by Jane Porter
It was a matter of increasing tourism to Marietta, and getting publicity for the hotel, the kind of publicity that would make the Graff appealing to meeting planners and wedding planners, ensuring that the Graff became the destination of choice for conferences and special events.
“You’re in pretty deep, aren’t you?” Dillon said, as Troy left the stall and latched the door closed behind him.
“Yeah.”
Dillon sat down on a stack of hay bales against the wall, extending his legs. “So just how deep?”
Troy reached for his coat hanging on a peg above Dillon’s head. “Deep enough that if things go south, I’d be the one living here, working the ranch, leaving you free to return to Austin.”
“That’d be a relief for me, but hell for you.” Dillon folded his arms across his chest. “You hate the ranch.”
Troy’s lips compressed. He wasn’t going to even dignify that with a response because yes, he did hate the ranch. He hated everything about it, and always had, which is why whenever he came home he stayed in town at a hotel.
“But then, you don’t like Marietta, either,” Dillon continued, watching Troy button his heavy sheepskin coat. “Which is why none of us can figure out why you’d hitch yourself, and your future, to that damn hotel. You’re the smart, successful Sheenan—”
“You and Cormac haven’t done too badly for yourselves.”
“Because you invested in us.”
“I believe in you.”
“And the hotel?”
“Not ready to throw in the towel. I’ve spent ten years investing in startups. I believe we can still turn things around.”
“But why the Graff in the first place? You’re never going to make a profit from the hotel. You might not even earn back the investment.”
Troy had started walking to the barn door, but he stopped and turned to look back at his brother, and then somehow, just like that, his mother was there. Her ghost. He could feel her at the ranch… in the house, the barn… and her sadness haunted him.
She should have had daughters.
She should have had girls for company. Girls who’d bake with her or sew with her. Girls who’d laugh and giggle and talk to her. Listen to her.
Men weren’t good at listening.
He shook his head once, chasing away the past, and the memory of his mother who had loved the Graff. He hadn’t restored the hotel for her. That would be idiotic because she was gone. But she had been the one to make him understand that beauty was transformative, and there was value in beautiful things. “Sometimes we do things because we think it’s the right thing to do… even when everyone else tells you you’re wrong.”
Dillon’s eyes, narrowed. He studied his older brother a long moment. “Mom would want you to be smart.”
“Too late,” Troy answered. “Looks like I’ve inherited her crazy.”
Dillon’s eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch. “Mom wasn’t crazy.” He hesitated. “She wasn’t happy. That’s different from crazy.”
Troy said nothing. This was not a subject he liked discussing.
“And yes, Mom and Dad had problems. From what I gather, no marriage is perfect.”
“But not all wives take their lives, do they?” Troy retorted.
Dillon flinched. “It’s too late to change the past.”
“I just wished I’d done something then.”
“How could you? You were a kid. We were all kids.”
“I wasn’t that young. I knew something was seriously wrong that night.”
“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her. Dad should have checked on her himself.”
Troy shook his head. “Let’s not go there.”
“But you do. Constantly.” Dillon’s voice hardened. “It’s time you let it go. There’s no point in torturing yourself, or ruining your future, over something that’s in the past.”
“Are you talking about Mom or the hotel?”
“Maybe both.”
Chapter Four
‡
Taylor was rattled by Louise’s news that Troy would be attending the Wedding Giveaway meeting tonight. She opened the heavy door to the masculine Crawford Room, the private board room off the library’s main reading room, wondering why Jane hadn’t bothered to tell her that Troy would be coming.
Jane was supposed to be her friend. Her best friend in Marietta. And friends did not set friends up, much less with one’s gorgeous, popular, ridiculously successful ex.
Most of the committee had already taken a seat at the boardroom table. Taylor’s gaze swept the room, seeing all the usual committee members, including McKenna Douglas.
McKenna lifted a hand, gesturing to Taylor.
Taylor moved towards her, seeing McKenna in a new light.
Taylor had known that beautiful McKenna Douglas was a single mom, and a talented photographer specializing in wedding photography, but until tonight she hadn’t known that Taylor’s son’s father was Trey Sheenan. McKenna had never said anything, nor had anyone else. Maybe everyone else just knew.
Or maybe folks here didn’t think it was important to share. Probably the latter, because no one had told Taylor about the tragedy that took place on Douglas Ranch seventeen years ago. Taylor only found out about the murders by chance, reading through old newspapers and magazines saved in the library’s vault.
Taylor, a history buff, had been the one to discover that back in 1914 Marietta had sponsored a big wedding giveaway to draw attention to the re-opening of the Graff Hotel following the 1912 fire. She’d shared the news with Jane, who then came up with the idea of a one hundred year anniversary wedding giveaway, again highlighting the beautifully restored Graff, and all the merchants in town.
Taylor’s interest in history and Marietta’s 1914 Wedding Giveaway had been a fun surprise, while the discovery of the Douglas home invasion was the opposite.
The horrific crime had sickened Taylor, giving her nightmares for the next few weeks. Worse, the murders had never been solved, and apparently many of the folks in the community thought the crime had to have been someone local…someone who knew the property, the layout of the house, and were familiar to the family, because wouldn’t the Douglas’ dogs have barked up a storm and alerted the family so they would have had a chance to defend themselves?
Taylor wished she’d never read all the newspaper articles and shook away the grim memories as she joined McKenna. “Hi! How are you tonight?”
“I’m good.” McKenna smiled. “Did you see my wild child with Louise?”
“I did. He’s found two little girls to chase which is making him very happy.”
“Sounds about right. And Louise? She’s managing okay?”
“She’s great. She loves kids.”
“She always has. It’s going to be awful when she retires. She’s been part of the library since I was born.”
“She does love her work,” Taylor agreed. “I’m going to miss her, too. She’s a sweetheart and has been so helpful since I arrived.”
“And Margaret? Has she been as helpful?” McKenna asked, even though she had to be aware that Margaret Houghton, the head librarian, did not believe in new-fangled things like computers and the Internet and had resisted adding e-books to the library’s collection.
Taylor grimaced. “Not as helpful, no.”
McKenna laughed. “Didn’t think so.” She hesitated. “Actually, I was hoping I could ask a favor. I need some help tomorrow night.”
“You need a sitter?”
“No. Nothing like that.” McKenna pushed a long dark auburn strand of hair back from her cheek, securing it behind her ear. “I need a dress for the ball, and I hoped you’d go with me to Married in Marietta and give me your opinion. You’ve seen me. I live in jeans and am useless when it comes to formal attire.”
“Of course,” Taylor said quickly, pleased and flattered that McKenna wanted to do something with her. “I’d love to.”
“You’re sure? Dress shopping isn’t fun�
�”
“I would enjoy it. Honestly.”
“So you have your dress already?”
“I’m not going to the ball, but I’d love to help you find a dress for Friday night.”
“I thought Jane told me you were going.” McKenna frowned, shrugged. “I guess I misunderstood. But if you’re up for going with me tomorrow night, that’s great. I’ve lined up a sitter so maybe we can make it a girls night out? Shopping and dinner, or shopping and then drinks after?”
“Perfect. Sounds fun.”
And it did, Taylor thought, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table, since there were no spots open near McKenna, who was Marietta’s golden girl. People genuinely loved her, and were extremely protective of her, which is what made her relationship with Trey Sheenan, Marietta’s bad boy, all the more intriguing.
But the meeting was about to start and everyone settled down, pulling out their notebooks and pens.
Paige, from Main Street Diner, went through last meeting’s minutes then shared that the Valentine Ball was still shy of its goal with regards to ticket sales, but on the plus side, another twenty had been purchased over the weekend, bringing the expected attendance to 170.
Paige was answering a question about ticket sales when the board room door opened and a tall man in a sheepskin coat and black felt cowboy hat walked in. All conversation died.
He removed his hat, dipped his head. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice deep, husky.
Troy.
Taylor sat up straighter, her stomach flip flopping wildly.
He looked so… different.
“Welcome,” Paige said, smiling at him. “Glad you’re here.”
He nodded again, his narrowed gaze scanning the room, looking for an available seat.
Taylor hated the way her pulse suddenly danced. There was no reason for her pulse to race. It was embarrassing, actually, to feel anything. So ridiculous that she did.
But she wasn’t the only one who seemed affected by Troy. The other women were suddenly sitting taller, and a few were preening. Even calm, practical, unruffled Paige suddenly looked nervous. It’d been several years since the Copper Mountain Courier had named Troy Sheenan Marietta’s Most Eligible Bachelor, but apparently he hadn’t lost any popularity with the ladies since then.
Troy headed to the table. Last night he’d looked like a city slicker in his cashmere sweater, tailored trousers and black wool coat but tonight he looked imposing in the thick shearling sheepskin coat and scuffed cowboy boots, snowflakes dusting his wide shoulders and long sleeves.
Tonight he wasn’t the technology tycoon from California, but a Paradise Valley rancher with Montana running deep in his veins. Tonight he looked like a Sheenan.
Taylor had met two of the other Sheenans in the past month, and both Brock and Dillon were big, dark, ruggedly handsome men. Having changed from his city clothes, Troy looked just as tough. Montana tough.
Taylor hated that she found this new Troy rather appealing. She didn’t want to find him appealing. He was Jane’s ex. Jane’s man. Jane’s love. Taylor couldn’t forget that, either.
But suddenly Troy’s gaze met hers, and held. It was just for a split-second but that split-second was enough to send a rush of blood to her cheeks.
She dropped her gaze, embarrassed, and more than a little flustered. It’d been bad enough telling him she couldn’t be his date to the ball, but to spend the next hour in the Crawford Room with him?
She prayed he’d take the empty seat next to Paige. He didn’t. He took the chair on her right, and Taylor’s heart did a quick staccato as he pulled out the wooden chair and sat down next to her, stretching his legs out beneath the table, boots crossing at the ankle, his denim covered thigh practically touching hers.
“Hello, Taylor,” he said under his breath as the meeting resumed.
Her mouth went dry. “Hi,” she whispered.
“Get your car situation sorted out?”
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Good.”
The meeting resumed, but Taylor could barely focus on what Paige was saying.
Troy was seriously distracting.
And not just because he was Jane’s ex. The man had quite a few attributes.
Like his size. He was a big man… you couldn’t ignore him. He filled his chair and all the space around him with shoulders and a big back and hard carved quads.
And a fit man. He had a body. And muscles. Lots of them. The jaw-dropping, eye-candy sort of body, and now that his heavy coat was off, his snug fitting Henley seemed to stretch over and wrap every sinewy line in his chest and arms, the soft cotton delighting in his dense pecs, flat hard abs, and thick biceps.
Then there was his scent. Which was a lovely, subtle masculine cologne that hinted at spice and something rich and mellow and smooth… vanilla, maybe?
But these attributes were quickly turning into negatives. His scent and warmth and the sheer physicality of the man was proving most distracting.
Taylor fidgeted unhappily, tugging on her notepad, drawing it more firmly in front of her. She’d been fine until he arrived. Now she couldn’t follow the thread of the discussion, the voices around her a whir of sound, the committee members a blur.
Why had he come tonight?
Meanwhile, various committee members continued updating Troy on various details. There would be flowers everywhere—tulips, roses, lilies, freesias—the most romantic, lush flower arrangements one could imagine, and a DJ and band, and Sage from Copper Mountain Chocolates was in charge of the elaborate dessert buffet, and then some lighting specialists would be bathing the ballroom ceiling in pink lights. It was going to be an incredible ball. Beyond beautiful. And Taylor wasn’t going.
And she was glad she wasn’t going.
She was.
She really was.
Troy sat in the library listening to the committee update its members with the ball details. Everyone was so enthusiastic, and it was the first time Marietta had thrown such an extravagant party so he wasn’t surprised ticket sales were down.
After awhile though, the details just became details and he didn’t need to hear them all. He zoned out for a bit, studying McKenna’s pale face. McKenna was most definitely not good with him here. It hadn’t always been the case. They’d once been very close. She was the sister he’d never had. Trey and McKenna had been together off and on since high school, and everyone knew that one day Trey and McKenna would get married. But life kept throwing them curveballs, and it seemed as if McKenna had finally had enough.
He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t. She’d been a rock in the face of endless chaos and adversity. She deserved a happy-ever-after and she wasn’t going to get that with Trey serving time in prison for involuntary manslaughter. True, it was a bar fight he didn’t start, but that punch he threw killed a man and the judge came down hard on him, adding some extra time to the mandatory minimum sentence.
Troy sighed. Dad had taken it so hard when Trey was sentenced to five years.
It was then that Dad just seemed to give up.
The family was a mess. The Sheenans had once been a strong, tight-knit family but those days seemed long gone.
Uncomfortable, Trey shifted in the library chair, trying not to glance at his watch, trying not to look at McKenna, trying not to make eye contact with the funny little librarian even though he was very much aware of her.
Last night he’d been surprised by Taylor’s refusal to attend the ball with him, but now he was amused. He wasn’t accustomed to being rejected. In his world, women chased him and he spent tremendous energy dodging his computer and phone, overwhelmed by the number of women texting and calling, instant messaging and sending flirty snapchats. He appreciated a beautiful woman. He admired a smart, beautiful woman. But he wasn’t comfortable being chased. He didn’t like feeling hunted.
Back in school he’d been popular. The Sheenan brothers were good looking boys. None of them had ever lacked for girls, or dat
es. But once he’d made his fortune, women weren’t just interested in him, they were interested in his lifestyle.
Maybe that’s why he’d chosen to sit next to Taylor in tonight’s meeting. She didn’t eye him as if he were a tasty steak, or a Thanksgiving feast.
She looked at him with indifference, maybe even disdain. But if instead of being insulted, it made him smile. It also made him a little curious. Why did Miss Taylor Harris disapprove of him? Why did she have a problem with him?
It wasn’t a challenge, he thought. Or was it?
Because he suddenly wanted to prove her wrong.
A man liked a challenge. A man liked the chase. Provided he was doing the chasing.
So Troy stopped listening to the committee, he gave up trying to keep track of all the details…. no longer caring to remember what kind of flowers or lighting or chocolate desserts there would be.
Instead he studied Taylor who sat with her legs crossed just above the knee, taking copious notes in her notebook, her pink lips pursed, her brow furrowed in concentration.
She looked so studious and focused with her glasses, cardigan sweater, and long gleaming ponytail. He’d always had such a thing for smart girls. Book girls. His sophomore year of high school he’d spent all his free time in this library, making out with Lani Murphy in any dark corner they could find.
They’d study, kiss, study, kiss.
It had been the best academic year of his life.
Sure, his grades hadn’t been so hot but he’d felt like a man, and she’d felt well… amazing.
He tried not to smile as he pictured Taylor back in high school. He was quite sure she’d looked the same. Same ponytail, same glasses, same smart, studious expression.
He wondered if she’d ever spent a high school afternoon making out in the library. Somehow from her starchy expression, he suspected not. She struck him as the kind of girl who believed libraries were about books. Silly girl. He’d love to teach her what dark shadowy corners in libraries were really for.
As if aware of his scrutiny, Taylor turned her head and stared back at him, giving him a significant, no nonsense look that he thought was sexy as hell.
