Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Madison
To make this night sting more, I was in the same pickup as Teller. I’d hated to leave the bar looking like no one was there, so he’d told me to choose which pickup we took. He had a lot more to lose with his truck if it got vandalized. I’d barely be able to tell if anyone tampered with mine.
He could also buy another one easily enough, while I wasn’t sure I’d get a loan, much less afford another monthly payment. Besides, I hadn’t wanted him to see the holes in the seats, the sun-faded dash, or experience the lack of air-conditioning or a fan of any kind.
So I got to ride in luxury. God, I could sleep in this seat. It was like my ass was getting a hug. I rested my head against the passenger window and gazed at the dark trees we passed. It was better than watching his strong profile and wishing I could run my fingers over his short beard. Was it soft?
Not my business.
But I was his business. Why did that declaration make me want to smile and kick my feet?
He stayed quiet and so did I, but it was a peaceful silence. We were both tired, and I was anxious about seeing his house.
My family’s ranch had been southeast of Bourbon Canyon, while Teller had grown up tucked into the valleys and foothills of the Bridger Mountains. All of the area surrounding Bourbon Canyon was gorgeous, but there was something extra special about the land the Baileys owned. Sprawling pastures, wide valleys, all backed by white-tipped peaks, there was nothing that wasn’t breathtaking.
I hated how much I was anticipating viewing everything in the daylight tomorrow. The trees and grass would be a vibrant green. Some of the wildflowers would be blooming, a sprinkling of yellows, blues, and purples. I’d missed this during the years I had lived in Missoula. That area was gorgeous too, but I’d been working too much to enjoy it.
He turned down a long gravel drive that wound around what must be a draw in the landscape. Nothing but darkness was visible for several seconds before his yard came into view.
“Jesus,” I breathed. The lone light in the yard illuminated a shop that had more aesthetic appeal than any home I’d ever lived in. The rectangular building had wooden supports around the entrance for an overhang that must shade a concrete pad. But it was his house that stole all my words.
Even in the dark, shadowed by the yard light, his log cabin stared back at me, majestic as fuck. Two levels lined with windows that must have such an impressive view he wouldn’t need any artwork inside. Just nature, gazing right back. A wide porch ran the whole length from one end to the three-car attached garage.
He punched a button on the dash and the garage door closest to the house started to rise.
“Oh my god, are you serious?” A cynical laugh slipped out. “I’ve never even stayed in a hotel this nice.” I thrust my hand toward the button he’d just pushed. There was no separate opener. “Or a vehicle.”
“Didn’t your ex get himself a vehicle fit for a lawyer?” He sounded like he knew Damien had done exactly that. I’d never gotten to drive it, and by then, he’d quit trying to take me on dates or spend much time with me.
“He likes to think he’s a big deal, but even I know that he’s the bottom of the corporate ladder.”
“What do you mean ‘even you’?” He pulled into the garage and hit the button again.
“You know what I mean,” I said, irritated. I shouldn’t have to explain it.
“You’re an intelligent woman, Madison, and I think people underestimate you, but I don’t think you should underestimate yourself.” He killed the engine but didn’t move to get out.
I wasn’t some intern or whoever he mentored at Copper Summit. He didn’t have to be patronizing. “You don’t think I’m smart.” My wonky sleep was charging up my crankiness, fueling the stress of being a pauper in this prince’s carriage. “You think I’m doing the wrong thing with the bar. You think I’m wasting my time and my money, and who knows what else you think I’m doing wrong since you run a bourbon empire for a living. And you also think I’m a fool because I’m not siphoning as much knowledge as I can from you.”
I couldn’t look at him, but the brush of heat against my cheek told me his gaze was on me.
“I think you’ve been dealt an awful hand,” he said gently. “I think you’re between a rock and a hard place and you can’t see the way out. I think you haven’t had the ability to ever bet on yourself because there’s never been a safety net, so you’re doing what’s tried and true. I think you’re not hitting me up for information because you’re afraid I’ll use your trust against you.”
He said it matter-of-factly, but I heard the hint of consternation. Everyone trusted Teller Bailey.
Did I? His reaction after the bricks came through my windows came to mind. His first instinct had been to check on me. To cover me and protect me. To gauge my well-being. And then he’d continued to take care of me.
“It’s not that I think you’ll hold it against me.” I twisted my fingers together until the bite of pain told me to keep talking. “If I turn Flatlanders into something else, what kind of business do you think I’ll get? Who’s going to buy cheerful cookies from Mad Maddy? Who’s going to say, ‘Hey, sorry for teasing you about your frayed pants that were too small in fourth grade? Can you put Happy 6th Birthday on the cake?’ Or ‘Remember when we pushed you into the mud puddle? Good times. I’d like four dozen snickerdoodles.’”
Surprise rippled through his expression. “You want to open a bakery?”
A bakery and candy shop. “It’s just an example.”
“A pretty specific one.”
I loved baking. It was one of the few things I had gotten compliments on in my life. “The world doesn’t need more bakeries.”
“That sounds like Damien’s bullshit, and it’s not allowed on my property or when I’m with you.” Before I could react at his surge of protectiveness or tell him it was my dad’s quote, he opened the door. “Let’s head in. I’ll show you the guest room.”
I followed him through the pristine garage, which smelled faintly of paint and exhaust, into the house.
He continued through an entry that was larger than either of the bathrooms in Flatlanders. “You can leave your shoes on. Don’t worry about it.”
I did worry about it. The dark-stained hardwood floor was cleaner than the garage, and his boots left dusty prints. I wiped my feet off, taking in the sizable laundry room to my right and the expansive kitchen to my left.
“Seriously, Mads.” He had stopped and was frowning at my shoes. “The vacuum will clean up the dust tomorrow. It runs every day at eleven.”
Of course he had a robot vacuum. That wasn’t his only toy. A double oven was proudly mounted on the far side of the kitchen with a microwave next to it. The matching French door fridge stood across from it and acres of counter space circled the room. In case that wasn’t enough, an island with its own freaking sink bordered the dining room on the other side.
“Holy crap.” The farther in I went, the more I spun in a slow circle to take it all in. A restaurant-worthy exhaust hood? Envy beat deep in my chest. Talk about the haves and have-nots. Teller had all the toys. “This kitchen is wild.”
“I don’t use it much.”
“How could you not?”
“Cooking for one isn’t a lot of fun.” He opened a wide fridge door. “Are you hungry? Mama made me some smothered pork chops.”
My stomach growled. The damn thing wouldn’t shut up around him. “No, I’m good.”
He arched a brow and cocked his head toward a rectangular table with a black resin strip down the middle. It was masculine and simple and fit the rest of the vibe around the place. He hadn’t overdecorated, that was for sure. There were no stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls. My dad had loved to hunt, and while I didn’t care about trophy heads, I hadn’t liked them staring at me or the allergies I had developed.
“Sit,” he commanded. “I’ll heat up some food.”
“I had dinner.”
“We’ve been working all evening.” He shrugged out of the red flannel he’d tossed on before we left the bar. He was still in a black shirt, but I’d never tire of that chest. “Besides, I’ve gotta ask you to hang out here for a while in the morning while I help with chores and haying.” He sent me a sidelong glance like he was waiting for an argument.
I was supposed to be irritated. I had work to do at the bar and someone had just vandalized it. But his house was clean and quiet. All the chairs, tables, and windows were intact. His toilets and sinks probably weren’t even cracked.
The peace soaked into my body and I craved more. “I won’t steal your silver.”
He flashed a smile that lit up the whole night. “I’d hate to have to frisk you.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbled over all my nerve endings, caressing them and exciting them at the same time.
He saved me from making a fool of myself by turning back to the fridge.
I shamelessly wandered through the main level. A flight of stairs with the plushest carpet I’d ever seen flanked the other side of the kitchen wall. The carpet color was like cream and light gray had a baby, and the way it curled around each step reminded me of a shallow creek trickling over rocks.
Down a hallway next to the stairs were a few doors. Probably a bathroom and a den. His bedroom? My pulse sped up. Upstairs or down, how had I ended up this close to Teller Bailey’s bedroom?
Teller appeared by the island, and I let out a startled cry. I slapped my hand over my racing heart. It wasn’t just the surprise. He fit this house. It was like the place assembled itself around him. “How does such a big man move so quietly?”
“Dad was a mellow guy unless we made a lot of noise while hunting.” He lowered his voice to a gruff growl. “‘Jesus, boys, there’ll be no deer left in the western hemisphere if you clod around like that.’”
I smiled. I hadn’t known Darin Bailey other than by reputation. Everyone had liked him except for my parents. Once I was older, I’d realized that was often a testament for the other party. “Your sisters didn’t hunt?”
He shook his head. “They learned how, but they’d rather not hang out with ‘a bunch of stinky guys’ in a deer stand.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Time to eat.”
I should be used to eating around Teller. He supplied me with jelly beans regularly, sometimes brought Curly’s, or we each munched on our separate lunches and dinners when we could. This time was different. I was in his domain, and while he hadn’t cooked for me, it was his personal food he was serving me.
I could not view it as more than it was. He was a nice guy. He’d no doubt fed every woman he’d brought over, only he hadn’t directed them to a guest room and told them good night at the end of the meal.
Running my hand over the table, I sat. “I’ve always loved this style.”
“Jonah made it.”
Summer’s husband made the most beautiful furniture. I’d never be able to afford his work.
Teller set a piping-hot dish down. When he took the cover off, I was greeted with smothered pork chops and cubed potatoes. Another dish of diced squash was next to it. Not even Curly’s served food this good.
I accepted the dish from him. “I’ve admired the pieces he has in Eats and Seats.” Jonah had been another guy Scott had disliked, but then Jonah and Teller used to be best friends.
“He’s only getting better and more in demand since he doesn’t have the time he used to.”
A wistful hand wrapped around my throat. I didn’t know Jonah or even Summer, but there was a time when I had hoped to be that happy couple growing a family. I’d been determined to do things differently. I’d be nothing like my mother, and Damien would be the opposite of my father.
Turned out, he’d been very similar. A user and a cheat.
I stabbed a potato. The buttery, savory flavor of the food carried me away. I moaned around my mouthful and shoved a forkful of pork chop in. “Oh my god. This is amazing.”
Teller was frozen, his fork poised over his plate. Hunger raged over his face, but he paid no attention to the food, his focus on me.
Nervous, I concentrated on the meal in front of me. I had to be wrong. At the very least, he wasn’t thinking about me . Teller was a flirt. He made everyone around him feel special. So in that regard, I wasn’t special, but I was grateful I was no longer on the outside looking in.
After we were done eating, I helped him clean up the dishes and admired his dishwasher. He caught me inspecting it, gave me an amused twist of his lips, then left me alone to fondle his appliances.
“I didn’t know you had a thing for ovens,” he said.
“I have a major thing for ovens. Especially when you have more than one.”
“A fan of multiples?” When I rolled my eyes, he smirked. “I can show you to your room.” He went to the entry and retrieved the bag I had packed.
“Oh, I can carry that.”
He ignored me and started for the stairs. I couldn’t follow him. At the bottom, I toed out of my shoes.
He looked over his shoulder from three stairs up.
“I’m not touching that nice carpet with shoes,” I explained.
“Suit yourself.”
I did—I stared at his hard ass all the way up.
“I’m right here.” He pointed to the room closest to the stairs before pushing into the door across from it. “And you’re here.”
That close?
“The next door is the bathroom. I have my own, so don’t worry about running into me.”
“I was more worried about your beard trimmings in the sink.”
He winked at me. “That’s not all I keep nice and trimmed.” I made a choking sound and he laughed, dropping my bag on the bed. “Get some rest, Maddy.”
I stood at the entrance. The room was as lush as the carpet. A queen-size bed with a polished wooden headboard darker than the logs of the exterior walls was surrounded by matching dressers and nightstands.
“Good night,” I said woodenly, humbled by a room that was calling me poor.
He came within inches of me as he exited. “Sleep tight.”
I would with that voice still in my head.