by Tracy March
“I held one in the back for you,” Travis said from where he sat behind his massive desk, a sprawling showpiece made of reclaimed aspen.
“That’s my little brother.” Carden smiled at Travis, who’d found an ideal fit for himself with his business. So ideal he’d been featured in American Angler magazine, looking like a true outdoorsman, with his sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a slender, sinewy build suited for guiding fly fishing expeditions. Travis was spit out of their dad’s mouth just as sure as Carden had been spit out of their mom’s.
Carden set a cup of coffee in front of Travis and slid the bakery box across the desk. “Since I didn’t make it to the pub last night.” A couple nights a week, the brothers met down the street at the High Country Pub for a beer. One beer each. Because one beer had always been Carden’s magic bullet. Just enough to calm you. Not enough to make you stupid. Things never turned out pretty after the second beer.
“I got held up working at one of Dean’s rentals,” Carden said. It was best that his interactions with Lindsey—and his promise to Gran about the Crenshaws’ presentation in the museum—stayed secret. After Gran, he was closer to Travis than anyone, but he still preferred to keep his business private.
“Apology accepted.” Travis took a gulp of his coffee, his eyes brightening as he opened the bakery box. “Cinnamon rolls, too? Feel free to stand me up anytime.”
Carden nodded and smiled wryly. As if he needed a cinnamon roll after all the sweets last night. Ice cream…Lindsey…His heart started kicking up dust at the thought of her. He wasn’t used to it running out of control like that, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He drew in a deep breath, composing himself, and sat in one of the elk-pelt chairs in front of the desk.
Travis dug in, devouring nearly half a cinnamon roll in one bite. Chewing, he narrowed his gaze on Carden. “Something’s different,” he murmured through a mouthful.
Carden blinked once and took a slug of his black coffee. “They change the recipe?”
“About you.”
Carden clenched his jaw. Something was different all right. Something slender and blond and sunny had sent him spinning and he was still trying to catch his balance. “I changed shampoo.” He gave Travis a sly grin. “Figured no one would notice.”
Travis chuckled, and Carden hoped he’d let it go. The best way to make sure that happened was to mention Travis’s upcoming wedding to his Georgia-peach fiancée, Emily. She and Travis had dated long-distance for two years before he’d popped the question on Valentine’s Day—at The Canary, of all places. Because Travis and Emily had been apart so long, they were wasting no time planning a wedding. Soon the Crenshaws would be headed to Savannah for the big event.
Carden had never known a guy who’d kept a countdown calendar for his wedding—at least for everyone else to see. But Travis had bought one online and had it proudly displayed on his desk with a big bold number ten on it. “Ten days and counting.”
Travis leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Man, I can’t wait.”
Carden could relate. He felt the same way about seeing Lindsey tonight. It had been years since he’d gotten that twinge of excitement about seeing a girl, but it was back—whether he liked it or not. After spending most of the night wide awake, sorting out the sensations she’d sparked in him, he had to admit he was worried. Losing Amanda had hardened his heart against that tease of an emotion called hope. Sure, he’d had it for a while, longing for her to come back and justify what she had done. But days and months and years passed and she hadn’t. Now he found himself attracted to another captivating outsider. Hadn’t he learned?
“I’m looking forward to it myself,” Carden said about the wedding.
“Sure you don’t want to bring a date?” Travis raised one eyebrow as he gobbled another bite of the cinnamon roll, leaving only a bit of it pinched between his fingers.
“Hundred percent.” Well, maybe ninety-nine. “That’s why I RSVP’d for one.”
“Adding one more person wouldn’t be a problem.” Travis had never been good at being coy, and his tone gave him away.
Carden took another slug of coffee and set the cup on the desk with authority. “You’ve been talking to Gran.”
Travis shrugged. “She said the museum girl is gorgeous. And sparks were flying between you two. And that you’d met her in the dark in Dean’s cabin and didn’t tell anyone.”
Typical Travis. Once his mouth got going, everything he knew poured out. He leveled a stare at Carden. “And you didn’t make it to the pub last night because you got held up at Dean’s cabin. No call. No text. I mean, you really must’ve gotten held up.”
Carden stood, not thrilled with the smart-ass grin stretching across his brother’s face. “Did Gran happen to tell you that the Karlssons are already courting ‘the museum girl,’ trying to influence how she portrays them in the museum? They sent her mail before she even got here, and they’re having her over for dinner at The Canary tonight. So Gran asked me to make sure Lindsey got the same pressure from the Crenshaws. That’s what’s going on between me and the museum girl.”
Mostly.
“So her name’s Lindsey?” Travis asked, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Nice.” He popped the last bit of his cinnamon roll into his mouth. “Gran said you might get kinda prickly if I mentioned her.”
Carden set his jaw and narrowed his gaze on Travis. “You know what? Both you and Gran talk too much.”
He picked up his cup of coffee and swaggered out the door.
—
Lindsey spent the day steeped in Thistle Bend history, reviewing suggestions for exhibits, and interviewing and approving three candidates that the board had recommended for paid positions at the museum. Now she had an official staff. She also had a list of contractors eager to bid on paying jobs, and of skilled volunteers willing to donate their time and talents to bring the museum to life. It came as no surprise that the first person on the volunteers list was Carden Crenshaw. Even so, Lindsey’s heart fluttered when she saw his name.
The day had been cram-packed, but not tightly enough to keep thoughts of him from sneaking into her mind and teasing her senses. The scent of vanilla. The touch of his calloused fingers. The taste of an unforgettably sexy caramel-chocolate kiss.
Lindsey enjoyed the beautiful summer evening as she walked to The Canary. She passed another of several parks she’d seen in town where young parents gathered, most of them dressed mountain casual in jeans and hiking boots, their children busy on the playground equipment. A little blond girl squealed as she slid down the slide then ran full speed to climb up and do it again.
A rustic hotel took up much of the next block, its parking lot filled with cars, and people coming and going. Lindsey was starting to recognize the difference between locals and tourists, mostly because of the laid-back nature of the locals. Two boys on skateboards rolled past, headed in the direction of the skateboard park.
After a turn and a walk down a residential block, Lindsey spotted The Canary, set away from the business district. She allowed herself one more thought of Carden and an indulgent smile, and vowed not to think of him again while she was in the Karlssons’ restaurant. That would only be polite, considering Carden was a ranking officer in the enemy camp, although it seemed ridiculous to think of him that way. Lindsey hoped that tales of the legendary feud had been exaggerated, and that Tansy’s cutting looks at Stella were all that was left in the fight.
If Lindsey could get through dinner without a mention of the bad blood between the families, she’d feel a lot better about her loyalties, which currently were divided between a hot bachelor she had no business kissing, and somewhat distant relatives she barely knew—but owed, big-time. She hoped she and her aunt and uncle could simply stick to the facts and not the feud, and things would begin to make sense.
She blew out a long breath as she stopped in front of The Canary, an unexpectedly nice clapboard building painted light yellow with gray trim. It was ne
stled on a quiet corner with a large Cottonwood tree out front, looking totally unlike anything Lindsey had pictured during her conversations with her grandmother.
Feeling encouraged about her great-aunt and -uncle’s situation, she stepped inside the restaurant, surprised to see gleaming polished wood, stained-glass window accents, white tablecloths, and vases of fresh wildflowers on the tables. The place resembled an upscale saloon, complete with a beautiful bar and a parlor furnished with antiques, Victorian couches, and curio cabinets featuring items from Thistle Bend’s early history. Business must be pretty good since most of the tables were occupied, and two families and an older couple were waiting to be seated. The Canary might not be as impressive as the Crenshaw’s mining interests, ranches, and land, but it was a heck of a lot nicer than the fried chicken restaurant Lindsey had imagined. “You must be Lindsey,” the young hostess said. She wore black pants and a white peasant blouse, and clutched several menus in her hand.
If all they served was fried chicken, why did they need menus?
“I am,” Lindsey said, pleased that she’d found a cute sundress to wear that appeared to be the right choice for the occasion. “And you are?”
She looked surprised by the question, and then replied, “Hailey.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Mr. and Mrs. Karlsson are expecting you. I’ll take you to your table.”
Lindsey followed Hailey to a table in an alcove off the middle of the main dining room, where a bay window overlooked a healthy herb garden. The round table for four was set for three.
Hailey glanced at the menus and hesitated. Clearly the Karlssons wouldn’t need them.
Lindsey tipped her head toward the menus and smiled. “I’d like one.”
“Sure thing.” Hailey put it on the table next to one of the place settings. “I’ll tell them you’re here.” Lindsey was eager to see them, especially her uncle Oscar, whose family was supposedly the one that lost out on the disputed land deal. Not that he and Tansy were even aware that Lindsey knew about the conflict. Surely that was the reason for their dinner invitation, and Lindsey couldn’t wait to get it out in the open. Was it possible she’d get the truth if she just came out and asked Oscar about it? No doubt it would be the Karlssons’ version of the truth, just like the Crenshaws would tell her theirs. So how was she going to know who to believe, and what if the proof of what really happened wasn’t found before it was time to open the museum? She gazed out at the herb garden, contemplating questions that were becoming more complicated by the day.
“Hello, Lindsey,” Tansy said from behind her.
Lindsey turned to see her great-aunt standing next to Oscar, who was about her height, but as skinny as Tansy was stout. It was as if Jack Sprat and his wife had come to life before her eyes.
“We’re so happy you could come.” Tansy looked around cautiously, although it appeared the other diners were seated out of earshot. She stepped closer and tugged on the sleeve of Oscar’s chambray shirt, pulling him into the alcove. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen us, but you remember your great-uncle Oscar,” she said in a hushed voice.
Lindsey reached out and took his hand, since hugging him would not only have been awkward, but also too familiar, since she’d supposedly never met the man. At least she figured that’s what the other diners were to be led to believe. “Happy to see you again,” she said, matching Tansy’s secretive tone. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Oscar gave her a firm handshake and a warm smile that brought dimples to his cheeks just above his short, white beard. The top of his head was totally bald, and what was left of his hair was white, too. “Our pleasure.” The familiar expression took on a totally different hue when her great-uncle said it instead of Carden. Lindsey tried to blink away the thought of Carden, but it lingered, along with a twinge of excitement about seeing him after dinner.
Tansy smoothed her hand down the front of her billowy blue blouse, and gestured toward the place where Hailey had set the menu. “Have a seat.”
Oscar pulled out the chair for Lindsey, who sat. He did the same for Tansy, then settled at the table himself. No sooner than they were seated a tall, skin-and-bones waitress came to the table wearing tiny black pants and a white oxford shirt that swallowed her, sleeves rolled up. She’d pulled her wavy brown hair into a ponytail and wore large, dark-framed glasses that dwarfed her long, narrow face.
“Shelby,” Tansy said, “This is Lindsey Simms, the young lady who’s spearheading the museum project.”
Shelby tipped her head. “Nice to meet you. And good luck with the museum.” She puckered her lips, making her cheeks appear even more hollow. “Heck of a job you got there.”
Tansy and Oscar shared a look.
“I’m up for the challenge,” Lindsey said brightly. What else could she say? You have no idea would be totally inappropriate, but that’s the first thing that came to mind.
Shelby’s eyebrows popped above the rims of her glasses. “You think you are, huh?”
Tansy and Oscar gazed at her with narrowed eyes while Lindsey focused on keeping a pleasant expression on her face.
“What shall we order?” Oscar asked lightly, as if there was more than one entrée to choose from.
Lindsey chuckled, thankful he’d intervened. “I hear the fried chicken is amazing.”
“Then fried chicken it is,” Oscar said, still grinning.
Shelby managed to take their drink orders without any more questionable remarks. “I’ll have your drinks and appetizers out in a jiffy.”
Lindsey glanced at the menu that she hadn’t yet opened and looked curiously at Shelby. Fried chicken was the entrée, but were there choices for appetizers or sides?
“It’s a set menu for everyone,” Tansy said. “Family style.”
Shelby nodded and Lindsey wondered how her glasses stayed perched on her narrow nose. “Plenty to choose from. As for the appetizers, the tomato chutney’s my favorite, especially on top of the cottage cheese. And people really love the relish tray. They swear the pickled pears are the best they ever—”
“Thank you, Shelby,” Tansy said with a tone to match one of the sharp looks she’d given Stella the other day at the museum.
Shelby pressed her lips together tightly and nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned and scurried toward the kitchen.
Lindsey unfolded her cloth napkin, spread it across her lap, and set her gaze on Oscar. “So this restaurant has been in your family for—”
“A hundred years.” He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. The history of it is on the back of the menu there.”
Lindsey turned over the menu and quickly skimmed the few paragraphs. A century ago, The Canary was one of several taverns in Thistle Bend, and the first stop for miners coming back from their work out of town. It managed to survive during the Depression, and the lean years after the mines closed—and the restaurant was still thriving today.
“This place has an incredible story,” Lindsey said.
Tansy furrowed her brow. “We’ve made it work for us, but things could’ve been so different. Oscar’s great-grandfather was cheated by the Crenshaws in a very lucrative land deal that would’ve allowed him to diversify the family’s interests. Instead, he labored in the mines for years until he retired and opened The Canary with his son.”
“My grandfather,” Oscar said.
Tansy leaned close to Lindsey and whispered, “I’m sure your grandmother must have mentioned the land deal.” She sat straight and leveled a look at Lindsey that had her feeling as if she were knee-deep in quicksand and sinking fast.
“I don’t recall her saying anything about it.” Lindsey grabbed a fistful of the napkin in her lap and kneaded it between her fingers and her thumb. “What’s the story?” She gave Oscar a pleading look, hoping he was getting ready to come through with a truthful tale that would make some sense of the silent feud.
“We don’t have the full story
,” Oscar said. “Yet.”
Lindsey’s heart plummeted.
“We think you’ll find the truth in the documents and journals that have been donated to the museum.” Oscar nodded. “Tansy and Stella Crenshaw have been racing to find it, so that tells us the Crenshaws don’t really know what happened either, or they do know and they’re trying to hide it.”
Oh, boy.
The conversation came to a halt as Shelby delivered their drinks. Considering how things were going so far, Lindsey wished she’d ordered a shot of something stiff instead of iced tea. She eyed Oscar’s Jameson on the rocks.
“Don’t mind me,” Shelby said. “Y’all can keep talking.”
But no one did until she’d left the table.
Oscar cleared his throat. “I’ve been told all my life that someone knows the whole story. Either they’ve donated the information to the museum anonymously, they’re going to come forward soon, or you’ll figure out who they are.” He set a serious gaze on Lindsey. “But they will be more likely to do that if they don’t know you’re related to us.”
Heat rose in Lindsey’s face and she swallowed hard, wondering how long they expected her to keep that secret? “What makes you think any of those things will happen?” She struggled to keep the doubt out of her voice.
Oscar took a slug of his drink and winced. “People here don’t mind speculating with talk, but when it comes to documenting official history, they’ll make sure we get it right regardless of whose got power in this town.”
The Crenshaws are like royalty in Thistle Bend. Holly’s words echoed in Lindsey’s mind.
“What if the information hasn’t been donated?” she dared to ask. “Or no one comes forward. Or I don’t figure out who knows and convince them to tell?”
Tansy clutched Lindsey’s forearm with frightening strength. “Then, as a relative of us Karlssons, you need to make sure it’s officially documented in the museum that the Crenshaws stole our land deal, and those thieves have been living on the spoils ever since.”
