by Tracy March
And they were the most amazing minutes…
If Fred and Dean hadn’t shown up, he would’ve taken things as far as Lindsey was willing to go. It scared the hell out of him to admit it, but there was no way he could’ve resisted her in that moment, in his private space, in his arms. He tightened his fingers around the beer bottle and set his jaw. “It won’t happen again.”
She sat straight, her lips pressed together, eyebrows low. “I was going to say I probably shouldn’t have agreed to pick the paint color since I haven’t been here that long and this isn’t even my place.” She gave him a wan smile. “But I totally get what you’re saying. Things will be easier that way.”
Carden’s heart thudded. What the hell had just happened? He had to set her straight, to tell her he’d misunderstood her, and been too defensive himself. How could he leave her believing that he didn’t want to be with her—to touch her and please her—when he could think of little else?
He reminded himself that this was the least amount of pain either one of them would endure if he allowed whatever was going on between them to end now.
“I might need to get one of my ranch hands to paint the cabin.” He clenched his teeth, wishing he could take back the words the moment they came out of his mouth. “I didn’t want you to come home and find a stranger working on the place and wonder what was going on.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” she said as the last sliver of sun slipped behind Paintbrush Peak. She pulled her blouse closed in front. “It’s getting chilly now that the sun’s set.” With a fluid motion, she grabbed her empty bottle and stood. “Think I’ll head inside.”
Carden drank the last swallow of his beer, stood, and handed her the empty bottle. “Thanks for the beer.”
Lindsey twined her fingers around the necks of both bottles and lifted them as if she was toasting him. “Thanks for the sunset.” She turned, headed for the door, and tapped her finger against the paint swatch tucked beneath the house number as she stepped inside. “Tell your guy, Lemon Cream.” She turned and winked, then closed the door softly.
Carden stared at the door for a moment, scrubbed his hand through his hair, and took his time walking to his pickup. He’d gotten what he’d thought he wanted. As uncomfortable and awkward as their conversation had been, he was free and clear of Lindsey. No one would find out what was going on between them since there wouldn’t be anything else. They could be polite if they happened to see each other, and he could get back to his life as it had been before she’d turned it inside out.
He got in his pickup and cranked the engine. Straight-armed, he gripped the steering wheel, blew out a long breath, and bowed his head. He was back in control. Shifting the truck into gear, he took one last look at the cabin and drove away.
Chapter 14
Lindsey maneuvered Holly’s SUV along the narrow mountain roads and switchbacks as if she’d driven them for years. Since Lindsey hadn’t yet worked out her car situation—as in, saved enough money to buy one—Holly had offered her SUV for Lindsey’s trip to see the Montgomery sisters.
“You’re really sweet to offer,” Lindsey had said to Holly. “I’ll take you up on it, but only if you let me treat you to dinner one night soon.” Lindsey had visions of another round of cheesy pizza, but she might have to pass on the ice cream this time. From one sexy salted-caramel-chocolate kiss forward, Get the Scoop ice cream would always remind her of Carden.
Heat rose in her face as she thought about their first kiss, about the night in his workshop. Her up on his workbench, him clutching her hips, her fingers skimming his muscular pecs. Thank God they’d been interrupted, and kept most of their parts to themselves. What an embarrassing whirlwind disaster her short-lived association with Carden had turned out to be. She rolled her eyes. Hadn’t she learned from her so-called relationship with Hopper what to expect from a too-good-to-be-true bachelor? She’d vowed not to get hurt like that again, yet she’d quickly followed Carden down a similar precarious path.
How could I have resisted? Until that moment on her porch, she’d had every reason to believe he was as amazing and available as everyone made him out to be. She’d have sworn that he was different. She’d have sworn that he actually liked her.
Lindsey rounded a bend and saw the sign for Narrowleaf Pass. According to Holly and Darlene, the next right turn would take her up a windy road to the Montgomery sisters’ place.
It was good that Carden wouldn’t be hanging around and painting the cabin, wasn’t it? There’d be nothing to hide from Aunt Tansy and Uncle Oscar, and no worrying that she’d slip and reveal to him that she was related to the Karlssons. Even so, her heart felt heavy. Carden had made her move to Thistle Bend more exciting, made her feel welcome and wanted. But there’d be no more handyman tips or history lessons. No sharing ice cream or having a beer together. They wouldn’t be kissing, or touching, or laughing. She shook her head. Why had he promised things would get even better, then walked away the next day?
Lindsey had to get that question out of her mind, no matter what it took. Drowning in worry over a dead-end would-be romance was not why she had moved to Thistle Bend. She’d come to open a kick-ass museum that would pave her way back to D.C. She had to focus on work right now. On being gracious and pleasant and interested in the Montgomery sisters and their donations. On making the museum the best it could be, and that meant finding out what had really happened between the Karlssons and the Crenshaws in that land deal.
She took the next right onto a narrow, tree-lined road. It twisted uphill for about a half mile then turned into a gravel drive as she drove into a clearing. Across a trimmed-grass lawn and atop a gentle rise sat an epic Queen Anne Victorian house. Lindsey slowed the SUV to get a proper look, marveling at how well kept it appeared, especially considering the harshness of the seasonal weather.
The house, crafted with varying shades of fish-scale shingles, rose three stories beneath a steep slate roof. Muted mint green, antique blue, creamy taupe. It featured a dominant gable, a massive hexagonal tower, and lots of overhanging eaves with lead-glass windows nestled beneath, shimmering in the afternoon sun. Lindsey imagined the attic rooms behind the upper windows, and the view over the trees.
Planters billowing with wildflowers accented the welcoming, wraparound front porch, giving the place a fairy-tale feel. Several Aspen trees bordered the house on each side, leaves catching the breeze, silvery and sparkling.
Lindsey followed the driveway, parked, and grabbed the bouquet of pink peonies from the passenger seat. She made her way up the cobblestone sidewalk and onto the porch. With no doorbell in sight, she raised her hand to knock on the huge paneled door, varnish gleaming. It opened with a creak before she had time to strike the wood.
The Montgomery sisters stood there looking bright-eyed and curious, and not at all like Lindsey had imagined them. With the references to Bewitched and Charmed, she’d envisioned…well, witches, yet more traditional, rustic witches living way up here in the mountains. As for the similarity to The Golden Girls—these ladies were definitely old. But they were beautiful, bright-eyed little pixies dressed for tea.
“You must be Lindsey,” the smaller of the two said, examining her curiously. Blue eyes twinkled in her heart-shaped face, the bones of her cheeks high and round. She’d pulled her white hair into a bun that sat neatly at the nape of her neck. Her simple, satiny tea-length dress matched her eyes. She extended her age-spotted hand, an antique silver watch glimmering on her wrist.
“Yes, ma’am.” Lindsey shook her hand, the woman’s grip surprisingly strong. She was pleased she’d worn something appropriate herself—a coral-colored sheath dress and strappy sandals.
“I’m Merribelle Montgomery,” she said with a smile. Lindsey couldn’t tell if she wore a touch of lipstick or if her lips were naturally that pink. “I’d love it if you’d call me Merri.” She rested her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “And this is my sister, Millicent.”
“Please call me Milly.” She s
hook Lindsey’s hand then smoothed the skirt of her purple lace dress, which fell nearly to her tiny ankles, her black patent leather shoes gleaming. Milly’s eyes were as green as Merri’s were blue, and two jeweled combs that matched them held the silver ringlets of her hair away from her face. “Won’t you come in?”
Lindsey stepped into the foyer, dazzled by its detailed woodwork and the gorgeous winding staircase. A line of ornate spindles beneath the handrail drew her gaze up the stairs as if they led to something magical.
The house smelled of herbs and citrus and tea, with the faintest hint of cinnamon. Lindsey struggled to make out each element, wishing she could reproduce it herself. “I was thrilled to receive your invitation.” She held out the bouquet. “These are for you.” She’d been so spellbound by the two little ladies and their home, she’d nearly forgotten her manners.
“Ah, peonies.” Milly reached for the flowers, brought them to her nose, and inhaled deeply. She and Merri shared a look, and sprightly smiles stretched across their faces.
Lindsey shifted her gaze between them, pleased they liked the bouquet, yet certain more than that was going on. “They’ve always been my favorite.”
“A fine choice,” Milly said.
Merri nodded. “The flower of riches and romance.”
Lindsey blanched at the mention of romance just when Carden had left her mind for a moment.
“They’re also an omen.” Milly’s eyes danced.
The visit had gone well so far, but were things about to turn creepy?
“An omen?” Lindsey asked.
“Of good fortune and a happy marriage.” Milly winked. The two women set their gazes on Lindsey for a long moment. She forced a smile, starting to see why people found the sisters so peculiar.
“Shall we have some tea?” Merri finally said. Milly hurried off with the flowers and Merri led Lindsey into a grand parlor—all ivory and blue, with high ceilings, floral rugs, and a massive fireplace with a marble surround. Its intricately carved mantel was the showpiece of the room, which was dotted with several seating areas, including a rounded window-lined nook with a stunning view of craggy Rocky Mountain peaks.
“This is lovely,” Lindsey said. “Your home is quite something.”
“It’s been in our family for generations.” Milly headed over to the round table in the nook. It could easily seat six but was set for three. She chose one of two chairs with their backs to the windows, gestured for Lindsey to take the one with the view, and they sat. Light in her step, Merri came in with the peonies in a vase and set them on the table. She relocated the centerpiece of wildflowers to a nearby buffet and took her seat.
“I’m finding that’s the case with so many things around Thistle Bend,” Lindsey said. “Homes and land and businesses that have been in families for more than a century.” She placed her cloth napkin on her lap. Finger sandwiches, fruit, and scones had been artfully arranged on a hodgepodge of china plates and set before each one of them. Next to the peonies, a two-tiered serving tray held a display of delicate pastries—mini cinnamon rolls on the bottom, and pretty petits fours on top.
Milly poured tea into a cup, set it on a saucer, handed it to Lindsey, and did the same for Merri.
“Roots go deep here,” Merri said, “and often intertwine.”
“I’m trying to sort through it all. Thank goodness people are really eager to help.” Lindsey took a delicate bite of a cucumber finger sandwich. The usually boring combination of cucumber and bread came to life with a zesty blend of herbs. “Mmm…This is delicious. The herbs are so fresh and tasty.”
Milly pursed her lips proudly and raised her eyebrows. “We grow them ourselves.”
“Along with vegetables, fruit, and flowers,” Merri chimed in. “We grew most of the ingredients to make everything on your plate—or we baked it fresh, like the bread.”
“Wow,” Lindsey said, wondering how they did all that and maintained the house so nicely, too. If they lived closer to town, she might ask if she could move in. “What do you do with everything you grow?”
“We make preserves and salsas and chutneys,” Merri said. “And whatever else might tickle people’s taste buds.”
Milly nodded. “We make soaps and perfumes, too. Tonics and tinctures. All kinds of things.” She and Merri shared a look. “Whatever suits our fancy.” She waved her hand as if all that work was nothing. “Then we sell it at the Thistle Bend Farmers’ Market on Sundays.”
Merri leaned in closer and whispered, “We also sell it on the Internet.”
Lindsey fought to keep her eyebrows from jumping up into her hairline. These women had to be eighty each if they were a day, and they were running an Internet business?
“We sell things so fast we can hardly keep up with the orders.” Merri rubbed her little hands together, grinning. “Gives us some extra spending money.”
Lindsey smiled along with her. “I’d love to feature you ladies in the museum if you’d allow it. There’s a section where you’ll fit right in.”
“Memories and Milestones?” Merri asked.
Lindsey’s stomach leapt into her throat. How did they know the exhibit areas she’d included in her proposal?
“Because two little old ladies like us running an Internet business would probably be considered a milestone.” Milly raised her cup to Lindsey and took a sip of tea.
“My thoughts exactly,” Lindsey said. “Your grandfather will be featured in a different section.”
“Movers and Shakers, I’d imagine.” Merri took a bite of one of her finger sandwiches—pimento cheese on pumpernickel.
Lindsey clutched her napkin in her lap. Could she get used to living in a clairvoyant community—at least until she could escape? “Of course. It’s crazy to think that Thistle Bend might’ve become a forgotten ghost town had it not been for your grandfather.”
Warner Montgomery III had been a railroad magnate, instrumental in bringing the railroad to Thistle Bend. Being connected by railroad had enabled the mining industry to flourish in the area, and kept the town alive.
Lindsey had a flashback of Carden proudly showing her his model town and railroad, telling her about the train engines and the narrow gauge tracks. About the hours it took to build the miniature train depot from scratch. Her throat tightened. Since the second she stepped inside her cabin, he’d added a spark of excitement to every part of her life—work, home, and personal. Now she’d be lucky if she happened to run into him in Calypso Coffee one day and had the chance to say hello. Her breath hitched as she drew it in, struggling to shove her sadness aside.
“Granddaddy owned nearly all the property as far as you can see from Thistle Bend,” Milly said.
“But he made his fortune early.” Merri stirred her tea, her spoon chiming delicately against her cup. “So he was happy to sell land to families settling here. He said it gave them roots and reason.”
Lindsey furrowed her brow.
“Roots to keep them here,” Milly said, “and a reason for them to help make Thistle Bend a better place.”
Lindsey raised her teacup. “I think I would’ve liked your grandfather.”
Milly and Merri gazed at her, looking happy, yet wistful.
“Since you seem to know a bit about property sales in the early days, what can you tell me about the disputed deal involving the Karlssons and the Crenshaws?” Lindsey tried to keep her voice steady. These little ladies were sharp. She couldn’t give them any clues that she was related to the Karlssons. “Wasn’t that your grandfather’s land?”
“It was,” Merri said. “He was set to sell it to Brooks Karlsson, but one of the Crenshaws raised the bid at the last minute so he sold it to them.”
“That’s how business works, right?” Lindsey asked, a twinge of guilt tugging at her for not defending the Karlssons. “High bidder wins. At least on eBay.”
Merri and Milly chuckled.
“So the Crenshaws raised the bid and bought the land.” Lindsey’s confidence built as they settled i
nto the subject. “Seems unfortunate for the Karlssons, since the land turned out to be so profitable, but why the generations-long feud?”
“Brooks Karlsson wasn’t a graceful loser,” Milly said. “He railed about the Crenshaws stealing his deal. Even posted a letter at city hall. Poor man never let up on it till the day he died.”
“The debate over who should’ve gotten the land became a favorite in town,” Merri added. “People took sides—especially the Karlssons and the Crenshaws.”
Lindsey debated whether to ask the obvious question, but when neither sister addressed it, she hesitantly took the risk. “This is a delicate thing to ask, but wasn’t Mr. Karlsson’s anger a little misdirected?”
Merri pressed her pink lips together, turned up at the corners. She seemed more impressed than offended by the question. “You’re thinking he should’ve been angry with my grandfather?”
Lindsey winced and shrugged one shoulder.
“Brooks Karlsson mentioned Granddaddy in the letter he posted at city hall,” Milly said, “but Granddaddy was a seasoned businessman. He’d been criticized before. And most of Brooks’s venom was aimed at the Crenshaws.”
Merri leaned toward Lindsey as if to tell a secret. “Before the deal, the families were very close.”
“Then why would the Crenshaws deliberately outbid the Karlssons, knowing the deal was practically done?” Lindsey asked. “There has to be more to the story.” At least she hoped so. Because if this was it, she was sunk. If these were all the so-called facts to be gleaned, then featuring the deal in the museum would only perpetuate the feud—and really disappoint Aunt Tansy and Uncle Oscar.
Merri nodded. “That’s what people have been saying for years.”
