by Amy Frazier
“What do you want to do,” he asked, “that would require me to take a whole day off?”
“I want us to go on a llama trek.”
“What if your mother can get away from her job? She wants to celebrate with you.” He couldn’t picture Noelle hiking, let alone hiking with those strange-looking creatures.
“Then she can come along. It’s my birthday. It’s supposed to be about what I want.”
Maybe Noelle was just an excuse. Garrett couldn’t picture himself spending a day with the llamas. Or with Samantha.
But this was his son, whom he saw only on vacations. He didn’t want to waste the brief time they had together being at odds. Besides, if he were honest with himself, Rory wasn’t asking for anything outrageous. “Okay,” he said finally.
“Okay, job? Or okay, trek? Or okay, both?”
“Okay, both.”
“All right!” Rory pumped the air with his fist, and the smile that split his face was worth the concession. “Wanna play a game of chess?”
“Sure. As soon as you call your mother to tell her what you want for your birthday.” Noelle and he could split the trek cost.
LATE THURSDAY AFTERNOON Samantha was trying to conduct business on the phone at the same time she was supposed to be paying attention to her mother, who was shopping—her favorite pastime—in the one antique store in Applegate. They were looking for accessories for Samantha’s farmhouse.
When the whole decorating project had been proposed, Samantha had been adamant that she had a business to run, and her mother had agreed to entertain herself mornings and midday while Samantha conducted her scheduled treks. Helena had sighed and said she could spend most of the day at the Grove Park Inn’s fabulous spa, but Samantha would absolutely have to promise her late afternoons and evenings. Her father took care of himself. If he didn’t have a golf game, he buried himself in the county land office, scouting bargains.
Worrying about her parents’ activities was actually preferable to thinking about a drink. Or about the undeniable attraction she’d felt toward Garrett last night.
“Hello…?” The voice at the other end of the line bristled with impatience.
“I’m sorry,” Samantha replied. “I don’t seem to be getting very good reception. Let me move.” With that excuse, she motioned to her mother that she needed to handle this call, then stepped outside the shop. She couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for buying old stuff for a farmhouse from which Red had just removed his own family antiques. “Are you still there?” she asked the woman. With all the distractions she hadn’t caught the woman’s name, if indeed it had been given. “You wanted to schedule a trek?”
“Yes. For my son’s birthday.”
“How many will be in the party?”
“Just two. My son and his father. I have to fly to London tomorrow on business. Because I won’t be there, I want this to be an awesome day. Do you do overnight camping trips?”
“Uh…not usually…” Samantha watched Ruggiero coming out of the antique shop, carrying a small rustic bench. He stowed it in the trunk of the limo beside the boxes of fabric swatches her mother had had overnighted from her interior designer in Virginia. He then went back into the shop. The thought of Helena’s decorating plans gave Samantha a headache. Made her want to escape. “But…we might be able to arrange an overnight,” she told her potential customer, thinking it an easy out from the family invasion. “When is your son’s birthday?”
“Next Monday. It coincides with his day off work.”
Monday. Normally Samantha’s day off, as well. But if she didn’t accept this booking, what would she be doing? Trailing Helena all over who knew where—her mother had already asked where the nearest airport was in case she felt the need to call in the family jet—in search of the perfect home accessories. No way.
“We could start out Sunday afternoon,” Samantha offered, “and return Monday afternoon. That wouldn’t interfere with my other scheduled outings.” And it would give her twenty-four hours away from Makeover Mother.
“Wonderful! Rory will be so excited.”
“Rory?”
“Oh, I assumed you’d make the connection. But McQuire’s a common name in that area.”
“You’re…?”
“Noelle McQuire. Rory’s mother. He does work for you, doesn’t he?”
“Y-yes.” Samantha had been surprised and delighted he’d shown up at the farm this morning. On the job again. “He’s a wonderful worker. A wonderful boy, really.”
“Thank you.” There was pride in Noelle McQuire’s voice. “So, are they set for a Sunday overnight?”
“They?” The obvious began to dawn on Samantha.
“Rory and Garrett. His father. My ex. I’m assuming you know the sheriff.”
“Of course.” Did a shared kiss mean she knew the man? “And…yes, I guess we’re set for the trek.”
“Garrett will take care of the payment. Speaking of which, do you offer an employee discount?”
“I’m sure we can work something out.” She wasn’t worried about the money. Here she’d seen a way to avoid her mother’s shopping binge, and now she found herself with a promised twenty-four-hours-worth of Garrett McQuire. Ah, yes, out of the frying pan into temptation’s arms.
“Darling?” Her mother’s voice startled her. “Do you want to see what I chose?”
Samantha stared at the phone in her hand, the line dead, and wondered how she’d gotten to this point. Had she at least signed off civilly? Sanely? “Wh-what did you choose?” she asked, pocketing the phone and turning to Helena.
“I think you saw the bench, but look at this fabulous pottery and these quilts…”
As her mother chattered on, Samantha wondered if they might not be buying back the items Red had sold.
“…now let’s go get something cold to drink. How about the diner over there. Surely they make a decent sweet tea.”
“They do,” Samantha replied, glad to have a task that made some sense.
Several people walked by, openly interested in the limo and the uniformed chauffeur. One man—Ziggy Newsome, Samantha seemed to remember—even stopped to ask how many miles per gallon the car got. Samantha hustled her mother away and across the street toward Rachel’s Diner, only to see Garrett step out of the sheriff’s headquarters and onto the sidewalk. Maybe he wouldn’t notice—oh, God, he was heading right toward them.
“Afternoon.” He actually tipped his Stetson, and, because his sunglasses were sticking out of his breast pocket, she could see his eyes. Piercing blue, fringed with incredibly thick, very dark lashes—and loaded with question. He looked from her to her mother.
“M-mother, this is Sheriff Garrett McQuire. His son, Rory, works for me. Sheriff, this is my mother, Helena Lawrence.”
He cocked his head just slightly as he took in the last name, but recovered easily and shook her mother’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“And I, you. Your town is charming. I can see why Ash…Samantha chose it for her…personal hiatus.”
Garrett looked as if he didn’t know what Helena was talking about. “Ms. Lawrence, I need to have a word with your daughter.”
Helena eyed him carefully, then turned to Samantha. “I’ll just go in and get us seated.”
When her mother was inside the diner, Samantha took the initiative. “This chat wouldn’t be about Rory’s birthday present, would it?”
“Yes. I was going to give you a heads-up. Did Rory talk to you about it this morning?”
“We didn’t have a chance to speak. I saw him arrive as my group and I were heading out on the trail. Actually, Rory’s mother called to make the arrangements.”
“Noelle?”
“Yes. Seems because she won’t be able to make Rory’s birthday, she wanted to engineer something special.”
He sighed. “My ex always goes for the deluxe package. But I don’t understand how you could upgrade a hike. Rory’s too young for champagne and he doesn’t like caviar.”
“Try an overnight.” Samantha wanted to be blunt to catch his reaction. To see if he’d had any part in the plan. To see if he saw the kiss they’d shared as, maybe, the start of something.
“Are you nuts?” Apparently, he didn’t.
From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother inside the diner, sitting at a window table, watching them.
“You didn’t know about this?” A teeny, tiny part of Samantha was disappointed he hadn’t plotted to engineer more time with her.
Garrett couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Rory had asked for a day, not a whole night. Not that the idea of Samantha, a sleeping bag and a canopy of stars wasn’t tempting. It was. But, right now, she didn’t look tempted, and her mother, who was shooting him what he could only describe as the socialite’s hairy eyeball, didn’t seem open to letting her daughter share a sleeping bag—anytime, anywhere—with “the help.”
What was going on here?
“Did you know about the overnight?” Samantha was asking him.
“No. Rory asked for a llama trek for his birthday. And for me to take the day off. I left it to him and his mother to make the arrangements.” He paused. “Would it have made a difference, though, if I had been in on the planning?”
With her mother looking over her shoulder, Samantha seemed less self-possessed. Jumpier. “I guess that’s neither here nor there, now,” she said. “It’s Rory who counts, right? By the way, I’m glad you decided he could come back to work.”
Suddenly Garrett didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. “Mack came to see me. He made a strong case for Rory’s returning.” He didn’t want her to think he was a pushover. “Last night had nothing to do with my decision.”
“Of course not. You were just—” she glanced over her shoulder at her mother “—distracting me from a sticky situation. I called my sponsor, by the way.”
“Good…good. I’m glad we got over that hump.”
“Me, too.”
“So when did Noelle and you schedule this trek for?”
“I thought we’d take off Sunday afternoon, go along the ridge to the top of Russert’s Mountain, camp by the lake, then come back down the next day.”
Suddenly he didn’t want the conversation to end. “Do you know much about overnight camping?”
She smiled, and he could see some of the old Samantha—or was it the new Samantha? “Let’s just say I know a lot about llamas. But this will be a good test run to see if I want to expand my offerings down the road. Business offerings.”
“Of course.”
Rather imperiously, Helena Lawrence rapped on the window.
“I’d better get inside,” Samantha said.
“I’ll see you Sunday.” Now why did he wish it was sooner?
At that moment Francis Beecham stuck his head around the diner door. “Sheriff! Can you come in and settle an argument?” Francis, Douglas Atwell and Owen Kent were Applegate’s “official” retired coots. During daylight hours they could be found either on one of the benches in front of the county courthouse, on stools at the diner or at a table at the barbecue shack. Their disagreements—which Garrett was often called in to settle—were loud and usually foolish. Noelle had always said these were the kind of people who encouraged hayseed sitcoms. Garrett didn’t relish settling this particular spat in front of either Samantha or the Queen Mum.
But he held the diner door open for Samantha to enter.
“About the road bowling tournament,” Francis said loudly as he drew Garrett to the counter.
Oh, no—
With a certain degree of trepidation, Samantha slid into the booth opposite her mother. There were two, tall and moist glasses of iced tea already on the table, and a little plate of Rachel’s homemade macaroons.
“Whatever are they talking about?” Helena asked, eyeing the men at the counter.
“Nothing much. An upcoming tournament.”
“One that involves cannonballs?” Her mother’s eyes grew wide, incredulous. “Really, this town is too, too colorful.”
“How’s your tea?”
“Very good. Very cooling. Your sheriff should order some.”
“Why?” Without thinking Samantha spoke the one word that could come back to bite her.
Helena leveled her catlike green gaze at her. “I do believe he has—what’s that vulgar expression?—the hots for you.”
“Mother!”
Everyone in the diner turned toward them. Helena countered their looks with a one-eyebrow-raised regal stare until they resumed their own conversations. And then she smiled at Samantha.
“Darling, of course the man would be attracted to you. And I must admit there’s a raw sensuality about him—” Samantha nearly choked on an ice cube “—but if you put him side-by-side with Justin—”
“Justin is history.”
“So you tell me. But I still can’t help but think you two would have made the perfect match.”
“No, Mother. Justin was looking for a merger. Not a marriage.”
“Well, then forget Justin, but you can’t sit here and tell me…” her mother lowered her voice considerably “…that the sheriff is an appropriate substitute.”
Samantha lowered her voice even further. “Sheriff McQuire is the father of the boy who works for me. Period.”
“His look said he’d like to be more.”
“Okay.” This was the stupidest discussion. “If the man in question were interested, what should stop me from seeing if I might be interested?”
“I thought that was obvious,” her mother said in exasperation, her voice rising with each word. “Applegate is just a diversion. You’re not staying.”
Everyone—including Garrett—swivelled to look at them again, yet this time Helena’s imperious stare wasn’t as effective in turning them back to their own business.
CHAPTER NINE
SUNDAY AFTERNOON GARRETT MADE a quick stop at headquarters before starting for Whistling Meadows, where Rory and Samantha were waiting for him. A couple of the deputies feigned shock at his civilian clothes. Said they hoped the department wouldn’t self-destruct without him in the next twenty-four hours. Very funny.
Earlier that morning, Rory had been very specific about the personal items Garrett should put in a backpack that one of the llamas would be carrying. With great enthusiasm he’d explained llamas could carry fifty to sixty pounds of gear, and since they’d be transporting the camping equipment and the food, Samantha and he had had to allow for the weight of three personal packs. They were going to be taking Percy, Humvee and Mr. Jinx. And would Garrett, please, please, hurry. He’d then taken off on his bicycle to get to the farm first. Left alone, Garrett had packed, debating whether to bring along his service revolver. In the end, he made sure the safety was on and placed it in the backpack’s outermost zipped pocket. He might be out of uniform, but he was the sheriff, and he was never off duty.
When he pulled into the Whistling Meadows barnyard, Rory was checking the packs on three llamas tethered to the inner-pasture fence while Samantha talked to Red. Seemed he was going to babysit the three remaining llamas. The old farmer still had some surprises up his sleeve.
“Hey,” Garrett said, approaching his son but giving the hairy beasts a wide berth. For some reason they reminded him of variations on Big Bird. Tall, slightly goofy, with big soulful eyes. “Need any help?”
“No, thanks.” With a great deal of concentration, Rory finished tightening a cinch, then turned to give Garrett the once-over. Apparently, his baseball cap, T-shirt, jeans and broken-in hiking boots passed muster. “Did you put on sunscreen and bug repellant?”
“Yeah, Ma.” Garrett ruffled his son’s hair. “I’m all greased up.” Rory ducked out from under Garrett’s hand but threw a playful punch at his upper arm.
Garrett held out his backpack. “So where do I put this?”
“On the llama you’ll be leading?”
“Nobody said anything about being in charge of one of these things.”
“That’s part of the experience,” Samantha said, approaching. She was dressed in hiking boots, voluminous khaki cargo pants and a plain white, figure-hugging T-shirt Garrett tried not to stare at. She’d lost all of her urban designer edge and recovered the equanimity she’d been missing when her mother was around. “Being in the company of llamas will lower your blood pressure, I guarantee it,” she added.
Before he could think of a snappy comeback, he felt a shadow fall across his back, and in an instant his cap was lifted from his head. He turned to see a brown llama splashed with white triumphantly holding the cap visor in its mouth. The animal’s head was just about even with Garrett’s.
Rory chuckled. “Meet Percy. He’s called a paint and he’ll be your guide for this trek.”
“I had to draw the class clown.”
“Actually, we gave him to you because he has a dominant personality.” Innocently, Samantha reached into one of the pockets of her cargo pants and retrieved a small handful of grain. Percy was happy to swap the cap for the treat. “Here,” she said, pulling Garrett beyond the tether’s reach. “You should be carrying some feed, too. It’s a great motivator.”
So maybe he should be munching some.
She slipped what looked like an Indian medicine pouch on a braided string over his head. “The campers at Rockbrook made these llama treat bags for us as a thank-you.”
Oh, great. Next they’d expect him to wear a fanny pack.
Samantha shot him a bold look. “I’d let you carry the grain in your pocket, but your jeans are…quite snug.” She smiled. “Better the pouch.”
Was she going to give him shots the entire trip?
“Okay, Dad—” Rory cut in, taking the backpack out of Garrett’s hands and expertly attaching it alongside the rest of the load on the paint “—you met Percy. And your stuff’s right here where you can reach it. I’m going to be leading the black and tan. Humvee. And Samantha will be first on the trail with Mr. Jinx, the Appaloosa.” He untied Percy and handed over the rope.
