by Becki Willis
“Good choice,” he said, nodding his approval. “That’s the master suite.”
She knew a moment of uncertainty. “Wait. The former owner didn’t die here, did she?”
“Why? Afraid of ghosts?” He pushed past her, giving the first hint that his load might be heavy. She got a whiff of his cologne, mingled with the twang of manly sweat. Together, it was a dangerous combination.
“A little,” she admitted. She jutted her chin out, challenging him to make something of it. Namely, that there were no such things as ghosts.
“To my knowledge, all ghosts around these parts are friendly,” he assured her, depositing the suitcases to the floor. He looked around for a flat surface, saw what he wanted, and hefted the heaviest suitcase onto the top of a long, low chest of drawers. “Hope the legs hold on this thing,” he said. “Don’t know why you felt the need to bring a ton of bricks with you, but here you go. And in answer to your question, Miss Wilhelmina didn’t die in this room.”
“Good. And for my own piece of mind, I won’t ask for further details. Just in case she died in a different room here at the inn,” she clarified.
Hannah steadfastly ignored the implications of his answering smirk.
“Oh, that blue duffel bag isn’t mine.”
“I know. It’s mine.”
“Why do you need a duffel bag?” She eyed it suspiciously. “Don’t tell me it’s full of more papers I have to sign!”
“No, those are in my briefcase, and there are just two,” he assured her. He nodded toward the bag in question. “Those are my clothes,” he explained.
“Why do you need clothes?”
“I know you are uncomfortable with the idea of staying here alone, at least for the first few nights. I consulted the terms of the contract, and even though you aren’t allowed to leave the property, there’s nothing that says you can’t have company. I thought I’d stay a couple of nights, until you get settled in and feel at home.”
“You’re going to stay here?” She indicated the floor at her feet.
“Well, not in your room, I’m not.”
Her face flamed, particularly seeing the glimmer of amusement in his blue eyes. “Of course, not in my room!” she snapped.
Noting the look of consternation upon her face, he frowned. “Look, I thought I was doing you a favor. If you’d rather I not stay…”
Hannah opened her mouth to say something, but promptly shut it. Did she want him to stay?
On the one hand, the thought of staying here alone in the house was terrifying.
On the other hand, the thought of being alone in the house, with him, struck an entirely different kind of terror within her thundering heart.
Her mouth flapped open and shut, like a dying fish, sucking in its last few gulps of life.
“I’ll need an answer before midnight,” he taunted.
“Fine.” Her tone was brusque. “Pick a room.”
Walker arched his eyebrow in silent reprimand. They both knew it was a rude acceptance to a very gallant offer. Without another word, he bent to retrieve his bag and strode from the room, Leroy close on his heels.
Shaking off the affront, Hannah sniffed her indifference and moved the rest of her luggage from the middle of the floor. She didn’t bother unpacking just yet.
Until she signed the final two papers, she still had time to change her mind and back out of this whole ridiculous deal…
Hunger drove her back downstairs. Hannah realized she hadn’t eaten since her drive down this morning. Despite the ever-growing knot in her stomach, she suddenly felt weak from hunger.
She hadn’t planned on meals for two. She tried to bite back the stab of resentment, knowing, as she did, she couldn’t return to town for an entire month.
“I can pick up more groceries in town tomorrow,” Walker said from behind her.
She hadn’t heard him come in. She gave a squeal of surprise and promptly banged her hand on the shelf as she whirled around.
“Don’t you know how to shuffle those boots you wear,” she snapped crossly, “instead of sneaking up on a soul like that?”
“I didn’t know I was sneaking.”
“You were. You did. And look what happened.” She held up her hand as proof of his nefarious deed.
He pursed his lips, unsure of what he was seeing. “You have graceful hands?” he guessed. “A broken fingernail?”
“Where?” She jerked her hand down to examine her perfectly manicured nails. All ten were intact. “I don’t have a broken nail.” A new thought occurred to her. “How am I supposed to keep it that way, if I can’t leave the compound?”
“It’s not a compound, Hannah. It’s a town.” He enunciated the word for emphasis.
“So you say.”
He overlooked her cross reply. “I thought I’d help you cook,” he offered. “If you’d like, I can grill something on the barbecue pit.”
“I put all the meat in the freezer. I was planning on a baked potato, stuffed with broccoli and cheese.”
“That’s fine. I can stop at the meat market tomorrow. What do you prefer—steak, fish, or chicken?”
Her grouchy attitude gave way and she ventured a saucy smile. “I have to choose?”
“Not really. I’ll get all three.” His own smile was disarming. “And if you like sausage, this is the German sausage capitol of Texas, you know.”
“By all means, bring sausage, too.”
“I know just the place to go. In fact, I’ll bring the whole meal,” he decided. “Matousek’s Market makes the best sausage and the best schnitzel you’ve ever tasted. We can always cook the next night.”
There was something unsettling about the thought of sharing her evening meals with this man. Reaching for the potatoes, she kept her voice casual as she started scrubbing two large spuds. “Do I need a third potato? Will Mrs. Jacoby be joining us for supper tonight?”
He gave her an odd look, his brow furrowed with confusion. “No,” he said slowly, as if the thought was absurd.
He had such an odd reaction, Hannah couldn’t help but push for more information. “She doesn’t mind you staying here?”
Walker turned away to search for plates among the overhead cabinets. “She didn’t say anything, so I guess not,” he said over his shoulder.
Maybe they’re separated, Hannah considered. Staying here with her wouldn’t help any, if they were having marriage problems. Yet for the life of her, she didn’t have the gumption to insist he go home to his wife. It had nothing to do with the pull of attraction she felt toward him. It had everything to do with the fact she was scared to death to stay in this rambling old inn, all by herself.
She felt a pang of sympathy toward the man. She hated to see any marriage falter and fail, even when the husband was a cad like Walker Jacoby.
It wasn’t an entirely accurate account, she knew. However, it was far safer to think of him in uncharitable terms, rather than to admit the attorney might actually be an all right sort of guy. He didn’t have to stay with her. And he didn’t have to bring meals, even if he was sharing them with her. It surprised her that he was stepping in and offering to help in the kitchen.
She hadn’t given him enough credit, she realized.
“Do you want to eat here in the kitchen, or out in the dining room?” he asked, holding the makings for two place settings in his hands.
The kitchen seemed too intimate, so she motioned toward the large room out front. “I think the dining room, don’t you?”
“Fine by me.”
Hannah popped the potatoes in the microwave and prepped the broccoli. In less than twenty minutes, the simple meal was ready.
Again, Walker Jacoby surprised her. He bowed his head and said grace, asking for Hannah’s success in her new endeavor. After the amens, she sent him a questioning look, but he simply winked and said, “Mrs. Jacoby would never forgive me if I didn’t ask a blessing before every meal.”
Bless her heart, his wife is a Christian woman, Hannah mus
ed. Even more reason for me to remember: HE’S MARRIED.
She screamed the reminder to herself.
They talked about the animals while they ate. Hannah asked numerous questions, surprising herself that she was actually curious. Walker told her he would help gather eggs and milk the cow the following morning, before he left for the office.
They said goodnight in the kitchen, after Walker assured her he would do the dishes and lock up for the night.
“Leroy?” she questioned, before heading to the stairs. The hairy beast dozed in the corner, where he had been all through the meal.
“Is a watch dog. He sleeps during the day, prowls at night. I’ll put him out before I close up.”
So much for having a roommate, she mused.
It was still early, at least by her normal schedule. Hannah vaguely remembered some old adage about early to bed, early to rise. Something else about farmers getting up at the crack of dawn. She wasn’t sure any of it applied to her, but she knew she was exhausted.
If there was ever a day when she needed a glass of wine, this was it. Good thing she brought a bottle upstairs. After unpacking the bare minimum for the night, Hannah slipped into a pair of pajama pants and a camisole top, carried her bottle of wine outside to the balcony, and poured herself a full goblet.
The air was clean and clear, the night pleasantly warm. High above her, a plane arced in a silent path across the dark sky. The sounds of night were all around her. Frogs croaking, crickets chirping, a lonely owl calling for its mate. A car traveling down the highway, although the sound was singular. So unlike the city, she mused, where it was difficult to hear anything above the relentless roar of traffic. Even in the dead of night, the city never slept.
She sipped on her wine, welcoming the slack that crawled into her muscles. The knots slowly came untied, the tension finally unbuckled. She lay her head onto the curve of the chair’s back, forcing her mind into a blank slate. Willing herself not to think, not to worry. Not to panic.
Tomorrow, she would curse her uncle’s foolish extravagance. Her father always did say his little brother had more money than he had good sense. For once, she was apt to agree. Tomorrow, she would call JoeJoe in Dubai and give him a piece of her mind. She would throw her fit, for all the good it would do her.
Tomorrow, she would panic. By this time tomorrow night, she would be a farmer. She would have gathered her first eggs and—gulp—milked her first cow. Tomorrow, she would have the stain of the country life upon her hands.
Tomorrow, she would explore her new world. Cut ties with her old one. She would cancel upcoming appointments, and make plans of a different sort, here in her new world. Tomorrow, she would unpack her suitcase and, for better or for worse, she would settle in.
But that was all tomorrow.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Tonight, she would sit here in the night air, content to hear the sounds of her new surroundings cocoon her within its welcoming web. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the stars. Stars she could actually see, without the glare of neon lights and buildings that climbed their brightly illuminated way into the sky. Something about the peace and quiet called to her, soothed her in a way she had never known. Relaxed her.
Before she finished her first glass of wine, the soft bleat of the goats reached her ears. She couldn’t bring herself to care. The cows joined in by the time she poured her second glass. Oddly enough, she found the sounds comforting. A mother and her calf, calling to one another in the darkness.
And when the fiddle music started, she sipped slowly on her wine and lost herself to the soft, mournful notes floating on the breeze. The sweet melody wrapped around her and coaxed the last of the coils from her body.
Walker Jacoby was just full of surprises. A smart, handsome lawyer who did the dishes, babysat frightened clients, and played the fiddle.
Maybe, she mused, emptying her wine glass and closing her eyes in contentment, Mrs. Jacoby isn’t so unfortunate, after all.
Maybe she was one lucky woman.
Chapter Six
Morning came early. The moonlight and the melody gave way to the light of day and, although not exactly the break of dawn, it was suddenly tomorrow. The harsh reality of her new life began.
“You want me to put my hand where?”
Hannah stared at the lawyer, hands propped defiantly upon her hips. She stood in a wide-legged, dig-in-your-heels stance. If it were truly the Old West, she would be drawing her six guns about now.
“On her teats, like this,” he said evenly. “You have to grab them and pull.”
“Have you lost your mind!” It wasn’t a question.
“No, Hannah, I haven’t. How else did you think you were going to milk a cow?”
Her eyes were frantic. Her hands came off her hips to gesture wildly. “I don’t know. I thought maybe there was a machine or something. That maybe it just sort of… gushed out. I didn’t think I would have to—to touch her!”
Some of his cool was slipping. A heated impatience edged into his voice. “I can’t stay here all morning. I have appointments. Either I help you do this now, or you do it on your own, after I leave. Your choice.”
She took a hesitant step forward.
“Come on, you survived gathering the eggs,” he reminded her.
“Just barely! Henny Penny almost took my hand off!”
“She gave you a little peck. There’s not even a mark.”
“Cocky Locky chased me out of the pen.”
“She thought you had feed in the bucket. I told you to bring a basket from the house.” He motioned her forward. “You can do this, Hannah. It’s really not hard, once you get the hang of it.”
When she was within snagging distance, he grabbed her hands and rubbed them briskly between his own.
“What are you doing?” she cried, trying to pull away.
“Your hands are like ice.”
“Fear always does that to them.”
“That’s why I’m warming them up. How would you like cold hands on your… on you?”
She refused to think about his hands, cold or otherwise, on her corresponding body parts.
She tossed her head, her dark ponytail swinging. “I’m still not touching that cow.”
His tone brooked no argument. “Yes. You are.”
It was difficult to maintain eye contact with the man. “I guess you use that steely-eyed glare on the jury, swaying them to do your bidding.” Her tone was accusing. “But it won’t work with me,” she claimed.
Eyes locked on hers, hands clasped around her wrists, he stepped backwards, pulling her with him. Before she knew it, she bent down in tandem with him, and he pressed her fingers around two dangling appendages. They were smooth and swollen, like the fingers of a water-filled glove. The strength of both their hands—his fingers pressing into hers, forcing her to make a grip—massaged the plump vessels. Walker jerked her hands downward, then up again. Soon, he had a rhythm going. One hand went up, the other down. And finally, the reward came. The ping of milk, hitting the empty bottom of the pail.
Hannah forgot to be angry. She forgot that she was doing this under duress. That she said she would never milk a cow. In the excitement of the moment, she forgot to sulk.
“I’m doing it!” she cried, her face alight with accomplishment. She turned to make certain Walker witnessed her victory, and found his face disturbingly close. Her hands faltered.
“Don’t stop now,” he urged, his smile wide. “We’re just getting started.”
“But…”
“Stay with me, Hannah. Right hand, tug. Left hand, tug. Right hand, tug. That’s it, tug. You got it, tug.”
Hannah stayed with it until Buttercrunch turned to look at her. The proximity of those large brown eyes and the moist, black nose frightened her. When the cow gave a gentle moo and slurped her long tongue out, Hannah jerked away, almost upsetting the milk bucket in the process.
“I’ll finish up here, if you’ll make friends with Butt
ercrunch,” Walker bargained with her.
“Fr—Friends?”
“Yeah, you know. Stroke her head. Pat her neck. Make friends.”
“You’re enjoying my humiliation, much too much,” she muttered beneath her breath. She put a tentative hand out to touch the cow’s head. One ear twitched in response, but the cow allowed the attention. “What’s with the names? You called one Vanilla Bean last night.”
“They’re named after Blue Bell flavors. It’s the unofficial ice cream of Texas, and Sadie and Fred’s personal favorite. They named most of the herd.”
“Who named the chickens?”
“Miss Wilhelmina.”
“After a children’s fairy tale.”
He shrugged and continued to fill the bucket, one squirt at a time.
Fresh milk had a distinct taste, one that Hannah wasn’t sure she liked. She expected the milk to be thick and creamy, not thin and weak tasting. Walker assured her it was an acquired taste, but she wasn’t convinced.
With the animals tended to, Walker left for work. The old inn seemed quiet without his presence there, but Hannah was determined to have a productive day.
Right after she called her uncle.
It was nine hours later in Dubai than it was here in Texas. Good, she thought with malicious glee. I’ll spoil his supper.
Her uncle, however, wasn’t answering her calls. She left three heated messages, before giving up and moving on to the next task on her to-do list. A handful more calls, most as voice messages, and she set her phone aside. Time to tackle her suitcases.
It took longer than she anticipated, unpacking and finding proper places for all her things. It was more complicated than merely finding a temporary spot to store her clothes. She would be here for an unspecified amount of time. Months, most likely, or at least until JoeJoe’s lawyers could find a loophole in which she could work her way through. She could always move her things to her liking later on, but why do double work?
The master suite was large and roomy, with ample storage and little excess furniture. The headboard looked antique, although Hannah wondered when the queen-size mattress was invented. At any rate, the carvings were unique and hand-tooled, making it a stunning piece in pale wood. By contrast, the low chest of drawers—the one with the sturdy legs, strong enough not to bow beneath her suitcase—was made of dark mahogany, and polished to a low sheen. The other pieces were all antique and ranged in color and style, making for an informal but eclectic mix.
