Chapter Eleven #2
He stared at her, bewildered by her unfettered analysis. And the effortlessness and effectiveness of her gift for reading people and opportunity.
“I think I should have offered you Cam’s half of the company instead of me.”
She found that hilarious. “You will never catch me sitting in an urban high-rise crunching numbers. But”—her eyes tilted at the corners as she smiled—“I’ll keep the money-grabbing opportunity in mind and stick with you … for now.”
He found himself staring, feeling spellbound, his food forgotten.
“Speaking of a business opportunity, they suggested I meet with a Joanie Monroe who manages and is the buyer for the local western wear store. She might want to order some of my vests for her store, as she welcomes local craftspeople.” Her voice went wistful. “I’ve never been a local.”
“I …” He’d lived in Denver for years.
He knew the city. The mountains for recreation. But he’d left the city behind without a qualm. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be a local anywhere.
“You mentioned that you wanted enough money to buy a house.” He pushed aside the uncomfortable feelings her words had created. “If you buy a house somewhere, start a business, you could be a local.”
She watched him over her latte mug, expression thoughtful.
“There’s more to the interaction,” she said. “The blonde cutie is Riley Jameson, Riley Telford until early last month after the rodeo. As a teen she won a singing competition, but now she mostly breeds and trains horses with her mom at the Telford family ranch.”
“Hmmmmm.” He sipped his coffee, intrigued and relieved. “Well, at least there’s one Telford man who stuck around and didn’t treat his biological offspring like an indiscretion.”
“Do you think of it like that—that you’re an indiscretion?”
“I am.”
“You don’t have to frame it that way.”
Not sure how he was supposed to frame it, which made him edgy. And like he wanted to leave. The sympathy in her eyes made him feel exposed. Silence breathed between them, and he wondered if he should speak and about what?
“I’m wondering if after lunch, before we hit the road for some reconnaissance, I could swing by Marietta Western Wear.”
“Of course.” Even he heard the relief in his voice. He was so bad at this, but he had to try. “I brought six suits to Montana. I doubt I’ll need any.”
“Maybe if we wedding crash.” Her lips tilted up and her eyes creased.
“There is that.” And that easily she pulled him out of his introspective and self-conscious funk. “I was thinking I should buy a few more casual things. Shop local.”
She held out her mug and clinked it with his. “That’s the spirit.”
“Maybe we can practice feeling like we’re locals,” he said impulsively, charmed by her smile, by the way she included him in the conversation and the rituals such as toasting an event or action. “In case …” He bit back the rest of the sentence.
They would never be locals together.
They had a contract, but he made the mistake of looking into her amber eyes, surprised by the storm of emotion swimming in them, none of it he could decipher.
He struggled with what to say. He had so many questions, and it looked like she did, too, but words failed to form.
He had no answers, yet, except that last night after his run and their room service order, he’d decided to take a DNA test in case he approached the Telfords.
“Maybe,” she said quietly. “Ready to walk over to the western wear store, or do you prefer to drive?”
*
Thinking about belonging, becoming a local was crazy. Dangerous. Her heart felt like it was going to accelerate out of her chest just at the inkling of exploring starting a business that wasn’t totally online. Montana was not that far from Idaho.
I’m not sixteen anymore.
She’d never been compliant. Or treated with the respect Telford had shown her.
It was time for her to seize this opportunity to build a new life.
Stop constantly looking over her shoulder as she lived a life on the move.
She was an adult. Smart. Safe. She had rights.
And goals. And now her goal was to check out Marietta’s Western Wear store to see if some of her work might sell here.
When she and Telford had gone to the lab this morning, she’d dropped off a few of the horses she’d crocheted in the pediatric ward at the hospital, and the staff had been grateful and had been open to future donations for the patients.
The western wear store was cute and well stocked.
She helped Telford pick out more casual clothes, a bit shocked to see his growing pile of jeans, Henleys, and a few snap-up flannels.
And when she added a vest in the same color tone, and he didn’t blink.
She’d always been so careful acquiring new clothing—not just with money but with space.
“If he insists that you try some things on and then tells me to secretly ring them up, it will be déjà vu,” Joanie said.
“Huh?”
“Oh, his brother or cousin, Cash”—Joanie colored a little—“was in here last month playfully modeling for some documentary or something, and he insisted that his girlfriend, now fiancée, buy a beautiful coat. And then he had me pick out more clothing for her.”
That triggered Telford’s interest.
“You should find some new things,” Telford said. “Our trip could easily extend, and you didn’t bring much. It will get colder soon.”
Ayana had been looking at the styles to see what was popular, but she had no intention of spending money or buying more than a warmer coat. She didn’t want to own more than she could carry if she had to run.
So much for relaxing and not looking over her shoulder.
“Add them to my pile,” he said, expression intent on her as if he’d read her mind.
What would it feel like to indulge? To not immediately look for exits, anticipate having to run?
Both he and Joanie stared at her, and she wondered if her burbling panic showed.
Smiling, she rolled her shoulders and picked up a gorgeous cowgirl hat that looked custom.
She and Joanie had started a discussion about carrying some of her knit and crochet designs, but they hadn’t finished discussing business.
Perhaps relaxing and pretending to shop might facilitate a deal where Joanie would take a few of her vests on consignment, or better, buy them outright.
It was probably weird she felt more anxious about money now that she had an unbelievable—to her—chunk in reserve when only a little more than a week ago, she’d been worried about where she was going to live and work.
Don’t get used to this good life.
She reverently turned the crown in her fingers. The hat was felted and the color of an aged whiskey. A belt of dark brown braided leather with silver and different-colored beads hugged the crown of the hat, and she marveled at the workmanship.
“The designer has game,” she noted.
“She does. Arielle grew up here, but she lives up in Missoula now. She has her own shop, but we’ve been friends since kindergarten so she sends me a few to sell, and I can also help with custom orders. We do girls’ weekends a few times a year when I go up to shop for my store.”
Ayana looked at the workmanship and then gingerly put the hat on her head. It felt like a kiss.
She looked in the mirror. The color was fantastic with her eyes, and the way it fit with her shaggy pixie cut enhanced her features.
She didn’t even want to think about the cost, but this might be a splurge she was willing to make.
Temptation tugged and grappled with her practical, cautious frugality.
She stared at her reflection, wondering if the Family would even recognize her. She recoiled at the thought. She never wanted to see any of them. Not ever—so she needed to stop giving them space in her brain.
“It’s perfect. Like it was made for you. No one could look more …” Joanie paused and pulled her phone from her back pocket. “Amazing. Can I take a picture of you for the store’s Instagram?”
“No,” Ayana said sharply.
Too sharply, judging by the way Joanie recoiled and shoved her phone in her back pocket as if by disappearing, so would the offense.
“Sorry … I …”
“I just … I’m not photogenic.”
Joanie’s face registered the ridiculousness of that excuse. Not that Ayana was vain, but she’d worked in restaurants and bars across the US and for three years on river cruises in Europe and the Mississippi, dodging men’s attention the whole time.
“I just don’t do social media.”
“It’s fine. I was too impulsive,” Joanie said, subdued.
Ayana wanted to kick herself for her knee-jerk reaction. Now Joanie would think she was a B-word. Plus, she had Telford’s full attention.
“Sorry, Joanie,” she said, meaning it. “I promote my work for my Etsy shop, but I prefer having clients or friends or people I meet who look interesting model my work, not myself.”
“I totally understand.”
“I’m definitely buying this hat.” Ayana made up her mind quickly. She wanted it, and it would help her fit into Telford’s Montana quest. She just wouldn’t think about the cost, and the loss of the potential income by being so rude to Joanie. She usually had better self-control.
“I’m buying the hat,” Telford said, stalking over, intent in every step, and her tummy flipped in a whole different way.
“It’s perfect for you.” He framed her face with his warm hands, and just as she thought he’d lean in for a kiss, and she held her breath wanting him to kiss her far more than she should.
He paused, his dark blue eyes searched hers, and she felt like her secrets screamed to jump out of her soul. She clutched them.
He stepped back and disappointment crashed through her.
“We could be matching,” she teased and, wanting to hang on to the moment that had felt intimate. She grabbed a dark sand-colored Stetson from a hat rack.
He took the hat from her, but instead of putting it on, he held it, looked at it like he didn’t know what it was. He looked up at her, a fleeting expression she would have described as bleak flitting across his face.
“No. I can’t wear the hat. I didn’t grow up ranch.”