If he’d listened to Jen, he would have sold the place years ago. But the old ranch was in his blood.
A knock at the door made him look up.
Bailey.
“Well, speak of the devil.”
She looked like a walking commercial for western glam—faded denim jeans, white tank with a chunky brown leather belt cocked stylishly at her hips, a saucer-size turquoise buckle that matched her pounded silver and stone necklace. The only thing missing was her hat.
“You were talking about me?”
He pointed at his phone. “Not exactly. Your old farm. You knew I bought the place, right? The last owners were from LA. Thought they wanted a summer place, for God’s sake.”
“Mom told me.”
“Well, I’ve been renting it to the Sawyers, and Marla just gave notice.”
She made a silent, “Oh.”
“I hope they aren’t expecting a good referral. Our deal included exercising my horses and apparently that chore has fallen by the wayside. Don’t suppose you’re up to riding, yet?”
She shook her head. A haunted look in her expression made him drop the subject.
“So what can I do for you? Good to see you survived your first night home with OC.”
“Drugs are a wonderful thing. OC slept like a baby, which meant Mom and I did, too.” She pointed to the extra chair opposite his desk. “Do you have a minute? I hate to bother you but I need some advice, and Mom said you were the man to ask.”
He half rose, feeling stupid for not jumping to his feet in the first place. But, in all fairness, Bailey was the last person he expected to see walk into his office. Or wanted to see. Even having coffee with another beautiful woman hadn’t been enough to erase the memory of his hot dream…he and Bailey naked on a blanket under the bright Montana sky.
He swallowed hard. “Of course. Sit. Please. Did you walk here?”
“No. Not yet.” She brushed back a thick lock of dark auburn hair and let it drop. He’d always loved her hair and was glad she hadn’t cut it. “Mom dropped me off on her way to the library. A visiting nurse is at the house to help OC shower. He’ll probably pass out and sleep all afternoon. No stamina whatsoever.”
Paul didn’t give a damn about Oscar Jenkins’s medical challenges. From what he heard, OC brought about all his problems by being a bullheaded ass. “Is the ramp working out?”
“Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you.” She sat forward, shoulders straight. Her expression made it clear she was done talking about her father.
“I need a workshop. Nothing big. Room for three or four tables. Dad refuses to give up the basement, and Mom’s afraid if I push him too hard he’ll backslide into depression.”
“For your jewelry business?”
“Yes. My orders have been picking up steadily. If I want to take this to the next level, I need to hire some crafters to fabricate my designs. Mom said you’ve got your ear to the ground when it comes to Marietta business and you might know of something that isn’t even on the market yet.”
“To buy or rent?”
“Rent,” she said without hesitation.
Of course. Why did I ask?
“It doesn’t have to be big, but I’d need Internet access. All of my sales are online at the moment.”
“So, you’re not talking retail?”
She took a deep breath, as if preparing to jump off a cliff. “I…no. Not really. It’s the next logical step, but…” She looked around, not making eye contact. He knew what she was thinking. ABM—anywhere but Marietta. If she left again soon, what would that mean to his X-rated dreams?
“There are a couple of empty buildings around. I don’t know if they’re for sale or rent. But I know someone who would know. Jane Weiss.”
“The Chamber of Commerce lady.”
Her tone didn’t sound thrilled.
Paul nodded. “She’s a real go-getter. Did you hear about the bridal contest they sponsored this spring? The winner got their wedding and reception at the Graff, plus three nights in the honeymoon suite as a prize.”
“Wow. Mom sent me a picture of the Graff. Pretty impressive.”
“Put Marietta on the map. Now, she’s focused on turning the Great Marietta Fair into a world-class destination. Jane is a true force of nature.”
Bailey’s pretty tan faded a bit. She licked her bottom lip in a sure sign of nervousness. His Bailey unnerved by meeting another woman? Impossible.
When he reached for his phone, she scooted forward to rest her hand on top of his. Her touch set off a series of wicked visuals straight out of last night’s dream. His mouth went dry and he had to remind himself to breathe.
“Wait. I think I might be doing this ass-backwards, as OC likes to say. Mom was so gung-ho I completely lost sight of the fact I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t even have a budget in mind.” She pulled a large, beautifully tooled western purse onto her lap and dug out a folded piece of paper. “The consultant who drew up my business plan focused on e-retail, which required practically no start-up funds.”
He gave the simple operating budget for B. Dazzled Western Bling a quick glance. “Love the name.”
&nb
sp; “Thanks.”
Her smile seemed bittersweet.
She re-folded her business plan and put it back in her purse. “Maybe I should just keep selling one piece at a time online until we know how things are going to work out with OC.”
Paul rocked back in chair.
“Seriously?”
“What do you mean?”
He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her chest. Like the horn dog I am. “Did you make that necklace?”
“Of course.”
“It’s great. A little flashy and very classy. Just like you.”
The color came back into her cheeks.
“Thank you. I think.”
“You’re thinking too damn small, Bailey. This is Montana. Big sky, big dreams. You used to know that. And you are exactly the reason you need a store—to model your product. My, God, Bailey, you’re hot, young and gorgeous. Why hide behind the anonymity of the Internet?”
Paul’s question hit Bailey like a pony kick to the gut. She had been hiding. How did he know? Because he knows me? Was that possible? Most days, Bailey didn’t even know herself.
“I can think of a dozen ways you can open a shop on a shoestring budget. A photographer friend of mine makes poster size prints. Super cheap. Instant wall art for your shop, plus you can plaster them all over your website.”
A buzzing feeling she used to get right before a race started to hum in her chest. How long had it been since she’d felt the thrill of possibility?
Before she could reply, his cell phone warbled. He looked at the name displayed and grinned. “Hey, Troy, when did you get back? What’s happening? A drink? I’d love one. Can I bring an old friend?”
We’re friends again? Really?
He looked at Bailey, a question in his eyes. She nodded okay.
“Great. We’ll meet you in the lobby.”
He listened a moment then replied, “Bailey Jenkins. She was like the last Fair Queen before that whole voting fraud scandal.”
He looked at Bailey and winked—a gesture that took her straight back to their first date. “Winks are goofy. You’re goofy. I don’t date goofy boys,” she’d told him—her upper classman superiority showing.
“I’m only goofy around you because you’re so beautiful I can’t think straight,” he’d confessed, his sincerity winning her heart in a way the cock-of-the-walk cowboys she’d dated in the past couldn’t match.
Paul let out a low, masculine chuckle that went straight to her goofy girl parts. “Yep, OC’s daughter. And, nope, they don’t look anything alike.”
He glanced at her chest again. “In fact, she’s opening a new jewelry shop called B. Dazzled Western Bling. She can tell you all about it when we see you.”
The moisture in Bailey’s mouth turned to sand. Her ankle suddenly started to pulse. Mom had caught her up on all the latest Marietta gossip so Bailey was pretty sure Troy was Troy Sheenan, owner of the Graff hotel. Easily in walking distance unless you were recovering from a broken ankle.
Paul solved that problem when he grabbed his keys off the desk and stood. “Let’s take my car. We can cruise down Main on our way. I’ll point out a couple of empty storefronts to give you an idea what’s out there.”
She followed him through Big Z’s—a place she remembered well from high school. Outwardly, it looked the same, and yet, the atmosphere felt different.
Better lighting, maybe? New flooring?
She put the dilemma out of her mind, focusing instead on what the hell she was doing letting Paul Zabrinski back into her life. Bad enough he occupied center stage in her dreams, was she ready to follow his Pied Piper lead down business lane?
Apparently, yes, she thought, when he opened the passenger door of the same giant black truck she rode in yesterday.
“Your ankle’s better today, isn’t it?”
“Much.” Liar.
Instead of turning left to travel the two and half or so blocks down Front Street to The Graff, he turned right. They were the third in line to make another right on Fourth Street.
Bailey couldn’t pass the stately spires of the Catholic Church without remembering the Midnight Mass she attended with Paul and his family her senior year.
Her parents weren’t religious. Mom attended church off and on, and belonged to a women’s group at St. James, but her father hadn’t stepped foot in a place of worship in her lifetime to her knowledge.
“Can I ask you something? Why are you helping me? Given our past….”
His cheeks turned a ruddy shade of tan. “I like to think I grew up a little.”
The blinker ticked, ticked, ticked loudly until he added, “Plus, I owe your mother a debt I can never repay. My daughter nearly failed second grade. Thanks to Louise, Chloe’s reading above grade level and is doing great in school. Your mother is a saint in my book.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “No pun intended.”
He pulled over sharply.
“Del’s built a new place out by the mall. This building has been vacant for a couple of years.”
The empty brick-front building that had sold auto parts when she lived in Marietta.
“I remember coming here with my dad. I wonder if it still smells like motor oil?”
“Yeah. Pretty much,” he said. “This must be why I’m not a realtor.” His self-deprecating grin set off a brigade of warning bells. He’d always been able to make her laugh at the dumbest things.
In the next block, he pointed out several stores that were new to her, including Copper Mountain Chocolates.
“You have to try Sage Carrigan’s candy. My mom claims her single-origin chocolate bars are the best in the world, but I like the caramels with sea salt. My mouth starts to water just thinking about it. Do you want to stop?”
“Another time, thanks.”
“Sure, no problem.” He stepped on the gas. “And on the corner is SweetPeas. Risa Grant, the gal who owns it, is new to the area. She could probably give you all the pros and cons of opening a new business in Marietta.”
He turned on First Street, and even from a block away Bailey’s jaw dropped as she eyed the building she’d passed a thousand times in her youth.
“Wow. I can’t believe it’s the same place.”
The classy facelift made her feel hopeful…and intrigued. If someone was willing pour the kind of money this restoration must have taken into a seventy-five-year-old building, maybe her old town had some life in it after all.
An hour later—after a full tour that included a peek at the gorgeous Presidential Suite, Bailey followed Paul to the parking lot, thoroughly impressed but a little overwhelmed, too.
Troy Sheenan, whom she vaguely remembered from high school, came across as committed, ambitious, connected and…miles out of her entrepreneurial league.
“The Graff is gorgeous. My dream venue. Maybe in a few years I’ll be able to afford to work with precious gems. For now, I’m lucky to be able to afford Montana sapphires.”
As he backed out of the parking place, Paul said, “When Troy was talking about that hunting trip OC took him and his brothers on, I thought of a place that might be perfect for you.”
She checked her phone. No texts or messages. Hopefully, that meant OC was sleeping…not dead drunk.
“Okay. I could see one more before I head home.”
He took Court Street to Railroad Avenue. The area predominantly had been residential during Marietta’s early years but like a lot of towns she’d been in, many of the homes had been converted to businesses.
Jenkins’s Fish and Game operated out of one such bungalow. OC bought the place before Bailey was born. Her parents had planned to move into town when Bailey started school, but Bailey’s passion for horses kept them on the ranch.
When OC’s guide business started to take off, he set up an office where sportsmen could come to discuss tour packages. And every summer, he’d hold his annual OC Jenkins’ Fish Fry in the back yard.
“Here we are.” Paul parked in front of the familia
r gray-green clapboard building.
The two Adirondack chairs on the porch were new, but the sign hanging below the eaves was the same one her dad bought before she left for college: Jenkins’s Fish and Game. Since 1972.
She looked at Paul. “OC’s place? Are you crazy? He threw a hissy when Mom suggested I set up a couple of tables in the basement.”
Paul shrugged. “If Jack and Marla leave, who’s going to make the mortgage payment?”
“That’s a very good point.”
Before she could say more, her phone rang. A photo she’d taken of her mother a few years earlier flashed on the screen.
“It’s my mom. I’d better take this.”
Her finger shook slightly as she slid the bar to accept the call. Mom’s really aged since I took that picture. This thing with Dad has taken a toll.
“Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
“The visiting nurse says your dad is on the warpath. I don’t know what happened. I’m the only one here. Paige just stepped out and she’s not answering her phone. Is there any way you can…?”
“I’m on my way home now. Paul is giving me a ride. I’ll call you after I find what’s going on.”
By the time she ended the call, Paul had made a U-turn. “Do you want me to swing by the feed store for some tranquilizer darts?”
She tried not to smile, but wound up grinning—even if doing so made her feel guilty. “Hopefully that won’t be necessary. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
At the recommendation of several reformed smokers she met during physical therapy, she’d purchased an electronic cigarette. “It might be time to introduce OC to his new pacifier.”
Chapter 5
Bailey could hear the roar of her father’s voice before she reached the front door. Since his room was at the far end of the house, that meant all the neighbors were treated to his tirade whether they wanted it or not.
She waved a quick goodbye to Paul then walked inside.
When her mother dropped her off at Big Z’s, Bailey had expected to walk away, at best, with a list of possible venues. At worst, she’d expected Paul to say, “Hey, I already hauled your ass home from the airport as a favor to your sweet mother. Isn’t that enough to prove I’m a nice guy who doesn’t hate your guts anymore? Now, leave me the hell alone.”
Cowgirl Come Home Page 5
