Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
A dam’s conclusion made sense. Tracy hated to admit that she might just be reacting to Sean’s rejection by grabbing the first available cowboy, who happened to be Adam. But if he was right, she needed to douse this flame ASAP.
If she could put a lid on her reaction, she’d likely smother the fire she’d lit in him. Right now, they were feeding each other’s desire, but if she turned off the heat, they had a chance of getting back to normal.
The drive to the stately Victorian on the edge of town didn’t take long. Surrounded by a large tract of land, the three-story mansion had been in the family since it was built by Jeremiah Bridger in 1897.
Adam’s great-grandma Lucy had lived there well into her nineties but had finally moved out to Laughing Creek. During the ten years it had sat empty, the Bridgers had debated what to do with it. Now they had a plan.
Adam took the circular drive and stopped in front of the wide steps leading up to the porch. “We haven’t decided how to handle parking. We’ve created a temporary side lot during construction and that might be where we put one for visitors. Nobody wants one in front of the house.”
“I’m glad. The circular drive is part of the elegance.” She unsnapped her seat belt and opened her door. “You want an unobstructed view of the house.” Climbing out, she shut the door and waited for him at the base of the steps.
Gazing up at the bay windows of a graceful turret flooded her with memories. She’d been a princess in a castle when she’d played there as a kid. “I love this house.”
“Me, too.” He came up beside her and pulled a key from his pocket. “A part of me wanted to keep everything the way it was.”
“You could have turned it into a museum.”
“That didn’t appeal to me, either. Selfishly I wanted to leave it alone so my kids could play in it like we did.”
Warmth filled her chest. He’d make a great dad. “Maybe they still can.” She climbed the steps.
“Maybe.”
“Will you put chairs out on the porch?”
“We will once it warms up. I picture folks buying a couple of books and then sitting on the porch to read for a while. Great advertising.”
“No kidding. If they don’t naturally do it, you should pay someone to sit there and read.”
He laughed. “Good idea.”
“Will you have signage out by the road?”
“Yep. Something classy. Trent’s in charge of that.”
“Who’s Trent?”
“The marketing director for L’Amour and More Bookshops. He’s been a little distracted lately since he and his wife just had a baby girl, but he’s promised to come up with a design in the next couple of weeks.”
“I’ve really been out of the loop.”
“You need to get back in. I can’t tell you the number of times I wanted to ask your opinion.” He unlocked the carved front door and ushered her inside.
“My legal opinion? I hope you didn’t pay a lawyer just because?—”
“Your personal opinion, like on the shelving options and whether a reading nook should be by a window or off in a corner, or both.”
He’d longed to consult with her. That was gratifying. “I’d say both.”
“That’s what I did because I heard your voice in my head.” He flipped a switch and the chandelier in the entryway sparkled above them.
Her breath caught as rainbows danced around them. “You kept it.” And didn’t he look kissable in this magical light. She banished the thought.
“Duh.” He unzipped his jacket. “It’ll be a pain to keep clean, but Greta loves it, too, and she’s promised to polish the crystals once a month.”
“Is she still talking about running a little café in here?”
“Absolutely. Which reminds me, I need to start the permitting process on that.”
“Is everybody on board?” She unbuttoned her coat but left it on. The house was warmer than the porch but not by much. “I seem to remember that initially Grandma Doris had trouble picturing a hoard of strangers in her late mother-in-law’s beloved house.”
“That was before she met with Desiree McLintock, aka M.R. Morrison and got fired up about having her do signings over here.”
“Desiree came over here? And I missed it?”
“It was a surprise visit and she didn’t stay long. I started to text you but Mila said not to bother. You were in Missoula at a conference.”
“Damn.”
“She’ll be back. She loved the house and can’t wait to do a signing once we’re open.” He turned and walked toward the arched entrance to the parlor. “Come see what they’ve done in here.”
She followed him and breathed in the scent of freshly cut lumber. “I don’t suppose the road will be fixed by summer.”
“I wish, but that’s asking for a miracle” He turned on overhead lights in a space that used to be lit by table and floor lamps. The stained-glass fixtures hanging from the high ceiling preserved the ambiance while adding necessary light for shoppers.
“I like those.” She pointed to them.
“I thought you would. That’s why I chose ’em.”
Evidently she’d been constantly on his mind the past six weeks. By keeping her distance, she’d increased the drama. No more of that nonsense. “The bookshelves around the perimeter makes it look more like a library than a bookshop.”
“That’s what we’re going for. We’ll have a couple of display tables in the middle. And some easy chairs in the nooks.”
“And all fiction in here, right?”
“Yep. Nonfiction in the room across the hall.”
“Angie’s crew does good work.” She stroked the satin-smooth wood. “Nice grain. Smells good, too.”
“Sure does.” A huskiness in his voice sent shivers down her spine.
She immediately stopped stroking the wood. “What’s their name?”
“Who?”
Had he lost track of the conversation? She was afraid to look at him for fear they’d have another hot connection like they’d experienced at the meeting. “Angie’s construction company.”
“Two Handywomen and an Irishman. They’ll be back tomorrow and plan to stay through Sunday. You should stop by.”
“Are you coming in tomorrow?”
“Thought I would.”
Since staying away from him had increased the tension, maybe she should try the opposite tactic. “My midday is fairly open. If you were here around noon, we could grab lunch at the Raccoon.”
“I’d like that.”
“Then let’s do it. We can celebrate getting past our little whoopsie.”
“Little whoopsie?”
She faced him. “I’m trying to minimize its importance..”
He dragged in a breath. “Great idea. Little whoopsie it is. Lunch is a good idea, too. The more we see of each other, the quicker we’ll get back to normal.”
She hoped to hell he was right. She’d never met anyone with greater willpower. She owed it to him to make sure she did nothing to test it.