Falling for Mr. Right: Still the One ; His Proposal, Their Forever

by Michelle Major

  Bailey knew she had to say something, but as little as possible. “I hardly know the guy. He’s the one who wants to tear down the Broughton Inn.”

  “Then why is he picking you up?”

  At least she had a good reason. “We’re looking for a stray dog.”

  “Is that a sex term?”

  Bailey stiffened. “Grandma.”

  “What?”

  “We’re looking for a brown dog, covered in dirt and malnourished. Most likely a stray.”

  “Oh.” Grandma sounded disappointed. Hard to believe the woman would be eighty-one in August. She acted much younger. “I suppose it’s easier to keep your enemies close if they’re good-looking.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “No, but he’s staying at Ida Mae’s B and B. She said he was handsome.”

  Bailey was not going to discuss Justin’s looks with her grandmother. Bad enough her great-aunt Ida Mae had mentioned him.

  “Don’t keep your young man waiting,” Grandma added.

  “He’s not...” Bailey blew out a puff of air. Best not to go there when the truck was pulling up to the curb. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Justin jumped out of his truck and held open the passenger door. “Need a hand?”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.” She climbed up using her good leg, but sensed him right behind her in case she fell. “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll move once you’re buckled in.”

  “You don’t have to play big brother to me.”

  “Trust me, my feelings for you aren’t brotherly.”

  Her heart stumbled. He might not be her Mr. Right, but she was still female. Of course he could mean the exact opposite of what she was hoping—no, thinking. “Does that mean you’re taking the term ‘enemy’ to heart?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  But she didn’t want to think of the alternative—that he might find her attractive. Something, maybe even desire, flashed in his eyes, as if he was imagining her naked and liking what he saw, made her feel pretty and wanted, and totally not in control of the situation.

  The man was not only trouble, but also dangerous. The hair on the back of her neck stiffened, each one screaming to get the hell away from him. And she would. Once they found the dog.

  * * *

  Justin couldn’t believe they’d spent an hour and a half driving around town with no dog to show for it. Not even a glimpse of dirty fur. He pulled into Bailey’s driveway behind her car, the bee with tires.

  “I’ll keep my eyes out for the dog,” he said.

  “Thanks. I really thought we’d be able to track him down. I’ll let Grady know so he can contact Animal Control. They take the animals they find to the local shelter.” She yawned.

  “Tired?”

  “A little.”

  More like a lot. He turned off the ignition. “You haven’t said much.”

  “I’m worried about the dog. And this is my first time out of the house since I went to the doctor. I’m not used to being vertical this long.”

  “Then let’s get you inside.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know that, but if you fall, guess who’ll get the blame? Don’t you think being known as the man who wants to destroy the inn and got put into his place by Bailey Cole is enough infamy for one week?”

  Her smile brightened her face. So pretty, though her look that other morning at the inn was endearing in hindsight. “People are saying that?”

  “I might be exaggerating, but I don’t want your brothers blaming me if you fall.”

  She reached up and touched Justin’s cheek, surprising him, but in a good way. “Oh, that would be bad. They’d mess up your nice face.”

  His chest swelled. “You like my face?”

  Bailey jerked her hand away. Her shock widened his smile.

  “I’m speaking as an artist.” She looked everywhere but at him. “Your features are aesthetically pleasing and fit well together.”

  “You must have a good memory since you’re not looking at me.”

  Her Mona Lisa smile hit him hard in the gut. He wished he could taste those lips. He grinned at the thought of doing just that.

  She opened the front door. “What’s so funny?”

  He didn’t dare tell her about wanting to kiss her on the sidewalk earlier. Not unless he wanted her to slam the door in his face. “This is the last place I expected to be again. Not that I mind. Your company is better than Kent’s. The guy reads judicial briefs for entertainment.”

  Bailey stepped inside. He followed, closing the door behind him. “Kent’s going to think you’ve gone missing.”

  “I texted him.”

  “Does he know you’re with me?”

  “I left that part out. Self-preservation.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a line I’d use with my family.”

  “Don’t forget I have sisters. Paige routinely goes ballistic over less, but in this case she’d be firing words faster than bullets fly at a SWAT team’s target practice.”

  “We have something in common.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Maybe I am.” Bailey plopped onto the couch, resting her foot on a coffee table with designs burned into the wood and painted bright colors. “We’re...different.”

  “Not really. We just happen to be on different sides with the inn.” Justin hadn’t noticed the decorative table when he was here the last time. He touched one of the etch marks. “I like this.”

  “Bought the table at a garage sale for five dollars. A few doodles, wood-burning and paint...good as new.”

  Her modesty was endearing, but misplaced. “I’d say better than new. You could make an entire line of refurbished tables like this one and sell them for a shabby chic fortune.”

  “Listen to you.” She held a pillow on her lap. “Tough guy resort developer talking shabby chic.”

  “We furnish every place I build or renovate.” He pulled an overstuffed patchwork ottoman over and sat. “My sister might be the interior designer, but I know a thing or two about style. I also know you’re a painter, but you have talent for furniture, too.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “We’re even for compliments.”

  He tugged off the sandal from her good foot. She hadn’t asked, but his helping her felt strangely natural. “But I can hear in your voice that you’re not interested in starting a business.”

  “It’s not that. I sell what I make all the time, but I like to choose what I work on unless someone commissions a piece. I’d rather not be locked into making tables or anything else.”

  “Free-spirited.”

  “Sometimes. Other times not. Truth is, I’d let orders wait if I was inspired to work on a painting. I’d let everything wait, actually, which makes me wonder—”

  Justin’s hands still held her good foot. His fingers longed to rub her skin, soothe any sore muscles. He let go of her foot. “If you want to run the inn?”

  Bailey frowned. “The inn has a staff to run it. I’m talking about, well...life. I’m different from my sister-in-law, whose life is her family. She volunteers, works out, cleans, cooks and gets mani-pedis. She’s very happy, but I’m...”

  “You worry whether you want a husband and family.”

  “No. Not at all. I worry I won’t be good at it. That I’ll put my art before everyone else, and then need to stop working altogether because I can’t figure out how to balance the two.”

  The emotion behind her words startled him. He didn’t understand her trusting him with something so personal when he was supposed to be the enemy, the rival for the Broughton Inn, the guy she stopped by standing in front of his wrecking ball. Or why he had the urge to move to scoop her into his arms and tell her she could handle marriage and a family.

&
nbsp; He needed to get a hold of himself. She was a stranger, not his friend. But he’d tried the marriage route and failed. Maybe he could help her.

  “Trust me, Bailey. Being a good wife has nothing to do with whether you work or stay home. It’s difficult, no matter who you are. So is being a good husband. But you care about people and that’s what matters.” Reassurance came naturally, because the words were based on his experience. “That’s my ounce of wisdom for the day.”

  “More like sixteen ounces of good advice.” Gratitude filled her voice and her eyes.

  He wouldn’t swear an oath, but he glimpsed what might have been a tear. For the first time in a long while, he felt like a hero. Which made no sense, because he’d done absolutely nothing to earn the title, and had no right to give advice, given his divorce. “Do you want a glass of water or something to drink?”

  “I could use some ibuprofen and water.” She looked relieved at the change of subject. Well, join the club. He wasn’t sure why the topic had come up. “The pills are in a white bottle on the counter. The glasses are in the upper cabinet right off the sink.”

  “Be right back.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Bailey’s kitchen was like her—unique and comfortable. The Dutch-blue walls complemented the white cabinets with fused glass handles. Colorful pottery sat on top of the kitchen cabinets. Small seascape canvas paintings hung on the walls. The area was neat and tidy, except for two coffee cups in the sink. She must have had company this morning. Who?

  He took a closer look and noticed lipstick stains. Not a guy. Then he remembered she’d said family members had been taking care of her. Her sister? Bailey talked more about her brothers.

  Justin filled a glass with water and grabbed the pills. He stepped into the living room. “I’ve got your...”

  Bailey’s eyes were closed, a soft smile on her slightly parted lips. He took a step back. Okay, three.

  Beautiful, yes. He’d been surrounded by attractive women his entire life. Hell, Taryn was gorgeous. But something about seeing Bailey like this took her appeal to a new level.

  Her expression wasn’t vulnerable. Nothing about her was needy, but at that moment, all he wanted to do was take care of her. Not in a caveman type of way. She was the last woman who needed protecting, with such a strong independent personality and surrounded by family as she was. But he wanted to make sure she had everything she needed and was...happy.

  Happy.

  Crazy and illogical, given the inn. He’d better get out of here before Paige found out. But first he wanted to do something.

  Justin placed pills on the table and set the glass on a coaster. He covered her with an afghan from the back of a rocking chair. She didn’t stir.

  Okay, now he could leave. But a part of him wanted to stay to make sure she didn’t wake up and need something.

  He glanced around the living room. Seascapes with lighthouses. Landscapes with mountains. Photographs in hand-painted frames hung on the walls and sat on shelves, a glass jar full of painted rocks on one corner of the mantel, a bowl with seashells on the other and a colorful flowerpot with colorful, swirly lollipops sticking out on the windowsill near the front door.

  Easy access for visiting kids, old and young?

  He took a closer look at the photographs. One with Bailey and another woman on the beach caught his eye. The two resembled each other—her sister, Camden?—but their looks were the only similarity. Bailey was the image of femininity in a blowing skirt, tank top and no shoes. The other woman wore rubber waders held up with suspenders and a cap worn backward on her head. Bailey was the image of Mother Earth, while the woman next to her defined tomboy. He recognized Ellis and Grady in several of the pictures. The other men must be her brothers. Not identical facial features, but you could tell they were related. The lengths and shades of brown hair varied, but their heights only slightly so. He moved onto the next photograph, then another and another, making his way around the living room.

  A slight knock sounded; then the front doorknob turned.

  He’d closed the door, but hadn’t turned the lock.

  A short, white-haired woman entered, then closed the door. He’d seen her picture on the wall. She wore a green tracksuit and carried two bags. Her eyes widened. “Well, hello.” She didn’t look worried or surprised.

  “Hi.”

  A welcoming smile deepened the wrinkles on her face. “You must be Justin.”

  How did she know his name? “Yes, I’m Justin McMillian.” He motioned to Bailey on the couch. “She fell asleep.”

  “Doing too much too soon. Did you find the dog?”

  “No.”

  “She’ll be worried about that.”

  “I plan to keep looking.”

  “That’ll make Bailey happy. Place a report with Animal Control so they’re on the lookout, too. That’ll impress her.” The elderly woman walked into the room, her excitement visibly bubbling over. “I brought lunch. There’s plenty for you, too.”

  So, what if he was supposed to meet Kent for lunch? Justin would rather stay here with a sleeping Bailey and her surprise visitor.

  “By the way, I’m Lilah Cole, Bailey’s grandmother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cole.”

  She shuddered. “Lilah, please. Mrs. Cole makes me think of my mother-in-law. Those aren’t fond memories.” She handed him one of the bags. “Come in the kitchen. I need help with lunch and while we work, you can tell me about yourself.”

  He stared at the bag in his hand. He could guess where Bailey got her strong personality. He had no idea what she would say to his hanging out with her grandmother, but he had a feeling Lilah would be nothing but smiles. That was good enough for Justin. Maybe helping Lilah prepare lunch would earn him some points with Bailey. He could use them. “What do you want to know?”

  Chapter 6

  Bailey blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the light. She wasn’t ready to wake from her nap, but she’d heard something. Voices? Laughter? Except the TV was off. The radio, too. Maybe she’d dreamed the sounds.

  She sat on the couch with her leg propped on the table. Light streamed through the front windows. The clock on the DVD player showed she’d slept over an hour. Felt like longer. She stretched her arms over her head.

  An afghan, crocheted by Grandma, fell to Bailey’s lap. She didn’t remember covering herself. Had Justin done that? No, he would have left by now. At least she hoped he hadn’t stuck around while she slept.

  Bailey cringed.

  She couldn’t believe she’d confessed her personal worry to him. Shame poured through her, like the water rushing from the Columbia River to the Pacific Ocean. Tiredness and worry about the dog had lowered her defenses, allowed her to open up. That rarely happened, even with her family.

  Laughter sounded from the kitchen. Female. Familiar. Grandma. She must have brought over lunch.

  Bailey heard another voice. Male. Not one of her brothers.

  Oh, no. Justin was still here. Her back straightened like a piece of rebar, no longer against the sofa. Seeing him would be too embarrassing after blurting out her feared ineptitude about having a family. Even if she’d appreciated his advice.

  She glanced around the room, looking for an escape. The bathroom? Her bedroom? A closet?

  And then she realized Grandma and Justin had spent time alone. Flutters filled Bailey’s stomach like a bevy of blindfolded butterflies.

  Her grandmother finding Justin here while Bailey slept could be the start of a Lilah-induced apocalypse. Instead of four horsemen, her brothers would ride in and wreak havoc. This was bad, so bad Bailey debated pretending to be asleep so she wouldn’t have to deal with...

  “You’re awake.” Her grandmother stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

  Too late to play possum. Bailey forced a smile.

 
Lilah Cole was a short, wiry woman with white curls, wrinkles from a lifetime of laughter and a bright-as-the-sun smile. She would turn eighty-one next month, but she acted like a spry sixty-year-old, doing Jazzercise classes at the rec center twice a week.

  “I must have needed that nap.” Bailey fingered the edge of the blanket. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were out cold. Big Foot could have stomped around, and you wouldn’t have stirred. Justin kept me company. Such a nice man. So polite. And handsome, too.”

  Uh-oh. Bailey recognized the twinkle in her grandmother’s eyes. That was how she looked when she talked about Emma Markwell, AJ’s fiancée. If Grandma decided Justin was the man for Bailey...

  Time for damage control. “Not nice. He wants to tear down the inn.”

  “To build a better one.”

  “A glass box to take advantage of the views, but a building with zero personality. I did an internet search, saw pictures of the remodeling job he did in Seaside. No, thanks.” Bailey couldn’t believe she was having this discussion with her grandmother. “Where is he?”

  “In the kitchen doing dishes,” Grandma said in a low voice. “We ate while you napped.”

  “Great.” Not really. Bailey had no idea why Justin had stuck around unless he wanted to pump Grandma for info. “You always bring too much food.”

  “That’s what grandmothers do. Feed our grandbabies.”

  “I’m way past the baby stage.”

  “Not in my eyes.” A faraway expression filled Grandma’s gaze. “Seems like only yesterday you were running around in a diaper and nothing else. Your grandfather would chase you down the hallway. You’d giggle. Two pigtails sticking out on each side of your head like Pippi Longstocking. Crayons in each hand. A giant grin on your face as you looked for something, usually a wall, to color.”

  Justin entered the room carrying a tray. “Braids and a grin, I can imagine. The crayons, too. The diaper, not so much.”

  This was going to be a problem. Bailey blew out a breath.