by Tracy March
“Three days.”
“Talk about saddle sores.”
“I’d rather not,” she said lightly. She tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as if she had something to hide. Carden imagined just the opposite—he’d bet everything back there was really fine.
Although he worried about the length of the to-do list she was about to make, he couldn’t bring himself to say no to her. Usually his top priority was running the Crenshaw Family Trust, but his preparations for an important meeting early tomorrow morning would have to happen later. And he had his own never-ending to-do list waiting for him at his cattle ranch. Even so, he liked helping out as a handyman in town, especially for older folks like Dean.
And for beautiful blondes.
“The least I can do is give you an extra few minutes, considering.” He tipped his chin toward the truck. “Three days in that thing?”
She held up three fingers and gave him a demure smile that had his heart tripping over itself. Blinking several times, he struggled to shake her spell. He’d seen plenty of gorgeous girls but couldn’t recall any rustling him up like this one. What had come over him tonight?
“You’re an angel,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She turned and pulled the door closed behind her.
Carden swallowed hard. The girl had blown into his head like a dust devil. Determined to get the lights on, he pulled his flashlight from his tool belt, clicked it on, and headed toward the breaker box. But the usual flip of switches still left him in the dark.
Light footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors in the front room. “Hello?” she called.
Carden made his way back through the kitchen, the flashlight beam darting across walls and windows. He got within steps of her and caught the faint tinge of her perfume—clean and natural, unusual and provocative. Not at all what he would’ve expected on a girl from D.C. Eager to decipher the scent, he drew in a deep breath. Something woodsy with citrus, maybe neroli and lemon or grapefruit. The old Montgomery sisters would know for sure. Over the years, they’d used all kinds of herbs and spices in their soaps, perfumes, and tonics—and God knew what else.
“It’s going to take longer than I thought to fix the lights.”
“Bummer,” she said, sliding her purse onto the kitchen counter. It overflowed with papers and mail, yet she reached in and pulled out a little notepad without even looking. Next came a mechanical pencil, which she tucked over her ear. The girl was ready for business.
“You’ll need this.” Carden held out the flashlight and she reached for it.
“Thank you,” she said. Her fingers swept over his, nearly as light as snowflakes, and a thrilling chill prickled through him.
She began her inspection, giving him a hazy, all-angles look at her, courtesy of his Maglite. Man, he loved that flashlight.
“Other than that U-Haul, what brought you here from D.C.?” he asked, as if he didn’t know already.
“A job.” She gracefully turned from in front of the fireplace and faced him. One corner of her mouth quirked up, as if she had doubts about her new opportunity.
Carden couldn’t blame her. Thistle Bend had a thorny history, and everyone had their own version of what really happened in the not-so-sleepy little town. He nodded slowly, scrubbing his fingers across his four-day beard.
Without another word, she disappeared down the dark hallway, taking only minutes to check out the little bedroom and bath. She flushed the toilet and seconds after the tank filled, she passed him on her way to the kitchen. “I’m kind of putting together the new museum in town,” she said.
“I’ve heard about that.” No reason to let on that his grandmother was on the museum’s board and had approved the recruiting committee’s decision to hire her. She’d meet all the key players soon enough. “Word has it that they finally closed on the old gas station building this week and it’s ready to go.”
“What does the old gas station building have to do with the museum?”
“It is the museum.”
She closed the cabinet she’d been peering into and aimed the beam at him, spotlighting the dark grease stain on his T-shirt and the rip in the knee of his jeans. He shoved his hands in his pockets. At least she hadn’t blinded him with the light.
“They’re putting the museum in a gas station? I mean, they said they were in the process of buying a building for it, but…” She moved the beam away from him, set her notepad on the counter, and pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“It was a hardware store, too,” he said, as if that would make things better. “Historic building. Great location. Sits right on Larkspur Avenue.”
She gave him a forced, tight-lipped smile. “Perfect.”
Figuring the subject was best closed, Carden stepped over to the counter and glanced at her notepad.
Tighten handle on toilet…
Lock on bedroom window—screw missing…
“Not much of a list you got there.”
She lifted her slim shoulders as if it was hard to believe there wasn’t more to fix.
“The place is really decent in here,” he said. “Even though it looks beat up on the outside. You’ll understand why after you’ve been here awhile. It’s hard to keep up against scorching sun in the summer and snow up to your—” He cleared his throat. “And lots of snow most of the winter.”
“Guess that’s good job security for you since there’s always work to do.”
He nodded once. “Absolutely.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill, again without looking inside. “Getting the lights on is the most important thing.” She tore her list from her notepad and handed it to him along with the five. “But I’d really be grateful if you’d fix these other things, too.”
He slid the five along the countertop, leaving it next to her purse. “I can’t take your money.”
“Seriously, I want you to. I know how tough times are for people right now.” She frowned. “I could write a book about it.” She picked up her purse, and left the money on the counter. “But I’ve got a gas-station-hardware-store-museum to get going. And a bed at a hotel with my name on it. Speaking of—I’m Lindsey.” She offered him her hand and he shook it casually, as if those thrilling chills hadn’t made a swift return.
“Carden.”
“Hmm. That’s an unusual name. I like it.” She smiled and headed for the door. “Thanks for helping me out, Carden. Hope I’ll see you around.”
Chapter 3
Lindsey took the one day she had before starting her job to move into the cabin and get somewhat settled. Her aunt had recommended two young guys that worked at The Canary to help Lindsey move in. In less than an hour, they’d unloaded the few pieces of furniture she had, and all the boxes. Lindsey had concentrated on her clothes and lighter-weight items. She’d figured she would take advantage of the muscle while she could.
The day had flown by as she’d scrubbed the place to a shine and worked to get things situated, but one day wasn’t nearly enough time to get it all done. She had hoped to walk over to Larkspur Avenue and start exploring the town, but she just hadn’t had the energy.
“I still have some boxes to unpack,” she’d said to her mom and dad when they’d video chatted. “But the big stuff is done.” She shrugged, gazing at her parents on the screen of her tablet. “The place is going to be pretty cute.”
“You look tired, sweetie.” Concern lined her mom’s otherwise young-looking face. Her dad nodded, still looking handsome with his brow furrowed, his hair damp at the temples. Dressed in athletic wear, they’d just returned from a run. They inspired Lindsey to stay in shape, too. She wished she could go for a run herself, but she’d have to take it easy with exercise until she got acclimated to the altitude.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Tonight I can sleep in my own bed and I’ll be like new in the morning.” She smiled, hoping to ease their minds, even though she could easily cry. Surely she’d feel better about things when she w
asn’t so exhausted.
“Big day tomorrow.” Her dad grinned. “Look out Thistle Bend, Lindsey’s come to town.”
Lindsey shook her head.
“That museum’s going to be top-notch.” He drank a slug of water from his sports bottle.
“And who knows,” her mom said with a glint in her brown eyes. “Maybe you’ll meet a nice guy there. Someone really special.”
As opposed to the last guy Lindsey had dated, for way too long. She scrunched her nose at the thought of Donald Hopper Hollingsworth IV—best known as Hopper, which Lindsey had thought was a cool and trendy name until it turned out to be a verb. The guy had hopped from one girl to the next since kindergarten, and had no intention of stopping with Lindsey. Things had ended between them over a year ago when Lindsey came home early from work one day and found Hopper and her roommate having sex on the couch. She’d gotten a new roommate, but getting a new guy was something her bruised heart wasn’t yet ready for.
“Just keep an open mind.” Her mom swiped a loose strand of dark hair back toward her short ponytail.
Her dad raised his eyebrows. “Could happen when you least expect it.”
Exhausted from her days-long drive and the move, Lindsey fell into bed soon after chatting with her parents. Despite her new surroundings, she slept through the night, waking up rested and eager to start her new job. The day was bright and sunny, but she’d have to get used to the chilly summer mornings with lows in the forties. She’d brought a box of Lucky Charms all the way from D.C., and she ate a big bowl for breakfast, suddenly craving comfort food from her childhood.
Hearts, moons, stars, clovers. Or whatever else it took to get her time in Thistle Bend off to a positive start.
After showering, she put on light makeup, dried her hair, and pulled it into a messy chignon. She paired a sage green suit with a filmy ivory blouse and a camisole, the slacks hemmed just the right length to wear with her favorite heels. She checked her look in the mirror, and drew in a deep breath.
That museum is going to be top-notch.
With her dad’s words buoying her step, she made her four-block commute to work through a quiet neighborhood, the surrounding mountains a stunning backdrop. When she reached the corner of Larkspur Avenue and Snowberry Street, she paused, gazing at the building where she’d work. Wood plank, painted white. Windows across the front, beneath a corrugated tin awning. All the buildings along Larkspur Avenue were preserved as if a Wild West movie set had been left to function as a real-life town, and the “new” museum was located right in the middle of it. Across the street was a Mexican restaurant, a chocolate shop, and a toy store, all brightly painted and inviting.
Lindsey pulled out her phone, tapped to the camera, zoomed in on the chocolate shop, and snapped a picture. Pleased with how it came out, she texted:
Across from the museum. Could be trouble…
She attached the picture and sent it to Becca. Seconds later, Lindsey’s phone pinged.
OMG. For real. Happy first day!
She stepped over to a historical landmark plaque that pictured the museum building as it had looked in 1946—complete with an old-timey gas pump, the very same one that still stood to her left, just off the sidewalk. The building really had been a gas station and a hardware store, back in the day. Now it was the empty shell that would become the Thistle Bend Mountain Heritage Museum.
Time to get to work.
Her nerves were frayed, yet she was eager to meet the committee of volunteers who’d been hard at work organizing and cataloging each item that had been donated to the museum—ever. It would be up to Lindsey to decide what to display and how to present the town’s history. Now that she’d moved into her house, it was time for a crash course in Thistle Bend history. The hiring committee had assured her they’d have resources waiting for her, but they’d advised her that the best way to learn would be from people and their stories.
Lindsey took a bolstering breath and stepped inside, her heels clicking loudly on the worn hardwood floor. Her stomach leapt into her throat as three pairs of eyes locked on her. They belonged to two older women—one nearly double the size of the other—and a pretty girl about Lindsey’s age, thirty max, all of them sorting through boxes that lined the walls of the cavernous space. Lindsey hadn’t seen her aunt Tansy for years, but her grandma had sent a recent picture of Tansy and Oscar. Not that Tansy had a look that resembled anything recent. The photo could’ve been taken back in the mining days and Lindsey wouldn’t have known any different. Stout and stern and round-faced, with a gray bun that looked like a bagel on the back of her head, the bigger lady was Tansy, for sure.
Lindsey’s heart clamored. She had no idea Tansy was involved with the museum. A heads-up during their chat would’ve been nice. What was Lindsey supposed to do? Act as if the two of them were strangers? She had no time to decide before Tansy strode over to her ahead of the other volunteers.
“You must be Lindsey,” she said, a play-along plea in her bright eyes. “I’m Tansy Karlsson. We’re so happy you’re here.” While her back was to the others, Tansy held her index finger to her lips and wheezed out a “shh” as if Lindsey might’ve forgotten there was a secret she was supposed to keep.
Lindsey met Tansy’s intense gaze and nodded as the other two ladies joined them. “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Karlsson.” She held out her hand and Tansy shook it firmly, a wide smile softening her face.
“Please call me Tansy.”
“I’m Stella Crenshaw,” the petite older lady said with authority, “from the board of directors.” Tansy’s smile flattened.
If there was such a style as designer Western, Mrs. Crenshaw was impeccably dressed in it from head to toe. A fitted white blouse with turquoise buttons and a black vest. Tailored blue jeans with a wide leather belt and boots to match. Her satiny silver hair was cut in a smart bob. It framed her piercing blue eyes, and grazed her slender shoulders. “The Smithsonian’s loss is our gain.”
“Aw, thank you, Mrs. Crenshaw,” Lindsey said, although she could’ve done without the reminder that she’d been canned. She offered her hand and Mrs. Crenshaw shook it.
“It’s Stella, I insist.”
“And I’m Holly,” the younger woman said with a warm smile. She wore a cute sundress made of random fabrics sewn together—patchwork gone wild—and a pair of cowboy boots. Her silky auburn hair was dyed blue on the ends, and pulled into a messy ponytail.
Lindsey instantly liked her. “Awesome to meet you. Shall we get started?”
Stella and Tansy seemed to race to get to the round antique table stacked with books and papers, set way back in the near-empty space. Holly stuck with Lindsey and whispered as they walked. “I’m here to keep the peace.” She tipped her head toward Stella and Tansy. “Those two can’t stand each other. Outside of town council meetings, no one can remember the last time they were in the same room.”
Lindsey’s eyes went wide, eyebrows lowered. “Good to know,” she whispered. “It certainly is a red-letter day, then, isn’t it?”
Tansy and Stella sat in folding chairs on opposite sides of the table, and Holly settled across from Lindsey, who faced the front windows. Her insides knotted. What was going on with Stella and Tansy? All she needed on her first day was a couple of catty old women to corral, one of whom was her aunt. She pulled her tablet out of her tote and straightened her back, determined to block out distractions. “I’d like to start by thanking you—”
The front door squealed open and a dark-haired man stepped inside, confidence in his sturdy shoulders and long-legged stride. Clean-shaven and sharply dressed in black jeans, a crisp sea-green oxford with the sleeves turned up, and a wicked pair of cowboy boots, he stopped up front next to a built-in counter left over from the hardware-store days. Lindsey squinted to get a closer look and her pulse fluttered. Even from a distance, the guy was smokin’ hot. Bruised heart or not, if he was a volunteer, she was definitely in business.
Tansy and Stella turned their heads,
and Holly twisted in her chair to see who’d arrived.
“Excuse me a moment.” Stella stood and headed toward him with a similar, purposeful gait.
“Who’s that?” Lindsey asked.
“Her grandson.” Tansy scowled. “He runs the Crenshaw Family Trust. It might as well be a bank.”
Holly had gone doe-eyed all of a sudden. “He has a cattle ranch, too. One of the biggest in the state.” She leaned closer to Lindsey. “Isn’t he amazing?”
Tansy cut a sharp look at Lindsey. If Tansy disagreed, there was no hope for the woman.
Lindsey smiled, tight-lipped. “I—”
“He’s also one of the most eligible bachelors in Colorado,” Holly said. “And it’s not just me sayin’ that. They published a list in a magazine last year with pictures of him and everything.”
“Lindsey,” Stella called and gestured for Lindsey to join them. “I’d like to introduce you…”
Lindsey sucked in a deep breath. As if the pressure of her first day wasn’t enough, now she was about to come face-to-face with Mr. Super-Eligible. That definitely hadn’t been in the job description.
She cast a wary glance at Tansy. “I’ll be right back.” She made her way toward Stella and her grandson, who stood at least six-three, making Stella appear even tinier than she had next to Tansy.
It didn’t take long for Lindsey to realize that her D.C. wardrobe hardly fit in here, and she was suddenly self-conscious. She wished she was wearing something like Holly’s sundress and boots instead of the suit-blouse-and-high-heels getup she had on.
“Hello,” she said as she joined Stella and got a better look at the man in question. He’d been smokin’ hot from a distance, but the guy was on fire up close. Rugged, yet refined. His eyes glimmered, the same piercing blue as Stella’s. Strong jaw, straight nose, sharp cheekbones. His face was all lines and angles except for the slight cleft in his chin and his full lips. Even with a hint of a smile, there was still some pout in the bottom one. He seemed familiar to Lindsey, but out of place, like she’d seen him in…the house she’d rented? Her heart hammered and she pressed her fingers against her statement necklace, worried it might start jumping and give her away. “Lindsey Simms,” Stella said. “This is my grandson, Carden.”
