by Joanne Rock
And then they were heading out of the lodge and onto the carpeted path that led to the valet stand. His Land Rover was already there, headlights on, the engine running. A valet held the passenger side door for her while Weston handed her inside.
When he slid into the driver’s seat beside her, she was transported back to their trip to Kalispell, when nerves and anticipation had her thinking about being with him the whole time. Tonight felt sort of the same way, with the electricity buzzing between them. Except for the fact that she already had her ticket home.
A topic she planned to avoid for as long as possible.
“I didn’t mention it to you the other night, but your house is really spectacular.” There was no other word that felt quite right for Weston’s modern home built into a mountainside. “Sort of a feat of engineering, I would think?”
“I hope so.” He cracked a smile, his expression shadowed in the dashboard lights as they took an access road through private ranch property. “I have a view of a waterfall right off my deck during the warm months, and a frozen ice cascade the rest of the year. But every spring, it’s a little nerve-racking as I wait to see if the ice is going to melt too fast and come crashing through the deck supports.”
She laughed lightly. “It comes as no surprise that you are a man who still enjoys living on the edge.”
It was one of many things she liked about him. He counterbalanced her need for order, for having her life organized in neat columns. Or maybe she saw in him the kind of life she might have had if she didn’t have to be responsible for her mother all the time. If her one attempt to live large and make a statement hadn’t led to her mom’s illness.
April looked over at his profile. He was quiet so long she wondered if she’d offended him.
“That’s not a bad thing,” she reminded him. “If everyone played it safe all the time, the world would be a much duller place.”
“You can’t imagine how much I’ve reined myself in over the years.” He slanted a look at her as he turned onto a steeply pitched road. A four-rail fence ran along either side. “But maybe I’ve reached a happy medium.”
She wanted to ask him more about that, and about the family he didn’t seem to feel a part of, but then a three-story log home flanked by a small barn and stables came into view. Clearly, they’d arrived at Gage Striker’s home. Landscape lights made the whole place visible even in the dark; the horseshoe-shaped driveway was full of luxury four-wheel drive vehicles dropping off guests in evening attire. A security team worked the area, and a pair of guards was at the front door. Another pair was posted at the corners of the house. Three more were greeting the cars as they neared the house, their presence discreet but visible.
A bout of nerves chilled her as she spotted a celebrity near the red carpet at the front door. She recognized the man from her mother’s afternoon soaps, suave and smiling as he helped a pop singer from a black Escalade.
“This must be your dinner party,” she said needlessly, telling herself she’d be okay.
If this stunning property was Gage Striker’s seasonal home, she could only imagine what his full-time residence must look like. Not that it mattered, April reminded herself. This was her last night with Weston, so she might as well enjoy it.
Prepping for the event with Elena had helped bolster April’s confidence for the evening, making her realize how much her mother’s illness had chipped away at it over the years. She’d lived so long feeling responsible and embarrassed about her mother’s condition that she’d let it stunt her when it wasn’t about her.
She hoped the rest of the famous and semifamous guests would be as easygoing as Elena had been.
“It is. Just say the word if you want to be anywhere else in the world,” he told her as he put the car in Park near the carpeted walkway. He waved off a liveried attendant before the man could reach the car door. “I’d gladly be your date for whatever you want to do tonight, April. We could fly to New York or Paris if you prefer that kind of thing. Or hell, we could find a mountain range that isn’t covered with snow this time of year and take a hike so we can watch the sunrise from a high peak.”
The picture he painted took her breath away. She didn’t care about Paris or New York. But a hike with him that wasn’t about him saving her, or her trying to wrest information from him...the idea touched her. “I wouldn’t ask that of you,” she half whispered to herself. Unsure.
Besides, a more cynical part of herself reminded her, she’d asked him to introduce her to the other Mesa Falls owners. For all Weston knew, her investigation continued. Was there any chance he didn’t want that meeting to take place? The pang of doubt in her chest hurt more than it should have.
“You wouldn’t be asking me for something,” he replied now, unaware of the dark turn of her thoughts. “I’m asking you what would make you happiest. I just want this time together to be special for you. Perfect.”
He reached for her hand and held it between his. The butterflies in her belly relaxed, but a different kind of nervousness returned at the gentle rasp of his callused fingertips against her skin. Her attachment to him had grown too fast. Too deep. Surely no real, lasting feelings could develop for someone that quickly. No matter how she analyzed it, the equation just didn’t add up. She couldn’t trust a well of emotion she didn’t understand.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile she didn’t quite feel. “Thank you. But I can’t wait to meet your friends and get a glimpse of who you are when you’re not with me.”
She meant it. She did want to understand him better, if only to try to figure out why—how—this man had gotten under her skin in a way no one ever had before. Because now that her case was finished, she didn’t need to learn things about the owners of Mesa Falls Ranch. Tonight, she could just try to figure out the man next to her, and what it was about him that captivated her so thoroughly.
“Of course.” Weston lifted her fingers to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “In that case, welcome to the party, April. I’m glad to share my world with you.”
Her heartbeat stuttered as she looked into his eyes. But then the moment ended too quickly as he raised a hand to wave over the valet. A security officer arrived at Weston’s window first, signaling to the valet to wait until they’d been cleared.
Rolling down the vehicle window, Weston passed the man what she guessed was his ID. “Weston Rivera and April Stephens.”
The security guard—a woman, April realized now that her face was visible in the light of the dashboard—wore black from head to toe. She wore a padded vest over a heavy thermal jacket and a military-style cap with enough of a brim to cast her face in shadow. There was a hint of a long braid between the cap and her jacket.
“April Stephens?” She repeated the name and pulled out an electronic device smaller than a tablet but larger than a phone. “We show her as having already arrived.”
April reached for her purse to show the woman her driver’s license, but Weston’s hand on hers stilled her.
“Not possible,” Weston told the guard smoothly. “April is my guest, and one of my business partners set up your security system for tonight, so I can type in my password if you need it.”
The officer’s brown eyes shot from her screen to Weston’s face. “Of course, Mr. Rivera. My apologies.”
She passed him her tablet, allowing Weston to input a password that apparently gave them the green light, because the guard waved them through. When they pulled to a stop, the valet opened the door for April immediately while she tried to shake off the worry that came from someone else possibly using her identity. Maybe it was just an oversight?
Nevertheless, April could hear the officer speaking into a device strapped to her shoulder. “One April Stephens arriving. I need a security check on an earlier female guest—”
Whatever else the guard said was lost to her ears as she stepped from the Land Rover and down
onto the red carpet. There were no cameras here, but it was as lavish as any state receiving line. Liveried attendants greeted them warmly. A man took April’s coat, a woman gave her a magnolia flower and explained to her how to find the ladies’ lounge, the swag room and the bar. Instead of following any of those directions, however, she rejoined Weston, who’d been given a small card with an itinerary for the evening.
He pocketed it and led her out of the wide foyer toward a sprawling front room with couches, a fireplace and a bar tucked in the front corner. She guessed there were about thirty people milling around while the catering staff passed through with trays of hors d’oeuvres.
“There’s a swag room?” April whispered, even though they weren’t close enough to anyone to be overheard.
She checked her hair in a hallway mirror, but her gaze was more drawn to the man beside her. Dressed for a black-tie event, he bore little resemblance to the surly rancher who’d once told her he’d have her escorted off the property if she kept asking questions. And he didn’t even look like the mountaineering rescuer who’d spent the night with her on Trapper Peak. Tonight, in his black silk bow tie and sleekly cut jacket, Weston looked every inch the mogul. He could blend seamlessly into the world beyond the double doors because he was one of them, a man born to wealth and privilege, even if he’d worked hard to give back in his life. She was starting to think maybe she could blend in too.
He moved closer to her to reply, and her focus hitched on the image of the two of them together in the mirror. “We invited most of the guests here tonight to get them excited about the guest ranch amenities. The more they invest their time and energy in environmental projects, the more we want to support them. Their influencer status can propel our efforts forward faster than any ad placement.”
The reminder of the ranch’s high profile—and their reliance on a positive public image to grow their good works—forced her to think about how a connection to a hoarder might hurt that. Her mother’s rampant consumerism felt like the antithesis of what a sustainable environment like this was all about. Even if April fit into his world, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.
“So you woo them with swag?” she teased, if only to redirect her unhappy thoughts.
Someone turned the music up inside the great room. The song had a retro vibe, but the singer was someone modern. Two women perched near each other on the edge of a coffee table jumped up and started grooving, champagne glasses in hand.
“Absolutely we do.” His hand slid to the center of her back, a warm weight that both comforted her and tantalized her. “Are you ready to go in?”
She’d been stalling, perhaps. Licking her lips, she was about to say yes when she remembered one more thing.
“I haven’t seen my new friend here yet.” She leaned toward the great room doors, peering into the farthest corner of the space where it melded into an informal dining area and a kitchen. “We met at a fitting—”
A commotion erupted near the front door as a social media star with her own makeup brand stepped into the foyer with an entourage of at least fifteen that multiplied before their eyes. Even the other celebrities—the pop singer, the soap opera star, a duo from an international boy band—all had their phones out to record the woman’s arrival.
April sidled closer to Weston, gripping his arm as more guests came from the great room to see what was going on in the foyer. The woman—Chiara Campagna—was accepting a magnolia flower from the greeter while a hubbub ensued all around her.
Weston slid his arm fully around her waist, keeping her near him. A strikingly tall man in a tuxedo appeared on April’s other side, his burly shoulders brushing her as he leaned in to say something quietly to Weston.
“This is more than we planned for, mate. We need more security.” The man spoke in an accent that might be Australian. He smiled down at April as he eased back an inch. “I’m Gage, by the way.”
“April Stephens,” she replied. “And thank you for inviting me. Your home is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a rueful look. “I know this isn’t everyone’s idea of a party, though, love. Come back in the summer when we can kick our shoes off, barbecue some ribs and throw horseshoes by the pool. That’s more my speed.”
Gage’s dark eyes returned to the crowded foyer, a furrow of worry etched in his forehead. He had thick brown hair and the physique of a professional wrestler. Hints of intricate tattoos emerged from one sleeve when he moved.
He wasn’t what she’d imagined when she’d envisioned Weston’s private school friends, which said something about her preconceived notions. She ducked out of the way of one of the catering waitstaff taking video of Chiara Campagna while the star took a selfie with the two members of the boy band. Her bodyguards were never far from her.
Leaning forward to speak to Gage, Weston said, “I need all the help I can get convincing April to spend more time here.”
Flattered, April wondered if he was serious about that. He hadn’t said anything about wanting to continue a relationship after she left. It seemed impossible, and yet...a tiny hope sparked inside her even though she’d told herself she would not allow that to happen tonight.
Gage nodded, his dark eyes still monitoring the front door as if he was worried about a security threat. “Definitely spend a while with us when there’s not so much hype.” He snapped his fingers suddenly, turning toward April again. “April. You’re the financial forensics investigator. How’s your case going?”
All the hopeful feelings she’d been having fell away as she remembered the news she hadn’t shared with Weston yet. It had been a topic she’d hoped to avoid awhile longer, but that didn’t mean she’d lie about it.
“It’s closed,” she told him, feeling Weston tense beside her, his fingers clenching slightly against the fabric of her dress. “I’ve tracked enough of Alonzo’s earnings to satisfy my client, so I’m officially finished with my work at Mesa Falls.” She turned to meet Weston’s gaze, knowing that what she had to say would mean more to him. To them. Taking a deep breath, she took ownership of her decision, reminding herself that he’d only intended for this to be short term too. “I’ll be flying back to Denver tomorrow.”
Thirteen
Still reeling from April’s revelation that her flight was already booked and that she had no intention of spending another moment beyond tonight with him, Weston grappled for a response. Especially here, in the foyer now jammed with excited guests.
If it hadn’t come up now, when had she planned on telling him? On her way out the door? Or worse yet, not at all?
He ducked his head and whispered for her ears alone, “We need to talk. Privately.”
He thought she nodded, because he felt her silky hair bob against his jaw. But as he turned her away from the throng of partygoers, he came face-to-face with the tabloid reporter dressed in strapless crimson silk and velvet, her dark hair half pinned up and half trailing down her back.
Gage’s ex.
Weston couldn’t imagine how she’d slipped past security. Until she opened her arms wide.
“April!” Elena Rollins folded his date into her embrace like they were old friends.
Gage shot him a furious glance over their heads. Weston wondered if April even knew that Elena held a phone in one hand, recording everything. And a throng of people stood in his way, preventing him from hustling April out the door.
“Smile for my followers,” Elena instructed her as they eased apart, lifting her camera high overhead to get both of them in the shot.
April politely complied, but he could see the uneasiness in her expression. The moment of confusion.
“Were you unaware of Elena’s day job?” Gage asked as he plucked the cell from the reporter’s fingers, dropping it in the pocket of his jacket. “She’s now a professional menace.”
The shock on April’s face might have made Weston feel symp
athetic if he hadn’t just been dealt a far worse blow himself.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, blue eyes darting back and forth between Gage and Elena, who were now in a searing standoff.
“They don’t even hear you,” Weston told her, drawing her away from the dinner-party drama and toward a room in the back. “Unless, of course, you intended that apology for me.” He picked up speed as they passed the library and Gage’s office, seeking the small den toward the back of the house. April’s heels tapped loudly on the hardwood-look tile as she kept up beside him. “In which case I don’t accept it.”
“Should you...help? Out there?” April glanced over her shoulder toward the party, but Weston closed the door to the den.
It was the smallest room in the overblown mansion, and Weston appreciated the coziness of the whitewashed log walls, reminding him no one was going to come out of the woodwork and surprise him—not paparazzi or other guests. It was just April and him. Photos from Gage’s childhood were interspersed with histories and biographies on bookshelves that flanked a window overlooking the backyard.
“No. I’ve been running interference for them for weeks.” Weston’s head throbbed as he walked past the gray tweed sofa toward the window, but he was grateful for the pain since it helped him keep his mind off the ache in his chest. An ache that had started when April announced she was done in Montana. He knew that meant she was done with him, a rejection that hurt so much more than he would have expected. “I told them I needed help managing the fallout from the Tabitha Barnes announcement. Let them figure it out for a change.”
“I had no idea Elena was the tabloid reporter.” April fidgeted with one of the chiffon flowers on her dress, not moving any closer to him. She remained by an antique wingback near a grandfather clock. “It never occurred to me. She seemed so nice.”
