by G. K. Brady
She’d considered maneuvering their busy time into a plausible excuse to bow out of the box social—she still didn’t know what she was going to make! But she couldn’t leave Dave high and dry at the last minute—especially after he’d bought her the clothes—and no way would Finn let her get away with it. He was actually looking forward to the event.
“Don’t worry, Boss Lady. My brothers help. We hold your back,” Felipe had assured her with a big grin. She couldn’t bring herself to correct his twisted idiom, especially after he really had had her back on one of the job sites where Agent Clemente had paid an impromptu visit. Ellie had arrived just as the agent had, and when she’d questioned his reason for being there, he’d shrugged and said, “Just looking for tips for my place.” Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d simply observed Felipe and the crew from the sidewalk. But it hadn’t kept her alarm at bay, nor had it kept Felipe from tossing a few anger-laced Spanish phrases at the agent. What little Ellie had understood included choice words about leaving the boss lady alone. So yeah, Felipe had wormed his way back into her good graces.
But today she was putting it all aside because she was excited about joining Sarah Nelson, Paige Miller, and a few other ladies for a business luncheon.
As she was getting ready to shut down her computer, she checked emails one last time. A new message sat in her in-box, and when she saw who it was from, a cold shiver raced through her, raising the hairs on her arms and neck. Worry settled right back in her chest like a twenty-pound dumbbell.
A quick tap—as if the key might explode—and the email from Agent Clemente filled her screen.
I trust you had a pleasant Thanksgiving and were able to take some much deserved time off. I think you’re the only other person I know who puts in as many hours as I do. And speaking of putting in hours and taking breaks, I was wondering when we could grab that coffee together. Let me know when you have an opening in your schedule—sooner rather than later, I hope.
Another winky emoji that struck her as the slightest bit creepy. Was he up to something sinister, and if so, what? Another shiver chattered up her spine.
“Don’t think I’m going to have a spare minute for months, Agent Clemente,” she told the computer as she shut it down. She huffed out a breath. As she stepped into the gloomy gray day, her pulse ramped up. Her head on a swivel, keeping an eye out for a dark government-issued car, she swiftly climbed into her van and drove off. The farther she got from her office, the easier her breaths came.
Chapter 19
Elvis Says It Best
The rolling rumble of an engine that came to an abrupt halt alerted Ellie it was time to go. Within seconds, a soft rap sounded. Casper was already there, her nose snuffling at the bottom of the front door. Assessing herself in the hall mirror, Ellie twisted one last spiral of hair and smoothed her jeans before whipping open the door.
Dave backpedaled, which took him down a step. Even so, he stood taller and more rugged than she recalled—rugged in every good sense of the word. Broad-shouldered, square-jawed, hard-planed, a dash of handsome mixed with confidence that broadcast he could handle anything, or anyone, that came at him with ease. A capable mountain man who was so well groomed he didn’t look like a mountain man. Had he just spent time in Sonoma’s chair too? There was something to be said for a big, powerful man who could protect you. From other big men. Like Agent Clemente.
Am I even thinking straight right now? Probably not.
Mr. Rugged shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, the look on his face shifting from intensely masculine to achingly uncomfortable until Casper charged him, and he dropped into a crouch to pet her. Ellie took a quick appraising sweep, liking what she saw. A spruce sweater open at the collar, revealing a white T-shirt. The jeans hugged his broad thighs, the hems resting on a pair of thick-soled hiking boots. Pretty manly stuff that put an extra flutter in her tummy and did little to tamp down her anxiety about the evening ahead. Although, whereas the anxiety had been over the dance and her boxed dinner, now that anxiety—or was it excitement?—was all about the man in front of her whose thick head of golden-brown hair she was staring at. It looked so soft and touchable and …
“Amber waves of grain” blared in her head for some ridiculous reason. In a bid to distract herself, she glanced over his shoulder at a really big, really white Chevy Silverado. “Is that yours too?”
With a glance over his shoulder, he said, “Yep. We’ll be on some dirt roads, and I thought it’d be the best option for getting us there.”
Instead of asking him if he owned a fleet of cars, she said, “No GTO today?”
He peered up at her through thick, dark lashes she hadn’t taken stock of before, giving her a crestfallen look. “Ah damn, I wish you’d said something.”
She laughed—more to blow off steam than because she found his reaction funny. “No, it’s fine. The truck makes perfect sense, but I might need a step stool to get inside.”
He rose while Casper capered around his ankles. “I can give you a boost.” One side of his mouth hitched. “And next time I’ll take you for a ride in the GTO.”
Are we going to have a next time? The thought warmed her—maybe a little too much. She waved him in. “I just need to fill Casper’s water bowl and lock up. Come in.”
“Thanks.” He closed the door behind him, and his eyes started tracking around the small space.
“Want the nickel tour?” she blurted.
“Sure. So what are you doing with Casper while you’re gone?”
“My neighbors will help out. Plus, I just met Natalie, your teammate T.J.’s wife, the other day and found out she dog-sits. She agreed to stop by a few times, make sure Casper has what she needs, and take her for a walk. I’m really happy the timing worked out so well.”
“Yeah, Natalie’s the best. She used to watch Benny for us—me, I mean. She’s great.”
Ellie brushed off the slip. It’s hard going from a “we” to a “me.” Apparently, he hasn’t made the full adjustment yet. Or is he hoping to go back to … She pushed aside the startlingly unsettling thought.
It took less than five minutes to show him the living and dining rooms, kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bath. “There’s another bedroom and laundry down in the basement, but it’s kind of a mess, so we’ll skip it.”
He peered out the windowed kitchen door to the backyard and pointed. “Is that the greenhouse where you grow the herbs?”
“Yeah. Want to see?”
He was already reaching for the knob. “I’d love to.” He stepped off the back stoop and landed on the gravel with a soft crunch. “I thought a landscaper would have grass everywhere,” he laughed. “It’s mostly rock back here.”
“Low maintenance and takes less water. The beds fill in during the spring and summer, so it doesn’t feel quite so stark.”
“It’s not stark. It’s really nice. Homey.” His gaze ran over her Adirondack chairs surrounding a fire pit table she never used.
She walked into the cramped greenhouse, and he followed. The space tightened, and as she faced him and looked up, he was looking down with that laser-beam intensity of his. The breath nearly whooshed from her lungs. She waved her hand over the plants as though she were Vanna White presenting a prize. “So here are the herbs.” She suppressed an eye-roll at her own lameness.
“Smells really, really good in here,” he said without taking his eyes off of her. Was he talking about the plants or …? His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth and slowly swept back up again. The subtle scent of cologne and man wreathed her and, with the fresh herbs, made a heady combination. Her pulse jumped.
Whew! Getting hot in here. She tried to take a step back, but with no room to maneuver, she crossed her arms as if barricading herself against—what, she wasn’t sure. “Guess we should get on the road, huh?”
He seemed to snap back from wherever his mind had traveled—a mystery visit that intrigued her. “Yep. Let’s do it.” He swung his arms to th
e side and clapped his hands, toppling over one of her plants. “Oh Jesus! Sorry.”
She waved him off. “No big deal.” When his big body moved out of the greenhouse, she caught her breath and righted the plant. What was wrong with her, and how on earth was she going to keep her wits about her for the next two hours in the confines of his truck cab?
Christ, get a grip! Something charged had played between them in that greenhouse, making it hard for him to breathe, pulling him toward her. Was it because the tiny space had forced them closer and she’d smelled so fucking good? Whatever it was, he’d been on the verge of moving in to kiss her. Han, not Yoda, in charge. Thank God she’d yanked him out of his fog. Damn, if he was having this much trouble standing next to her, what was dancing with her going to do to him? At least he’d be in a big crowd, and that would keep him honest. Thank God they had separate rooms.
He stowed her stuff in the backseat while she got settled in front, taking extra care with her boxed supper. It was in a plain brown container with some kind of bow that looked like hay tied around sprigs of flowers and herbs. Simple, natural, pretty. Like her. He placed it in a cooler, then climbed behind the wheel and got on the road.
“We may not be in the GTO, but I’ll put on some Elvis, and we can pretend.” Right on cue, “Let Yourself Go” drifted through the speakers.
She clapped. “Perfect. We might have to listen to some country and western too to warm up.”
“I don’t really listen to it. Do you?”
She wagged her head from side to side. “I’ve been known to on occasion.”
“All right, then. You’re in charge of that part of today’s musical entertainment.”
“You trust me?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Implicitly.” And he realized he did, and not just in the music department. She was different from any woman he’d ever met, and the fleeting thought he’d been hanging with Ms. Wrong all these years skittered through his underperforming brain.
As he drove, they talked about his road trip—she’d watched every game, which sent the odd tingle rippling through him—her busy season, and her business luncheon with Paige and the rest of the “P-team.”
“I really enjoyed meeting her. She’s already talking about projects that need landscaping, and she’s asked me to draw up some preliminary plans. And it’s the kind of thing we can work on during the cold months because she’s totally into xeriscaping. Plus, that woman is really well connected, and she asked if she could give my name out to her clients. I’ve already had one call! Omigosh, my mouth just ran away from me.”
He enjoyed this animated side of her. Something that felt ridiculously like pride that she showed it to him welled inside, and he smiled. “It’s all good. I’m glad to hear it. You deserve something like this after all the hard work you’ve put in.” And I like hearing the sound of your voice and your laugh. Soft. Musical. “So what did you end up packing in your ‘social box’?”
She gave him a sly sidelong glance. “You mean my boxed supper? I think I’m finally getting the hang of the terms.”
“Phew! And not a moment too soon,” he teased. Which made her laugh again. God, her laugh fired him up, especially knowing it was because of what he was saying. It had been way too long since he’d been responsible for bringing out the humor in a woman—besides Sonoma, who didn’t count. Then again, when was the last time he’d been inspired to make a woman laugh?
“Well,” Ellie’s voice took on her usual seriousness, “I did some research, and it seems fried chicken is the traditional way to go, sooooo … I went the opposite direction and improvised. Because how was I going to fry chicken? And I didn’t want to buy it at the store or the Colonel’s.”
“No, I can see how that would be bad form. But now you’ve got me really curious.” Outside, yellowed farmers’ fields whizzed by under a bright blue sky dotted with white cotton puffs. A perfect fall day.
She wiggled in her seat until she partly faced him. “I sliced up chicken breast and marinated it in this Thai concoction. Then I grilled it—”
“Grilled, as in barbecued?”
“Yes.”
“Like, on a real outdoor grill?” He couldn’t keep his astonishment from making him sound like a complete and utter asshat.
Little pleats formed between her brows, and she let out a cute snort. “Yes, with flames and everything. Contrary to popular belief, barbecuing is not exclusively in the male domain.”
“I always thought it was, so I stand corrected … and impressed. What else did you make?” He smiled in spite of the lowered-brow look she leveled at him—or maybe because of it. She was doing the stern thing again, which looked completely out of place on her heart-shaped face. Today her strawberry-blond hair was down, twisted into long spirals that fell over her shoulders and lay glossy against the deep royal blue of her fitted shirt.
“I whipped up some peanut dipping sauce—for the satay, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed solemnly.
“Are you teasing me?”
“Absolutely not. I take food very seriously.”
She let out a little hmph. “I guess I should have known that after Thanksgiving.”
“Exactly. Now what else did you make? I might want to bid on this box.”
Even though his focus was on the road, he didn’t miss how wide her eyes grew. “You can’t do that, can you?”
“Why not? I’ve got to bid on someone’s box. Yours is sounding pretty good.”
“Oh! I never thought … Well, I just figured I was eating with someone I didn’t know.”
Not if I can help it. “So what else you got?”
She absentmindedly twirled a thick spiral around her finger, then seemed to cringe. “It’s kind of an eclectic mix because I was going for quick and easy. I made Asian cucumber slaw with vinegar dressing, a wild-rice-with-feta-and-cranberries thing, and corn salsa—with grilled corn—and tortilla chips.”
He glanced over at her, noting how she was biting her lower lip. He almost laughed out loud at the worried look on her face, though he couldn’t tell if she was more concerned about eating with a stranger or what that stranger would think of her dinner.
“I’d call that more international than eclectic. Either way, it sounds delicious. Is there dessert?”
“Of course,” she scoffed. “Dessert’s the best part of the meal. I made chocolate-coconut bars with walnuts.”
He made a sloppy slurping noise. “I might have to bid on your box for those alone.”
The Denver skyline faded in the rearview mirror, and conversation rolled easily like the wheat-colored plains stretching before them. So easily, in fact, that the more they talked, the more questions bubbled up in his brain. Like about her family and all those stepsiblings. Her car knowledge. Her landscape designs.
“So you’re a landscape architect by training. Did you go to college in Colorado?”
“I did,” she declared. “I graduated from CSU.”
“You stayed local, huh?”
“Yep. How about you? Where did you grow up? And did you go to college or skate straight into professional hockey?”
He chuckled. “I grew up in Utah and attended Colorado College in Colorado Springs, but I quit so I could enter the draft early. Feels like a lifetime ago.”
“What were you majoring in?”
He side-eyed her and grinned. “Teaching.” Because he’d had no idea what else to pick at the time. The end game had always been hockey.
“Wow! I’m trying to picture you as a teacher. I bet your students would have behaved.” She let out a little laugh.
“Maybe. If I’d done the scary Wookiee thing.”
Another giggle, then her tone grew more serious. “Your parents must be proud. Are they close by?”
He shook his head. “My dad was a workaholic, and my parents divorced when I was six. My mom lives in Florida near Sonoma’s mom—they’re twins—and I see her a couple times a year. My dad remarried and started a new f
amily; I have two half brothers. He works in oil and gas, and they live in Singapore, so it’s been years since I’ve seen them. We stay in touch through email, but we’re not close.”
She shot him an assessing look. “So the overachieving apple doesn’t fall far from the overachieving tree?”
“Me? I never looked at it that way, but you might be right. Enough about that, though. Where does someone find a job doing what you do?”
Her eyes slid to the window, and she seemed to go into a dream state. “I didn’t. I … opened my own business instead.”
“Landscaping with Altitude?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Why did he get the feeling there was a lot more to the story? “How did you manage all that?” He couldn’t hide the awe in his voice. “I mean, starting out on your own, trying to get clients. You must have put in more hours than you do now. Did you ever sleep?” A chuckle rumbled inside him, but he cut it off when he glanced over at her … because … the look on her face. He was stricken by the sadness in her eyes as she turned toward him. Suddenly, all that easy seemed to get sucked out of the truck’s interior.
She cast her gaze down to her lap, where her palms were running over her already-smooth jeans. “Now’s probably a good time to tell you a few other things about me you don’t know. After all, you told me about Nicole and about using the banned meds.”
He held his breath.
Eyes back on him now. “I got married right out of college. Will and I … He did the nursery and landscaping side of things, and I did the design work. For a while, it all worked.”
Gobsmacked. Was that a real word? If not, it should be because nothing else could describe Dave’s shock in that moment. She’d never let on, never mentioned … Shit, she’d been married.
He shifted in his seat. “So what happened?” And now he was prying, but damn, he wanted to know because it didn’t sit well with him for some reason.
She shook her head. “Long story short, I surprised him and … one of our employees in the office one day when I was supposed to be on a job site. Needless to say, things fell apart after that.”
