Long Shot hg-1

by Hanna Martine

  At that, Bobbie’s smile faltered. She turned her head to the window. Across the street, a few doors down, stood the empty storefront that had once housed her shop. Jen had removed the old poster of Leith in order to put up her own newly designed promotions, but she’d rolled up the old one and brought it back to Mildred’s, intending to throw it away. Someday. When she got around to it.

  The old Picture This sign swayed over the sidewalk, its color faded. Even the vines trailing up the stone facade looked a little forlorn.

  “So why did my store fail?” Bobbie asked, almost to herself. She laced her fingers on the tabletop. “I thought the big virtual community would translate to something like a pilgrimage here, where I could talk to people one-on-one and work on projects. It wasn’t about money; I’ve got plenty of that. I really wanted to help out Gleann, too. I love Rob, but when I came here, I fell in love with this place almost as hard. So much character and history. Too much to be lost.”

  Suddenly Jen’s fingers itched to get to a keyboard and translate all the words and tangents and ideas that were pinging around in her brain. A single concept could do that sometimes. A bare kernel of a notion or intention.

  “I think you had the right motives,” Jen said, “about the pilgrimage. I’m just not sure that a single store was the answer. It wasn’t enough.” It would take a lot to make Gleann enough, too, but she left that part out.

  “So what would you suggest?” Bobbie let out a soft, short laugh that others might have taken as snobbishness, but that Jen understood as a quiet challenge, from one smart woman to another. It was something she’d seen often on the face of Tim Bauer when she’d brought him a new concept and he would say, “Okay, lay it all out, get me the numbers, and then show me you can do it.” It was a look Jen relished, that charge to prove her worth, her acumen.

  “Let me get back to you.” A warm glow bloomed in Jen’s chest, spreading out through her body, coming alive with possibility. She beamed at Bobbie. “I have an idea. Or fifteen.”

  Only when she reached the gate of the Thistle and stopped short, looking up at the sweep of Tudor eaves, did she realize that back in the Kafe talking to Bobbie, she hadn’t thought of Iowa or her mom once.

  Chapter

  14

  Leith had been back in Connecticut for two days, since Friday. He hadn’t exactly told Chris the truth when he’d fled Gleann last Thursday. Before Connecticut, he’d meandered through Vermont, checking out the location he’d been considering before Rory Carriage’s call had come through. It didn’t feel like he belonged in Vermont, maybe because it was too similar to Gleann, or because it didn’t have the energy and potential that Stamford had. Or maybe because Vermont was simply too far away from New York City.

  Here, in Connecticut, the city—Jen’s home—was a bridge away. A highway drive. A train ride.

  He leaned against the driver’s side door of his truck in the motel parking lot, holding his phone and staring to the southeast.

  Duncan called then, gloating about how much he’d bench-pressed earlier that day. He sounded slightly drunk.

  “You working okay with Jen?” Leith asked him.

  There might have been a little laugh in Duncan’s voice; it was hard to tell over the mobile line. “Jen. How did I know you’d bring her up? Yeah, she’s all right. A bit intense, but really smart. Really organized. Not bad to look at, either. I think everyone in the valley is breathing a little easier this weekend, though.”

  Leith’s stomach did a little flip. “Why?”

  “I guess she went back to the city for a few days to take care of some things. Supposed to be back on Monday. You still driving around New England looking for new roots?”

  He pushed away from his truck. “The city. As in New York?”

  “No. Phoenix. Of course New York.”

  Jen had texted him once Thursday afternoon, after she’d likely heard he’d taken off. Just wanted to make sure you’re OK, it had said. What a shit he was, to not have at least told her himself that he’d gone.

  M OK, he’d texted back. Sorry I left. Promise I’ll call later.

  “Dougall?”

  “What? Sorry, man. I gotta run. I’ll give you a ring when I get back.”

  The second Duncan disconnected, Leith called Jen. His leg bounced as he waited for her to pick up—because she never let that thing go to voice mail—the thick sole of his work boots thump thump thumping on the pavement.

  “Hey there.” She sounded a little out of breath, like she’d scrambled to pick up. It made his heart jump. In a good way. “Are you back in Gleann?”

  “Wouldn’t you know that, if you were there, too?”

  “I’m not. I’m in New York for the weekend to take care of a few things.”

  “I know. That’s why I called. I’m still in Connecticut. I want to see you. If I hopped on a train, would you go out with me tonight?”

  All this was happening incredibly fast. He hadn’t known this was what he wanted to do when he’d called, just that the thought of her being so close to him, away from Gleann, was alluring beyond words, and a chance he didn’t want to miss.

  “You mean like a date?”

  He was bounding up the outdoor steps to the crappy motel room, tugging his dingy T-shirt out of his jeans to get ready for a shower. “Exactly like a date.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  He unlocked the motel room door and toed off his boots. “Don’t care. You pick. I don’t know the city that well.”

  “All right. You trust me?”

  Going still, he caught his reflection in the generic mirror and noticed he was smiling. “Implicitly,” he said, and meant it.

  “Good.” He glanced at a schedule and told her which train he’d arrive on, then she gave him instructions where to take a cab to meet her. Even though he was going to see her shortly, he didn’t want to get off the phone, and he wasn’t a big phone talker at all. She said good-bye and he hated it.

  “Wait. Jen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just want you to know, that if it wasn’t highly illegal, I would have killed Olsen for interrupting us the other night.”

  She exhaled in a way that had him picturing her lips in a beautiful O. “See you in a few hours.”

  * * *

  Leith grabbed a cab outside of Grand Central and had a harrowing ride south to the corner in SoHo where Jen had told him to meet her. Even if he hadn’t recognized her dark hair or the way her black-and-white dress wrapped itself around that body, he’d know her by her posture—by the way she paced back and forth on a small section of sidewalk outside the little bistro with the wicker outdoor furniture, her phone plastered to her ear. He slid the driver money and unfolded himself from the cab. Just then, Jen pivoted and saw him.

  He liked the way she met his eyes and smiled. And he really liked how his appearance caused her to stutter midsentence. She didn’t seem to like that so much, however, and turned her back on him to keep talking.

  She wasn’t yelling at whoever was on the other line, but her shoulders hunched with tension and she made curt gestures with her free hand. That’s when he realized she wasn’t carrying her gigantic purse. He had no idea what she was discussing in such strained terms—something to do with minimum guarantees and hard-balled negotiations with regard to tables and chairs—but when she hung up, he was a little scared of her.

  It turned him on in a crazy, weird way.

  “Ouch,” he said as she came up to him. “Hate to be that person. Everything okay?”

  She blinked and then looked in confusion down at her phone. “Oh, that? That was nothing.” She flashed him a smile that was pure sunlight. “Hi. You’re here. In my city.”

  Her city. Of course that’s how she’d see it. The odd part was, just a week ago he might have felt uncomfortable hearing that and might have assumed she was deliberately putting space between them. But now that he was, indeed, standing here on a SoHo street with her consuming his vision, there was nothing
uncomfortable about her words. It was her city, and he’d wanted to see her here, in her element. He wanted to know what her life had become after she’d left him. And before he’d found her again.

  “I am,” he said, then asked, only half jokingly, “So is this a pretty typical Sunday for you?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “Yeah, a little quieter than during the week.”

  Wow, all right. “Well, I’m really glad you—”

  Her phone went off again. She gave him an apologetic glance and looked at the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  Of course she did. She turned away, finger pressed against the ear without the phone.

  “Hi! Yes, thanks so much for calling me back on a weekend. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” She listened for a long time, then spun back with a whirl and locked excited eyes with him. Looking the complete opposite of the business tiger he’d just witnessed, she bounced up and down on the balls of her high-heeled feet. “Okay, great. Thank you. That’s such wonderful news. Email me the paperwork, I’ll discuss it with my client, and then I’ll see if we have a deal.”

  When she tapped off the phone she looked ready to burst.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “I”—she took a deep breath and looked incredibly pleased with herself—“am setting up a craft convention for Bobbie, to bring her fans and followers together. That was the real estate company that owns the Hemmertex building. They are willing to rent it to Bobbie next winter.”

  “So . . . did Bobbie ask you to do this?” He knew her answer before she gave it.

  “Not exactly. But! The option will be there if she wants it—and she will once I sell it to her. She wants to do more with her business since her store failed, and I know she wants to support Gleann. So I had this idea about turning Gleann into a destination convention area for small groups. You know, opening the valley up to a new kind of tourism. We could start with Bobbie’s craft convention, really give it a fantastic kickoff.”

  He blinked slowly, shocked at himself for being so shocked by her initiative. “We?”

  “Yeah. Maybe we could convince the Hemmertex landowners to convert the building into something that could host events all year-round. It would bring businesses back to the downtown. Open up more B&Bs and inns, maybe some motels out on Route 6. Increase usage of the lake. That kind of thing.”

  There was an odd sensation in his heart, pride and frustration duking it out. “You’re talking like you’d handle it all. You called Bobbie your client before she even knows what you’re doing.” He opened his arms. “You live here. In New York. You have a job that can’t even leave you alone on a Sunday. Remember?”

  The shine of her excitement faded, but just a tinge. “Of course I do. But this is the sort of push that Gleann needs, only they didn’t know they needed it. Bobbie will be ecstatic. Hell, I bet even Sue might crack a smile over the potential.”

  Of course, Leith thought. Set off a bomb and then walk away while the shrapnel rained down. Jen was really, really good at that.

  Except that he felt in his heart that she was right. This could be a wonderful thing for Gleann, perhaps exactly the spark it needed. Maybe not to set off a bomb, but brilliant fireworks that would umbrella the whole valley and make it come back to life. And that had come from Jen Haverhurst, who didn’t even live there.

  Still, he was a realist. He had Da to thank for that. “But what if all that doesn’t work? What if Bobbie goes through with her thing and it fails, or no other events come? What if—”

  She looked honestly perplexed as she laid her hand on his bare forearm, just below where he’d rolled up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. No green plaid this time.

  “I never thought you to be the kind of person to worry,” she said in a quiet, calm voice that didn’t seem like her at all. Then she stepped closer, so deep inside his space she had to lift her chin to look him in the eye. She searched his face for a long moment, and he wondered what she was looking for. She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, and said something cryptic. “I never thought you to be the kind of person to think about failure.”

  There was an intuitiveness to her words that crawled down his spine with cold, sticky feet, and he pushed deeper into her touch to try to ignore it. It worked, because it only made him even more aware of her, of where they’d left off last time they’d seen each other, the last time they’d touched.

  “I’m not thinking about failure.” He bent down as close to her face as possible without taking her mouth. “I’m thinking about getting our date started.”

  A slow, rewarding smile. “Good. Is this place okay?”

  “Perfect.” He looked nowhere but in her eyes. “I have one condition, though. A challenge, actually.”

  “Oh?”

  With a long look down at the unusually small purse she had draped over her shoulder, he said, “I see you’re not shackled to your laptop today, which is good, but I want no phone. For two hours. No phone; just me.”

  That little wrinkle appeared alongside her nose and her eyes danced. He could practically see her thoughts driving back and forth across her brain, and he was pretty sure she’d deny him.

  “All right,” she said. “Deal. But I want to change our date venue, then.”

  He grew suspicious. “Why?”

  She pressed a hand to her fine chest in mock indignation. “You make an ultimatum and then question my agreement? I’m agreeing to the no phone thing, remember?”

  No wonder she usually got whatever she wanted. She could be demanding when she needed to be, charming when she had to be, and utterly personable and magnetic . . . well, pretty much all the time.

  “Good point.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t care where we go. As long as it’s with you.”

  She turned to the side and offered him her arm. “So come on then. Let me show you one of my favorite places in New York.”

  * * *

  “You know, a shot and a beer at a corner pub would’ve been just fine,” Leith joked as he held open the hefty wood door to the Amber Lounge and let Jen go in ahead of him.

  The door closed behind them, shutting out the warm summer evening and throwing them into the dim, air-conditioned lounge decorated in cream leather, substantial bookcases filled with backlit glassware, and plush carpets done in modern swirls of color.

  Jen squinted up at him. “Is that where you would’ve taken me if the choice had been yours?”

  He recognized the question as curiosity, not judgment. “No. But I called you on a whim, so I hadn’t really given it much thought.” He would now, though.

  The gorgeous hostess came up to them from where she’d been straightening chairs by the low tables nearest the shuttered windows. She wore a not-so-gorgeous expression. “Two?” she asked in a bored voice, heaving out an encyclopedia-sized menu from the side of the hostess stand.

  “Yes,” Jen replied. “And could you tell Shea that Jen Haverhurst is here?”

  The hostess nodded, then led them to a pair of deep, cream-colored leather chairs set facing a short table with a stone top. Leith sank into the chair that seemed to have been made for his size. Jen perched on the edge of hers, legs crossed at the ankle, perfect posture.

  He let his eyes drift around the intimate lounge. Though he was an outdoor guy by inclination, he was trained in a visual art and could appreciate the fine design that straddled the line between modern and masculine, posh and welcoming. The elegantly painted sign out front had said the place had just opened ten minutes ago, so there were only two other patrons: guys in suits, one still wearing his plastic convention badge. They sat on the tall, cushioned chairs at the back bar, talking loudly.

  “Is this place okay?” Jen asked.

  Leith looked back at her and adopted an exaggerated Southern accent. “Yep. I think the country boy will do just fine in this here fancy place.” As she laughed, he opened the tome of a menu and glanced at the side tabs dividing the pages. “Whiskey, eh?”


  “You like?”

  There must have been a thousand drinks listed, all liquids in various shades of brown or gold, and his mouth salivated as he ran his eyes over the exuberant descriptions.

  “How are you, Jen?”

  Leith looked up from the menu to see a tall, whisper-thin woman with white-blond hair pulled back in a severe ponytail extending her hand toward Jen. Jen came to her feet and firmly shook the woman’s hand.

  “Shea, great to see you. I want you to meet a friend of mine. Leith MacDougall, this is Shea Montgomery, whiskey expert and owner of the Amber.”

  Impressed, Leith rose and took Shea’s hand, her grip strong, her eye contact no-nonsense. “Never met an expert before.”

  Shea gave him a deep, professional nod then turned to Jen. “Great launch at the Juniper Imports event last spring. I was very impressed with what you did for them. What can I do for you tonight?”

  Jen kept her smile restrained, but Leith noticed by the gleam of her eyes how deeply the compliment had affected her. “Wellllll,” Jen said, “the first thing you can do is help my Scottish friend here find a whiskey or two to his liking, and then I’m here to call in a favor.”

  One corner of Shea’s mouth stretched for her ear. “Of course. Single malt?” She leaned over to flip through the menu to a specific page he guessed she could find in her sleep. Shea dragged her finger down listings labeled Speyside, spouting a few facts and brief tasting notes about certain ones. They all sounded fantastic, but they were all jumbling in his head.

  At last he held up a gentle hand. “I think you’re mistaking me for a half Scot who knows what the hell he likes to drink. My old man drank Famous Grouse every evening. I’m pretty sure anything you want to give me will be better than I’m used to.”

  Shea straightened, and he was having the hardest time reading her expression. One moment it looked like relief, another it looked like skepticism. Odd.

  “Get him something excellent,” Jen told Shea. “Something special. And bring me one of the same.”