Chapter 12 #3
She couldn’t just pick up and go, couldn’t abandon him after claiming to love him. Neither life nor love worked that way.
He moved closer to the table and saw that the spine on the unfamiliar folder had been labeled “Covington Amendments.” The amendments must have been what she’d talked to the family about when he’d gone on his hard ride.
Curiosity gripped him and he reached for the folder, but the wind gusted and scattered more papers.
Moving to the window, he muscled it down. Why had she taken the screen off? Rubbing his chest as anxiety settled in, he tried to shake it off. He’d just go outside to put the screen on after he cleaned up here a little. Again, no big deal.
Returning to the table, he began picking up papers, generally doing his best to ignore the ledger sheets with their linear, organized entries.
Then he came across a series of pages she’d scribbled all over.
He had about half the papers picked up and loosely held in one hand when two words written in bold caught his attention.
His name had been centered at the top of a page filled with chicken scratch.
Much of the original information had been marked out, the edges and back of the page rewritten in haphazard order.
It was nothing like the organized content of the original page, but rather a haphazard compilation of notes—very, very personal notes.
She’d documented their time together in a weird shorthand that made no sense, beginning with “storm sex on way to ranch” to “voice of a professional country artist” and ending with “confrontation with brother, revelations of physical abuse as a child, broken relationship, wounded—so wounded. See journal.”
His hand involuntarily fisted, crumpling the single sheet of paper. Journal? She’d written about his private, not-for-business-consumption life in some journal?
His gut plummeted and he lost his balance, the papers he’d held in his opposite hand falling away without notice or care. They sifted to the floor, some settling over his boots, others hitting the polished hardwood floor and sliding to a stop several feet away.
She’d heard at least part of the fight with Eli and hadn’t said a word, hadn’t told him.
Cade had counted on the music in the cabin to mute their voices. He’d been a fool.
Whipping around, he stared at the window anew. It had to have been open. But why wouldn’t she have announced herself? Why listen in on a conversation that obviously didn’t involve her? She hadn’t struck him as that type of woman.
He rounded on the table, realization dawning slow and dull like the sunrise on a stormy day. She’d come to him after making her notes, notes that identified him as abused, broken, wounded. Had he been nothing more than a pity fuck? Had she come to him to heal him in her own way?
He pulled his hat off and shook his head, trying to clear it.
No. She’d said she loved him. She hadn’t said that out of pity.
Had she? No. No, no, no. What they’d shared hadn’t been about pity.
She hadn’t known anything about him when they came together in the storm. That joining—it had been sudden.
His gaze shifted to the fallen paperwork. He began gathering it rapidly, scanning page after printed page of notes. She’d researched each guest for the inaugural thoroughly, leaving an occasional note in the margins. That was acceptable.
What wasn’t acceptable was that it was clear she’d gone on to document upcoming events with these people, opportunities for her to recover lost ground in the PR and marketing fields.
She’d made notes on means and methods of discussing these opportunities with each individual while he or she was at the ranch and at her disposal, and had even assigned names—her staff members?
—to follow up and ensure her company had the opportunity to bid on future projects.
With the exception of a couple of travel magazines, very few of Emma’s notes documented how Lassos & Latigos Dude Ranch was going to benefit.
He shoved the loose papers he’d collected into the blue binder and opened the green one.
Inside were pages filled with notes on amending the guest list, last-minute changes involving names he didn’t recognize, a frequent flyer program number, notes on tickets purchased last night and more.
But there was nothing noted on the pages regarding what these names meant for the ranch, what the individuals might do for Lassos & Latigos or how the Covingtons might recognize a long-term return-on-investment for the money they’d paid her to organize this event.
Moving with extreme care, he picked up both binders and made sure he fed the three-hole-punched pages onto the rings. He didn’t want to lose a single sheet.
Eli needed to see this. He’d know what to do. He’d be able to look at it and assure Cade it was all a huge misunderstanding. And if Eli couldn’t, Emma could. She would. Because no way had she done what it seemed she’d done.
No way had she sold out the ranch for her own benefit.
No way had she planned to use him...and then told him she loved him.