Chapter 1 #2
“My daughter was born here, and I own the Fashion Bow-tique on Main Street,” she said coolly. “I’ve lived here over a decade.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t local. Just said you look like New York.” His mouth twitched and finally broke into a smile.
Don’t let him get to you. He’s just some cowboy vet with bad manners and a crooked smile that’s absolutely not charming.
“Well,” she said with bright, lethal politeness she wielded like a weapon, “it was lovely to meet you. I’m sure Fern appreciated your care for her animals.”
“Speaking of which, do you know what you’re going to do with them?”
Why was he asking her? Fern known her heart was failing for some time before the final heart attack claimed her.
In fact, Fern made a point of telling Tessa a few months back that she’d made arrangements for her motley assortment of pets when she passed.
She’d looked smugly satisfied with herself about having taken care of it, too.
Tessa said smoothly, “I’ll finish settling her affairs in the next few weeks. Fern left instructions for everything, including her animals, I’m sure.”
“Fern told me you didn’t know a steer from a stump.”
Her grip on the coffee cup tightened. Whether from anger or an involuntary urge to throw it at him, she wasn’t sure.
“Fern and I had our differences,” she said carefully, “but I don’t think a funeral is the place to—”
“You’re right. Sorry.” He had the grace to look mildly chastened. “Fern just talked about you sometimes. I feel like I already know you.”
“You don’t.”
“No,” he agreed, studying her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “I don’t suppose I do.”
An awkward silence settled between them. Tessa sipped her terrible coffee. Dillon turned his hat in his hands.
“The thing is,” he said, “those animals of Fern’s need looking after.
Some of them have medical conditions that require regular care.
If you’re going to be handling the estate, you should know that the barn cat needs insulin shots twice a day, the old bay mare needs her joint supplements, and the llama’s skin condition is going to flare up again if nobody stays on top of it. ”
“I’m aware that there are animals on the property.”
“Being aware of them and being able to take care of them are two very different things.”
“Arlo has stepped in to care for them for now. Fern’s will is being read tomorrow, and she assured me she made arrangements for her animals. I’ll see to it her wishes are followed to the letter.”
Tessa set her coffee cup down on the table gently.
She’d grown up around people who could flay you alive with an arched eyebrow.
She’d survived boarding school, her mother’s dinner parties, and the cutthroat social politics of the Upper East Side.
She was not going to be lectured by a man whose boots were muddy.
“Thank you for your concern,” she said with a smile so polished it could have been displayed in a museum. “But it’s handled.”
“Is it, though?”
“If I need veterinary help, I’ll call a vet.”
“I’m the only large-animal vet in the valley.”
She held his gaze and said, with the kind of deliberate sweetness that would have made her mother proud and her WoWS sisters howl with laughter, “If you were the last veterinarian in Montana, I’d learn animal medicine myself before I picked up the phone and called you.”
Someone behind her choked on a deviled egg.
Slowly, the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a grin he clearly couldn’t suppress. It transformed his face from merely handsome into something considerably more dangerous.
“Fair enough, ma’am.” He settled his hat on his head and touched the brim. “I’ll let you get back to your funeral.”
He turned and walked away, and Tessa absolutely did not watch him go. She did not notice the way his shoulders filled out that pressed shirt or the way his gorgeous blue eyes had crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
Insufferable man.
Charlotte materialized beside her with the stealth of a woman who’d raised twins and learned to sneak up on their shenanigans for her own safety. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing. There were fireworks exploding between you two.”
“That was a rude cowboy who thinks I plan to take care of a bunch of farm animals and furthermore, that I’m not capable of doing it if I choose to.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “You and farm animals? Since when?”
“The vet was talking about Fern’s menagerie. He seemed to think I’m looking after them.”
Her friend smirked openly. “I love you, Tessa. But a city girl like you voluntarily setting foot in a barn? Not a chance.”
“Thankfully, Fern made arrangements for her pets. I’ll get them to their new owner, sell her farm, and be done with it.”
“You’re sure that’s all the sparks flying thick and fast between you two were about?”
Tessa just rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer.
Charlotte studied Tessa’s face with the quiet intensity she usually reserved for her wedding gown sketches. “You know, it’s been four years since Mick died. Nobody would blame you if you hit it off with—”
“Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“And I’m saying I’m not interested in some patronizing vet who thinks a woman in heels can’t handle farm life.”
“All right, all right.” Charlotte held up both hands in surrender. “Subject changed. How are the gown photos coming along? I finished the beadwork on the Sinclair design and it looks stunning, if I do say so myself.”
Tessa let the conversation shift to safer ground—necklines and lace and the major New York wedding boutique that had expressed interest in carrying Charlotte’s line.
This was territory she understood. Fabric and lighting and the perfect angle to photograph a train sweeping across a barn floor.
Not barn diabetic cats, llamas with skin conditions, and blue-eyed veterinarians who said exactly what they thought without a shred of social finesse.
Through the window, she saw Makayla standing beside a horse, watching with rapt attention as the farrier trimmed its hooves. Her daughter’s face was transformed. Lit up. Open in a way Tessa rarely saw anymore.
When had Makayla stopped looking like that?
The question unsettled her even more than the unpleasant encounter with the cowboy vet.
She pushed it into a mental drawer and closed it, the way she did to most things that threatened to crack the smooth surface of her life. She turned back to Charlotte to talk about silk organza and French seams.
That evening, after Makayla was asleep in her room above the Fashion Bow-tique—their apartment was small but bright and very much theirs—Tessa sat at her desk and stared at the business card the oil company man had slipped into her hand after the reception.
He was the stranger who’d been talking to Molly earlier.
He’d been polished and polite, without a sincere bone in his body.
She knew the type all too well—men with a lot of money and very little sentiment or substance.
Nice suit, firm handshake, straight to the point.
He’d heard about Fern’s property on Lake Stillwater.
He understood she might be coming into ownership.
He’d like to discuss a very generous offer, at her convenience.
Fern’s farm was 100 acres of meadows and forests with almost a half-mile of shorefront along the lake, including the prettiest little beach on the whole lake.
A realtor or property developer being interested in the farm wouldn’t have surprised her.
But an oil man? What did he want with Fern’s place?
She set the card down and opened her laptop, scrolling through the photos she’d taken of Charlotte’s latest gown.
The bodice beading was exquisite. She would need to shoot it in natural light, maybe against the weathered wood of the barn door at the Foster Ranch—Jenna had offered her property for photo shoots anytime.
Her phone buzzed. She stared at it, startled. A text from her mother. Judith never texted her.
The Whitmore School has an opening in their strings program and I’ve reserved an audition for Makayla over spring break. Call me.
Tessa set the phone down with a shudder. Today had been tiring and she didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with Judith right now.
Tomorrow was the will reading. After that, she would dispose of the animals, sell the property, and get back to the life she’d built here. The store, the gown business, her friends, Makayla’s school and activities.
Simple.
She ignored the small, stubborn voice in the back of her mind warning her that nothing involving Fern Lawrence had ever been simple.