Nate wagged his fingers at her. “Give it here,” he said, taking the bottle from her and pouring them both a generous portion. “Ah.” He took a sip. “Much better.”
Sam held up her teacup.“
Cin-cin
,” she said, and took a healthy slug.
“So, you’re an alcoholic, huh?”
This time she giggled. “I am not. And since when are you fun?”
“I’m always fun.” He downed the rest of the spiked tea and this time poured himself a brandy. “You want more?” Maybe he’d get her liquored up and have his way with her.
“No. But let me get you a snifter for that.” She quickly opened another cabinet and of course had a whole shelf full of crystal snifters. Probably Baccarat.
He held the dainty china cup to his lips and shook his head. “Nah, no use dirtying another glass.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, and Nate remembered they were talking about fun. “You’re always scowling.”
“At least I don’t have crazy eyes.”
“I don’t have crazy eyes . . . do I?”
No. She had eyes that balladeers wrote songs about. Blue like the Aegean Sea. Precious like sapphire. “A little bit.” And then he smiled to let her know he was teasing. And shamelessly flirting.
“You want something to eat?”
“What do you got?” He could eat . . . her.
She opened the refrigerator and bent over to scope out the offerings. And again he watched the silk of her robe do nice things. “Duck liver pâté. And I have some lovely crackers.”
“Duck pâté? Where the hell did you find that in Nugget?”
“A man in Sierraville makes it. He brought it over for Emily to taste and wants us to serve it at the Lumber Baron. It’s quite good.”
“It’s quite illegal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The state of California banned foie gras—cruelty to ducks. Here, let me try it.” He spread it on one of the crackers she’d plated and put on the counter. “Damn, this is good. But don’t serve it at the inn, unless you want to wind up in lockup with a cellmate named Bubba. You want one?” Nate made another cracker and passed it to her, then made several more for himself.
She watched him eat. “Didn’t you have dinner?”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago.”
“If I ate like that, I’d be big as a house.”
He couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting down her body, lingering in the place where the robe had started to gape again. “Yep, you better watch it.”
She shook her head, but smiled. “What do you think of Lucky Rodriguez’s cowboy camp?”
“It could be good for business. But if it’s some jerry-rigged operation without the proper permits and insurance, I don’t want us associated with it.”
“I agree,” she said.
“Oh, do you now?” He winked at her and got up to put his dishes in the sink.
“I’ll do that,” she said, and brushed up against him to take over loading the dishwasher.
He could smell her perfume, feel her heat, and wanted to touch her so badly his body ached with it. That’s when he knew he was in trouble.
“It’s late,” he said. “You have a big day tomorrow, driving to Sacramento. I should get going.”
“Okay.”
But he thought she might’ve sounded disappointed. Maybe he just wanted her to sound that way. “Thanks for the company and the contraband pâté.”
Sam walked him to the door and when he stepped out onto the porch she said, “Anytime you feel like coming over . . .”
He stood there for a beat too long.
Don’t kiss her
. . .
Don’t kiss her.
And then he kissed her.
Chapter 8
B
y the time Sam trudged into the Lumber Baron Monday morning, she was two hours late. Nate was going to kill her.
She’d overslept, hadn’t had any clean clothes, and craved a Bun Boy breakfast sandwich. The fast-food restaurant—everyone called it the frosty—made them with bacon and cheese and they were greasy and phenomenal.
Thinking that it would only take a few minutes to hit the burger stand, she’d stopped off before crossing the square to the Lumber Baron. Unfortunately, half the town had had the same idea and wanted to chitchat.
“You meet Lucky Rodriguez yet?” . . . “Isn’t he gorgeous?” . . . “We’re running a special on fishing rentals, be sure to send your guests over.”
Once safely cloistered in her office, Sam hoped she’d dodged Nate’s notice. She had other reasons to avoid him too. Like that amazing heart-stopping kiss Thursday night. Either the man was an extraordinary kisser or she’d had some really lousy lovers.
In any event, she’d had three Nate-free days driving to Sacramento and back to think about that kiss. Dissect it. Analyze its meaning. Crave an instant replay. And figure out how it affected her and Nate’s relationship. Do they go back to just being employer and employee, forgetting it ever happened? Did it mean they were officially friends, even though the kiss felt way more than friendly? Maybe friends with benefits?
It turned out she didn’t have long to wait for clarification.
Nate knocked, let himself in, closed the door, and took a seat. “Why are you here today?”
Sam supposed she could now classify the kiss as a firing offense. Weren’t there laws against that? “Why wouldn’t I be here today?” she said, jutting her chin at him.
“Because you worked over the weekend, doing the bridal fair. I don’t know about Connecticut, but here in California we have strict rules about seven-day workweeks. Like the fact that I have to pay you shitloads of money for the overtime.”
That had never occurred to her. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No. You’re already here. But take two days off sometime this week.”
“I don’t think I can,” she said. “I’m swamped.”
He let out a long breath, which seemed like resignation to Sam. “All right. Then I’ll pay you overtime. But don’t make a habit of it, please. How did it go?”
“Good . . . I think. A couple of people made appointments for consultations and I expect there will be more, since almost all the brochures are gone.”
“Nice. You make good contacts?”
“I pretty much exchanged cards with every vendor in the place. Lots of people sounded excited about the prospect of working with us.”
“Well done,” he said, and started to get up to leave, but plopped back down in the chair again. “Sam, we’ve gotta talk about Thursday night.”
“Okay.”
“That shouldn’t have happened.”
“You coming over to my house, eating illegal foie gras, or kissing me?”
“All of the above,” he said. “But mostly because the other two led to the kiss. And kisses with employees, like seven-day workweeks, are deeply frowned upon by the California labor board. You’re not planning to sue, are you? Because one thing I’ve noticed about you is that you’re a little sue happy.”
She laughed. “It was just a kiss, Nate.”
He looked affronted, because Lord knew it hadn’t been
just
a kiss. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. Royce hadn’t even liked to kiss. He just wanted to get straight to the main course, and then he only lasted about five minutes. She suspected Nate would last longer—much longer.
“Okay. So we’re good?” he said.
“We’re fine, Nate.” But the truth was, she was hoping for more of his kisses. She’d even take them in lieu of her hourly wage, which honestly was a bit on the meager side. The kisses, though, were a whole lot more.
“Good,” he said. “I have a meeting set up this afternoon with Rodriguez. You want to sit in?”
“Sure.” But she wondered if Nate was throwing her a bone because he thought he’d sexually harassed her.
“Okay,” he said.
Then they said a lot more awkward okays until he finally left. For the next few hours she buried herself in work, following up with some of the brides she’d met at the fair. She stepped out for about thirty minutes to meet Emily at the Ponderosa and go over a few final details for the wedding. They only had one month to go and Emily wanted to make sure they’d covered everything, which of course Sam had. But Sam realized that Emily needed to go through the motions of marking it off her checklist. She’d be less jittery that way.
Sam had learned that being an event planner also entailed being a therapist. But so far she hadn’t encountered too many bridezillas, mainly just women who made themselves crazy over getting their big day perfect.
Sam had been blasé about her own wedding, leaving the big decisions up to her wedding consultant. When Dana had suggested red anthuriums—“They’re perfect for a Christmas wedding.”—Sam had acquiesced, even though she thought the little yellow things sticking out of the flowers looked like penises. Sam had approved a shellfish bar, even though oysters and crabs sent her into anaphylactic shock. And she’d agreed to wear her mother’s bridal gown, despite that the dress represented forty-five years of bad marriage.
In hindsight, all those things should’ve been big flashing neon signs to call off the marriage. But not until she’d overheard Royce’s insulting and hateful words did she realize just how big a mistake she’d made. By then, though, it had been too late to save face. So she’d taken the cowardly route of running.
When she got back to the inn, Lucky had already arrived. She met them in the conference room. The two men sat in stark contrast to one another. Nate with his dark good looks in a Brooks Brothers suit and Lucky, the all-American rodeo star, in a pair of faded Levi’s and Western shirt. His cowboy hat rested on the table at his side.
Lucky got up to pull a chair out for Sam, and Nate scowled.
“Sorry I’m late. I had a wedding consultation.”
“No problem,” Lucky said, and proceeded to pull out a fat file of paperwork.
For the next hour they discussed various ways the Lumber Baron could partner with Lucky’s cowboy camp. A few times during the meeting, Sam caught Nate staring at her and wondered if he was trying to convey a secret message. New to business conferences and negotiations, she wished that if he had something to tell her, he’d just slip her a note. Or text her. But each time she tried to read his gaze, he turned away. It got to the point where she thought she’d imagined the whole thing.
After the meeting, she pulled him aside. “What was that about?”
“What?”
“You kept staring at me. I thought you were trying to tell me something.”
“No. Maybe you had lipstick on your teeth.”
Sam dove for her purse, pulled out a compact, and checked herself in the mirror. “I do not.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” He shrugged.
The man could be such a beast. “Well? What did you think of Lucky? It sounds like he has permits and insurance—all the things you wanted.”
“Yep. We’ll see,” he said, and sat again, leaning his chair back on two legs. One day he was going to fall and hurt himself like that. “Did the guy sort of bug the crap out of you? Because he did me.”
“Why?” she asked in exasperation. “He’s a perfectly nice man. And he seems smart.”
“Smart? He rides two-thousand-pound bucking bulls for a living.”
Nate had a point there. “What about him bugged you?”
“Cocky. Too high on himself.”
Sort of like you
, Sam wanted to say, but refrained. “He’s a professional athlete. They’re all like that. Who cares, if he brings us business?”
“Whoa!” Nate stared at her. “When did you become such a barracuda? Just a few weeks ago you were giving away my rooms. ‘Oh, Mr. Abernathy, I love you so much.’”
She swatted his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous. This could help me increase events at the inn. Nate, I know you think I’m just a piece of society fluff, but I think I can be good at this. It’s important to me . . . to succeed at something.” Sam looked away, afraid that she’d divulged too much. Furthermore, she’d sounded pathetic.
He gently turned her to face him. “You are good at this, Samantha. Your skills are no longer in question. If you’re truly committed to making a go at this, you’ll succeed.”
“But you don’t think I’m committed?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.”
But it did to her. For some indefinable reason it mattered very much.
Lucky took the long way back to the Roland property. Even though he owned it now, in his mind it was still the old summer camp where he used to work weekends and vacations to earn a few extra bucks. In those days, he and his mother desperately needed the money.
But that was a decade ago, just before he’d left Nugget to seek fame and fortune on the rodeo circuit. Now that he was back, he figured it was high time to get reacquainted with his hometown. That’s why he drove the back roads instead of cutting across town and taking the highway. Or at least that’s what he told himself. The fact that he’d be passing the Rock and River Ranch was just a coincidence.
Yeah, right
.
He’d heard Raylene had come back to live with her parents. According to well-placed sources, her husband had dumped her for her best friend. He wanted to feel good about that, take pleasure in her failure, but he couldn’t bring himself to be that mean. Maybe it meant that he’d gotten over her.
But if he had, he probably wouldn’t be going out of his way to pass by her place, would he? When he’d decided on Nugget for his cowboy camp, he’d known it was a possibility that they’d run into each other. Actually, more than a possibility, since even with the weekender population, the town had fewer than six thousand people. With only one grocery store, one gas station, and one sit-down restaurant, they were bound to bump. This time, though, it would be different. He was no longer the housekeeper’s ragamuffin son.
Nope, Lucky Rodriguez had more money and silver buckles than any cowboy in the PBR. This time it would be Raylene who was down on her luck. Again, he tried, but still couldn’t drudge up any satisfaction at her misfortune.
He drove along an irrigation ditch until the road zigzagged under the highway and along the Feather River. When the Rock and River’s big wrought-iron gate came into view, Lucky pulled over in a turnout on the other side of the road and turned off the ignition. He didn’t know what he hoped to see. The ranch house was too far back to catch a glimpse of Raylene, unless she happened to be riding along the fence line or getting the mail.
Lucky felt like a stalker sitting there, yet he couldn’t seem to make himself pull away. Ten years was a long time to hold a torch for a woman. Especially a woman who hadn’t wanted what he’d had to offer. Since then, there had been plenty of others—buckle bunnies, even a few non-rodeo types. But Raylene had never been far from his mind.
He started his truck and nosed out onto the road. Work at the camp wasn’t going to get done by itself. To open by summer, he needed to bust a move. The meeting with Nate Breyer and Sam Dunsbury had gone well, he thought. Now, there were two people who had the hots for each other. For all Lucky knew they were an official couple. But that wasn’t the vibe he got at the meeting. He detected something his mama would’ve called “a lot of pussyfooting around.” One thing he knew, every time he looked at Sam, he got a death glare from Nate. Lucky laughed. Poor, lovesick fools.
When he got back to the old Roland property, Clay McCreedy was waiting, leaning against his truck. Clay had been six years ahead of him in school, but everyone in Nugget knew and liked the McCreedys. Tip McCreedy used to hire Lucky to wrangle during branding season. Best boss Lucky ever had. Tough as nails, but generous to a fault.
“Howdy, stranger.” Clay shielded his eyes from the sun.
Lucky joined him at his Ford and both men sat on the tailgate. “Long time, no see.”
“Too long,” Clay said. “So what’s this I hear about you opening a dude ranch?”
Lucky let out a puff of air. The dude ranch rumor had gotten way out of control. “It’s a cowboy camp.”
Clay tried to stifle a grin. “Yeah, that’s what I said, a dude ranch.”
“Nah, man, it’s totally different.”
“Oh?” Clay’s brows hitched. “How’s that?”
Lucky launched into his rigmarole and damned if Clay didn’t laugh.
“You can call it whatever you want,” Clay said. “But it sounds like a good idea to me.”
“Yeah?” He was sort of surprised at Clay’s endorsement. The cattleman was the real deal and one of the largest beef producers in the state, not to mention a decorated navy pilot who’d fought in Afghanistan and Iraq.
“The town could use the business,” Clay said. “The Lumber Baron and the Ponderosa have certainly helped, but the Roland camp was going to waste sitting empty like that. It’s nice what you’re doing—teaching people about our way of life and preserving the cowboy traditions.”
Lucky hadn’t thought about the cowboy camp that way. At twenty-nine, his bull riding days were nearly past him and he’d needed to come up with a new game plan. He might’ve been able to become an announcer, like Ty Murray. But the plan had always been to come home. Back to Nugget. At first, he’d just wanted to raise rodeo stock. But he’d always loved the camp, which had been used by churches, schools, and other large groups for retreats, and it seemed a shame not to take advantage of the infrastructure, including the big lodge.
“I’m talking with the folks from the Lumber Baron about working a crossover deal,” Lucky said. “If you’ve got any pull with them, I’d appreciate a good word. That Nate fellow seems a mite cautious.”
“That Nate fellow owns nine other big hotels in San Francisco.” Clay smiled. “I suspect his being a mite cautious made him successful. But, yeah, I’ll put in a good word for you. The co-owner, Maddy, is married to Rhys Shepard.”