Chapter Three
When Whitney drove her compact SUV down the dirt road that ran along Silver Creek at the edge of Thalberg property, she could see several pickups and Brooke’s Jeep in a line in front of the white Victorian. Her car felt almost tiny and just for show as she took her place at the end, but she understood the necessity of powerful pickups and four-wheel drive on a Colorado mountain ranch.
For a moment, she sat in her car and wondered what the hell she was doing at this family event. The widows were being kind to her, of course—they’d taken her “under their wing” as the old saying went. Late last year, Mrs. Palmer, Adam’s grandma, had contacted her after hearing about some townspeople’s determination to oppose her. The widows had supported her by giving interviews to the Valentine Gazette, and stood up against their neighbors at several town-council meetings. Mrs. Palmer had invited her to dinner at the True Grits Diner, then shown all her friends the sketches for Leather and Lace’s next season. The owner of the diner, Sylvester Galimi, had been the leader of the opposition, and had thrown a fit on seeing Whitney’s—very tasteful!—sketches.
That was the evening she’d first met Josh Thalberg. He’d guided her out of the crowded diner, a bulwark against the stares and the anger, then had disappeared without even introducing himself. After she’d seen some of his intricate leatherwork, she’d known that Josh could be the man to help her win over the citizens of Valentine Valley. He’d hesitated, but in the end, her plight had swayed him.
And then they’d celebrated with that kiss.
She winced and almost wished she’d been drunk enough to forget it. As it was, the steaminess had lived on in her dreams, and to her dismay, had made it quite impossible for her to date back in San Francisco. Oh, she’d told herself she was just too busy, but seeing him yesterday had made her realize the truth—she didn’t know anyone who attracted her as much as he had.
As he still did.
She took a deep breath to regain some control. They could be friends, employer and subcontractor, coworkers, whatever you wanted to call it. She wouldn’t fall all over him and make a fool of herself. This town already mistrusted her.
As she got out of the SUV, she looked down at her heels and sundress. She wasn’t certain what she was supposed to wear to a dinner at a boardinghouse. As she carefully negotiated the walk down the dirt road, a bottle of wine cradled in one arm, she noticed there was even a sign that said WIDOWS’ BOARDINGHOUSE, which made her chuckle and begin to relax.
And then her phone rang. Frowning, she glanced at it, saw it was her assistant, Ryan, and almost answered it. Then she heard laughter and voices from out back, and the faint melody of country music on a radio. Ignoring her phone with difficulty, she walked around to the back of the house, where picnic tables were scattered beneath the trees, and in the distance, she could see the buildings of the Silver Creek Ranch. She’d known the boardinghouse was part of the same property, but hadn’t realized how close. The ranch was where Josh lived and worked.
She saw him at the same moment he saw her. He nodded and continued talking with his parents. She’d met them at the first town-council meeting. Doug Thalberg’s brown hair was going gray, along with his mustache. He kept his arm linked with his wife, Sandy, who barely leaned on her cane since her recovery from an MS flare-up last winter. For just a moment, Whitney watched the animated way Sandy spoke to Josh, saw the love and attention the two Thalberg men clearly showed, with their warm expressions and occasional chuckles, and felt a touch of sadness that was deep and old. She pushed it aside like she always did. Maybe she should call her mom. They only talked once or twice a month.
Whitney had hoped this might be a larger party, where she could lose herself, but it was all Thalbergs and their relations. The three widows held court: Mrs. Thalberg, with her dyed red hair and ensemble of sensible jeans and vests; Mrs. Palmer, Adam’s grandma, with her big blond wig and her outrageously patterned dresses; and Mrs. Ludlow, the one who fit the classical idea of a grandma, with her white hair, matching pants and blouses, and her walker. The three were part of the Valentine Valley Preservation Fund committee, and they took everything that happened in town quite personally. They wanted Valentine to be the best it could—and thankfully, they thought a romantic town needed a lingerie store and had stood with her to face the town council.
“Whitney!” Brooke called, then squeezed Adam’s hand before approaching her.
Brooke had grown up on the ranch and moved like an athlete, tall and lean, her long brown hair swinging free, not in the braid she normally wore when she worked. She was wearing jean shorts and a tank top with her cowboy boots, and Whitney began to realize she herself might have overdressed. Oh well, these were the clothes she felt comfortable in, and knew she looked good in them.
Not that she cared that anyone in particular might think she looked good.
Brook gave her an enthusiastic hug. “It’s great to see you again!”
“Thanks. It was kind of your grandmother to invite me.”
“Josh first mentioned you were in town but didn’t say for how long.”
“I don’t really know. I guess I’ll see how the building goes. I have meetings with architects, and that’ll lead to construction companies, as long as I decide to put in a purchase offer. Lots to do.”
“I’m not surprised. Come say hi to everyone else—although Nate tells me you already saw Josh.” She winked.
Nate told her? Whitney thought with interest. So word got around. But then again, Valentine was a small town, where everyone knew everyone else’s business, especially brothers. When she’d been fresh out of college, Whitney had spent a year in the spotlight—she didn’t want to go back to that fishbowl life.
She was welcomed into the gathering with easy smiles and warm hugs. After thanking her for the wine, the widows studied her, with concern lingering behind those smiles.
It was finally Mrs. Thalberg who said, “You look like you’ve worked too hard this year, my dear. Have you lost weight?”
Brooke winced and shrugged a silent apology, even as Whitney said, “No, at least I don’t think I—”
“Really, you should move in with us,” Mrs. Palmer said, her Western accent prominent. “We have that extra room and we wouldn’t charge you anythin’, and we’d make sure you were fed.”
“That is so kind of you ladies, but Debbie is taking good care of me at The Adelaide.”
“But she only serves breakfast,” Mrs. Ludlow pointed out.
“And I’m enjoying discovering all the lovely restaurants on Main Street.”
“Let her be, Grandma,” Josh said, putting an arm around Mrs. Thalberg. “She needs peace and quiet for all that work she does.”
“What would you like to drink?” Doug Thalberg asked.
Soon, she had a glass of red wine in her hand, standing with Brooke and Emily Thalberg, Nate’s wife, chatting about Emily’s wedding earlier that summer.
“They got married in the gazebo overlooking Silver Creek,” Brooke said.
Emily, her blush matching her strawberry blond hair, had a dreamy expression in her eyes. “The day was so lovely. No wonder so many people choose June for weddings! And the best part—I wore my Grandma Riley’s dress! The Widows’ Boardinghouse was originally my grandma’s home, and her dress was still in the attic. Mrs. Ludlow did the alterations. Brooke, Monica, and my little sister Steph were bridesmaids, along with Heather Armstrong, my friend from San Francisco.”
“And being that it was a Valentine wedding,” Brooke added dryly, “we had to have double the romance. Heather fell for Em’s brother Chris right there at the wedding!”
“Only in Valentine,” Whitney said, shaking her head. “So are Heather and Chris going to have a long-distance relationship?”
“No, she’s in the process of moving here, and I’m so excited. I first realized my love of baking when she’d occasionally hire me in a pinch for her catering business. She fell in love with Valentine as well as Chris, and I certainly know how she feels.”
Whitney knew that Emily had been born and raised in San Francisco but had to return to Valentine after her mom’s death to deal with inherited property. Falling in love with Nate, and finding the biological dad she’d never known, had all contributed to her wanting to stay in Valentine.
“So did you go on a honeymoon?” Whitney asked.
Emily shot a wince at her husband, who was playing horseshoes with his brother. “Not yet. It’s hard to find the time.”
“Josh tells me ranching is practically a twenty-four-hour-a-day job,” Whitney said.
Emily hesitated. “It’s not Nate’s job but mine that’s causing the problem.” She gave Brooke a soft smile. “Everyone was eager to take over for him while we’d be gone, and I was grateful. Sadly, I don’t have anyone to take over for me.”
“She’s at last realizing that her bakery is busier than she’d ever imagined,” Brooke said, then gave Emily a mock frown. “Didn’t I warn you that this is Valentine, Em, and all this romance demands pastries?”
Whitney chuckled, but Emily could only give a faint smile.
“It’s wonderful to be busy,” she admitted, “and Whitney, I’ll warn you now, you’ll be amazed at how eager everyone around here is to celebrate weddings. People come here just for the postage mark on their wedding invitations—did you know that?”
Whitney shook her head, struggling to hide her amusement in the face of Emily’s worries.
“The widows have offered to help, but I just can’t ask that of them,” Emily continued. “They already work the counter, and doing all that baking—no, I won’t hear of it. Nate and I can wait until I find the perfect person.”
“Surely there are other pastry chefs,” Whitney said.
“All the best ones are in Aspen,” Emily pointed out. “My little shop doesn’t have quite the same draw. But I’ll figure it out. And Nate has been more than understanding about having to put off the trip.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Please. My brother had better be understanding.”
The three of them glanced at the men, who were now grouped around the horseshoes pit, watching Adam take his turn at a sport he was obviously unfamiliar with.
“It’s like throwing a hand grenade!” Doug called.
Adam laughed. “That only proves that you and I weren’t in the same branch of the military.”
“My dad was in the army in Vietnam,” Brooke explained. “Adam served with the Marines in Afghanistan.”
Whitney heard the soft pride in her voice, saw the tender way she looked at Adam, as if she knew how much service to his country had cost him. Every man at this picnic was part of a couple except Josh, and Whitney began to wonder if the widows were being more than friendly by inviting her tonight. As she helped herself to salsa and chips, she found herself watching him, playing right into their hands. He wasn’t as exuberant or talkative as the rest of his family, but he was right there with a quip or praise (and Adam needed some praise in horseshoes). Surprising herself, she sort of liked that Josh wasn’t always perfectly put together. His dark hair was often mussed, and he seemed to shave only when he wanted to. His clothes were casual and worn, as if comfort mattered more than looks. That was a rarity in her world—and she knew from experience, for her feet were already killing her. But the sandals were so cute!
Josh was a man at ease in his own world, much as she’d never understand that world herself. The pace of events in Valentine seemed so… slow, as if everyone believed things would work out for the best if you just gave them time. Well, that was crap. She knew from her own experience with her family that you could hope and wish and work toward something all your life, but in the end, other people made the decisions, and you could only pray you could sway opinions, change minds. And in her case, it hadn’t worked.
She’d thought herself destined to inherit the majority shares of Winslow Enterprises along with her brother, to work at his side for the rest of her life—until her dad had explained otherwise. She shivered even in the August heat, remembering back in boarding school when she’d been home for a holiday, and mentioned her plans to study business in college, to be ready. Her father had looked at her blankly, then explained that only the men came into the business, that the women of the family stayed in the charitable arm of the company—surely just as worthy, he’d said in a patronizing tone she’d never heard from him before. Not that she’d spent all that much time with her parents, except on the occasional holiday, and even then, the servants had been more involved in her life than her parents were.
She hadn’t believed his resolve, of course, being sixteen and confident in herself. Once in college, she’d graduated summa cum laude as a business major, gone on for her MBA, but it hadn’t changed his mind.
So Whitney went wild for a year that she’d rather forget.
The Thalbergs and their easy intimacy made her ache for a childhood she’d never known enough to want. She’d had everything money could buy, been treated well—that was enough, wasn’t it?
“Give the guy a break,” Nate was saying, as Adam lost badly to him in horseshoes. “If this were poker, he’d be doing a lot better.”
Brooke groaned. “I can’t believe you dragged him into the junior version of Robbers’ Roost. He’ll take all your money.”
“Robbers’ Roost?” Whitney echoed, as the men gathered to get the grill going. She followed the ladies into the cow-themed kitchen to help carry out the food.
“It was originally an old barn loft at Deke Hutcheson’s Paradise Mountain Ranch,” Brooke explained, handing her a bowl of potato salad to carry. “He needed a place to get away from his wife, but not go too far. He and his friends, including my dad, gather to play poker, smoke cigars, or spit.”
Emily gave a visible shudder as she set a tray of condiments on one of the picnic tables. “So now the younger men have decided they need to band together, too. Rather than an old barn loft, they gather at Tony’s Tavern.”
“The junior version of Robbers’ Roost,” Brooke said again. “All the men, they like to batch up.”
“‘Batch up’?” Whitney echoed in confusion.
“Sorry, ranching term. The older bulls tend to form bachelor herds. They can be hard to locate in the mountains and bring home. See?”
Whitney laughed. “I see.”
Brooke lowered her voice. “And someday they’ll be like the widows, scheming nicely to have the town just the way they want it.” She gasped and arched forward in surprise, as if someone had—
Adam smiled down at Brooke from behind. “Now, now, no talking about us behind our backs, or you’ll be punished, maybe even pleasantly.”
She groaned and gave his shoulder a push until he let her pass.
Soon, the smell of grilling steaks scented the evening air. The sun dipped behind the mountains, and Whitney found herself watching the skyline in fascination. The mountains were so tall as to seem unreal, with little visible vegetation above the tree line. There was no snow yet, but she imagined that wouldn’t be long in coming. She’d been to many a mountain town, of course, but never lost her appreciation. For some reason, she always found mountain scenery more peaceful than the beach. Not that her parents agreed…
Soon, they were seated at three different picnic tables, eating steak, Brussels sprouts, tossed salad, sweet potatoes, and delicious rolls Emily had taken out of the oven. They were mouthwatering—and Whitney could see why she was worried about someone having enough skill to replace her.
Doug lit torches around the yard, and lights strung in the trees winked on. Whitney had a second—and last—glass of wine, knowing she would have to drive. But for some reason, she wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The food was delicious, and Mrs. Palmer had baked a blueberry cobbler that Emily should steal for her bakery. And there was nothing like grass-fed beef, fresh from the ranch it had been raised on.
She didn’t sit right beside Josh, but they faced each other from two different picnic tables, and more than once she caught him looking at her, because, of course, she was stealing glances at him.
“Whitney,” Mrs. Thalberg called, as people pushed their plates away, stuffed. “Are you going to put my grandson’s work in your other stores?”
“I’d like to,” she said, then gave him an apologetic smile, “after we come to terms with the design and cost, of course.”
“We’ll manage,” he said in his low, slow tones.
He wasn’t saying anything naughty, but when he spoke, she always felt like she could hear other meanings—or maybe it was only her.
“You know, there’s a fancy boutique in Aspen that he agreed to work with,” Mrs. Thalberg continued.
Whitney paused to keep her frown from showing. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“It was before your request,” Josh put in, as if he understood her concerns perfectly.
“He’s far too creative just to keep belts at the feed store,” Nate added, his voice teasing.
“Items there, too,” Whitney said, keeping her smile in place as she glanced at Josh. “I thought your projects were only on display at Monica’s Flowers and Gifts.”
“I keep different work at different places,” Josh said with a shrug. “Key chains, checkbook covers, frames—those are at Monica’s.”
He seemed indifferent to her concern, but for some reason, she knew it wasn’t so. Yet… he was only one man, and according to him, that ranch behind the trees needed him. How was he going to do it all? She could hardly advertise his work, then constantly run short of supply.
“And what product will be in Aspen?” Whitney asked.
“Shoulder bags, which are very popular,” Brooke said.
“And what will he be doing for you?” Nate asked.
Though Josh didn’t lose his lazy smile, he shot his brother a look.
“For your store,” Nate corrected himself, even as several chuckles were quickly squelched.
Whitney had no problem answering this question though some might think it loaded. “The fact that you can ask me in front of your grandmother means you’ve already looked at my website. My customers enjoy tasteful, elegant items, and as I’m sure Josh has told you, his necklaces will make a woman feel beautiful and sexy and little bit naughty. We all need that some days.”
Emily clapped her hands, said, “Hear, hear!” then shot her husband her own special narrow-eyed look.
Whitney continued to smile at Nate, and thought maybe he even reddened a bit, but it was hard to tell in the twilight. She’d been in the lingerie business a long time—and before that, she’d worn her share. Nothing could embarrass her.
“This Aspen boutique I mentioned,” Mrs. Thalberg continued nonplussed, “this will be the first time Josh does work for folks he doesn’t know. I don’t think a verbal agreement will do it this time. Do you know about contracts, Whitney?”
“Of course,” she answered. “I deal with that all the time with my suppliers.”
“That’s what lawyers are for, Grandma,” Josh said patiently, then took another sip of his beer. “I’ll talk everything over with Cal Carpenter before I sign.”
“But you could use someone with you, someone to represent you,” his mom, Sandy, suddenly insisted. “And Whitney is already in the retail business.”
Whitney felt uneasy and wondered if Josh felt the same. But how was she supposed to refuse these women, who’d already led the charge in her defense against all their friends and neighbors?
“I’d be happy to help, Josh,” she said, giving him an honest smile. “And I can make sure you’re not committing yourself too extensively to another business besides mine.”
He studied her for a moment. “All right, thanks.”
Talk moved on to other things, discussion of the approaching winter and anticipating when the herd should be brought back in the fall. When the women started to clear the tables—all except for Brooke, who was just as necessary to the ranch discussion as any of the men—Whitney was briefly alone as she stacked the condiments on the tray.
“You don’t have to do that,” Josh said, coming up behind her. “You’re a guest.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “Technically, we’re all guests of the widows, right? I can’t just sit around and watch everyone work—nor can I contribute anything to the ranch discussion.”
“You contributed enough tonight,” he said ruefully. “I’m really sorry to put you into something that’s plainly not your concern.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said, straightening to look up at him. “I didn’t know you had agreements with so many other stores. It doesn’t make me all that happy.”
He arched a dark brow, and in the torchlight, his five o’clock shadow gave him the swarthy look of a pirate. “As long as I meet my quota with you, it’s none of your business, right?”
He grinned, and she grinned back, rather enjoying herself. “But think how nervous I’ll be, advertising your work, giving it prominent position in my catalogue, then wondering if your cows or your friendship with Monica is keeping you from finishing your delivery.”
“My friendship with Monica? Now that’s where you don’t have to worry. I sell on consignment there, so if I don’t have anything for her—”
“She won’t care?”
He hesitated.
“Ah, but you’re going to become more famous, aren’t you, with this Aspen boutique? Maybe she’ll feel bad when you don’t give her something to lure her own clients—or frankly, with the little bit I know of you, it’s more likely you’ll feel bad.”
He chuckled. “You’re too perceptive, Ms. Winslow.”
“Guilty as charged. That’s where I’ll come in handy when I accompany you to Aspen.”
“We could make a day of it. Have you ever been to…” His words faded even as she smiled. “Of course you’ve been there,” he added, shaking his head.
“Guilty as charged, once again. My parents are beach-resort people, but they certainly have enjoyed the occasional winter week skiing here.”
“I bet you ski well,” he said. “Lots of lessons?”
“Lots. My parents had to keep me busy, didn’t they?”
His smile faded, and his gaze grew sharp, as she realized she’d revealed a bit too much personal detail.
“So you don’t have to worry about showing me Aspen.”
“We can’t make it a date?” he asked.
She chuckled. “I’m flattered, Josh, but I think that would be a mistake. I’m only here a short time, and it’s a business trip.”
“You don’t like to have fun?”
She betrayed the barest hint of hesitation before she shook her head. “Thanks, but that would complicate things. We’re all business, Mr. Thalberg.”
“Now it sounds like you’re talking to my dad,” he teased.
“If that’s what it takes…”
He held up both hands. “You’ve made your position perfectly clear, but you can’t blame a cowboy for tryin’.”
“Are you going to keep trying?” she found herself asking. And her voice was not businesslike. After all she’d said, was she actually flirting with him?
“I just might be doin’ that,” he said, emphasizing a Western drawl that gave her pleasurable little shivers.