Chapter 15
15
C harlie Grace stood just outside the security checkpoint of the Jackson Hole Airport. The terminal held clusters of travelers in fleece jackets and hiking boots, ski bags slung over shoulders.
Coffee warmed her hands through the Styrofoam cup as she took a sip, then lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight shining in from the tarmac, where a handful of private jets and regional planes stood against the vast mountain backdrop.
She spotted Nick Thatcher before he saw her, his easy stride unmistakable in the thinning crowd. He carried that effortless presence—broad shoulders, dark hair a little tousled, a well-cut blazer over a black tee that somehow made him look both polished and rugged at once.
When he finally lifted his gaze and caught sight of her, a grin broke across his face.
“Hey, stranger,” she said, stepping forward as he dropped his bag and pulled her into a tight hug.
“Hey, yourself.” His voice was warm, familiar, grounding. “Miss me?”
“Maybe.” She leaned in for a kiss.
Nick chuckled, shouldering his carry-on as they headed for the exit. Once inside Charlie Grace’s truck, he settled in, stretching his legs and adjusting his seat with a satisfied sigh. “It’s good to be home.” Then he turned his attention to her, reached across the seat, and placed his hand on her thigh. “Just so you know, I’m going to want a real kiss when we get to my house.” He grinned.
So did she.
Two weeks was a long time to be apart and it was good to have him home. Sure, they’d talked over the phone frequently, especially after Capri’s accident. Of course, he’d also had to tell her all about the Oscars. Still, it wasn’t the same as having him with her.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, watching her as she started the engine, “but you look tired. You okay?”
Charlie Grace exhaled, rolling her shoulders before pulling out of the airport lot. “I’m fine. Just dealing with issues with my dad. I thought we’d gotten past a lot of this friction, but it keeps rearing its ugly head. Especially when it involves Gibbs.”
Nick shot her a knowing glance. “How is your ex?”
“Needy.”
The truck rumbled onto the highway, the snow-covered Tetons rising in the distance. Patches of slush lined the roadside, where the late-season sun worked tirelessly to melt winter’s remnants. Dirty piles of snow receded, giving way to damp earth and the first hopeful hints of green.
“Spring’s coming,” she mused, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “Skiing is slowing down. We haven’t had any guests since the holidays.” She sighed. “The summer tourist season can’t come fast enough.”
Nick studied her for a moment before shifting slightly. “Listen, if you need a little financial help to get by until things pick up?—”
“No,” she cut in firmly. “I’ll be fine.”
Nick sighed but let it drop. “Alright. But I might have something else that could help. I ran into an old friend in Hollywood—a producer for a new show called Treasure Pickers .”
Charlie Grace shot him a skeptical glance. “What is that? Some reality show?”
“Basically,” Nick said.
She scoffed. “No offense, but those shows are anything but real.”
Nick continued, unfazed. “Perhaps, but this one has enjoyed rising popularity. The show features a team of expert treasure hunters who travel the country searching for rare antiques, unique collectibles, and forgotten relics tucked away in barns, garages, and roadside shops. Their keen eye for hidden gems and historical finds often leads to surprising discoveries—and unexpected fortunes. They’re looking for people to feature in different episodes. I could make a call, set something up.”
Charlie Grace shook her head immediately. “No way. I don’t want to be on television.”
Nick chuckled. “Come on, Charlie Grace. The national exposure would be worth its weight in gold. And they pay.” He let that sink in. “You could use the cash.”
She hesitated, her grip tightening on the wheel. The truck rolled past a pasture where a few shaggy horses picked at the exposed grass, steam rising from their nostrils in the chilly air.
“How much do they pay?” she asked finally.
Nick grinned. “Far more than you’d expect.”
Charlie Grace sighed, but a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “Well, I’m not saying yes yet. But I’m listening.”
Nick leaned back in his seat, pleased. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
Nick was good on his word.
Within days, he had made the right calls, cut through red tape, and arranged everything. The production team would arrive atTeton Trails Guest Ranchin a few weeks to film an episode, shining a national spotlight on the place Charlie Grace had fought so hard to keep running.
When he told her the news, standing in the dim light of the barn, she barely heard the details at first—too distracted by the way he leaned against a post, arms crossed over his chest, watching her reaction with quiet satisfaction.
She blew out a breath. “So, just like that, it’s done?”
A smile nipped at the corner of Nick’s mouth. “Did you expect anything less?”
She shook her head, looking away to hide the warmth creeping up her neck. She should have expected it. That’s who Nick was—steady, capable, a man who followed through. But it was the way he did things, the ease with which he always seemed to take care of her, that rattled her more than she liked to admit.
“So,” he continued, stepping closer, his voice taking on that low, amused tone that always unsettled her. “What are the odds you’ve got something valuable up there in that attic?”
Charlie Grace smirked, crossing her arms. “Slim to none. But you know these shows—they can turn an old, rusted horseshoe into the discovery of the century with the right camera angle.”
Nick chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, either way, you’re getting paid. And if they do find some lost fortune, I assume you’ll be buying me dinner?”
She arched a brow. “That depends. Are you asking me on a date, Thatcher?”
He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping. “I thought I already had.”
Her breath caught for half a second, but she covered it with a smirk. “Guess we’ll see if you earn it.”
Nick just grinned, stepping back as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Charlie Grace turned toward the barn door, shaking her head, but her pulse was still kicking up in a way that had nothing to do with treasure hunting.