I Cross My Heart (3 page)

He turned. “Yeah?”

“I, uh, bought some groceries before driving over here. If you’d like to have a quick dinner before you start working, I could provide that.”

“Sure.” His teeth were very white against his tanned skin. “That would be great. What time?”

“Around six?”

“I’ll be here.”

“See you then.” She forced herself to turn and start back to the house instead of standing there like an idiot while he drove away. As she walked over the uneven ground, she admitted to herself that inviting him to dinner sent the exact wrong message. Their arrangement was about business, not social interaction.

She might be longing for some combination of emotional comfort and sexual excitement, but finding those things in Nash Bledsoe’s arms would be a huge mistake. She didn’t believe in temporary affairs, and she had the career move of a lifetime waiting for her in Atlanta on
Opal!,
the most popular talk show on television, starring fan favorite Opal Knightly.

Bethany had been an occasional guest, and a friendship had formed. Now she was about to become a permanent feature on the program. Opal had mentored others by giving them a regular segment, and if ratings were good enough, Bethany might eventually launch her own show.

By the time she’d reminded herself of the stakes involved, she’d made it to the porch and Nash’s truck could be heard slowly navigating the washboard road back to the highway. She decided to record her long-term goal—to have her own television show—in the day planner on her smartphone to remind herself of it daily. But first she needed a change of clothes at the least, and maybe a shower.

She chose her old bathroom instead of the master because hers was far cleaner. It obviously hadn’t been used since she’d been here for her mom’s funeral eighteen months ago. But when she saw her reflection in the medicine-cabinet mirror, she was appalled.

The woman in the mirror, who looked like she belonged in a low-budget horror flick, was none other than Bethany Grace, Ph.D. This was the face Nash Bledsoe had seen when he arrived. Wearing this face, with its mascara-ringed, bloodshot eyes, shiny nose and dirt-smudged cheeks, she’d considered flirting with him because now she was past her gawky stage.
Not.

She’d looked like this, with her torn jacket and filthy blouse, when she’d struck a deal for his handyman services and then casually, or not so casually, invited him to dine with her. And the crazy man had said
yes.
He must really need the money.

As she imagined what he’d been thinking all through their exchange, she started to laugh. The more she thought about it, the harder she laughed, until she had to lean against the vanity for support. If her adoring public could only see her now. Fortunately, they couldn’t, and Nash wouldn’t tell on her.

In a way, it was a relief that he’d seen her at her worst. Probably a relief for him, too, after the image he’d grown to hate during the months when his ex had battered him with Bethany’s perky little message, H
appiness Is a Choice
.

Funny thing, though. Bethany believed that message. Her father had been an insecure man who didn’t know how to be happy and her mother had tried her best to keep a pleasant home while married to someone who lacked the confidence to live life to the fullest. Bethany had studied psychology until she’d finally understood all that and was able to create a different pattern.

The cornerstone of that new pattern was that circumstances couldn’t always be changed, but attitudes could. Her father had chosen to be unhappy. Her mother, for the most part, had chosen to be happy. Had she been a stronger person, she might have also chosen to leave. Part of Bethany’s grief over her mom’s death was regret that her mother hadn’t enjoyed a better marriage.

Bethany had written her books as much for herself as for others. They’d struck a chord with the public, and while she’d received a few slightly negative reviews, most of the feedback had been positive. Nash had handed her the most devastating critique yet.

He’d demonstrated how her words could be twisted and used against someone in crisis. At least that would make her a better writer, and now that she was about to launch her new venture, a better talk show personality.

Being linked with Opal meant Bethany had to be careful not to embarrass her fairy godmother. Opal knew all about the situation in Jackson Hole, and she’d cautioned Bethany to keep it under wraps. Bethany intended to do exactly that.

At some point she might tell Nash about her new opportunity so he could better understand the stakes involved. Ah, Nash. Inevitably her thoughts returned to the bodacious Mr. Bledsoe.

He’d had a Reputation with a capital
R
back in high school. Nash had hung around with Jack Chance back then, and another buddy, Langford “Hutch” Hutchinson. The three of them had cut quite a swath through the senior-class girls.

If Nash had been good at making love when he was eighteen, and he’d had years to practice his technique since then...it didn’t have anything to do with her, right?

With a sigh of longing that would go unsatisfied, she glanced at the small battery-operated clock on the counter. It was pink, like everything in this bathroom, a holdover from when she’d chosen the color scheme at fourteen. Amazingly, the batteries had lasted since she’d replaced them a year and a half ago. The clock told her that she had many hours before Nash would show up for dinner.

She had time to drive into Shoshone and get those spotlights he needed. But first she’d shower, change clothes, choose a menu for tonight and figure out how to make the dining room a more welcoming place. She might never erase his first impression of her as a chair-burning maniac with smeared makeup and ruined clothes, but she could mute that impression.

After all, she was the author of
Living with Grace,
and she knew how to create a lovely dining experience. Maybe she shouldn’t have invited Nash to dinner, but now that she had, she’d damned well do it right.

3

N
ASH
WAS
GLAD
FOR
AN
excuse to leave the Last Chance when five-thirty rolled around. All eight boys in the Last Chance Youth Program had arrived. They ranged in age from twelve to fourteen, and they were all hyper. Emmett had assured Nash they’d settle down once they were put to work, but that wouldn’t happen until tomorrow. Tonight they were like Mexican jumping beans. Very loud Mexican jumping beans.

Pete, Sarah’s fiancé and the philanthropist who’d dreamed up the concept, had divided the boys into teams for a relay race in the yard before dinner. He’d roped Nash’s buddy Luke Griffin into helping. Luke had the kind of easygoing attitude that made him perfect for the job.

Nash didn’t know much about kids, so he left with a wave and a smile. He admired Pete’s humanitarianism and was thrilled that Sarah had found someone worthy of her. Jonathan Chance would have been a tough act to follow, but Pete seemed to be up to the challenge.

Nash took his own truck for the drive to the Triple G. He couldn’t justify wearing out the shocks on a Last Chance truck for a side job. Besides that, he intended to haul away what was left of the recliner when he left tonight, and if he used his pickup, he wouldn’t have to worry about the mess.

Deciding what to wear for this first night of work had been a chore. He expected to get dirty when he tackled the repairs, but she’d invited him to dinner, so he didn’t want to show up in ratty clothes for that. In reality, he wanted to look good no matter whether he was eating at her table or working on her outbuildings.

That was stupid of him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. She remembered him as a high school stud, and he didn’t want to destroy that memory by dressing like a hobo. So he’d compromised on middle-of-the-road jeans, shirt, hat and boots. They were nicer than he’d wear to muck out stalls, but not new enough for a Saturday night trip to the Spirits and Spurs.

All of it would wash except the boots and hat. He could take the hat off because the sun would be going down, and the boots usually cleaned up pretty well with some saddle soap. He’d also showered and shaved before changing into those clothes, which he’d caught some guff from Luke about. He’d wanted to know why Nash was getting spit-shined before going off to do carpentry.

Nash had told Sarah and Jack that he would be working for the Graces’ daughter, but he hadn’t gone into detail about her. He had to be especially careful when mentioning the job to Luke, who might recognize Bethany Grace’s name. Everyone at the stable in Sacramento had heard about her books from Lindsay.

But Luke was more interested in the possibility that Nash might finally be coming out of retirement. His shower and shave had given Luke the idea that romance was brewing. No matter how many times Nash had denied it, Luke had continued to tease him about being her
handy
man.

The teasing had hit home, whether Luke knew it or not. Right before he’d left Bethany’s this morning, they’d had a moment. A silent exchange had taken place, one that any man or woman with a pulse understood.

He didn’t plan to act on it, and he doubted that she wanted him to. She was focused on the next stage in her career. Besides, she was paying him to do an honest night’s work, and adding mattress bingo into the deal skated a little too close to sex for hire.

Plus, if he needed more reasons to curb any lust he felt toward her, he’d remind himself that she lost her dad a week ago. And besides, she had money and he did not. He knew how that sort of situation played out, and only a fool jumped into the same kettle of hot water twice. She needed him to help her make the Triple G attractive to buyers. End of story.

This time he didn’t miss the turnoff to her ranch, but a day of baking in the June sun hadn’t improved the road any. It was while he slowly maneuvered around the potholes and deep ruts that inspiration struck. Once the idea came to him, he couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. The solution to her problem and his was obvious. He would buy the ranch from her.

Sure, it would take some creative financing and wipe out the savings he’d carefully accumulated so far. But there were programs for first-time buyers, something he’d researched not long ago. Lindsay’s parents had given them a house as a wedding present, and so that meant he was, in fact, a first timer.

What a brainstorm! The ranch abutted the Last Chance, so he could keep in close touch with his friends. It was small, but that made it more likely he could swing the deal. He might not even want more land than this. And the view of the Tetons was almost as spectacular as the Last Chance had.

If she went for this solution and still wanted him to do repairs, he’d consider it sweat equity instead of taking money for it. She wouldn’t be ready to turn the property over to him until she’d finished her sorting inside the house, but she could forget the hassle of listing the place and considering offers, so he’d actually save her time in the long run.

He also had a hunch she wasn’t selling the ranch for the money. Maybe selling to someone she knew, someone who loved this area and would make the ranch into a showplace, would compensate for his lack of a sizable chunk of cash. He was so eager to broach the plan that he sped up and hit a rut that nearly jolted the eyeballs out of his skull.

Forcing himself back to a crawl, he allowed himself to dream of actually owning this ranch. Because he wouldn’t have income from it right away, he’d keep his job at the Last Chance. He’d sink every penny into improvements, and eventually buy a couple of horses. And he’d get a dog.

Maybe he’d turn it into a boarding stable. He understood how to run one of those, thanks to Lindsay. She’d had the business degree and he’d had the animal science degree. On paper it had seemed like the perfect match. Luke had reported that horse-care standards at the stable had fallen quickly after Nash had left.

The drive to the Triple G, which he’d already started thinking of as his, took freaking forever. He had time to decide what color he’d paint the barn—deep red—and whether he needed shutters on the ranch house windows. Probably not. He hoped that at least one of the corrals was solid, because he desperately wanted a couple of horses. Without horses, what kind of ranch was it, anyway?

When he finally pulled into the clearing, he saw that the recliner remained in the middle of the yard like an abstract chunk of modern art. At least it didn’t smell quite so bad now. Next he noticed four colored pots—red, yellow, blue and green—lined up on the front porch. Each was filled with an array of petunias, daisies and pansies.

He’d keep those pots and refill them every spring. It was amazing how flowers in pots classed up a place. Even the weathered gray boards on the porch looked better because of those flowers, almost as if the weathering had been left that way on purpose, for artistic effect.

After parking his truck next to her rented SUV, he started toward the front porch steps. She must have heard the engine, because she opened the screen door and came out. He almost didn’t recognize her.

This morning he’d thought she might clean up pretty good and be reasonably attractive. Time to reevaluate. She’d shot way past attractive and traveled straight on to beautiful.

Her glossy cap of dark hair curled around her ears and made him want to slide his fingers into that black silk to see if it felt as good as it looked. She probably had on makeup, but she was skilled enough for it to be invisible. That left her with a wholesome and very kissable face, big gray eyes and a sweetly rounded chin that begged to be cupped in one hand while he combed through her hair with the other. He could almost taste her lips.

She’d traded in the damaged suit for a ruffled white sleeveless blouse and gray capris. She wore sandals that showed off lavender toenails. He could eat her up with a spoon. But he’d thought of a great idea while he was driving here, and he should tell her what it was...just as soon as he remembered. Seeing her looking so sexy and approachable had made him forget everything else.

“You’re right on time.” She smiled, which warmed him in a way he hadn’t been warmed in a very long while.

“I was eager to leave.” Although his brain wasn’t working very well, his gift of gab seemed functional. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about the Last Chance Youth Program. It just started, and the place is overrun with wild adolescent boys.”

She shook her head. “I hadn’t heard, but what a cool idea. You don’t like kids?”

“Sure, in small numbers. Eight of them running around the ranch is...a lot.”

“They’ll be living there?”

“Until the middle of August. The idea is to take boys from troubled situations and give them a couple months of ranch life. With luck they’ll leave with a work ethic and maybe even some self-esteem.”

“I love it. If I were staying, I’d want to see if I could help.”

Nash grimaced. “Which makes me the guy with the bad attitude who’s griping about the mayhem involved.”

“Not at all. Not everybody’s in love with kids that age. You have a right not to be.”

He thought about that. “No, I don’t. I’m at the Last Chance because the folks there believe in giving both people and animals one more shot at success. That’s what this program is about, too, and I’m going to adjust my thinking.”

Taking a deep breath, he smiled at her. He’d love to compliment her on how nice she looked, but that might not be appropriate for the hired hand. “The flower pots sure spruce up the porch.”

“Thanks!” She seemed genuinely pleased. “I thought so, too. Hungry?”

Now there was a loaded question. “Sure am. Something smells really good.” He actually meant her, because she gave off a delicate scent that reminded him of plants that flowered only in moonlight. He’d learned about those while he’d lived in California.

But she’d think he was referring to the smell of food coming from the kitchen, and that was fine. They should keep their interaction platonic, or as close to platonic as they could manage given that they were both healthy and human. Looking at her in the soft light of early evening, he was feeling very human, indeed.

“It’s chicken,” she said. “Not very exciting, I’m afraid. Come on in.”

He followed close enough that he could hold the screen door for her and breathe in her night-blooming flower scent. “I don’t cook, so anything more than peanut butter and jelly is exciting to me.” He might be wise to stop talking about what excited him, since Bethany had chicken beat by a country mile.

“Don’t look at the living room,” she said as she walked quickly through it. “I haven’t had time to do much in here.”

“I bunk with a bunch of cowhands. You can’t shock me.” But he tried to honor her request and not notice that the room was shabby and unkempt. No liquor bottles were lying around, but the faint smell of whiskey lingered. Once you spilled liquor on carpet, the stink was hard to get out. Maybe she hadn’t needed much gasoline to light that recliner on fire, after all. He understood her fierce desire to haul it out of here.

The living room was separated from the dining room by French doors, and when she opened them, he walked from a miserable space into a joyous one. “Wow. You’ve been working hard.”

“You have no idea how I loved making at least one room in this house look the way it’s supposed to.”

He surveyed the flickering candles on the table and the sideboard, the flowered centerpiece, the white linen tablecloth and what had to be her mother’s best china, silverware and stemmed glasses. A modest crystal chandelier above the table sparkled and as the sun drifted lower in the sky, its rays shone through clean windows. He’d bet she’d washed the curtains, too.

“I can tell.” He gazed at her, touched by all the effort she’d made. “I’m honored to be your guest.”

She flushed. “I did it as much for me as for you. I wouldn’t want you to think that I was trying to...to create a romantic setting for some reason.”

“No, no, I’m sure you weren’t.” Damn. He hadn’t thought of that, but it would have been kind of nice if she had.

“I mean, for all I know you have a girlfriend, and I—”

“No girlfriend, but you’re headed off to Atlanta, where you may have a boyfriend.”

“No boyfriend, but I am headed off to Atlanta.” She gestured toward the festive table. “This was just a whim, to make the house seem a little bit happy again.”

“Right. I completely get that.” No boyfriend, but she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with him. Okay. He should be relieved, because they had no business getting involved, but from the minute she’d stepped out on that porch, he’d found himself wishing that somehow they could...what?

He’d already had this talk with himself. It went against his moral code to get cozy with the woman who was paying him to make some quick repairs so she could sell the place. And that was when he finally remembered the idea he’d had driving in here.

Once he remembered, he had trouble not blurting it out, but that wouldn’t be the best way to approach such an important discussion. He should lead up to the topic. She had wineglasses on the table. Although he was opposed to drinking on the job, maybe tonight he should make an exception, because this idea might go better if it was presented over a glass of wine.

If she accepted his offer to buy the house, would that change the dynamic between them? Then he’d be a buyer, not an employee. His moral code might allow him to get cozy with the seller of the property he was purchasing. After all, why not? Because she might think that was a really bad plan, that was why not.

“Nash? Are you okay?”

He blinked and wondered how long he’d been standing there staring into space as if he had buckshot for brains. “I’m fine. Sorry. Got lost in thought for a minute.”

“I noticed. You looked a bit startled, and I hope this setting didn’t trigger a bad memory.”

“It’s not that at all.”

“Are you sure? Because I can blow out the candles and we can eat out on the front porch. It takes time to get over a divorce. Sometimes a situation will blindside you with memories, good or bad.”

“You’ve been divorced?”