Meg lifted her own glass. “You’re right. It does.”
“And we sure are glad to have your help, Jake,” he added, reaching further toward the center of the group.
Arms extended, glasses clanked, and Meg brought her drink to her lips.
“Dang, that’s good,” Jake said. “Is this the same type of juice we made today? It doesn’t have any sugar or anything?”
“It’s the exact thing,” her dad said. “One-hundred percent juice.”
Meg glanced at the small batch of jars lined up on the counter. What a satisfying thing it had been to count the gold lids beneath the light. Testing the tops of each sealed jar. She was starting to see why Mom enjoyed it so much. Why she never complained about the task that took more than half the month of October for her to complete.
“You two seem to make a fine team,” her dad said. “And I’m glad. It appears I’ll be missing in action most of the week.”
“What do you mean?” Meg asked.
“I’ve got a client who flew in from the East Coast. He wants some mountain property here, so I’ll be showing him a dozen or more cabins throughout the week. A few of the places are clear out in Hamilton. Means we’ll probably be gone from sun up to sun down in the next few days.”
Meg’s eyes shot to Jake. His moved to hers. An unspoken spark danced in the space between them. A teasing, taunting, wanting spark that sent an electric thrill right through her chest. The words alone with Jake flittered through her mind.
“So how much has Meg told you about herself, Jake?”
Jake glanced at her dad with a grin. “Not a whole lot. I was hoping you could fill me in on all of her deep, dark secrets.”
Her dad chuckled. “Oh, I’m not even sure her Mason could do that.”
“Michael,” Meg corrected, shocked that he’d brought him up.
“Oh yeah, I never can get that kid’s name straight. Anyway, Meggy here – just one year into working toward her degree – started an online shopping site for independent artists. In addition to helping hundreds of fellow artists sell their work, she’s sold thousands of her own paintings throughout the country.”
Jake’s gaze met hers once more, an unreadable look in his eyes. “That’s impressive. Is she the one who painted the picture in the front room?”
“Yep, that’s hers, all right.”
“It’s really old,” Meg blurted. “I was only fourteen, so it’s not very good.”
“It’s better than anything I could do,” Jake mumbled.
Her dad gave her the exact look he dealt every time she bagged on that painting. Disappointment mingled with hurt. He didn’t understand how hard it was to have someone showing off a piece that didn’t reflect her current ability. To her, it was like framing some rough draft of unfinished work and displaying it for all to see. If the subject of the art weren’t so dear to them both, Meg would have insisted he take it down long ago. As it was, she didn’t push.
“So what about you, Jake? Billy said you’d be running a ranch of your own soon, is that right?”
Jake set his glass down with a nod. “My granddad owns a ranch. He’d like me to take over next year so he can retire.”
Visions of the handsome cowboy running a ranch of his own flooded Meg’s mind once more. Sweet country life. A life any woman would be lucky to have. Meg dug her fork into her baked potato, confused by her shift in opinion. Since moving to Colorado, Meg had been certain she’d never move back. Perhaps her feelings for Michael were fading faster than she wanted to admit. After all, he’d been her greatest incentive to stay.
“So does that mean you’ll eventually inherit the land when the time comes?” her dad asked.
“That’s right,” Jake said. “My granddad promised my grandma they’d move someplace where he doesn’t have to do a scrap of yard work. The home, the ranch – all of it will be mine.”
Meg had been surrounded by ranching property most of her life. Some with small, weathered homes and rundown barns. Others with well-kept structures donning fresh paint and magazine appeal. All of it held beauty in Meg’s eyes. Only now, it held a new sort of appeal.
“My country art – paintings I’ve done of the Montana landscape,” she said, “they’re my best sellers.”
When the two looked at her, Meg elaborated. “Guess a lot of people out there are either living the country life and want something to reflect it, or they simply dream of it, hang paintings that show a simpler, perhaps more desired lifestyle.”
“You’re right,” her father said.
Against her will, Meg’s eyes shifted to Jake. His gaze was set on her, his brow puckered the slightest bit. There weren’t many times Meg had wished she could read another’s mind. Mostly she was glad she couldn’t. But in that moment, with that particular cowboy looking at her the way he was, she’d give anything to know what he was thinking.
The conversation continued throughout the remainder of dinner, but Meg didn’t take part in much of it. She was too caught up in her thoughts. Trying to figure out just what was influencing her most in those moments: a desire to be near her family once more? To live in the quiet town she had such a love for? Or was she simply under the spell of the far-too-charming cowboy at her table?
You’re just tired, Meg assured herself. Michael had said he’d be busy with homework, that she didn’t need to check in with him each night, but Meg was certain she should. She needed to get her head straight. To remind herself why she’d wanted a life that was starting to seem so undesirable to her.
Yep, that’s all she needed. A good talk with Michael would put things back in their place.
Chapter Five
Jake smiled as he watched Meg meticulously arrange raspberries atop a slice of cheesecake. She leaned to one side, reached blindly for the hot fudge, and grabbed the spoon inside. With delicate strokes, she dragged the spoon over the dessert, drizzling a pattern along the cake and plate alike.
“There,” she said in a whisper. “Yours is ready.”
“Well now, that’s just too pretty to eat.” He reached across the bar where he sat on a tall stool. “Didn’t your father say he was going to join us for dessert?” He’d been the one to send them out for it, after all.
“He sent me a text while we were at the check out,” Meg said, her eyes pasted on her next work of art. “He said he got impatient, finished off a pint of ice cream, and was headed for bed. So it’s just us.”
Why information like that had to make Jake’s belly fire up with heat was beyond him. He’d been alone with her all afternoon. Would be for nearly the whole week, from what her father said. Still, there was something about the night hours. A more lively, daring side that crept out after dark. He liked the idea of seeing that side of Meg.
“So what makes you decide to paint a subject?” The question was sparked by the fact that she looked like she was about to whip out a canvas and paint her neatly designed cheesecake right then and there.
Meg looked up at him like she’d been caught in the act of an addiction. Her eyes wide, almost repentant. She chuckled as her cheeks showed off that pink again. It was different beneath the kitchen light’s glow, her skin looking a shade lighter than before.
“Usually I just find myself admiring something. The delicate petals of a wilting flower. The tiny seeds of a strawberry. Cheesecake,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t know, suddenly inspiration strikes and I either pull out my supplies right then, or snap a few pictures of it so I can paint it another time.”
Jake couldn’t get over the odd feeling that he and Meg were on a first date of sorts. Even then, it felt as if she’d simply invited him back to her place for a nightcap. Knowing that her dad was just down the hall gave life to that impression, making him feel like he was back in high school as well.
He grinned, appreciating a few of her mannerisms. The way she ran a hand down the back of her neck after tucking her reddish blonde hair behind one ear. The coy smile she flashed him when she caught him looking at her.
“You don’t like the painting you did in the front room,” he said.
Her cheeks went from pink to red. She pulled open a drawer, absently shaking her head as she dug into it. She gave him a fork before setting one next to her own plate. “I did it when I was fourteen, you know? It’s just… amateur compared to what I can do now. Has several classic beginner’s mistakes.”
“But you don’t want to make him take it down,” he said, gauging the reaction on her face, and in the slight shrug of one slender shoulder.
“Not really. How can I when it’s of my mother?”
He nodded, took a bite of his cheesecake, and wondered why he wanted to solve this problem for her. It was just that, he sensed it was more of a sore spot than she let on. “So I’m guessing you did that painting live,” he said. “Not from a picture.”
Meg nodded. “You don’t know how badly I wish we had a picture of her there. It’s not that I couldn’t paint a different one, but that was her favorite place in the world to be. On that porch while the sun set.”
Quiet took over while they ate their dessert. Meg from her side of the counter. Jake from his.
“I could always try to recreate it from the painting,” she said, proving the subject was still on her mind. “But I know I don’t have her face right. I can’t handle the thought of redoing it and still not getting it the way I want.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” He forced himself to drop the subject. This was obviously an issue that had bothered her for years. He wasn’t likely to come in and solve it in just one day. But there was one thing he still wanted to say. “You know, I really admire the fact that you put yourself out there the way you do with your paintings. And to hear that you found a way to sell it to folks all over the country?” He shook his head. “Bet your mom’s doing a whole lot of bragging from those clouds up there.”
“Thanks.”
He loved the smile that spread over her face, accenting a splash of freckles across her cheeks. He made a mental note to do all that he could to see that smile often in the days ahead.
“Well, I think it’s incredible that you do this whole auction thing,” she countered. “Donate a week of your time, half of your wages, even. All to live in some stranger’s home, do whatever grunt work they have laid out for you. I bet your mom’s pretty proud herself.”
As nice as it was to hear, Meg’s comment sparked a dose of emotion in Jake. “I hope so. It’s definitely for a good cause.” There was no need to elaborate; Billy explained their cause at every auction – an organization to help children of a rare disease. An illness their family had lost a daughter to years back.
“The Barnharts said you created an after school class for the special needs kids in your area. That you taught them how to paint. Provided the materials even.” Sure he was revealing more about himself than he should – the fact that he’d done his homework on her – but he didn’t mind. Was too interested in getting to know this intriguing woman to hold anything back.
“Yeah. I have some pretty fond memories from that time in my life.” She flicked a few raspberries off her cheesecake. “How many siblings do you have?”
Jake grinned. “Four. My two younger sisters, and my stepdad has twin boys. They’re a whole lot a fun, those little rascals.”
“Do they want to be cowboys when they grow up? Just like you?”
He chuckled. “As a matter of fact, they do. But we’ll see if it ever takes. They’re good kids though. And my sisters, they’re driving and dating and about ready to make my head spin with how quickly they’re growing up. I moved out a few years back. And even though I see them most weekends, I could swear they change every time. Looking older and prettier. More like young ladies than little girls.”
“So you’ve got a nice big family, huh?” She cut a bite of cheesecake with the side of her fork, rested it there on her plate. “I envy that. It gets me thinking. I’ve really been missing my dad a lot.” It sounded like a confession, whispered and rushed. “I miss being around family, you know?”
Jake’s pulse pumped a little faster, hotter, excited by the way she was confiding in him in return.
“After my mom died,” she continued, “I was torn. Part of me was glad to be gone because it hurt less while I was away. But I had guilt too, knowing my dad was here by himself. And I know he’s not getting any younger.” A hint of moisture glistened in the corners of her eyes. She cleared her throat, shrugging with that same shoulder. “It’s not something I’ve entertained a whole lot, but I work from home, you know? And I can do that from virtually anywhere. Yet I’ve been set on staying in Colorado. It’s where I live now. Plus it’s where…” She stopped there, reminding Jake of something her father brought up at dinner.
Mason – or was it Michael? Whichever it was, Thomas had preceded the guy’s name with one very important word. A word that implied Meg wasn’t exactly available: Her. He’d called him her Mason. He wasn’t even sure her Mason could tell Jake about Meg’s deep, dark secrets. A sting of jealousy burst in like an intruder. He had absolutely no right to feel it. None. But it was there all the same.
“I don’t know,” Meg said, shifting his train of thought. “I guess I’m still trying to work it out.”
Hold up. Still trying to work it out? Did that mean… “You’re saying you might move back?”
She tilted her head to one side, pushed out her bottom lip. “Maybe.”
All at once Jake wanted to celebrate. After all, how great could her relationship with this guy be if she was thinking of leaving him behind?
Untouched glasses of bubbly stood in the center of the counter, forgotten until that moment. Something Meg’s father had set out for them. Jake reached out, slid one glass toward Meg and took hold of the other; glad to find that it was still cool.
“A toast,” he said, tilting his glass toward hers. “To good ol’ Montana living. May this week be a success, and may you find yourself never wanting to leave.” He gave her a wink. “Cheers.”
There went that blush on her cheeks. That smile on her lips. She gave him a slight nod before clanking her glass against his. “Cheers.”
Chapter Six
Heat rose from the steamer as Meg pulled off the lid. Bright rays of morning sunlight illuminated the steam as it danced toward the copper vent.
“Ready?” Jake asked.
She nodded, and Jake tipped the basket he held, allowing clusters of grapes to drop inside. Meg reached up, created a wall around the rim with her hands, blocking the fruit from tumbling over the edge.
“So, who’s this Mason guy your dad talked about last night?”
Whoa. Meg did not want to look at Jake during the awkward moment, but it felt as if she didn’t have any control over the matter. Her gaze drifted to him in a slow and steady move, just as it had when her father brought him up at dinner.
“His name’s Michael. And he’s… a guy I’ve been seeing for a while now.” Three years. Say it, Meg. Three. Full. Years. “He doesn’t want to commit though, so…” Holy crap. Why had she said that?
“How long is a while?”
“Mmm...” Meg took the emptied basket from Jake, trying desperately to squelch her annoyance with Michael. He hadn’t answered even one of her texts from the night before. Texts that said things like: I’m here. How are you? Got time to talk?
“So, how long?” Jake prodded.
She straightened up. “Over two years now.”
He coughed low in his throat. “Over two years and he doesn’t want to commit?”
She cringed, glad she wasn’t facing him as she searched for her regulars – the fallback list of defenses she used where Michael was concerned. “He’s scared to get serious with anyone because he had a bad breakup before I came along.”
“I assume he lives in Colorado,” Jake said.
“Right.” She spun around, avoiding his gaze while reaching for the lid. She placed it lopsidedly on the heaping mound, knowing once the steam did its job the grapes would re
duce and the lid would fit snug.
What else had to be done? There had to be something she could say or do to get the focus off of the stale and stagnant, frustrating and futile relationship that she could not let go of no matter how infuriating it got.
“So you’re telling me that – though the two of you have been dating all this time – if someone else wanted to take you on a date, you could say yes and he wouldn’t care?”
Meg’s heart misunderstood the question. While her ears and mind had heard him say ‘if someone else wanted to take you out,’ her heart heard something different. Something along the lines of ‘if I wanted to ask you out’ – as in him.
She nodded until her mouth remembered how to make words. “If I wanted to say yes, Michael would have no objection.”
“What a jackass.” The words might have been mumbled but there was no mistaking them.
“Excuse me?” Meg turned around to see Jake leaning against the counter, his arms folded across his chest.
“You heard me. He’s a jackass. What is he waiting for?”
Her jaw had dropped open once the name-calling began, but her thoughts were derailed by that nagging taunting stupidstupidstupid question. The million-dollar question she had absolutely no answer for. “He’s… you have no right to call him that.”
“Don’t I?”
“No. You don’t.”
Jake held her gaze, his lean against the counter looking like the cover of some Cowboy in the Kitchen magazine; featuring men who could ride, cook, and get a woman’s temper flared with a single word.
“He’s a fool to say the least, and in my book those things go hand-in-hand.”
She tightened her lips, rubbed them together, and forced herself to take two full breaths before speaking. “You don’t really know me, and you certainly don’t know him. So I’d appreciate it if we could just let the subject drop. All right?” There. She’d done it. Classy. She’d kept it classy, the way Mom always taught. She bolted for the fridge, reached in aimlessly, and snatched a carton of eggs.
Ranch Hand For Auction: A Western Romance Novella Page 3
