2. Madeleine
MADELEINE
Iwas almost ready for dinner, wearing a thick sweater, jeans, and black cowgirl boots, my hair down and my make up perfect, when I noticed I’d missed a call from my sister while I was in the shower. I played the voicemail.
Hey, Mindy, it’s me.
Mindy. My real name. On my birth certificate I’m listed as Mindy Sue Price.
Could that name be more of a giveaway about my past or what?
In addition to the nose job and wardrobe upgrade I’d put on a credit card twelve years ago, I’d also changed my name to Madeleine Price.
I also took voice lessons from a vocal coach to get rid of my Arkansas accent.
My sister, though, was full on Arkansas, not an ending consonant to be found.
Charlie’s voice filled the cabin, every “g” softened and dropped the way Mama’s always were, the vowels stretched round and warm.
For a second, I felt homesick for Bellwood, Arkansas, but only for a moment.
I’d gotten out of there by the skin of my teeth and had no intention of going back.
Just checking to see if you made it to Montana all right.
I’m at my apartment tonight, studying for finals before the break, so call if you get a minute.
Otherwise just shoot me a text so I know you got there safe.
You sounded wore out when we talked the other day—I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but don’t forget to actually rest, okay?
Enjoy being away from the rat race for once.
And I hope you see a moose. Love you. Bye.
I didn’t have time to call, given how my sister had the gift of gab, so I texted instead.
Madeleine
I’m here at the ranch in Montana. No moose sightings yet.
Just a jackass named Knox, so nothing new there.
He pulled in the exact same second I did and—worst part—his cabin’s right next to mine.
And he was SPYING on me. For real. His window looks straight into mine and he saw me rubbing my feet.
Mortifying. Fine, I wore the wrong shoes for a ranch tour, but still.
He lives to watch me get humiliated. Anyway, study hard. So proud of you, baby sister.
Charlie texted back right away.
Charlie
So glad you made it safe. And what’d you do?
Wear some ridiculous tall pumps? Don’t even answer, I already know.
And now they’re ruined and you’ve got blisters, bless your heart.
As for Knox spying, I doubt that. He was probably just looking out his window.
Or, and hear me out, he was staring because he’s got a big fat crush on you and won’t own up to it.
Madeleine
You just made me throw up in my mouth a little.
He does NOT have a crush on me. He loves to ridicule me whenever possible, undermine my authority and, in general, act like a total jerk.
And yes, I have blisters, which are now plastered with bandages.
Anyway, have to run. Dinner’s in five minutes. Pray for me.
Charlie
Always do. XOXO
I slipped my phone into my Hermès Kelly bag, put my coat on, and headed out the door. I kept along the path, stunned by how cold it was and how it set my teeth to chattering.
A hostess greeted me at the front of the restaurant. Wonderful smells wafted from the kitchen—roasting meat and something citrus. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since before I’d gotten on the plane.
I took a quick look around. The ceiling drew my eye first. Low and beamed, the wood dark and old and hand-hewn, crossed with rough timbers that I suspected had been salvaged from an original building.
Industrial pendant lights hung down the length of the room on long cords, throwing pools of amber light over everything beneath them.
Walls were a deep, warm charcoal, decorated with black-and-white photographs.
A fire crackled near a long table where our entire group was already seated.
The table ran nearly the length of the room—one long slab of reclaimed wood, honeyed and scarred, wide enough to seat our entire group down its length.
Candles flickered in amber glass between bowls of greenery.
Down one side ran a row of ladder-back chairs, and a single long bench, softened with a scatter of linen pillows, on the other.
I was the last one to the table. Everyone was already settled, glasses filled, the low hum of a dozen conversations rising into the beams. Jack and Ivy sat together at the head of the long table, on a short bench of their own.
Ivy glowed brighter than any Christmas light, looking gorgeous in a red sweater.
Jack seemed relaxed and happy next to her.
As he should be, I thought. Lucky man to be marrying my best friend.
Ivy caught my eye and lifted her glass a fraction, and my chest ached with how happy I was for her.
Whatever this month cost me, she was worth it.
Her parents had taken the first seats down each side, close to Jack and Ivy.
The others were paired down the long sides in the flickering light—Grant and Luci, Beck and Blake, and, near the far end, Rhett with Holly beside him, their heads bent close, talking as if they were old friends.
Holly had grown up with Jack and Luci back in Washington state.
If I remembered right, Rhett and Holly had been high school sweethearts.
Jack’s mother, Carol, hadn’t arrived yet but would arrive by morning.
However, that was not my focus at the moment. I was horrified to see that the only seat left at the end of the bench had my name written in calligraphy on the place card. Right next to Knox. Of course.
“You’re late,” Knox said as I slid in beside him. And I’m talking right beside him, as in, no space between our thighs. I wanted to tell him to scoot further in but there was no room left to scoot.
“I know. My sister called.” That slipped out without my intention to do so.
“The ice queen has a sister?” Knox asked, his eyes on his IPA.
“Ice queens have sisters. Elsa, for example,” I said, noticing wine had already been poured into a glass. Thank goodness. No one should face Knox Hartley without a little booze to soften his annoying personality.
“I have no idea who that is,” Knox said.
“Of course you don’t.”
“Why’s that?” His gaze moved lazily from his drink to my face.
“Because it’s a happy kid’s film and that’s not exactly on brand for you.”
“Do you know what I hate?”
“So many things?”
One dark brow raised as he drawled, “I hate it when people say ‘on brand’ this or ‘so your brand’ that. I know you love to think about life in terms of a brand, but regular folks think it’s pretentious.”
“The way I think has made you a rich man,” I said.
“Has it?” Knox leaned closer, speaking right into my ear, close enough I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Or was it the talent of the men at this table? Without us, you got no one to brand with that giant M of yours.”
“What does that even mean?” God, I loathed this man.
“I’m saying you’ve tried to brand us all with the unmistakable Madeleine font.”
“I don’t have a font.”
“Oh, you sure do. I’m guessing it’s a cold one. All straight lines and sharp corners. Real expensive-looking. The kind that costs a fortune to look like it didn’t cost anything at all.”
My stomach clenched. He wasn’t wrong, the jerk. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be a compliment.”
I rested my cheek in my hand, watching him for a moment, noticing how green his eyes looked under the lights and the thin scar under his right cheekbone.
I’d often wondered how he got it but didn’t want to ask anyone for fear they’d think there was anything remotely interesting to me about this man.
“You’ve clearly given my font a lot of thought, Hartley. I’d think you were too busy spending all the money I made you to think much about my font or spirit animal or anything else about me. But let me return the favor. Your font? Easy. Hand-lettered on a bar napkin and impossible to read.”
That actually caused him to chuckle. When he smiled or laughed, his whole face changed. He looked younger, for one thing. Not so embattled. “Not bad, Price. What’s my spirit animal?”
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
“Oh, but I do,” Knox said.
“Fine. You asked for it. A mule. Stubborn to the bone. Smarter than it lets on. Digs its heels in the second anyone tries to lead it somewhere sensible, then acts wounded when it gets called difficult.”
“Are you calling me smart?”
“Smart’s what you took out of that?” I asked, unable to keep the corners of my mouth lifting in amusement.
“Might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Knox said, mimicking my earlier comment. “I know yours.”
“Do tell,” I said.
“A cat,” he said, without missing a beat.
“One of those fancy ones. Sits up high where it can see the whole room, won’t come when it’s called, and lets you think you’re in charge right up until it wants something.
And nobody ever gets to know where it goes at night.
” He lifted a brow, and I swear it was almost flirty.
Warmth spread along my whole left side, from shoulder to knee.
Why? Why indeed? Knox Hartley might be the thorn in my side, but he was sexy too.
I’d had more than one dream about the man over the years.
I hated my subconscious for it too. At the moment, I could feel the muscles in his thighs and, occasionally, when his side brushed my side, the strength of his arms and torso.
He was looking good too, dressed in dark jeans and a tight black sweater. No black signature hat for once.