“Give me a few hours’ notice when you’re ready for them, and Luke and I will bring them up from the machine shed and hook them up.”
That caused her to look up again. “But I told you—”
“We’ll take care of it. It’s not like it takes a rocket scientist to plug in a refrigerator and stove.”
“There’s an ice maker with the refrigerator,” she warned, “and a dishwasher, too.”
He shook his head and sighed. “You could have a little faith in us.”
If she refused to accept the offer, he might take it as an insult, so she simply nodded. “Whatever you say.”
“What about the other rooms upstairs?”
“They’re coming along. I haven’t done a lot with them, just freshened them up a little,” she admitted. But now she wondered if that was enough. “Unless you want something special done with them,” she hurried to add. When he continued to watch her, without saying anything, she felt the childish need to squirm. Wishing he would leave so she could relax, she said, “Is there anything else?”
“You really like doing this, don’t you?”
His question seemed to come from nowhere, and she wasn’t sure what he was asking. “The decorating? I’ve always enjoyed working with color and fabrics and whole rooms of things, yes.”
“You’re good at it, you know.”
Blinking, she had no doubt her embarrassment was showing, considering how hot her face had become. In fact, she felt warm from head to toe. “Thank you.”
After a quick nod, he disappeared, and she sank to a nearby chair, convinced that if he’d stayed another second, her knees would have given out in front of him.
She stared at the doorway, now empty, and wondered what had prompted not only his visit but his questions and interest, whether real or pretend. There were still a few weeks left of work, although most of the major things were done. She wondered how she was going to guard her heart, until her job was finished. Her feelings for Dylan had progressed past simple attraction and she was worried. Relationships weren’t high on her list. Making a success of her new business came first. When it came to love, she didn’t trust her choices, afraid she would once again put aside her own wants and needs for someone else’s.
Too confused by her own feelings, she decided she needed to get busy and forget about Dylan. There was one last bedroom yet to begin work on, and the time seemed perfect for doing just that. Grabbing a notebook of ideas and fabric swatches, plus a pad for sketching, she went upstairs. It was only when she heard the sound of the door on the screened porch downstairs opening and closing several minutes later that she felt safe. She walked across the room to the window in time to see Dylan climbing into his brother’s pickup, which then headed down the drive and onto the road. Now she could relax.
She had no idea what to do with the last of the four bedrooms. Standing in the middle of it, the old wallpaper stripped and gone, she tried to imagine a design that was general, yet pleasing and a little different. Nothing came to mind.
Ready to give up and hope for inspiration later, she glanced out one of the tall windows. White, puffy clouds that reminded her of whipped cream drifted in a bright blue sky. The view provided a peaceful feeling. If she could duplicate—
That was it. Exactly what she needed. She’d paint the walls blue and add those plump and billowy clouds. For nighttime, she’d add stars on the ceiling that would glow in the dark.
Half an hour later, sitting on the floor where she could see out the window, she finished sketching. She felt proud. It had been her idea, and she’d done it on her own, without help from a decorating magazine or book.
Energized, now that she knew what she would do, she moved the boxes that held items from the room. She couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought it might have been Erin’s at one time, although it was difficult to know for sure without asking.
After opening the closet door, she pulled a chair over and climbed up to double-check the shelf at the top to make sure nothing had been left. To her surprise, there was a box that had been pushed to the back corner of the shelf, almost out of her reach. Moving the chair a few inches farther inside, she was able to hook her fingers on the edge of the box and pull it toward her.
She’d just brought the box down and was stepping carefully off the chair when her phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but the exchange was local.
“Hi, Glory. It’s Kate. I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“No, of course not,” Glory answered, moving the box aside with her foot.
“Good. I called to find out if you’ve given any more thought to your basket for the box social.”
Glory didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t given it any thought. “Not a lot,” she said. “But I do have one question.”
“Shoot.”
Smiling at Kate’s directness, she eased down to the floor. “If it’s called a box social, where do the boxes come in?”
“You have a point,” Kate answered with a laugh. “I suppose we simply got into the habit of using baskets, since it’s held in the park, and most people stay to share what’s more a picnic supper than anything. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense. Do you think it would be okay if I used a box, though?”
“I don’t know why not. Do you have an idea for decorating it?”
Glory smiled again. “You know, I think I just might.”
“And you know what you’ll be packing in it?”
“Other than your famous double chocolate coconut cake? I decided to keep it simple and do sub sandwiches and potato salad. I’ll throw in some chips and pickles for good measure. I don’t think I can ruin any of that.”
“Oh, Glory, I’m sure your cooking isn’t that bad.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Glory replied.
“If you say so, but it couldn’t be worse than Trish’s was, and we made a cook out of her. It took some time, but, well, she never poisoned anybody.”
“That’s definitely a blessing,” Glory agreed, laughing.
“Then I guess you don’t need my help,” Kate said. “Except for the cake, and you can either pick it up at my place Friday night, or I’ll be happy to bring it to you on Saturday morning when I take my baked goods to the café.”
Glory thought about it. “It doesn’t matter, as long as nobody knows.”
“All right. We’ll talk later. And let me know if you need any help.”
Glory assured her she would, ended the call and placed the phone on the floor next to her. Curious about what might be in the box she’d found in the closet, she pulled it in front of her. Inside, she found a few pictures of a horse and several hardcover books with a year stamped in gold on the front. She remembered having the same type of books and knew they were probably journals. Aware that they really weren’t any of her business, she pulled the top two out to check the dates on them, noting the years were when they’d all been in high school.
As she returned them to the box and moved it out of the way, she heard someone coming up the stairs. “I’m in here,” she called, scrambling to her feet.
She heard more footsteps running, followed by the sound of young male voices, and she smiled. Her help had arrived.
“I’ll tell her,” one of them said.
“No, it’s my turn,” came the answer of another.
“Be quiet. She’ll hear us.”
Laughing quietly, she called out to them. “I’ve already heard you.”
Stu was the first to enter the room. “Ned asked if we could help him start putting up the cabinets. Is that okay?”
“Or did you have something you wanted us to do for you?” Mark asked.
She thought of the supplies she would need for the blue sky and clouds. “I think helping Ned would be a good idea while I run some errands in
town. Maybe after that we can get these walls ready to paint.”
“I’ll help,” Mark said before Stu even had the chance.
“You both can, but later,” she said, hoping to keep the peace between them.
“Are you going to the box social Saturday?” Stu asked, while she began to gather her drawings.
“Probably,” she answered.
“Will you have a basket in the bidding?” Mark asked.
“I’m not—” She saw Dylan standing in the doorway behind the two boys.
“Go ahead and answer his question,” he said when she didn’t finish her sentence. “We’re all curious.”
Glory lifted her chin and turned away from them. “I’m not telling whether I’ve made up my mind to have one or not.”
“I guess that’s that, boys,” Dylan said. “Ned was downstairs asking if I’d seen you. I think he could use a hand with the cabinets.”
“Go on,” Glory said, turning back around. “We’ll work in here later.”
Neither of the boys made a move to leave, until Dylan cleared his throat. Within seconds, the boys were going down the long staircase. “I told you how it would be with those boys,” he said.
“And I said it wouldn’t be a problem,” she answered, and walked to the corner where she’d put the box she’d found.
“What’s that?” he asked, walking toward her when she picked it up.
“I found it pushed back on the shelf in the closet. I’m not sure who it belongs to.”
Dylan pulled the flaps open and peered inside. “It’s Erin’s stuff. That’s her horse, and I remember those books. Diaries, I think.”
When he reached in as if to pull one out, Glory cried out. “Don’t you dare!” Taking a deep breath, she said, “If they’re Erin’s, I’m sure she wouldn’t want you poking your nose in them. I’ll take them and give them to her the next time I see her.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say.” But instead of leaving or even moving away, he stood looking at her.
“Was there something else?” she asked, wishing he’d leave.
“You didn’t answer their question.”
“Whose question?”
“Those boys’. Are you going to have a basket at the box social?”
She knew she could simply repeat what she’d told the boys, but she had a better and more truthful answer to give him. “No, I’m not.”
From the tiny flicker in his eyes, she had a feeling her answer had meant something. She just wasn’t sure what it was.
“Don’t lead those boys on,” he said before turning and walking out of the room.
It irritated her that he thought she was doing anything of the kind, but he was gone before she could find her voice, and she was left wondering what was happening. With him. And with her.
* * *
NOT AT ALL sure why he was even there, Dylan watched his friends weave their way among the decorated baskets lined up on picnic tables beneath the largest covered shelter in the park.
“What about this one, Dusty?” Morgan called from the far end of a table.
Dusty shook his head. “I’ve already checked those.”
Dylan shook his head at the sight of a grown man sniffing his way up one row of tables, then down another. Dusty had always been his own man, doing whatever he wanted, no matter what other people might think, and Dylan often found himself admiring him for that. But this had him dumbfounded.
“What’s with the sniffing?” Dylan asked when Dusty joined him.
“Trying to figure out which one belongs to my wife.”
Dylan couldn’t believe that Dusty’s wife would keep that from him. “You’re kidding.”
Tipping his cowboy hat back a little farther on his head, Dusty grunted. “Nope. Since I pulled a fast one on Kate back before we were married, she won’t even give me a hint. Says I should know by now which one is hers.”
Eyeing the rows of baskets, Dylan couldn’t imagine how anyone could pick one out of so many. “Do you? Know which is hers, I mean.”
Dusty chuckled. “Oh, she thinks she’s tricky, but I’d know her fried chicken anywhere. Trish once told me what ingredients Kate uses, and that’s all I needed.”
“That’s pretty amazing.”
“Not as amazing as it tastes. So you’re going to bid this year, aren’t you? There’s some dee-licious stuff in some of those baskets.”
Dylan shook his head. “I think I’ll pass.”
Dusty stepped away, giving him a long look. “Only a fool would pass up an opportunity for one of these homemade meals. Come on, Dylan. Give it a try. I can promise, you won’t be disappointed. These ladies try to outdo each other every year.”
“You’re sure about that,” Dylan said, skeptical.
“I guaran-damn-tee it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dylan saw two of the three boys that Glory had hired as they approached the tables. “I bet I can find it,” the first one said to the other.
“Well, it isn’t that one,” the second one replied.
“Okay, Brent, which one is it, then?”
“Why should I tell you?”
The boys turned, walking farther down the row of tables, and Dylan couldn’t hear the answer, which was just as well. Why would he be interested in what a couple of teenagers who happened to have a huge crush on Glory were doing?
Looking around in the opposite direction and wondering where Dusty had gone, he saw Morgan walking his way and waited for the sheriff to join him.
“I don’t recall having seen you here before,” Morgan said, stopping beside him as they gazed down on the rows of baskets.
“My first time,” Dylan answered.
“Then you’re bidding?”
Dylan considered it. He’d never come into town for the box social, although he was aware it was held each year to raise money for “municipal improvements,” whatever those were. He’d always been too busy to bother. Or maybe it was because he’d made sure he was too busy. Just one more thing to blame on Glory. Something about her being around had made him curious about a lot of things.
“I’ll see how it goes,” he answered.
“Don’t wait too long,” Morgan said as more people started filling the area. “You don’t want to miss out.”
Dylan looked at him. “So you know which one is Trish’s?”
Morgan winked. “Sorry, I can’t reveal that information.”
Dylan shook his head. “So no help for the novice, huh?”
Morgan waved at someone, but when Dylan turned to see whom it was, all he could see was the crowd growing bigger.
“I’ll be happy to give you some pointers,” Morgan said. “But I need to take care of a couple of things first. I can still give you a quick one to think about.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“If you aren’t looking for a specific basket, then look for one that’s different.”
“Different, huh?”
Nodding, Morgan put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
After a friendly pat on the back, Morgan assured him he’d find him before the bidding started and walked away whistling. Dylan wondered what he’d gotten himself into. But it seemed he was in, whether he’d planned or even wanted to be or not. He couldn’t very well back out now.
Finding an empty spot at a nearby picnic table, he sat on the bench to wait. He had a clear view of the shelter and the gazebo, where the actual bidding would take place. The microphones and speakers were being set up now, so it wouldn’t be long until the social got under way.
He tried not to look for Glory, but nothing seemed to work. That disgusted him a little. He wasn’t a teenager with raging hormones. But if
he was honest with himself, he’d admit that being a teenager had nothing to do with it. He’d been experiencing the grown-up version of those raging hormones lately, in spite of insisting he wasn’t interested.
Frowning, he began to wish he’d stayed home. Glory had managed to walk into his life and turn it upside down, even though it was the last thing he wanted. There were now things he thought about that he’d never considered before. Long ago, he’d made the decision to make the ranch his life. That was what his parents would have wanted. Besides, he owed them that and more. It was his penance for a foolish teenage choice that had changed everything. He could never undo that, so he could never undo the decision he’d made. Somehow he’d convinced himself that all that made the loss a little easier. It didn’t.
As the crowd moved closer to the large gazebo in the center of the park, he heard someone call his name and looked around.
“Come on,” Dusty said, waving at him from what Dylan guessed must be a prime location. “They’re ready to start.”
After making his way to where Dusty and Morgan waited, he joined his friends, just as bidding on the first basket began.
“Have you picked one?” Dusty asked.
“Not yet,” Dylan answered, wondering what difference it would make.
“Then start looking,” Morgan said.
Dylan nodded, and then turned to look around at the crowd. Surprised to see Brent and Mark behind him, he noticed they were craning their necks to see the baskets on the tables. With a silent snort, he went back to watching the bidding.
“You see that box over there?” he heard one of the boys say to the other.
“No.”
“Second row, third from the left.”
“The one that looks like it’s wrapped in a pair of old blue jeans?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Yeah, I see it. You think that’s hers?”
“I know it is. I saw her talking to Kate McPherson earlier, and that was what she was carrying.”
Certain that they were talking about Glory, Dylan had to crane his neck to see around one of the shelter supports to find the box they were talking about. Sure enough, it was wrapped in denim, with a red bandanna tied in a bow on top. And hadn’t Morgan told him that if he didn’t have a particular basket to bid on, he should find one that was different and vote on it? But did he really want to win Glory’s basket?
Designs on the Cowboy Page 9
