Chapter Eleven
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“I DIDN’T think they made guys like him anymore,” Holly said early the next morning when Gwynn called and updated her on the previous day’s events. “Does he have a brother? A cousin? I’ll be on the next flight out if it means I can meet me some real men.”
Propped against the headboard in the guest room, Gwynn studied the dark mahogany dresser against the wall. “You don’t have to exhaust yourself or your bank account trying to meet the right guy, Hols. He’ll find you. Be patient.”
“Patience is overrated. But, whatever. Will you see Cash again before you leave?”
“He’s coming for dessert tonight.” And she hadn’t been able to dislodge his idea of painting designs on furniture. Even now, a vision of oversize, brilliant blue orchids gracing the side of the dresser bloomed in her mind’s eye.
“Ooo. Going to meet the ‘fam,’ huh? This is serious.”
Gwynn laughed. “Would you stop? He already knows the Davisons. And one dessert is as serious as we’re ever going to get.”
“You admitted you wanted to kiss him, Gwynn. You’ve never felt that way about any guy you’ve dated, let alone one you’ve known for two days .”
Two days plus the first fifteen years of her life. “So, I’m attracted to him. Doesn’t mean I follow my hormones willy-nilly.” She shifted on the bed so she couldn’t see the dresser.
“Why not?”
“Because we live two thousand miles apart. Because—as you pointed out—we barely know each other.” Anymore. And should he ever learn the truth, his interest in her would shrivel faster than the dried fruit on Aunt Maude’s DIY Christmas ornaments.
“Those aren’t deal breakers, Gwynn. They’re obstacles to overcome—and easy ones at that.”
“I don’t deserve a guy like Cash in my life. And God knows Cash deserves way better than me.”
Holly sighed. “You don’t give yourself enough credit when it comes to relationships. Why is that? You’re an amazing person. You have this faith in God that even I, as an atheist, envy.”
“Hols—”
“Ah, ah, I’m not done. You’re compassionate, selfless, caring, a hard worker, responsible, conscientious. What’s not to love about you?”
“Plenty.”
“Give me one example.”
Did she dare? The Davisons were the only people remaining who knew her secret. Would Holly treat her differently if she knew? It had happened so long ago, and yet it felt fresher than ever.
A knock rapped on her door, and Aunt Maude poked her head inside the bedroom. “I’m making tonight’s dinner in the slow cooker. Want to come down and help?”
“Sure. Holly, I’ll call you back later.”
“Aw, man .” Holly let out a sound as though she’d collapsed onto a soft surface. “Fine. But we’re not done discussing this. And I want deets on how dessert goes tonight!”
* * *
Gwynn applied herself to whatever chore Aunt Maude needed done to keep her mind occupied and avoid thinking about Cash or entertaining the “what if’s” that waltzed in her head. As she cleaned the half-bathroom, she questioned the wisdom in inviting him over for dessert … but she also envisioned painting a mountain valley on the double vanity doors. As she vacuumed the dining and living room floors, she kicked herself for not saying a firm goodbye yesterday afternoon … then she imagined a ranch scene sprawled across the surface of the Davisons’ antique tea cart.
Cash had ruined her preference for simple, stained furniture and awakened her creative vision to a new realm of possibilities.
And in a few hours, he was coming here under misconceptions. She should be ashamed.
But she couldn’t bring herself to seek forgiveness.
Tomorrow. She’d pick up the pieces tomorrow.
Dinnertime neared, and the slow cooker’s rich smells of elk roast and potatoes permeated the downstairs. Gwynn’s stomach growled as she stood at the island counter, scooping sugared apple slices into an unbaked pie shell. Apparently, the few butterscotch candies she’d snitched from Uncle Russ’s snack cupboard hadn’t appeased her belly. Brisket sat at her feet, tail sweeping the floor, his brown eyes trained on her and the dessert.
She grinned at him. “I’m not the only hungry one, am I?”
Soft Christmas music played from a radio in the corner, and she hummed to the familiar tunes as Aunt Maude flitted back and forth through the swinging door connecting the dining room with the kitchen.
“Could you grab me the lemon from the fridge, please?” Gwynn asked before her aunt could scurry away again.
“Hmm?” A water pitcher in one hand, Aunt Maude opened the fridge and set a ketchup bottle in front of Gwynn.
Gwynn snorted. “What has you so distracted this past hour?”
“Nothing. Why?” Aunt Maude marched through the swinging door.
Gwynn shook her head, wiped her fingers on a nearby towel, and rummaged in the fridge for the lemon. The doorbell rang, and Uncle Russ’s footsteps crossed the front hall to answer the door. Gwynn cut the lemon into quarters, straining to hear the muffled voices. Who would visit them at the dinner hour? Should she make herself scarce?
Aunt Maude hurried into the kitchen. “So, Gwynn, dear …”
Gwynn returned to the pie with a lemon wedge. “Yes?”
“Um … well, I, uh, called the Plane & Knotty earlier and …” Aunt Maude fingered a piece of discarded pie dough, and as the voices in the hall grew closer, she blurted, “And I invited Cash to dinner.”
“You did what ?”
Uncle Russ entered the kitchen from the central hallway. Behind him came Cash, a small flower bouquet in his hand.
Their gazes caught across the room. Her fingers twitched. Lemon juice squirted, and her left eye began to burn.
“Ow!” Blinking furiously, she dropped the lemon and rushed around the island counter to the kitchen sink. “Ow ow ow.”
“Oh, sweetie, what happened?” Aunt Maude asked.
“Lemon. Eye.” Tears streaming, Gwynn washed and rinsed her hands, then removed her left contact lens. So much for making a good impression this evening. After setting the contact beside the sink, she bent near the faucet to scoop water into her stinging eye. Her hair fell over her shoulder. Cash’s bouquet settled on the sink’s edge, and a strong hand gathered her hair, twisting it away from the water.
Gwynn angled her head to smile at Cash through watery eyes as she cupped her hand under the faucet again. “Thanks.”
“You smell nice,” he said.
She chuckled. “It’s probably my peppermint shampoo.” She glanced at the bouquet with its Christmas arrangement of red amaryllis, winterberries, and evergreen sprigs, and her smile grew. “Are those for me?”
“They are.”
Her heart fluttered. “Thank you. I promise I’ll admire them thoroughly once my eye stops smarting.” She motioned to her face. “And once I fix my makeup. I-I didn’t know you were coming for dinner. Aunt Maude sprung it on me right as you walked in.”
His eyebrows rose in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m not a welcome surprise?”
“Hardly.” Gwynn brought a fresh handful of water to her eye and blinked several times. “A girl likes to be prepared, that’s all.” She straightened and grabbed a paper towel from the nearby roll to dab at her face.
Cash looked up from the counter, his brow now furrowed, and peered at her. She blinked again, testing her eye. “What is it?”
He tapped a finger by her contact lens, a bright green against the ivory countertop. “This isn’t your natural color then?”
Gwynn froze, her face flushing cold then hot, and met his gaze in a knee-jerk reaction before spinning away. Stupid girl . How could she be such an idiot? Gingerly picking up the contact between shaking fingers, she whispered, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to clean this. Be right back.”
Keeping her eyes lowered, she hurried from the kitchen, the door whooshing shut behind her.
Once upstairs in the bathroom, Gwynn struggled with trembling hands to put her lens in some solution. “Calm down, calm down,” she muttered. She gripped the vanity. “It might not be that bad. He might not have noticed.”
With perfect vision, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. One green eye and one hazel eye stared back at her. For so long, she’d worn the cosmetic contacts around people who didn’t know—or care—about her past that with the pain of lemon juice, she hadn’t thought to remain guarded in front of the one person who mattered.
Had he noticed her hazel eye color? If so, would he think anything of it? Would he jump to conclusions or give her the benefit of the doubt?
Oh, please, Lord, let it be the latter .
“Foolish girl.” Gwynn drilled a hand through her hair and paced alongside the tub. She shouldn’t have invited him over. She should’ve listened to sound judgment, not given in to her weakness for Cash Cooper!
She rubbed at a dark splotch on her shirt and found several more. Water from the sink downstairs? Leaving her contact lens to soak, she went across the hall to her bedroom and changed into a wine-red ribbed turtleneck that flattered her figure. Then she replaced her lens and touched up her makeup.
Maybe if she presented a pretty enough picture, she could distract him from her blunder.
She slipped her mascara wand back into the tube and examined her reflection. Different hair color, different style. Change of eye color, the real shade he couldn’t know for sure. The passage of time was on her side, too, her face having slimmed down in the last decade. She nodded approval.
“Hadley Jacobs is dead.” She flicked off the light and left the bathroom. “Long live Gwynn Sadler.”