by Lia Riley
“Tomorrow, I need you to do me a favor.”
Both men looked up. It wasn’t like him, or any of them to ask for help.
“The new coffee shop in town—”
“I heard it has a rat problem,” Kit said with a shudder. For a big guy, he hated rodents.
“I heard the owner’s under investigation from the FBI.” Sawyer shook his head. “But the source was suspect.”
“Marigold Flint?” Archer asked tightly.
They both nodded.
“No offense, but Goldie is full of it,” he said, directing the “no offense” part to Kit who used to date her before he enlisted in the marines. There was no love lost between those two, but still, you don’t insult a man’s woman, even if she’s a former woman and town gossip. “People respect you guys. Tomorrow can you invite a few friends, or escort a couple of sweet little old biddies to the opening?”
“Why do you care?” Sawyer asked with a frown.
“Because I do.”
“Are you hitting that?” Kit slammed his fist into his palm.
“That’s enough.” Archer had talked crudely with his cousin about women in the past, but the idea of treating Edie that way made his stomach do a sick flip-flop.
Sawyer studied him. There was a guy who never kissed and told, or participated in dirty-talk conversations. Archer used to think it meant his brother was a wet blanket, but now, fuck, he found himself respecting him even more.
This turning-a-new-leaf business was disorienting.
“We’ll do it,” Sawyer said. He didn’t ask any questions. It seemed enough that Archer had asked.
“Thanks, man. It means a lot.” He left before Kit tried to worm out any more details. Outside, he allowed himself a smile. If Haute Coffee succeeded that meant Freckles would stick around. He glanced in the direction of the coffee shop, a block up on the corner. The windows were covered with newspaper. A few locals stood in front, reading the opening hours on the door.
He’d given Eden space since she arrived in town. Patience wasn’t a virtue he held much stock in, but if he wanted to make a play, common sense said not to circle the wagons on a woman who’d been about to get married, especially since her ex-fiancé turned out to be such an asshole. There was no point pulling a cake from the oven before it had time to bake. If he rushed things, he wouldn’t get the right result.
But the dust had had time to settle. Haute Coffee’s grand opening was tomorrow, and if he had his way, the coffee wouldn’t be the only thing getting hot.
Chapter Ten
EDIE GAVE THE plate glass a final, flourishing wipe. The retro hand-painted lettering spelled out Haute Coffee in black script. According to locals, the old five-and-dime had sold cheap personal goods, greeting cards, and household items. It cost a pretty penny to retrofit the space into a simple but high-quality kitchen and inviting dining space. But it was money well spent. Once the dingy, stained plaster had been stripped, original red-bricked walls were revealed in all their former glory, and underneath the green linoleum hid weathered wood polished to gleam with a homey radiance.
Two chalkboards hung over the counter. The coffee menu would stay the same . . . a simple and straightforward espresso menu featuring the best roasts from the Bay Area. The drinks weren’t anything over fancy—cappuccino, espresso, café latte, Americano, hot chocolate, or a pot of tea—but the quality was of the absolute highest. The other board offered bakery treats intended to change daily. For the grand opening, she’d carefully chosen four specials. First, strawberry rhubarb pie, the fruit locally sourced from the Carson Valley. Next, buttermilk scones lashed with Manzanita honey butter. Then, chocolate chunk cookies, the dark chocolate hand-chopped and sprinkled with a pinch of coarse sea salt straight from the oven. And finally, hazelnut cupcakes smothered in Nutella frosting.
She took out her iPad and hit go on the compilation playlist. Mellow acoustic music filled the space as sun flooded the front window highlighting the intimate booths and tables while the copper ceiling overhead gleamed with a rich burnished shine.
She smoothed back her hair and reset her paisley headband. This was it, the moment of truth. Time to see if the many cooking classes she’d taken over the years as a hobby to beat away boredom were finally of use. Could she make a fresh start and go from Eden Bankcroft-Kew Heiress Homebody to become Edie Banks Coffee Shop Proprietor?
She squared her shoulders and marched to the door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the lock to open and flicked the sign from “Closed” to “Come on in!”
Then she walked back behind the counter and crossed her arms. There wasn’t much time to wait. Her heart pounded as the first customer approached the front door but her stomach sank at the sight of the high ponytail.
Marigold Flint stepped in and looked around the space, wrinkling her pert nose. “Well, la di dah. Isn’t this place fancied up?”
“May I help you?” Edie curled her toes in her shoes. Don’t back down. Don’t be cowed. When facing a bully better to be assertive than aggressive.
Marigold set a hand on her hip. “You think you’re something, don’t you? Waltzing in here, from who knows where with your fancy espresso drinks and your . . .”—her eyes raked the chalkboard for inspiration—“ . . . Nutella. But Brightwater is my home turf. I was born here, and I’ll be here long after you’ve moved on.”
“I’m fully intending to make this my home too.”
“Oh, please.” Marigold snorted. “These days, I walk down the street and half the time don’t know who’s passing me. Strangers are filling up the place fast, but don’t forget this land isn’t easy. Everyone thinks they are going to come live in a perfect postcard. It’s not all mountains and pretty pictures.”
“Why do you do what you do?” Edie wiped an invisible speck of dust from the counter.
Marigold pursed her lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The Baker’s Dozen. Why do you run that place?” Edie asked. Marigold seemed to dislike her work, and maybe that unhappiness bled into all aspects of her life. Or maybe her unhappiness blended into her work. It was hard to say if the situation was the chicken or the egg.
Marigold arched a thinly plucked eyebrow. “It was my mother’s.”
“But is it what you want to do? What’s your dream?”
A blend of emotions danced across Marigold’s delicate features. Surprise, suspicion, and shame all took their turn. Then she smiled, or at least bared her teeth. “Now that’s exactly the sort of question I’d expect from someone like you.”
Now it was Edie’s turn to be confused.
Marigold blew out an annoyed breath. “What I want doesn’t factor into things. This is the kind of town where we locals have a job, and we get on with doing it. We don’t go to therapy or mess around with yoga or talk to our inner children. We make do, because that’s real life. But you wouldn’t know how to hack that.”
“You don’t know anything about me or what I can or cannot hack.” Edie slapped her hands on the counter.
Marigold snickered. A nasty, ugly noise. “You know, you do have one thing in common with most women in this town.” Wickedness glinted from her eyes. “You’ve slept with Archer Kane.”
Edie’s head jerked as if she’d been struck. “I have done no such thing.”
“Oh, honey.” Marigold waved her hand. “It’s practically an initiation. You don’t get to live here and not sleep with a Kane.”
Did Marigold and Archer ever—oh, Lord, she was such a fool.
“No, not me,” Marigold read her thoughts. “At least not Archer. Let me say, you’re better off keeping a safe distance from most Kane men. They’re all heartbreakers. I don’t consider you any sort of a friend, but that’s one piece of honest advice.”
“Won’t you take a cupcake for the road?”
Marigold frowned at the glass case. “I have my own at my shop. And what’s with having only four things on the menu? Who is going to like that?”
“The menu will cha
nge every day.”
“People here like the same. Stability,” her over sweet tone contained a sprinkling of snark.
Edie kept her face carefully deadpan—a reaction would only weaken her. “People everywhere like quality and service better.”
“Well, may the best woman win then. This town isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
A shiver ran through her. “My intention isn’t to drive you out. We can both succeed.”
Marigold’s eyes narrowed. “It must be nice to live in a fantasy. But the reality is kill or be killed.”
“Is that a threat?” Edie refused to look away, or back down, no matter how uncomfortable this made her, no matter that behind Marigold stood the ghosts of all those who used to laugh behind her back, trip her in the halls, or exclude her from tables during lunchtime.
“It’s a fact.” Marigold stalked to the door, slamming it behind her.
“We’ll see about that,” Edie said to the ghosts before turning her back. The past wouldn’t haunt her, not anymore.
A COW WAS missing. Archer swore as he drove his truck through the field to the ranch’s furthest corner. Today Edie opened Haute Coffee. He watched the shop take shape from a distance, waiting, even though his patience was unused and rusty. Never had he met someone like Edie, a woman he wanted to savor. She wasn’t a shot of tequila but a slow sipping whisky.
He could pretend he was playing it cool, that whatever happened would happen and all that c’est la vie bullshit, but there was no denying that the thought of seeing that quiet, refined redhead left him equal parts excited and shaking in his boots. For all his noble “give her space” self-talk, the fact was that in part, he’d put off seeing her because what if she realized the obvious—that he wanted her but she could do far better?
Well, no point navel gazing. It was time to sack up and see, scared or not, but first he had to find the missing cow. Hidden Rock was a large ranch and he couldn’t go anywhere until the case of the mystery cow was solved, not because Grandma would otherwise fry his balls alongside her habitual hash browns for breakfast, but because it was the right thing to do.
The right thing to do.
Archer Kane, doing the right thing. What a novel notion.
He got out and walked the bluff, the last area he hadn’t explored. No bovine in sight. What’s left to do? Yell “hey, cow”?
Hell no.
The wind picked up, carrying a low moo from the west. He cocked his head, ears straining and there it came again, once more, and faint. He tore off in the direction and spotted her through a dense thicket. Shit. The cow stood in the middle of the bog, it was likely she could move, but had gone and gotten herself good and spooked. He jogged back to Philomena, grabbed a length of rope out of the bed and fashioned a simple lariat. Then, heading back down, he swung the rope easy, like he used to do showing off for tourists at the dude ranch, and landed it square around her thick neck.
“Come on, big girl. Let’s do this nice and easy.” He pulled and she stared with baleful brown eyes. His stomach rumbled. It was past lunch. Damn it. He still needed to clean up and drive into town if he wanted to make it in time for Edie’s opening day. “I said, hustle that bustle, girl.” He pulled again and this time she grunted in annoyance, taking a step back.
So she could move, just wanted to play hard to get.
So like a woman.
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You want to be wooed? Time to dance, sweetheart.” He dropped the rope and kicked off his work boots, stripping from his Carhartt pants and denim shirt in quick efficient movements. He strode bare ass into the bog, sinking past his ankles in the slimy silt. “Goddamn it’s cold,” he muttered, nuts crawling inside. He got all the way to the cow and gripped the neck loop firmly. “Move,” he commanded, and magically she took one step forward, and then another.
That’s all she needed? He was here buck naked and cold and not in the mood. “Stupid cow,” he muttered and she tossed her big head. He hadn’t anticipated the sudden movement and the gradient of the bog changed, deepening. There wasn’t time to think as he lost his balance, only to squeeze his eyes shut. The water wasn’t deep, around three feet, but now he reeked like swamp water and was officially freezing. He stood and groaned. Leeches dotted his legs.
“Happy now?” He snarled.
She mooed, as if to say, “That’s what you get for forgetting your manners, mister.”
“Yeah, you’re happy all right.” He had a few more choice words but apparently this cow suffered from delusions about being treated like a lady.
He plucked the leeches off and blood trickled down his knees. Great. Just great. They stumbled from the bog, and he checked his legs one more time, before slipping on his jeans, throwing on his shirt, and getting Her Majesty into the truck. Mentally, he promised her a one-way ticket to Burger King. They didn’t name animals on the ranch, but if they did, this one would be Double Whopper.
The cow stared and guilt bubbled in Archer’s belly. Who was he to begrudge it wanting a little taste of adventure? Still, he barely had enough time to get back, rejoin the cow to the herd, and shower. He opened up the truck to step inside and his cock twinged, and not the good kind of twinge either. What was up with his junk? Tearing down the zipper, he ripped his jeans open.
“Fucking asshole.” A swollen leech gorged on the vein running up his shaft. Jesus H. Christ, if that wasn’t a sight to inspire terror in a man’s heart then he didn’t know what was. Gritting his teeth, he pulled and the damn thing stretched. “Let go,” he growled, because who the hell in his right mind would hold a lighted match to that region?
Finally the little bastard gave way, and damn did it ever sting. He threw its slimy body into the tall grass, sorted out his pants and hopped in the truck, adjusting the mirror. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, expression uncharacteristically frazzled.
This is what happens when you try to be responsible?
He scratched the side of his neck and his fingers passed over yet another slimy blob. “Oh, shit.” Another leech. This one came off in one quick grab. He tossed it out the window and threw the truck in reverse.
His brief regret about thinking ill thoughts about the cow vanished. For this little stunt, Burger King was the kindest fate he’d wish for that damn animal.
Chapter Eleven
ARCHER PARKED ON Main Street, breathing hard because he’d hauled ass with two hands. The coffee shop was due to close at four. He hadn’t walked by the front door every other day and not noticed the stenciled hours of operation. During these recons, he’d never run into Freckles, but every time he peered through the newspaper sheets covering the windows, the coffee shop had changed. Who’d have ever imagined that old run-down shop could turn out so inviting?
Edie clearly possessed more magic in her little finger than most people had in their whole body. She went by that name now too. Around town people referred to her as Edie Banks. A fresh start—he understood the appeal.
He checked the town clock. Five minutes to close. He caught his reflection in the glass before yanking the door open. His shirt was tucked in and hat straight. Good enough. Fuck, he was more nervous than the time he asked Angela Woods to the senior prom. What did he want? Just to see her. No, that was a lie. He wanted her to see him not for the man he’d been, but the man he was trying to be—the guy who might be worth a chance.
No pressure.
“We’re almost clo—” Edie appeared around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her hair was tied in a messy bun and flour dusted the tip of her snub nose. She looked exhausted and happier then he’d ever seen. “Archer!”
“Successful first day?” Good, his tone stayed light and casual.
“Yes, I sold out of the baked goods by two o’clock.” she said proudly. “So many people came. Quincy, of course. Oh, and your brother stopped in too with a friend. That was nice of him.”
Archer made a mental note to owe his brother one.
She gestur
ed at her flour-dusted face. “I decided to bake a couple extra pies for tomorrow. The strawberry rhubarb was a huge hit.”
“Who doesn’t love pie?”
“They sold like hot cakes. I’m adding a plum and a bourbon pecan.” She gave him a considered look. “Wait right here, I have something for you.” She stepped from around the corner, her intoxicating scent wafting as she passed. Her shirt was almost backless, but the white eyelet fabric kept the look classy. Then there was her small but sexy ass clad in dark denim. Not much there, only a handful, but perfectly shaped. Damn, she looked as edible as she smelled. She reached out and flipped the sign from “Come on in!” to “Closed.”
His heart thudded. What did she have planned? He flexed his palms, aching to trace all those small curves, commit her body to memory. What if she asked him to step into the back and pit her plum?
Jesus, cool your jets. That’s the old way of doing things. He wanted her more than air, but he needed to go slower.
It took him a second to realize she’d disappeared into the kitchen, another to note he was a goner, and a third to find he’d grown rock hard. “Down boy,” he ordered. “Think about leeches.”
That did the trick. His cock damn near ran off for an extended visit in the foothills.
“Who’re you talking to?” She returned and glanced around the empty room with a puzzled expression. The pie on the plate in her hand must have come straight from the oven because the generous scoop of vanilla ice cream was already melting down the sides. His stomach growled, a reminder he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Nobody,” he answered quickly, pulling out a chair and taking a hasty seat. “Is all that for me?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks turned a pretty pink. She blushed so easily and it was adorable. “As a thank you. I wondered when our paths would cross again. I thought I saw you peek into the shop once but you were gone by the time I came outside.”
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said. The fact he didn’t confirm or deny his presence deepened her light flush to crimson.
