by Liz Isaacson
He’d go up to the lodge later that afternoon to work the check-in shift, and he wondered if he’d see Bree. Maybe they could talk in person instead of over the phone.
“Slow down,” he told himself. He knew he was in deep with Bree already, and their conversation from that morning had shown him why she had some walls between them. He hadn’t had to remove bricks from a wall to get to a woman before, but he could figure it out. He took another sip of his coffee, his thoughts leading him toward a prayer.
Help me to know what to do and say with Bree Richards, he prayed. He didn’t want to add more unrest to her soul, because he sensed she already carried around more than enough.
“Bless her,” he whispered, adding his voice to the breeze. “Help her to see her own worth.”
He could see it, and he knew God could see it. Why was it so hard to see one’s own value? He wasn’t sure, but he’d struggled to find the good inside himself in the past, and he felt like that was where Bree currently was.
“Help me to get where she currently is,” he added. “And show her how wonderful she is.”
Satisfied with his prayer, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting closed. They’d met at the trailhead at six o’clock, and while Wes used to get up that early to go to work at HMC, he hadn’t been using an alarm for months now. He yawned, and a few minutes later, started to drift into a nap.
Bree followed him there, and Wes sure did like that.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said later that day. “I won’t drop this. It’ll go right on the bed.” He smiled at the woman who seemed made of sharp angles and prickly thorns. Apparently her bag contained some valuables, and she’d lectured him for a solid sixty seconds on how to carry it and where to put it to protect them. As if he couldn’t carry a bag and set it down properly.
He preceded her up the steps and down along the railing to the hallway. She was staying in room eleven, which sat down the hall on the left. He unlocked the door for her and entered the room, holding the door as she squeezed in past him. Her eagle eyes missed nothing, and Wes cringed as the spring-loaded door crashed closed behind him.
The woman—a Mrs. Buckley—actually yelped, and Wes offered her an apologetic smile. “That door is a bit loud,” he said.
She pursed her lips and patted her perfectly set hair. Mrs. Buckley actually reminded him of his mother in her younger years. Always made up just right. Always proper and prim. Always with eyes that saw everything and ears that heard everything.
He set the bag on the bed gingerly and turned back to her. “Anything else, ma’am?”
“What time is dinner?” she asked, though Patsy had gone over everything downstairs just a few minutes ago.
“Six-thirty to eight,” he said. “Tonight’s menu is prime rib with baked potatoes.” He could memorize information too, and he added his best customer service smile to the sentence.
“That’s right.” She set her purse on the desk in the room, and Wes started for the door. He didn’t need a tip to make ends meet, and he didn’t need to make anything awkward for anyone.
“Let us know if you need anything,” he said as he opened the door. This time, he didn’t let it slam closed, and relief poured through him when he’d escaped Mrs. Buckley.
“Can I ask you something?” someone asked, and Wes turned down the hall toward the voice.
“Sure.”
“My one son wants to do the cooking class tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “And the other wants to go to the movie. They’re at the same time. Can they split up?”
“I think so,” Wes said. He’d just checked this woman in forty minutes ago, and he remembered she had a thirteen-year-old and a six-year-old with her. “The cooking is for ages twelve and up, and a parent isn’t required to be there. The movie is for all ages. So as long as it’s your older son going to the cooking class, it should be fine.”
She nodded, a smile forming on her face. “Great, thanks. We’re excited to be here.”
“We’re excited to have you here,” Wes said, wondering when he’d become part of the “we” at the lodge. But he had, and he liked it. He’d liked traveling the country too, and he still had those ten states to visit. But Wes had always liked belonging to something or someone, and until he’d quit as CEO at the family company, that something had been HMC. His family too, and he still belonged there. But his parents were getting older, and Wes didn’t want the pressure from his father to run for governor, or the constant needling from his mother about when he might get married.
Wes returned to the podium outside to find Patsy had left. Everyone must be checked in, and Wes turned back to the double-wide front doors of the lodge. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her about what Andrew had said yet, and he wondered if he should.
From what he could tell, the lodge was booked every night for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t sure what could possibly be improved, as the events and classes here were unlike anything he’d seen before. The guests seemed content and happy—maybe not Mrs. Buckley, but she was an exception. Why she was staying at a lodge up the canyon instead of one of the nicer hotels in town, Wes didn’t know. It wasn’t his business to ask the guests why they’d chosen Whiskey Mountain Lodge for their home away from home.
But maybe they should, he thought. Maybe that was how the Whittakers could take the lodge to the next level. Find out why people came here and do more of it.
While he was still staring at the door, trying to decide what to do, it opened. Bree poked her head out, and Wes’s day got a lot better in that one moment.
“You’re still out here,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached up and touched the brim of his cowboy hat. He had to wear it as part of his official butler uniform, and he didn’t hate it. He’d only been in Wyoming for a little over a week, and he felt like a real cowboy in the hat, the boots, and the jeans.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“I have no plans.” And it felt great. “Actually, I got a phone call a while ago, and I need to call the guy back.”
Bree stepped out of the lodge completely and pulled the door closed behind her. “Who are you calling back?”
Wes’s self-consciousness took over, and he reminded himself once again that he was forty-seven years old. He’d never had time to do everything he wanted to do, and now that he wasn’t running HMC, he was taking life by the horns.
“It’s Gentry Buchanan?” he said, unsure why he’d phrased it like a question. “I saw a flier at the coffee shop about guitar lessons, and I’ve always wanted to learn to play.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, like it was no big deal that he needed to make this phone call.
Bree’s eyebrows went up, and she leaned against the podium. “Guitar lessons, huh?”
“It’s part of my post-CEO life plan,” Wes said, itching to move closer to her but holding his ground right where he was, several feet away.
A smile crossed her face, and he wondered if she knew how stunning she was when she softened like that. Had anyone ever told her? Could he tell her?
He bit back the words, because he already felt on unstable footing with Bree. She’d placed him on a pedestal because of his money, and he needed to jump off that thing. So maybe a compliment would help.
“You sure are beautiful when you smile,” he said, the words only getting stuck behind his tongue at the very beginning.
Her eyes flew back to his, shock and disbelief in them. “Really?”
“Really,” he said simply. Surely she knew how he felt about her. It was obvious to him, and how often he called her, and how he’d invited her to go hiking with him, and basically how he’d put his whole see-the-whole-United-States trip on hold. For her. So he could spend more time with her. So he could get to know her.
Maybe he needed to be more transparent.
“Bree,” he said. “You must know why I stayed in town.”
She ducked her head again, her dark hair falling out from behind her ear. He wanted to reach out an
d tuck it back, but he refrained.
“I put my trip on hold,” he said. “I’m living with my brother for now. I stalked you at your office.” He added a light laugh there, because he didn’t like thinking of himself as desperate or a criminal. “I like you.”
There. He’d said it. As if she hadn’t known from six months ago, when he’d called after she’d left him a break-up message on his voice mail.
Bree looked out over the parking lot, an exhale passing her lips. “I know, Wes. What I can’t figure out is why.” Her gaze flitted past his, but he still saw plenty inside it.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “You’re gorgeous, for one. You’re smart. You have a sexy voice. You’re hardworking. You’re resourceful. You can cook. You like horses and dogs, and they like you. Why shouldn’t I like you too?”
“Oh, okay,” she said with a giggle. “So if horses and dogs like a person, you like them? Is that it?”
“Sure,” he said, dropping his eyes and studying the top of the podium near where she stood. “And you know, I’m thinking I need to hire someone to help remind me how to ride a horse.” He took a step closer to her, his heart suddenly pounding out of control as he thought about holding her hand. “You know anyone who rides really well who can help me?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “Beau Whittaker.”
“Yeah, no,” Wes said, flirting shamelessly now. He reached out and touched her fingers lightly with his. She didn’t pull away, and he slid his fingers right between hers and held on. “I was thinking of this woman who leads groups from the lodge. I had someone just today say they’re so glad they were able to book their week here, just for the horseback riding this woman does.”
“That’s not true,” Bree said.
Wes finally lifted his eyes to her face, and she was looking back at him too. “One-hundred percent true, ma’am. You think I’d lie to you about that?” He placed his free hand over his pulse, which was still acting erratic. “I am not a liar. Cowboy’s honor.”
Bree’s face lit up, and she smiled as she shook her head. “You’re barely a cowboy, Wes.”
“I’m wounded,” he teased. “I’m a total cowboy. I’d just forgotten it.”
“Yeah, because of all the shiny shoes and suit coats in your closet.”
“Ah, another life,” he said. “One I don’t have to live anymore.” He sobered, glad Bree’s hand was still in his. He wanted to start every day in her presence and end it that way too. “Seriously, Bree. Don’t you have time for one tiny riding student?”
She searched his face, and Wes kept his smile in place. After a few seconds, she finally released all the tension in her shoulders and neck. He’d won, and he knew it. But he didn’t increase or decrease the smile.
“First,” she said. “You’re not tiny. You’re huge. And second—”
“Huge?” he asked. “Is that a fat joke?” He had put on a little weight while driving around the country, sampling America’s finest cuisine in the states he’d visited. But not that much.
She tipped her head back and laughed, and Wes chuckled too, more thrilled than he wanted to admit.
“No,” she said. “You’re not even close to fat. I meant tall.”
“Tall is different than huge,” Wes said, clearly teasing her still. “Maybe you should take a class on vocabulary.”
“Yeah, I’ll fit that in around my two jobs, my friends, and now my one tiny riding student.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but Wes enjoyed the taste of victory as it moved through his soul.
“What was the second point you were going to make?” he asked.
“If you really want lessons, they’ll have to be on Sunday.” She lifted her chin slightly, and all Wes could think about was kissing her. Since they weren’t anywhere near that step in their relationship, he simply let the fantasy run through his mind.
“I think I can handle a Sabbath riding lesson,” he said. “Colton says church is in the morning.”
“Yeah.” Darkness coated Bree’s expression for a moment, and she looked away from him.
Wes had been reading people for years, and he sensed something brewing inside her. “Do you go to church, Bree?” he asked quietly, inching another step closer to her. Only the corner of the podium separated their bodies, and he ran his thumb in slow circles along the back of her hand.
“I do sometimes,” she said. “But I don’t really like it.”
“Ah, the truth comes out.” Wes knew religion generally wasn’t something to joke about. “Want to tell me about that?”
“Maybe another day,” she said, coming around the corner of the podium and joining him without any obstacles between them. She leaned into his side, and Wes reached up with his free hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. Their eyes met again, and he let his fingers linger along the side of her face, then cradle her jaw.
“You’re stunning,” he whispered. “I want to know everything about you. Good, and bad, and ugly, and all of it.”
“I know,” she whispered. “And that’s what scares me the most.”
“You have something to hide?”
She nodded, her eyes wide and afraid. “You don’t?”
Wes searched himself, because he wasn’t perfect. He definitely had things he regretted, and things he wished he’d done differently. Mistakes he’d made. Apologies he’d had to give. “A few things,” he finally said. “But I trust you, Bree.”
She looked away from him again, displeasure covering her face as she stared out at the parking lot. “I wish I trusted myself.”
Wes released her hand and instead, put his arm around her waist, providing someone for her to lean on. He had no idea how to respond, because there was obviously a much larger story behind a statement like that.
Bree just sighed and leaned into his body, and Wes kneaded her closer, and they breathed together.
“You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” he said. “And that’s good enough for me, Bree.”
“Is it?”
“Honestly, it is.”
“Okay,” she said. “Then we can start riding lessons tomorrow.”
Happiness burst through Wes, and he smiled, thinking it would be easy and natural to press a kiss to her temple and ask her to dinner.
So he did both.
“No,” she said, stepping away from him. “I can’t go to dinner with you tonight. I came out here to ask you if you wanted to go to the movies with us tonight. We get dinner there.”
Genuine pleasure moved through him. “Define us.”
“Me and Elise. Colton and Annie. Patsy, Sophia, and you, if you want to come.”
“So five women and Colton.” Wes knew his brother was likable, and he’d always had women in his life.
“That’s right.” Bree grinned. “We’ve done it loads of times.”
“How has Colton survived that?” Wes wondered, laughing in the next moment.
“Hey, he likes it,” Bree said. “We’re fun.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are, sweetheart.” And Wes had nothing else to do that night. “So you eat dinner at the theater?” That didn’t sound appetizing at all, but maybe the theater food here was different than Colorado.
“Don’t sound like you only eat caviar and filet mignon,” she teased, pushing one palm fruitlessly against his chest. “It’s good. They have pizza and flatbreads and salads and stuff.”
“Ooh, flatbreads,” he said in a British accent, catching her hand as she dropped it from his chest.
Time stilled for a moment, and they both wore smiles as they gazed at one another.
“All right,” he said, breaking the spell. “What time and where am I showing up for this dinner-at-the-theater thing?”
Chapter Eight
Bree wore too much makeup to the movies, and she knew it. Her lips felt caked with gloss, but Elise insisted that she looked amazing and that Wes wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself.
Bree hadn’t been able to tell Elise that she’d already held Wes�
��s hand. Twice. That morning on their hike, and that afternoon at the podium. He’d told her how beautiful she was, and Bree was still trying to figure out how to believe him. After all, all of her boyfriends in the past few years had told her how pretty she was. How easy to talk to. How charming—Jay’s chosen word. And how smart—Alex’s constant compliment.
Wes had used all of those too, and maybe that was why Bree didn’t believe him instantly. She wished she could shake the doubts out of her head, but that simply didn’t work. They filtered through her mind while she made her hair fall in gentle waves and while she covered up her sunspots with a foundation that smoothed out the texture in her skin.
Perhaps that was why she’d put too much on. She couldn’t stop thinking about Wes and if what he’d said was true. If she could trust him, the way he said he trusted her. If she really belonged with a man like him. How long it would take him to get bored with her.
“At least you know his real name,” she murmured to herself.
“It’s time to go,” Elise called down the hall. “Come on, Bree. Everyone’s waiting.”
She gave her hair one last pat and turned away from the mirror. “Coming.” She left the bathroom and dodged into her bedroom to grab her purse. She hurried out of the cabin, where Elise waited down on the sidewalk. “Sorry. I’m coming.”
“You’re the one who orders the fried chicken,” Elise says. “That takes ten minutes.” She grinned at Bree and scanned down to her feet, where Bree wore a pair of black ankle boots that lifted her height a couple of inches. “You look so cute.”
Elise looked down at herself. “Maybe you should help me with my wardrobe.”
“Really?” Bree linked her arm through Elise’s. “I’d love to, Elise. And then, we can see if the Whittaker brothers or Colton can casually introduce you to a few new men.”
“They only know cowboys,” Elise said. “But I was thinking maybe, if I could get a cute picture taken or something, I could sign up for that dating app everyone in town uses. You know, we don’t get down to town much. Well, you do.” Elise kept talking about Bree’s new job, how she wanted to have a girl’s day where they got their nails done, went shopping for a new outfit, and that Colton’s birthday was coming up, and they had to get a cake decided upon.
