Chapter Seven
Josh did his best to persuade Whitney to stay longer, but she insisted she had work to do, and he was left standing at the barn, watching her drive away, the two cowdogs trying to offer their sympathy. He noticed that his dad’s going-to-town pickup was back, which meant his parents had come home without his even hearing it. It was far too easy to focus on Whitney. He ended up playing fetch with a tennis ball for a few minutes until he got his mom’s text that lunch was ready.
In the kitchen, the sun came streaming in through a row of windows lining the long kitchen table. Sandy stood behind the breakfast counter, assembling tacos as Doug put together the big salad. Lou Webster, their old part-timer, was already seated at the table, his bald head bent over a ranching magazine so that the tufts of white hair at the back seemed to stick straight up in the air.
Lou glanced up as Josh passed by, blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Saw a shiny SUV parked out front. Here I was, workin’ in the storage trailer, and no one came to introduce me to guests.”
Josh grinned as he washed his hands at the sink. “Sorry, Lou. Whitney came to see my workshop, and I just forgot.”
“I’m gettin’ the feelin’ he forgets everythin’ when he’s with Whitney,” Doug said, grinning.
Sandy almost giggled.
Josh rolled his eyes. “You’ll be happy to know we’re gonna go out. Tease all you like—doesn’t bother me.”
“Of course you’re going out,” Sandy said, sliding the platter of beef-filled tacos across the counter to Josh.
He set the platter on the table, where there were already lots of bowls with taco fixings. Doug carried around the salad, as Josh grabbed a soda out of the fridge. When they’d all sat down, Sandy said a prayer, and they dug in.
“So Whitney’s the Leather and Lace lady?” Lou asked, eyeing Josh. “You’re makin’ leather stuff for her, right?”
Josh nodded, mouth full of taco, swallowed, then said, “Necklaces. Sort of like collars, but not really.”
“Delicate work,” Lou said, nodding, as he helped himself to a big bowl of salad.
“Are you officially making shoulder bags for that place in Aspen?” Doug asked.
“Yep. Signed the papers yesterday.” He saw his mom’s concerned look. “I already have twenty bags made, and plenty more already started. I’ll manage it all just fine.”
“Was Whitney helpful at the boutique?”
“Sure. She knows those clauses inside and out. Changed a few things I wouldn’t have thought to. But the owner, Geneva Iacuzzi, was pretty eager for the bags, so she was willing to negotiate.”
“Geneva?” Sandy said, frowning. “I’ve heard of her.”
“Gotta ask, son,” began Doug. “How much are the bags worth?”
Josh poured dressing on his salad, and tried to be casual. “A thousand each.”
Lou coughed, and Josh hit him on the back.
“You okay, old man?” Josh looked around and saw that even his parents stared at him with shocked eyes. “It’s just Aspen. You know how the prices are.”
“But Josh, that’s…” His mom’s voice weakened for a moment. “That’s just incredible. I knew you were talented, and Monica always swore your things flew off the shelves, but… I had no idea.”
“We’re very proud of you, son,” Doug said.
“Thanks.” Josh smiled at them all.
“Wait until Nate and Brooke hear,” Doug continued.
“At least they can see that all the problems I’ve caused them over the years paid off some.”
“Now I remember Geneva,” Sandy exclaimed. “And you haven’t caused your family problems, Joshua James,” she added sternly.
“Thanks, but what about Geneva?”
“She entered her photographs into last year’s fall craft festival. She has quite the eye for detail. I think she won several ribbons.”
Josh began to sprinkle cheese and lettuce on his next taco. “Yeah, she pulled out the camera and snapped some photos of me. Wanted them for her display of my bags, something about the ‘cowboy artist.’ I don’t know.”
“Maybe she knows what she’s talking about,” Sandy said.
Doug looked doubtful, and Josh couldn’t help grinning at him. “She had me put on a vest, so I’d look a little more Western.” He left out the part about his unbuttoned shirt—he’d only done that to get Whitney’s attention, and it had worked.
“Well, whatever sells your bags,” Doug said, sounding baffled.
Josh’s smile faded. “You know, Dad, that I won’t let this interfere with my ranch work. Make sure Nate knows that since he would never express any doubts to me. I want him to know that he can count on me the moment he’s ready to take his honeymoon.”
“That’ll be a while yet,” Sandy said with a sigh, fork toying absently with her lettuce. “Emily interviewed a pastry chef from Denver, and it went badly.”
“How can anyone not cotton to that pretty little girl?” Lou scoffed.
“Apparently, he felt himself quite her superior, and let her know it.” Sandy’s brown eyes flashed. “She’s no fool—she knows she’s self-taught and would enjoy learning even more, but not from a man like that.”
“That’s too bad,” Josh said, pushing back his plate and reaching for a homemade chocolate chip cookie piled on another platter. “I still think she should take Grandma Thalberg up on her offer to do some baking.”
“Emily’s dead set against it,” Sandy said, “and I don’t blame her. Those widows do too much as it is. We don’t want their health affected.”
“Maybe it’ll keep them from more mischief,” Josh teased.
“They have been pretty quiet lately,” Doug said with a distracted frown.
Josh’s amusement faded. “Do you think something’s wrong? They all seemed just fine when we were there for dinner.”
“They may be healthy for their ages,” Sandy said, “but I know for a fact they each went to bed early that night. Emily’s right about their not baking for the store. She’ll solve the problem eventually, with patience.”
“Something Brooke doesn’t have,” Josh said, pouring himself a glass of milk from the pitcher to go with the cookies. “We were shoveling out stalls early this morning, and she’s still talking about itching to be engaged.”
Doug rolled his eyes. “That girl. She needs to settle in to her new business. That arena’s not going to rent itself.”
“She’s having professional posters made for advertisements, Dad,” Josh said. “She showed me the design.”
“Oh. Well, then.”
Sandy narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Who needs to practice patience in this family?”
Doug cleared his throat and bit into a cookie.
“And who knows, maybe Adam’s proposing right now,” Josh offered. “They took camping supplies and are making a night of it up there.”
“How romantic,” Sandy said. “I’m surprised she didn’t mention a camping trip.”
“I was supposed to tell you.” Josh rose to his feet. “And so I did.”
His mom tossed a napkin at him as he started clearing the table.
Late Friday morning, four days after her trip to Silver Creek Ranch, Whitney was once again trying to do her work in the B&B’s garden. She could see Debbie on her hands and knees, weeding her vegetable patch farther in the backyard, but that was the most distracting that Debbie ever was. She was very good at giving her guests space, even within her own home.
The Adelaide had become Whitney’s home away from home, and to her surprise, she’d found a rare peace there. She worked when she wanted, ate meals at the different restaurants in Valentine, experimenting. And for a woman who’d eaten at the most exclusive restaurants all over the world, she was surprised by how much she’d enjoyed them all. Brooke had even driven her to Glenwood Springs for an afternoon, once a major train stop in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Presidents had given speeches in the old hotel there, and the natural hot springs drew tourists even in the winter. Brooke had mentioned her camping trip, and that was something Whitney just didn’t understand. Tents? Bugs? The closest she’d come to camping was her own exclusive bungalow on safari in South Africa. The personal chefs there didn’t exactly make it feel like a camping trip…
Suddenly, she heard the doorbell ring and saw Debbie turn her head.
“I’ll get it!” Whitney called, heading around to the front of the B&B.
A man in his fifties stood on the porch, wearing a suit, something that already seemed strange to her. Even the lawyers around Valentine wore polo shirts and jeans. Then she saw the thin gray ponytail hanging down his back. Not quite the same as everyone else after all.
“May I help you?” she called.
He turned and came back to the top of the steps, smiling. He was slightly overweight, the kind that was easily disguised by the right suit. The double chin, not so much, but he looked like a pleasant guy, peering at her through glasses that winked in the sun. “I’m looking for Ms. Winslow.”
“You’ve found her.”
He came down the stairs, extending a hand. “Henry Birdsong. I’m a real-estate developer in Aspen. Do you have some time to talk? I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”
“I can talk,” she said. “Come on inside. Debbie always has a pot of coffee going.”
“Sounds good.”
He followed her inside the house, and both of them stepped aside as a young couple trailed their children out the front door. They were such good kids, Whitney barely knew they were sharing the same B&B. In the dining room, billowy lace curtains swayed in the breeze of the open windows. The table was covered by an immaculate tablecloth, ready for the sumptuous breakfasts Debbie put on. On the old-fashioned buffet, she’d left several carafes of coffee and hot water for tea, along with a platter of brownies with what looked like peanut butter chips inside.
“Help yourself,” Whitney said, already coveting the brownie.
They carried everything into the glassed-in sunroom, surrounded on three sides by Debbie’s gardens, like a tropical forest. She sank onto a wicker couch and set her cup on the coffee table. Henry sat across from her.
“What can I do for you?” Whitney asked.
He took a sip of coffee, then set it down. “I like to keep an eye on my competition, so I tend to browse the stores in Aspen. I saw the Josh Thalberg display at Savi and on their website.”
“Geneva works fast,” Whitney said in surprise.
“His leatherwork is quite impressive, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about. She mentioned that you were representing him, and your name was so familiar to me.”
She chewed her brownie with slow deliberation, wondering at the implication. Did he remember her from eight years ago? She hadn’t been in the gossip rags in so long.
“So I asked Geneva, and she mentioned that she knew you were considering opening an upscale lingerie store in Valentine Valley, Leather and Lace.”
Whitney relaxed a bit. “That Geneva, you can’t put anything over on her.”
He smiled. “I’m no slouch either, because I did some more research and discovered you hadn’t officially bought a building here yet. I was wondering if you would consider a proposal from me.”
“I’ll be honest, Mr. Birdsong, I did my research on Aspen. I’d considered it for my third store, but the rent was prohibitive. I would actually like to make a profit.”
After a brief smile, he leaned forward over his coffee, eyes earnest. “I have a building that I’ve developed into a wedding center that I call Simply Weddings. Bridal boutique, formal wear, florist. I think Leather and Lace would complete the quartet, and I’m prepared to negotiate a generous lease.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Birdsong—”
“Henry, please.”
“Henry. Since coming to Valentine, I’ve really liked the romance vibe here. It has a totally different feel than in Aspen.”
“But where will you find the clientele I can offer you? And I can guide you in business matters far better than a cowboy artist—”
He broke off and frowned past her. Whitney turned and saw Josh leaning in the doorway, eating a brownie. He lifted it to her as a toast and smiled, and the pleasure of seeing him made her almost blush. Not good for a businesswoman.
But she couldn’t help returning his smile before she turned back to Henry. “I know Josh because he is also doing work for Leather and Lace.”
“I see,” Henry said, setting down his half-eaten brownie. He rose to his feet, reached into his breast pocket for a business card, and handed it to her. “I won’t keep you any longer. Consider my offer, and please get in touch. I’d like to go over some numbers with you.” Then he looked to Josh. “I was very impressed with your work at Savi, Mr. Thalberg. You have quite the career ahead of you.”
Josh reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr… .”
“Birdsong. Henry Birdsong. I’m a real-estate developer in Aspen.” He smiled and nodded at Whitney, then went back through the house.
After hearing the front door shut, Josh said, “Damn, these brownies are good.”
Whitney laughed and relished another bite of hers.
Josh took Henry’s chair. “So he tracked you down about Leather and Lace?”
“He did, and it’s thanks to your work that he and Geneva struck up a conversation. He wants Leather and Lace to open in Aspen, in his bridal center.”
“An interesting idea. Are you going to consider it?”
She hesitated. “I think I will. It might make good business sense if he can meet my price on the lease.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “I thought you liked it here.”
“Oh, I do, trust me. But it seems half of Valentine does not like me,” she said ruefully.
“That’s not true. Sylvester Galimi was just doing his best to sway some of them. Now that you’ve been ‘officially’ granted the right of a permit, I’m sure things will die down.”
“But will I sell enough goods to survive? I don’t know, Josh. I can’t just rely on tourists.”
“I guess you have to make your own decision then. Are you in a rush?”
“I should probably decide in the next week or so.”
“It sounds like a lot of business, and that’s what you’re doing every time I see you.”
“Oh, but not you?”
“I find some time for poker and pool and baseball.”
She winced. “Don’t strain yourself.”
“I have to spend time with my buddies, don’t I? What do you normally do for fun?”
She leaned toward him and grinned. “I do have fun, you know. Museums, the theater, charity events, dinners out.”
“We have a museum here.”
She put a hand to her chest, eyes widening. “You do?”
“Dedicated to the history of our town. Fascinating subject. I had to go in elementary school.”
“‘Had to’ being the operative words.”
“I’m sure I’d enjoy it more with you.”
“Is that our big date?” she teased.
“Nope.” He took a big bite of the brownie and finished it up.
She did the same, then said, “Henry mentioned that Geneva has your display up already, including on her website. Shall we take a look?”
He grimaced. “Pictures of myself? I don’t know…”
“Pictures representing you and your art. As your pseudoagent, I need to make sure she did you justice.”
“Well, if you put it that way.”
“Hold on, I’ll go get my iPad.” She got to her feet.
“If it’s in your room, I’ll be more than happy to accompany you.”
Grinning at him over her shoulder, she said, “No, it’s in the garden. I’ll be right back.”
When she returned, Josh had helped himself to another brownie and set one near her coffee.
“I don’t want you to get too skinny with all this work.”
She practically snorted. “No worries about that.”
She set her iPad on the coffee table, and Josh came around to sit down beside her on the wicker sofa—quite gingerly.
“Will this thing hold me?” he murmured, frowning.
It didn’t even creak with his weight. They both hunched over the tablet and brought up the boutique, only to find Josh’s work and photo the main focus of the home page.
“Wow,” Whitney breathed, knowing she hadn’t been wrong about Josh’s magnetism. In the photo, he was leaning back, elbows on the table, all languid repose, his torso in shadow as if hinting at the rest of his body. His changeable eyes stared out from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, all smoldering and intense, and she remembered he’d been staring right at her.
Josh suddenly stood up as if restless, then asked with doubt, “Do you think I look ridiculous?”
She glanced at him in disbelief. “Ridiculous? Are you kidding? Women are going to love this. Check it out, Geneva has a page devoted just to your work.”
He came around behind the couch and looked over her shoulder. Several of the shoulder bags were featured on the page, some that looked masculine enough for a man’s computer case, some with short straps as well as the long one. And there was another photo of Josh, looking to the side at his bag that was perched right against her hip. Thank God she regularly had her nails painted, for her hand held the strap against her side. The white coat was the perfect frame. And the photographic Josh was staring at her as if he wouldn’t let her leave him behind.
Yikes.
She glanced up and over her shoulder and thought she detected a reddening of his skin.
“Are you embarrassed?” she demanded with disbelief.
“Well, it’s just… I don’t know. I don’t look like myself.”
“Yes, you do! Are you trying to make me think you’re shy?”
“Naw, of course not, and don’t get me wrong—I don’t regret it. That photo shoot did make you kiss me.”
“Make me kiss you? Like I don’t know my own mind?”
He cupped her head between his hands and tilted her back until she was staring up at him leaning over her.
“Good, I’m glad it wasn’t just my seductive wiles,” he said huskily.
And then he kissed her again, and it was so strange to be arching backward for the taste of his lips, feeling his nose brush her chin, and the feather-soft caress of his fingers along her collarbone, even as his other hand rested against her neck. She opened her mouth for him, met his tongue with her own, groaned as he flattened his hand across her collarbone, his fingers touching the upper slope of her breast.
Not in Debbie’s sunroom, she suddenly thought, breaking the kiss.
“Okay, that was nice,” she said breathlessly. “But Debbie could come in…”
“Then let’s go somewhere else,” he said in a strained voice, even as he brushed aside her hair and bent down to kiss her neck.
Unspoken were the words: your room.
She could barely think, so distracted and aroused and trembling was she. But there was something she couldn’t let herself forget. “Wait, wait, we can’t do this. I have a conference call with my store managers in a half hour. And then more work on what the call was about.”
He straightened up, letting his hands briefly glide through her hair before stepping around the couch. “I hate when you’re logical.”
She rose to her feet, surprised to feel shaky, to know that Josh could do that to her.
“You know,” he continued, “you push me away a lot, considering you’re the one who propositioned me.”
“And you turned me down,” she reminded him. “You were the sane one. Now go back to work!”
He heaved a sigh. “All right, all right. I was distracted by the thought of you, and I just had to see you.”
She felt a flush of warmth at his flattery. “That’s very sweet.”
He took her face in his hands, and said in low voice, “I don’t want to be sweet.”
He kissed her once more, hard and deep, leaving her reeling and confused as he let her go.