Fortune's Family Secrets
Karen Rose Smith
The man of her dreams…is a Fortune in disguise!Innkeeper Cassie could easily fall for her newest guest, hunky Nash Tremont – an undercover cop, and a member of the Fortune family! But her own painful past makes her afraid to trust. With so many secrets, Cassie and Nash will have their work cut out!
The man of her dreams...
is a Fortune in disguise!
Innkeeper Cassie Calloway could easily fall for her newest guest. Out-of-towner Nash Tremont is hunky, handsome and handy, but Cassie’s painful past makes her afraid to trust. In this case, caution may be in order. Nash is actually an undercover cop—and a member of the Fortune family. With so many secrets between them, Cassie and Nash will have their work cut out for them. But their complicated love may be worth the fight...
USA TODAY bestselling author KAREN ROSE SMITH has written over ninety novels. Her passion is caring for her four rescued cats, and her hobbies are gardening, cooking and photography. An only child, Karen delved into books at an early age. Even though she escaped into story worlds, she had many cousins around her on week-ends. Families are a strong theme in her novels. Find out more about Karen at www.karenrosesmith.com (http://www.karenrosesmith.com).
Also by Karen Rose Smith (#u76b2a14e-eaa8-5c21-ac91-683a66d37cd8)
The Maverick’s Snowbound Christmas
The Maverick’s Holiday Surprise
Fortune’s Secret Husband
The Cowboy’s Secret Baby
A Match Made by Baby
Wanted: A Real Family
Riley’s Baby Boy
The CEO’s Unexpected Proposal
Once Upon a Groom
His Daughter…Their Child
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Fortune’s Family Secrets
Karen Rose Smith
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07747-7
FORTUNE’S FAMILY SECRETS
© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In memory of my dad, Angelo Jacob Cacciola, who taught by example that creativity could be expressed in painting, woodworking and model train platforms.
Contents
Cover (#ub4b3d349-399d-5ed6-8533-3570e0775a81)
Back Cover Text (#u90e8d1c6-ecee-522d-872a-e046c044473b)
About the Author (#u7593bb1b-718a-55c8-a0e6-29d892ed0655)
Booklist (#uc02f6d13-dfae-523a-a74c-fdbb522f4b99)
Title Page (#uc9025448-9616-5c86-b117-78211f467b56)
Copyright (#uc54779a3-0349-5828-8e2c-c9e71cb16062)
Dedication (#ua7685545-52f6-5c8d-b3d9-4f3c396c22dd)
Chapter One (#uda601ac5-1fd4-5159-a9dc-fbadcbafa3e5)
Chapter Two (#u52b3a128-1ec4-5a3d-8ca9-dae2dfb6a013)
Chapter Three (#u027e95fc-074d-513a-b249-ac1bc33e7030)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u76b2a14e-eaa8-5c21-ac91-683a66d37cd8)
Nash Tremont came down the stairs from the second floor of the Bluebonnet Bed-and-Breakfast and followed the aroma of cinnamon and sugar and some kind of bread. His boots didn’t make a sound on the steps. After all, he was a police detective and instincts died hard.
At the bottom of the staircase, he spotted a sight that suddenly made him hungry for more than cinnamon rolls. He’d hardly said two words to the proprietress of the bed-and-breakfast but now he couldn’t stop himself. “Even a veteran cowgirl should know better than to climb a ladder that’s too short.”
Cassie Calloway squeaked as if he’d startled her. Her name was an easy one to remember, but he wasn’t thinking about her name as she tilted on the ladder, almost losing her balance. He rushed to her side and wrapped his hands around her waist. It was a tiny waist but she was plenty curvy above and below it.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Gaining her footing once more, she peered down at him. Her tousled brown hair flowed forward and her dark brown eyes moved from his face to his hands at her waist. He quickly removed them, though they tingled because he’d felt her warmth underneath her blouse.
“What makes you think I’m a veteran cowgirl?” she asked, climbing down the ladder.
“Your boots,” he answered quickly. He’d been trained to notice details.
She looked down at her boots as if she hadn’t remembered what she was wearing. They were brown leather, well creased, with the shine long gone.
“They’re comfortable and I like to cook in them.” She sounded a bit defensive.
“I came down because something smelled wonderful. But if we keep up this conversation, I have a feeling you’re not going to give me anything you made for breakfast.”
She laughed and it was a pretty sound. When had he last noticed a woman’s laughter?
On the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor now, Cassie Calloway looked up at him. She wasn’t short, maybe about five-seven. But he was six-three so her chin had to come up for her to meet his eyes. “You didn’t come down for breakfast yesterday. Didn’t smell the bacon?”
Yesterday he’d still been trying to make sense out of what he was doing. Oh, he knew what his mission was here in Austin, Texas. Although he was the love child of an affair between his mother and Jerome Fortune, aka Gerald Robinson, he wasn’t in Austin about that. He had no desire to see his biological father. He was after information—information that could land Gerald Robinson’s wife, Charlotte, in jail. He hoped he didn’t run into any of his half brothers or sisters, either. He didn’t want anything to muddy his investigation or sway his judgment. He was undercover and intended to keep a low profile.
“Maybe I just like cinnamon more than bacon.” Teasing Cassie and seeing her smile seemed to make his day. Maybe because everything about why he was here was so serious.
“I didn’t know financial consultants were so picky,” she joked back.
He almost winced. He’d needed a cover story. A financial consultant on vacation from Mississippi seemed the perfect one to hide his real identity: a detective from Mississippi investigating fraud.
When Cassie Calloway looked into his dark brown eyes with hers, he felt his conscience stab him. He wished he could tell her the truth. But that was ridiculous. He didn’t even know this woman, let alone know if she was trustworthy. Hormones were the downfall of many a man and he’d do well to remember that.
He nodded to the ladder and the smoke alarm in the ceiling. “What’s the problem?”
She opened her hand to reveal a new nine-volt battery. “I need to change the battery, but I couldn’t quite reach it.”
“And you shouldn’t have tried. Don’t you have a handyman’s number you can call when you need one?”
She scoffed at that and shook her head. “Handyman? I don’t think so. I have a mortgage and I need to fill rooms. That’s why I opened them to extended stays. You’re the first one to take advantage of that.”
Nash looked around at the quirky colors of paint on the walls—lime green and sky blue—as well as a mural that had to have been hand-done. It depicted a scene of children sitting under a huge oak. A cowboy was seated on a stool with an open book in his lap as he read them a story. It was really good and he realized the bright wall colors complemented those in the painting.
“You have a nice place here. Have you done many renovations?”
She moved a few steps away from him as if the distance was necessary to talk to him. “I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it. It was in foreclosure. It mainly needed fresh coats of paint.”
He nodded to the mural. “Who did your artwork?”
Her cheeks turned a little pink. “I did.”
“You’ve got talent.”
Her eyes were bright and her smile wide when she said, “Thank you. I love to paint. I mean real paintings. I was an art history major in college, and I took education courses so I could teach. But teaching positions are hard to find in these days of budget cuts, especially art teaching positions.”
Glancing around again, taking in the whole bed-and-breakfast’s first floor as if it was a piece of art, he decided, “You shouldn’t let your talent go to waste.”
“Oh, I don’t. I teach private art lessons, and I help with the community art center.” After a brief hesitation, she said, “Now that I told you about me, why don’t you tell me about Mississippi?”
He knew she’d called his reference in Oklahoma, the state where he was born. Dave Preston was a close friend who could and would adhere to Nash’s cover story.
Nash held his hand out for the battery. “Why don’t you let me take care of this before you actually need the smoke alarm?”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind—”
Not minding a bit, he took the battery from her palm. The tips of his fingers touching her skin sent an electric jolt through him. No, no, no! He didn’t have time for an attraction now. He had to save his energy for the job he was here to do and not be distracted by a pretty woman.
Climbing the ladder, he easily changed the battery. Then he was down the ladder once more.
She glanced down at his well-worn boots. “Your boots look comfortable, too.”
He had to chuckle. “Yes, they are. Perfect for walking or driving.”
“Not for meeting clients?”
Damn it. He was going to have to buy a new pair of boots so he could show her he dressed up for client meetings. Not that he had any of those planned.
He winked at her. “I prefer black boots for a more professional look.”
She seemed to look him up and down, from his dark brown hair, over his squarish jaw, down his red T-shirt and his jeans. Her gaze on him made him feel hot.
“I clean up well, too.”
She blushed. “Oh, I didn’t think you didn’t. How about that cinnamon roll?” she asked, obviously embarrassed.
“That sounds good. Join me?” The question came out of his mouth before he thought better of it. He really shouldn’t have asked her that.
She hesitated and he thought that was wise of her. After all, even though she’d called his reference, he was practically a stranger. But then deciding it must be safe enough to have breakfast with him, she waved at the eat-at counter on the kitchen side of the room. The other side of the room was filled with tables and chairs, no doubt for the dinner he remembered she also served. He hadn’t taken advantage of that yesterday simply because he didn’t want to get tied up with her or any other guests. Anonymity was best cultivated if he spent most of his time alone. However, after a quick canvas of the comfortable-looking sitting area, he could see himself working on his laptop there.
“Coffee?” Cassie asked.
“If it’s black and strong.”
“It is,” she said, but then smiled. “I dose mine with cream and sugar.”
He rolled his eyes in mock horror. “None of those for me.”
“At least I don’t serve flavored coffees.”
He laughed at her tone. “Your guests don’t ask for a hazelnut latte or maybe a caramel macchiato?”
“How do you know about that, since you’re a black-coffee drinker and all?”
Their gazes locked for a heartbeat. It was just one of those awareness moments that passed between a man and a woman when they felt chemistry. “I’ve been in a coffee shop or two.”
She looked away first. “I’ve been known to make a flavored pot of coffee for my women guests. Most of the men are like you and just want theirs black.”
Just like him? He doubted that.
More serious now, she asked, “Is there a reason you didn’t stop for breakfast yesterday? You just filled a travel mug with coffee and left.”
He’d have to watch himself around her. She also seemed to pay attention to details. “I was in a hurry.”
“And not today?”
“I have an appointment this morning but it’s a little later.” Another lie. Well, not exactly a lie. He did have an appointment to use a computer at the library. He had research to do, and it was going to take hours and hours if not days or weeks. But he’d find what he was looking for.
She motioned again to the stool at the eat-at counter. “Sit and I’ll get your breakfast.”
“I can put the ladder away for you first if you’d like.”
She seemed to contemplate that for a few beats. “Okay. Let me show you where it goes.”
He noticed that Cassie moved quickly and gracefully. He couldn’t help but watch the gentle sway of her hips as she led him through the dining area. To the right, there was a screened-in porch. It might be nice to sit out there with his laptop, too. He wished he could just access the records he wanted on there, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want any research being traced back to him. He’d switch around from computer to computer at the library on different days. Once he found what he was looking for, he’d have to have it printed out. There again he didn’t want to send emails to himself and have a record of it. His boss in Mississippi had been totally against this investigation because their original case there had been closed. But once Nash had found that Charlotte Robinson could have used the alias Charlene Pickett, he just couldn’t let it go.
Following Cassie distracted him from the work he intended to do. She was sexy in jeans and a boyfriend shirt. She’d rolled up the sleeves and left the collar open. All too well, he could imagine her in one of his shirts.
Putting the brakes on that image, he let her guide him down a hall.
She motioned to the left to a half-open door. “That’s my suite.”
Continuing down the hall, she opened another door on the left. He could see right away it was a utility room with a washer and dryer, a step stool and an open ironing board.
She pointed to the back of the room. “Can you just prop the ladder there for now?”
It was a tight fit sliding past the ironing board but he slanted the ladder against the wall. Cassie had slipped into the area with him, probably to make sure the ladder was securely propped. She acted like a woman who was used to being on her own and doing for herself.
Suddenly, though, they were face-to-face and boots to boots. His eyes locked to hers and he could again feel the thrum of chemistry between them. From the surprise in her eyes, he could see she felt it and recognized it, too. Attraction to Cassie Calloway was way too dangerous to even contemplate.
Again she broke eye contact first and retreated through the opening between the ironing board and the washer and dryer. “I really should close the ironing board,” she said, her cheeks an attractive pink. “But I hate setting it back up every time I want to iron something.”
“You iron things often?” He was amused by that thought, though he knew his mother was particular about her clothes, too. She’d even ironed pillowcases.
“I like to be presentable,” she answered, a little defensively. “Besides, my guests often need to iron their clothes after traveling. They have sleeve boards in the closets in their rooms, but sometimes they’re not adequate.”
“I do have a couple of dress shirts I should iron,” he decided.
“Do you have many clients in Austin?” she asked.
“Enough.” He knew to keep personal answers short and concise.
Cassie waited, possibly to see if he’d tell her more, but he didn’t. Her cheeks still pink, she said, “I’ll get your breakfast ready. Would you like eggs with that cinnamon roll?”
She was already a good five feet ahead of him as she sped out of the utility room.
He called after her, “No eggs.” Yet he might have two rolls...if they were good.
* * *
Cassie didn’t know what it was about Nash Tremont that sent a tingle up her spine. She usually kept civility and politeness between her and men, especially those she might be attracted to. She had secrets. From experience, she knew she couldn’t share them. That was just the way it was.
But as Nash sat on the stool watching her ready his breakfast, she felt nervous and a bit excited. As she carried two rolls to the counter, along with two mugs of coffee, she asked, “Are you originally from Oklahoma or Mississippi?”
Nash’s brows arched. “You didn’t ask Dave Preston that when you called for a reference?”
“He told you I called?”
“He did. We’re good friends.”
Taking a seat next to Nash, careful their elbows didn’t brush, she pulled the sugar bowl over to her mug of coffee. “I learned that from our conversation. He told me you’d been friends for years, that you often helped him out with construction projects around his house, that you were good with his kids and his dog. He gave you an A-plus rating.”
Nash laughed. “Maybe Dave wasn’t used to giving references. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anything.”
“He acted as a friend should. Anyway, your accent isn’t pure Mississippi, is it?”
Again Nash gave her a short answer. “I was born and raised in Oklahoma, and if you put too much sugar in that coffee, you’re going to crash later today.”
She’d been too busy looking at Nash’s thick brown hair, and studying the jut of his jaw. She hadn’t been paying attention to how many teaspoons of sugar she’d put in her coffee. She’d have to drink it no matter how sweet it was. “No, I don’t crash. I just eat more sugar or drink more caffeine.”
“Let’s see,” Nash said with mock seriousness. “Didn’t your website say something about serving healthy breakfasts and dinners?”
“That’s for my guests who want healthy. I eat when I can and usually on the go, especially when I do Paint and Sip presentations.”
“Paint and Sip?” He looked perplexed.
“It’s a recent wine trend. Local wineries have me in for a Paint and Sip night. I teach their customers how to paint a painting in one night while they sip wine.”
“What a great marketing tool,” he said.
“It is, and it brings in extra money.” She always needed to do that. Her life had been that way since she was a child.
“How about you?” Nash asked. “Are you from Austin?”
Should she tell him? Why not? After all, he wasn’t from around here. “I grew up not so far away.”
The cinnamon rolls were round and she took hers apart, licking the sugar glaze off her fingers as she did. When she turned toward Nash, he was studying her.
“What?”
“Do you always eat your cinnamon rolls that way?”
Noticing his was gone with two big bites, well, maybe three, she shrugged. “I prolong the experience. Besides...aren’t sweets better if you can lick them off your fingers?”
Something glowed in Nash Tremont’s eyes and she wished she hadn’t said that. There was coiled energy in the man and plenty of sensual energy, too.
As she felt tongue-tied, not knowing what else to say, he drank most of the coffee in his mug. Leaning back a degree, he gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Your cinnamon rolls are delicious and the coffee is just what I needed. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a travel mug full of it along with me again.”
“I don’t mind. Would you like another cinnamon roll for on the road?”
“Yes, I would,” he agreed.
“I’ll wrap one for you. Will you be here for dinner tonight?”
There was no hesitation in Nash’s voice. “No, I won’t. I’ll be having dinner out.” He’d brought his travel mug with him and now he filled it from the urn in the dining area. “Will more guests be checking in?”
Cassie had hopped up from her stool and was wrapping a second roll. “Yes. Thank goodness there will be another couple today. Do you like to mingle when you go out of town or take vacations?”
“I don’t take many vacations.”
“A workaholic?”
“Something like that,” he acknowledged.
Going back to the counter he picked up the roll she’d wrapped in foil. Then he gathered his Stetson from one of the hat racks on the wall and took out his keys. “Thanks again for breakfast. I’ll see you sometime.” Then, without another word, he was gone.
Cassie had noticed how he avoided personal questions and turned them around on her. She shrugged it off. Maybe Nash Tremont was just a very private man.
* * *
Nash gripped the steering wheel of his SUV tighter as he followed the car’s GPS directions to the library. But even with that greater tactile stimulation of his hands, even though his thoughts should be perusing the dates of the archives he wanted to look up, he felt bothered by what had happened at the bed-and-breakfast. He shook his left hand, then he put it back on the wheel and shook his right. Still he could feel a tingle in his fingers from the warmth of touching Cassie Calloway. It was absolutely crazy.
He hadn’t even looked at a woman with real interest since Sara. His bitterness over what had happened with her had leveled off into disappointment. The divorce rate among cops was well above the average. He’d told himself that over and over again. He’d told himself that his work was enough.
Suddenly his dashboard lit up. A female computer voice told him, “Mom is calling.”
He reached to the dash and pressed a button on the digital screen. “Hi, Mom.” He’d called her when he’d reached Austin so she wouldn’t worry.
“I thought I’d give you a call before we both got involved in our days.”
He checked the time on the dash. “This is early for you, isn’t it?” It was only 8 a.m.
“I’m going into work early today, lots of new car policies to write up. Must be spring. Drivers like to spruce up their cars or buy a new one.”
Nash smiled. His mother worked for an insurance company that wrote car and homeowner policies. She’d been working there for years and seemed to enjoy it.
“How do you like Austin?” she asked.
It seemed like an idle question but he knew she was fishing. “You didn’t tell anybody I was coming here, did you?”
“Who would I tell?” she asked innocently.
“If anyone calls from my office in Biloxi, you tell them I went camping in the backwoods, okay? And if Ben Fortune phones again, stick with the story that you don’t know where I am.” Some of his half siblings had tried to get in touch by mail and phone, but he’d ignored their requests.
Nash heard his mom let out a sigh. “I still don’t understand why you can’t be honest about what you’re doing at work.”
“Because I’m not supposed to be doing it.” He’d told her this before when he’d explained why he was spending time in Austin.
“This is on your own time. Why would anybody care?”
“There’s a hierarchy. The chief told me to drop this, so he’d be very unhappy if he knew I didn’t.”
“I get that. Are you sure you don’t want to look up your father while you’re there?”
“I’m sure.”
“I told you before, he’s not as terrible as the media makes him sound.”
His mother had her memories, but Nash knew the facts. Gerald Robinson had supposedly walked away from the Fortune money and built himself up from scratch. But he’d had many indiscretions along his road to success. Most of them had made their way into the media. Nash still couldn’t believe his mother wasn’t bitter about what had happened to her. Gerald had been married when he had an affair with Marybeth Tremont, but she’d had no expectations going into the affair. He’d given her that old line about his wife being a gold digger and not understanding him. But a man who cheated was a man who cheated. However, Gerald’s indiscretions were the reason Nash had so many half brothers and sisters he’d never met.
His mother’s voice came through the speaker again. “Is what you’re doing dangerous?”
“No, it’s not dangerous. I’m just rounding up background information and this is the best place to do it. With the Robinsons living here, I can nose around, listen to gossip, maybe even get close to them without anybody knowing who I am.”
“I want you to be careful,” his mother warned him.
“I’m always careful.”
He thought he heard her snort before she said, “You know Oklahoma isn’t quite as far from Austin as Biloxi is. If you wrap up early what you’re doing, you can fly home and visit.”
He didn’t get home as often as he thought he should. But there were memories there he didn’t want to revisit. Still, his mother was right. If he did wrap this up quickly, he should fly to Oklahoma for a visit.
“Let me see what happens here, Mom. I took a month of vacation.”
“You know, when I tell you to be careful this time, my advice isn’t simply about being careful physically.”
“What are you worried about?”
“I’m worried if you do run into a half brother or sister, or your father, you’ll leave Austin, stay removed from people who are your family and have many regrets. But I’m also worried that if you somehow make contact, you’ll get hurt.”
“I won’t get hurt. I don’t have any expectations. This is an investigation about wrongdoing...and fraud, Mom. That’s it.”
“If you say so.”
His mother often used that phrase when she didn’t agree with him. He knew it and she knew it.
“Are you going to stop for breakfast instead of just drinking coffee?” she asked.
She also knew him too well. “I actually did have breakfast this morning. The bed-and-breakfast served cinnamon rolls.”
“And? How were they?”
“Cassie gave me one to bring along for a snack.” He said the words without thinking, and the picture of her unwinding her cinnamon roll and licking the icing from her fingers made him almost break out in a sweat.
“Cassie?”
Uh-oh. He should have been watching his tongue. This investigation really did have him rattled. “She owns the bed-and-breakfast.”
“Is she old and gray?”
Again, as if a photo flashed in front of his eyes, he saw Cassie’s pretty face, her long brown wavy hair, her chocolate-brown eyes. “She’s probably about my age, but do not make anything of it.”
“Didn’t you say the bed-and-breakfast offers breakfast and dinner?”
“It does if anyone signs up for it.”
“You’re a growing boy. Take advantage of it.”
What his mother was really saying was that he should sit down for meals, get to know people and not isolate himself. Isolation not only kept his job safe but his heart, too. You couldn’t spill something you weren’t supposed to when you weren’t around anyone to spill it to.
“I know you,” she went on. “You’ll do what you want to do in spite of what I say. But I love you anyway. I’ve got to go now or I’ll be late. You take care and stay out of trouble.”
His mother still spoke to him as if he were sixteen. But they’d been through his lifetime together, watching out for each other. He loved her dearly. “You have a good day, Mom. I’ll let you know if I can come for a visit.”
His mother ended the call. When he thought about their conversation, he remembered her advice.
Should he have dinner with Cassie tonight?
Chapter Two (#u76b2a14e-eaa8-5c21-ac91-683a66d37cd8)
Cassie was grateful when Trina and Joe Warner checked in. Sometimes guests didn’t even bother to cancel their reservations when they weren’t going to come, so she was never sure if a reservation would be kept. Not until her guests actually arrived.
Trina and Joe were in their early sixties, retired and on a road trip to visit family in Oklahoma. After check-in, they’d freshened up, then had come downstairs to join her as she cooked them dinner. Actually, she was cooking enough for four. It was possible that Nash might want to warm up something when he returned to the B&B.
Nash Tremont. She’d been thinking about him too much today...the way his brown hair dipped over his brow, the way his Stetson had set at just the right angle as he’d left this morning. What was it about the man that seemed to make her giddy?
The Warners had plenty to chat about and Cassie could easily see that many guests who stayed at a bed-and-breakfast enjoyed meeting people from different locales. She filled them in about Austin sites until dinner was ready. Tonight she’d cooked a beef-and-beans enchilada casserole along with cornbread biscuits and a salad.
She was pouring the Warners glasses of iced tea from an antique pitcher she’d found in a consignment shop when Nash came in. He frowned when he saw her and the couple at the table. Being the good hostess that she attempted to be, she was ready to acknowledge him when he raised his hand to her as if he wasn’t going to stay, but rather go up to his room.
Her manners made her ask, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to join us? There’s plenty. And I have chocolate cream pie for dessert.”
The Warners waved at the casserole on the table. Joe was already scooping out a serving. “We watched her make it,” he said. “Ground beef, chili powder, cumin, beans, chili peppers and sour cream. Tortillas in the bottom and the middle.”
Nash’s nose twitched as if it was catching the scent of dinner and it might intrigue him. He smiled at the couple, then Cassie, but Cassie thought it took an effort. She guessed he was going to refuse her offer of dinner.
However, he surprised her when he asked, “Did you say chocolate cream pie?”
Cassie laughed. “So the casserole won’t do it but chocolate cream pie will?”
After a shrug, he gave her a boyish grin. “Like my mama always says—I have a sweet tooth that just won’t quit.” He came over to the table and Cassie noticed again his no-nonsense stride, his confident posture, the twinkles she’d glimpsed in his eyes this morning. She made introductions. He took the chair at the side of the table where he could face the door.
Trina served herself a portion of the casserole and spooned a generous serving for Nash onto his plate. After he thanked her, he met Cassie’s gaze. “It smells good. And I do like chilis.”
After Cassie poured Nash a glass of iced tea, too, she took a seat next to Trina across from him. He’d taken off his Stetson and placed it on the sideboard. She didn’t know if he knew how to ride, but she could easily imagine him on a horse. When she was a little girl, a school friend of hers lived on a ranch. Cassie escaped to Deborah’s place as often as she could. Debbie had two parents who loved her, took care of her and cared about Cassie, too. She’d been grateful to have a motherly figure watching over her since her own mother hadn’t been able to do it.
Silence reigned at the table as everyone dug into the portions on their plates or took a cornbread biscuit from the basket Cassie had lined with a napkin.
Joe slathered his biscuit with butter. “Delicious.”
His wife nudged him. “You haven’t even tasted it yet!”
“I can tell from its lightness.” He took a bite. “Like I said—delicious.”
Everyone at the table laughed.
“How long have you been married?” Nash asked.
“Forty years this summer,” Trina answered.
Joe patted his wife’s hand. “The best years of my life!”
Cassie swallowed hard. Was that kind of marriage even possible? She thought again about Debbie’s parents. Yes, she supposed it was. She explained to Nash, “Joe and Trina stopped here on their way to Oklahoma. They’re visiting family.”
Nash’s gaze met Cassie’s and she knew why. He’d told her he was from Oklahoma. Maybe he didn’t want her to bring it up. She, of course, wasn’t going to spill his personal background.
“What part of Oklahoma?” Nash asked. “I was born and bred there.”
“We’re heading for Tulsa. Where did you live?”
“Oklahoma City. I was raised by my mom. She insists she did a good job. But I’m not sure how many people would agree with her.”
Joe took another biscuit and chuckled. “If she’s proud of you, that’s all that matters.”
As they ate, Nash asked leading questions of the Warners, and they delved into the subject of their children...and their grandchildren.
Cassie thought again that Nash knew how to deflect attention from himself. She noticed it because she knew how to do it, too. The people she’d come to know in Austin believed her parents were dead. She hadn’t corrected them because she didn’t want the truth to get out.
After coffee and chocolate cream pie, Cassie asked the Warners, “Will you be stepping out tonight?”
The husband and wife looked at each other and shook their heads. “No. We’re going to enjoy our beautiful room and just watch some TV. Tomorrow, we’ll go sightseeing to some of those places you mentioned.”
Joe stood, patted his stomach, which protruded over his belt, and waited for his wife to stand, too. After good-nights all around, they crossed to the staircase and climbed the stairs.
“Nice couple,” Nash said as Cassie started to clear the table.
It felt odd being alone with Nash...it seemed intimate in some way. That was silly. Yes, they were alone in her downstairs, but there was nothing intimate about it. Still, feeling self-conscious, she busied herself with clearing the table. To her surprise, Nash helped her and brought dirty dishes to the counter.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. With him standing beside her, he seemed to take up all the space in the small kitchen.
“It’s no bother. It’s the least I can do after that good meal.”
She decided to keep the conversation as light as she could. “A man raised with good manners is hard to find these days,” she teased.
“Wow! That makes me wonder about the kind of men you date.” With a brow arched, he leaned his hip against the counter, looking relaxed...and too sexy for words.
His comment was bait and she understood that. He was trying to find out something about her. “Date? I don’t have time for dating,” she explained, keeping her reason light and short.
“A busy life. I can certainly see that. I can’t believe you run the B&B and still have time to take on art students...and volunteer somewhere. Let alone your winery nights.”
Because of his comment, Cassie could tell he had been thinking about what she’d told him. Why? “You have a good memory.”
“Only when I’m interested.”
He had to mean interested in the conversation, right? He wasn’t even from Austin. He couldn’t be interested in her.
Nash quickly opened the dishwasher and began loading the dishes inside. “I would help my mom with things around the house. I’m sure you did with your mom, too.”
Cassie just nodded but didn’t say anything else.
Nash gave her a sideways look.
Still, she kept silent. Too many memories of her taking care of the cooking and the dishes and everything else, while her mom drank herself into oblivion, played unbidden on her mental screen. Thoughts of her mother were frequent still. Her mother didn’t want to see her or hear from her...not while she was in prison. Every day Cassie hoped that where her mother lived now, she might not have any choice but to find help and detox.
Her thoughts were cut off as Nash straightened and she realized how close they were standing to each other. She passed him a plate. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. There was heat...not only in her fingers. And when she looked up into his eyes, there seemed to be sparks there that ignited sparks in her. He was a guest. He’d be leaving at the end of April. She couldn’t even think about sparks...and kissing—
Kissing? Where had that come from?
She turned away from him, picked up a dish towel and began wiping crumbs from the counter into her hand.
Nash asked lightly, “Anything else I can help with?” His deep voice seemed to affect her as much as his touch. But she wasn’t a coward, so she turned to face him. “Nope. Nothing else.”
Their gazes collided again for at least three heartbeats. Then he nodded and went to collect his hat that was still on the sideboard. He carried it with him to the stairway, but then he said to her, “Good night. Sleep well.”
Before she could return the sentiment, he was up the stairs and gone. Had she imagined the chemistry between them?
Feeling as if she’d been caught in a whirlwind, she added detergent to the dishwasher and started it. She just needed a good night’s sleep. That was all. She’d go to bed, close her eyes and forget all about Nash Tremont.
* * *
When Nash returned to the bed-and-breakfast the next day, it was almost lunchtime. He’d taken the morning off from doing research to drive around Austin to check out where the Fortunes’ and Robinsons’ influence could be seen. He’d also gotten a better handle on the city—the neighborhoods and the housing divisions. He had even driven around the college. Midmorning he’d found a leather goods shop and bought himself a pair of black dress boots. He’d also stopped at a men’s store and purchased a sports jacket. That way, if he wanted to give Cassie the impression he was meeting a client, he’d fit the part better.
The part. He didn’t know why it bothered him to play a part with Cassie, but it did.
The front door to the B&B was open and the screen door was allowing the spring air to flow in. As soon as Nash stepped inside, he heard a child’s laughter. He liked kids. His old friend in Oklahoma—the one who had given Cassie a good reference—had three. He’d been to barbecues and Super Bowl parties with some of the guys at work. They had kids, too. Sometimes Nash liked the children even better than the adults.
Following the sound of childish chatter, as well as Cassie’s voice, he crossed the dining area and passed the kitchen to the screened-in porch. There was an easel set up there with a chair in front of it. Cassie was sitting on a second chair beside a little girl who looked to be about eight. The girl’s blond braids swung every time she turned toward Cassie.
Apparently hearing him approach the sliding glass door that was open today, Cassie spotted him peering through the screen. “Hi!” she said. “You’re back.”
Opening the screen and stepping inside the porch, he answered her. “Just for a little while. Then I’ll be going out again. You’re giving an art lesson?”
She motioned him to come farther inside.
He didn’t move. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not,” she assured him.
As he crossed to the area where Cassie and the child sat, the little girl turned around to face him. He noticed a child-sized cane propped against the wall. He raised questioning eyes to Cassie.
“Lydia, I want you to meet Nash. He’s one of my guests here. Nash, this is Lydia.”
“Hi, Lydia,” he said easily. “Do you mind if I look at your painting?”
She gave a shy shrug and a smile, so he took that as a yes. Leaning down, he studied the picture of a Ferris wheel that was painted in bright colors and drawn with enough detail that he could see each seat. She’d painted people in the seats and she’d done a fairly good job of it, mostly drawing profiles. He wasn’t sure he could do half as well.
“You have a terrific painting there. Did you ride on a Ferris wheel?” he asked.
This time Lydia grinned. “Mommy and Daddy took me to a carnival. I rode a pony, too.”
“We’re going to save horses for the next art lesson,” Cassie confided. To Nash, she asked, “Have you eaten lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“There are leftovers in the fridge.”
“I’m going out again,” he explained, ad-libbing.
“If you need a snack later, there’s plenty. I didn’t know if the Warners might be coming back for lunch and I wanted to provide something if they did.” She frowned. “I had another cancellation.”
With that declaration, Cassie looked and sounded worried.
Lydia had begun painting again, as if their conversation was of no consequence to her. He asked the little girl, “Do you mind if I sit and watch for a while?”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I guess you wonder why I’m not in school today.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“My teachers had a meeting. Mommy had to work this morning. Cassie said she could give me a lesson, so Mommy’s going to pick me up in a little while.”
“You’re lucky you could do this today.”
“Yes, I am,” Lydia agreed, bobbing her head and making her braids fly again.
Cassie suggested, “If you paint a fence around the Ferris wheel, it will ground it. Anybody looking at the painting will be able to tell the difference from the ground to the tippy top of the Ferris wheel.”
Lydia nodded and went at it. “I’m going to mix two colors of brown for the fence.”
Cassie squirted sienna and burnt umber on the palette. “See if you like those.”
Fascinated by the process—and Cassie—Nash watched for the next half hour. Cassie was so patient with Lydia. Finally, he returned to the subject that seemed to have Cassie worried. He asked in a low voice, “Will it be a problem for you with another guest canceling?”
“I think I can make up the difference this month with the Paint and Sip party...if it’s well attended. I have one coming up at the Mendoza Winery.”
The winery was one of the Austin landmarks he’d noted. “I saw it today when I was driving around Austin.”
He had driven around the Mendoza vineyard with its large acreage of grapevines. He’d discovered the winery had two offices—a small one at the edge of the vineyard and a larger corporate headquarters with its distribution center in Austin proper. Nash remembered he’d read somewhere that the winery had originally been named Hummingbird Ridge.
In spite of himself, he could imagine going to the tasting room with Cassie and sipping wine with her. He shook his head to erase the pictures from his mind. An attraction to her shouldn’t even be an issue right now. He wasn’t sitting that close to her because Lydia was between them. But he thought he could catch the scent of a flowery perfume. And Cassie’s hair was so bright and shiny...and soft-looking. When she smiled, she had dimples. And there were freckles running across both of her cheeks. She was a tempting woman in so many ways. So many ways he was going to ignore.
Finally, Lydia was finished with her painting.
“Is she using acrylics?” Nash asked.
“They’re so much easier for the children. As they become true artists, though, they can’t mix them as well as they could oil paints. Some want to try watercolors, but using watercolors is its own art form—from the way you use the water to the texture of the paper.”
“I can understand,” Nash said, because he could. “More elements to deal with from the water spreading, the way the paper absorbs it, to the thinness of the brush.”
The doorbell ringing suddenly interrupted their conversation. Lydia hopped up from her chair with her painting in hand. “I bet that’s Mommy.”
“I bet it is, too. Be careful with your painting.”
Cassie opened the sliding screen door for Lydia. The little girl grabbed her cane and, as fast as she could, went to greet her mom.
“Why is she using a cane?” Nash whispered close to Cassie’s ear. It was her shampoo he was smelling. And as his jaw brushed the side of her hair, he realized it was as soft as he imagined. Thoughts about kissing her were getting harder and harder to push away.
“She was in an accident riding her bike. She wasn’t supposed to go onto a main street, but she did. A car sideswiped her. Fortunately, she was wearing a helmet and knee guards. That was three months ago. And she’s just getting back on her feet. Her mom started bringing her to art lessons right after the accident. Lydia needed an outlet for all of her energy. Her mother had taken notice of her drawings at school, and she thought it would be a good idea. And it was. She’s talented.”
“It’s bad enough when adults have to deal with disabilities, but kids—” Nash shook his head.
As Cassie gazed into his eyes, he felt that connection with her again. It was hard to believe he’d only known her a few days, yet his pulse was beating fast.
Quickly, she turned away from him, took a few steps back and said, “I have to say goodbye to Lydia’s mother.”
In case Cassie had something private to say to Lydia’s mother or vice versa, Nash stayed on the porch, waiting for Cassie. When she returned there to clean up the paints, Nash said, “Will you show me your paintings?”
She hesitated for a few moments. “I suppose I can. The attic is my studio. It would have been too difficult to make it into another bedroom for the B&B. But it is the perfect place for a studio. Come on. I’ll show you.”
As Nash followed Cassie up the staircase, he wasn’t sure exactly why he wanted to see her paintings. Maybe because he thought they’d give him a glimpse into who she really was. Was she as sweet and caring as she seemed? Or was it an act because she was the hostess of the bed-and-breakfast? Hard to say. But he was an investigator, so he was going to investigate.
Cassie ran up the stairs ahead of him. When she reached the second floor, she waved down the hall and pointed to the rope that hung from the ceiling. She reached up and grabbed it and pulled down a staircase. The steps were narrow.
Nash commented, “This isn’t exactly ideal working conditions if you want to carry paintings up and down.”
“Do you know any situation that’s really ideal?” Cassie asked as if she’d had a lot of experience dealing with curveballs life threw at her.
He knew exactly what she meant. People had expectations and what they envisioned rarely came to pass. At least, not without some adjustment.
Cassie wasn’t as naive as he’d first thought she might be. It took years and life experience to know that nothing was perfect, that you couldn’t wait around for it to be perfect. Just like his relationship with Sara. He hadn’t realized until too late that it was never going to work...that in fact it was a lost cause.
After he’d climbed the stairs behind Cassie, Nash glanced around the attic. Light streamed in windows from both sides. Cassie had an easel set up with a drop cloth underneath much as she had downstairs on the porch. Only this easel was taller and wider, and it had a half-finished painting propped on it.
Before Nash studied that painting, he looked around at the others propped against the walls. The canvases were lined up, some overlapping. The colors were very much like the ones Cassie had chosen to use in the house. They were vibrant, with hot pinks and yellows and lime green, teal and even orange. And with those colors she’d captured her subjects beautifully—a hummingbird at a feeder, bluebonnets in a field with a child sitting with her back to the viewer, her blond hair blowing in the wind. Another one showcased an abstract cat, black and white against a sky-blue background. She’d also painted buildings that were a little more muted, a red barn and corral, a ramshackle house sitting in the woods, a blackbird sitting on a white fence. He could tell she was practicing styles, trying to find her own. Finally, his gaze fell to the canvas on the easel. This one was different from the others. Done mostly in pastels, it depicted an angel hovering over a child who was sitting on the grass reading a book. If it was up to Nash, he’d say that was her best work yet.
“How long did it take you to do these?” The creative process really did interest him.
“The past two years,” she said. “I sell them when I can. Art shows are the best, but I often don’t have time to give up a whole weekend for that.”
“You’re talented.” It wasn’t idle flattery. He meant it.
“Talent doesn’t always pay the bills,” she said, obviously being realistic about it. That was probably why she wanted to teach—for the consistent income.
Cassie was standing in front of the easel and he crossed to stand beside her. “I think that’s the best one.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Not the barn or the landscape outside of Austin?”
“Those are good,” he conceded. “And if I had a den I’d probably hang them there. But aren’t paintings supposed to evoke emotions?”
She pushed her hair away from her brow. “I’m surprised you know that.”
“Because I’m a financial consultant?” he teased.
She shrugged. “Something like that. I mean, most people don’t even know that that’s why they choose a particular painting. I think art customers buy the paintings they do because that particular work resurrects a memory or a feeling they once had...or a feeling they want to have now.”
Again, Nash was surprised at her insight.
“What?” she asked when she saw him studying her.
“You just surprise me, that’s all.”
They were standing very close now, facing each other. He could easily reach out and touch one of the waves of her hair that flowed near her cheek. He was so tempted to lean in a bit to see what she would do. But he knew he was playing with fire. He knew he was being foolish, and she must have known it, too.
Suddenly she took a step back.
But he wouldn’t let her escape just yet. “Are you sorry you brought me up here?”
“No, not sorry...” she trailed off, her voice a bit breathless.
He felt as if Cassie and her paintings had taken his breath away. “What then?”
In the afternoon light glowing through the window behind her, she looked vulnerable. “I don’t often show my work to just anybody.”
“You mean to a relative stranger?” he countered.
“Exactly.”
A knowing came to him so swiftly that words came out of his mouth that he didn’t expect. “After a few more days, I won’t be a stranger, will I?”
“Maybe not,” she murmured, then took another step back. “I have to make a grocery run and then prepare something for supper.”
“And I have a meeting,” he said, deciding if he was a financial consultant, he should meet with a client or two or three. After all, he now had boots to wear with a Western-cut jacket.
He motioned toward the stairs. “After you.”
Once they were both on the second floor again and the stairs had been raised into the ceiling, he said, “So...I’ll see you later. I have a few things I have to bring in from my SUV.” He headed off down the hall, grateful he’d found a way to exit.
Because he’d almost done exactly what he knew he shouldn’t. He’d almost kissed her.
* * *
Cassie was in the kitchen making a list of the groceries she’d need, trying not to think of her time with Nash in the attic. Just what had that been about? She’d felt such a pull toward him. He’d even seemed to understand her paintings. Unless that was an act...unless he was a player.
However, she didn’t think so. She wasn’t getting that vibe from him at all. Still, what did she know? It wasn’t as if she had dated very much.
Almost finished with her list, she heard Nash’s boots on the stairs. When he reached the first floor she glanced up and her heart beat in double time. He was wearing a Western-cut suit jacket, black dress jeans, white shirt and bolo tie. In his hands, he held his Stetson. He looked fantastic.
He turned toward her and smiled. “I thought you’d be out the door.”
Because she’d run away from him so fast? She waved to the list on the counter. “I need to make sure I have everything written down that I need so I don’t forget anything. Trips to the grocery store take too much time, and I don’t want to be running there more than I have to.”
“So you believe in efficiency? So do I.”
She must have still been staring at him because he asked with a grin, “Do I have shaving cream on my nose?”
She felt herself blushing. “No. Of course not. What restaurant are you going to?”
She definitely thought he was meeting someone for lunch. “I’m going to meet my client at his hotel and we’ll go from there. Do you have any suggestions?”
“There’s the Sundance Restaurant. Lots of business folk go there.”
“I’ll take that as a recommendation.”
“Is there anything special you’d like me to pick up at the grocery store, maybe for snacks?”
“Corn chips and salsa,” he responded with a wink.
“Mild or spicy?” she asked and then wondered if he thought that was a double entendre.
He must have because something sparked in his dark brown eyes. Something that made tingles dance on all her nerve endings.
“Definitely spicy,” he answered.
“Got it.” She definitely did. They were attracted to each other. Big-time.
He took his keys from his pocket and gave her a wave. “Have a good afternoon.”
She said goodbye but wasn’t sure he heard it because the door was already closing behind him.
She felt hot. How could a little conversation with a man make her feel hot? How could standing close to a man urge her to feel his kiss? How did looking at a man make her wish for so many things she couldn’t have?
It was simple, really. A man like Nash wouldn’t flirt with her at all if he knew her mother was in jail.
Chapter Three (#u76b2a14e-eaa8-5c21-ac91-683a66d37cd8)
Nash sat in a chair at a computer in the library forgetting all sense of time and place. The text on the screen, as well as the notes he had made, caused a sinking sensation in his stomach. He actually felt sick. Research on Jerome Fortune or Gerald Robinson, however you wanted to look at it, was not a feel-good experience.
In a normal investigation, he could contact the Robinsons for more information. But because he was investigating Gerald’s wife, he couldn’t do that.
Nash thought about his mother again and her lack of bitterness against Gerald. She must have really loved the guy. She’d told Nash that Gerald was lonely and his wife was a witch. As far as Nash was concerned, it was that old “she doesn’t understand me” line. But if Charlotte Robinson was guilty of the crimes Nash suspected she was guilty of, maybe she really had been a witch...and still was.
Putting his notes aside, he stopped reading about the Robinsons in order to focus on photos. Gerald and Charlotte were in the paper constantly at charity fund-raisers, community events, when a new illegitimate child made the news. Nash didn’t want the spotlight turned on himself. He definitely didn’t intend to make the news.
He studied his father’s face, unsure of what he was looking for. Signs of recognition? Was he trying to see himself in his father’s face? He certainly hoped he couldn’t find his own. He’d rather think he inherited all of his mother’s attributes and physical features. But there was that hint of stubbornness in Gerald’s jaw that Nash knew he had to own up to also.
He continued to pore over photo after photo. More recent ones caught his attention. He found the Fortune name mentioned in conjunction with a Valentine’s Day party at the Mendoza Winery. Cassie had mentioned that winery and the fact she’d be doing a Paint and Sip party there.
If she taught her Paint and Sip class there, he could tag along or stop in incognito. It would be the perfect opportunity to nose around. Certainly, someone at the winery would remember the Valentine’s Day party and the people who had attended. He could just claim he was thinking about contacting the famous family to inquire if they needed his financial services. He had to keep his investigation moving forward. He didn’t have that much time in Austin.
Wanting to ditch the suit he’d worn to his pretend meeting, he stuffed the small spiral-bound notebook with thoughts and facts about the Fortunes into an inside pocket. Then he closed down the computer. To his surprise, the afternoon had passed into evening. Immersed in his research, wondering how he could really get the goods on Charlotte, he’d lost track of time.
Rush-hour traffic was heavy as he headed back to the B&B. He found himself eager to see Cassie. She was like a bright star floating in and out of his mind, even as he tried to concentrate on grittier things like the Fortunes.
Fortunately, he found a parking space near the B&B. As he walked up the street, he thought again about the Paint and Sip party. The more he thought about going along with Cassie, the more he liked the idea. He was passing the house next door to the B&B when he realized someone was sitting on the porch in a caned rocking chair. The woman looked to be in her late sixties. She waved to him in a friendly greeting.
“Nice night,” she called out. “But it’s getting a bit chilly.”
At the foot of the stairs to her porch, he stopped. “Yes, it is. Are you people-watching?” he asked with a smile.
“That’s mostly what I do now,” she said. “Especially in the evenings. I have a lot to watch with the B&B next door. I can see folks coming and going. I spotted you leaving earlier.”
This woman must not have much to take up her time, and maybe not enough people in her life, Nash surmised. He went up the porch steps and extended his hand to her. “Nash Tremont,” he said.
“I’m Renata Garcia.”
“I’m enjoying the bed-and-breakfast. It’s a nice atmosphere.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Don’t you just love the way Cassie painted those rooms? She has such a unique sense of style. Have you seen her paintings? She brought a few over after she moved in so I could see them. They’re wonderful.”
“She’s very talented,” Nash said noncommittally though he had really liked them. Apparently Cassie and this woman were friends.
“She is that, and she’s such a lovely girl. She’s helped me more than once when I wasn’t feeling well. Some days my arthritis bothers me so much I can hardly get up and down out of the chair. But Cassie tells me to keep my cell phone close at hand and just call her if I need anything. In a way, I feel like a surrogate parent.”
Nash knew he should get information about Cassie from Cassie herself, but he also realized he could learn facts from other people, too. “Aren’t Cassie’s parents around here?”
“It’s such a shame, but Cassie’s parents died in a car crash.”
So Cassie had lost her parents. He felt for her. The compassion he’d seen in her was true. Apparently she knew what it was like to lose the people you loved.
He thought again about Sara and her refusal to marry him. She’d hurt his pride as well as broken his heart. Although he didn’t intend to compare Sara and Cassie, he found himself doing it. Cassie seemed so bright and sparkling compared to Sara. Was it even fair to judge?
Cassie’s neighbor broke into Nash’s thoughts. “How long will you be staying at the Bluebonnet?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” he told her. “More than a week and less than a month.”
“I see. You know, you really should make a commitment. It would help Cassie figure out what bills she could pay and which ones she can’t. She finagles her budget until it all works out. That’s hard to do these days for me, too.”
“I think we all have to adjust our budgets each month these days.” He took off his sports jacket and laid it over his arm and then loosened his bolo tie. He couldn’t wait to get into his T-shirt and jeans. “It was good to meet you, Renata.”
“It was good meeting you, too. You tell Cassie I said hello.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
As he descended the porch steps, he didn’t know if he’d be seeing Cassie tonight. In some ways, it would be safer if he didn’t. No temptation, no consequences. Maybe he’d change and go out again, grab some tacos and go over his notes. It would be a safe evening with nothing more on his mind than work.
* * *
The following day Cassie wished she could make a breakthrough with her eleven-year-old art student Danny. Art often could help children express themselves. She knew Danny could draw. That was one of the reasons his mother was paying for art lessons. But he wouldn’t draw anything he really cared about.
The late afternoon was quiet on the porch as Cassie watched Danny paint the big sturdy tree, a realistic portrayal of one right outside the screened-in room. The only sound was the brush of Danny’s strokes on the canvas and the sound of birds in the tree branches as they called to each other.
The almost-silence was the reason Cassie heard the front door open and then close. When she leaned back to peek through the rooms, she spotted Nash walking toward her. She hadn’t seen him much for the last twenty-four hours. He hadn’t eaten supper last night or breakfast this morning. He was dressed up again and he looked tired. Had he had meetings all day?
When he stopped at the door to the screened-in porch, Cassie motioned him inside. Maybe Danny would respond to another male.
“Danny, this is Nash. He’s a guest at the bed-and-breakfast, and he understands paintings.”
Danny gave her a quick glance and then turned back to his canvas.
“I really do,” Nash said, obviously perceptive about what Cassie wanted him to do. “And Cassie’s paintings are great. Have you seen any of them?”
Danny nodded but wouldn’t turn and meet Nash’s gaze. Nash lifted one eyebrow as if to ask Cassie what was going on. But she wouldn’t talk about Danny with the boy there. Nash must have sensed that so he backed off, which was thoughtful of him.
He asked, “Is it okay if I make some coffee?”
She motioned to the sideboard in the dining area. “I brewed a pot about an hour ago. It should still be good. I made chocolate chip cookies, too. Danny had two before we started.”
“What did you think of them?” Nash asked the boy.
“They were good,” Danny answered, still keeping his eyes on the canvas.
But Nash didn’t completely give up. “You know your tree is as good as any one of Cassie’s.”
Danny inclined his head as if he’d heard. He gave a little shrug, but he didn’t respond. Nash’s gaze locked with Cassie’s, and he just pointed toward the dining room as if telling her he’d wait in there to talk with her.
A short time later, Danny’s mother came in the door. Dorie Lindstrom always seemed to be in a rush. Now she came barreling toward the sunporch. Danny had his mom’s blond hair and blue eyes, and when he saw her, he smiled. He always smiled around his mom.
As usual, she seemed to stop rushing when she was in the presence of her son. She stood behind him and stared at his painting. “That’s a terrific tree. What are you going to put with it?”
“Maybe a playhouse on the grass,” he said.
“You’re good at painting buildings. I think that will fit well there, don’t you think, Cassie?”
“Danny has an instinct for knowing what to fit together. I’m sure a playhouse will be just right.”
Dorie handed Cassie a check. “Same time on Monday?”
“That works for me.” As Danny rose to his feet, Cassie said, “I’ll put your painting somewhere safe. It will be ready for you when you’re ready for it.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Good job.”
He gave her a smile like he’d given his mom. Then the two of them left.
Cassie carefully propped the painting on one of the chairs, then collapsed the easel. By then Nash had come into the porch, coffee mug in hand. He’d removed his jacket and loosened his bolo tie. With the top button of his shirt opened, he looked too sexy for words. She swallowed hard and told herself again he was just a guest.
“So what’s going on with your art student?” he asked. “Or can’t you tell me?”
“Some things are confidential but it might help me to talk to you about it. I know you’re not going to spread any gossip because you’re not from here.”
“That’s right. No gossip passes my lips.”
At the word lips, she stared at him...and them. That was a big mistake. She forced herself to concentrate on the subject they were talking about—Danny. “Danny’s parents are going through a divorce.”
“I see. Is he mad at his father? Is that why he wouldn’t make eye contact with me? All males are taboo?”
How perceptive, Cassie thought. But she supposed Nash had learned to read his clients well. “That could be part of the reason. But even more than that, his father doesn’t approve of Danny’s interest in art. Danny’s embarrassed about it himself because he’s gotten teased at school. I’m trying to build his confidence along with teaching him about acclaimed male painters. I want him to know his talent is something to be proud of.”
“You’re right, it is. What kind of person is his father?”
“I haven’t met him. He and his wife were separated before Danny started taking lessons. But he’s a lawyer. From what Dorie says, I get the feeling he’s narrow-minded in his thinking.”
“And probably judgmental,” Nash commented. “Narrow-minded people usually are.”
“There are always two sides to every story, so I don’t want to judge him without even meeting him. But from what Dorie has told me, both are true.”
Nash leaned against the porch wall. “Do you know her well?”
“Not extremely well. She and I had a long conversation before I took Danny on. And we usually talk a little bit every time she picks him up. But today she must have been in an exceptional hurry. She seems to be a caring and attentive mom. She listens and he’s completely relaxed when he’s around her.”
“And he probably wouldn’t be that way with his dad,” Nash guessed.
“Probably not. His dad wanted Danny to play football. That’s not in the cards. I get the feeling that their differing views on raising children is one of the reasons the two of them broke up.”
After another swallow of coffee, Nash said, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing building up his confidence. If he has confidence about his art, he’ll have confidence in other areas.”
Again, she was struck by his keen insight. She looked at him more closely. His hair was thick and a bit ruffled as if he’d run his fingers through it. He was a handsome man, that was for sure. “How did you get so wise?”
“The school of hard knocks.”
She was thinking maybe Nash had had some counseling, but he’d just disabused her of that notion. Experience must have taught him everything he’d learned. She was eager to know what those experiences had been.
“Danny seems to be relaxed with you,” Nash pointed out. “He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his painting if he wasn’t. But then, I think anybody could be relaxed with you.”
That compliment took Cassie by surprise. Truth be told, she wasn’t used to receiving compliments from men. She’d dated back in Bryan before she’d decided to move her life to Austin. But once Cody Sinclair had found out her mother was in jail, he was out the door. Either his moral sensibilities had been offended or the idea of having a girlfriend whose mother was a felon was just too embarrassing or abhorrent. Cassie had known better than to get involved with anyone romantically after that if she didn’t want a broken heart. Apparently romance just wasn’t in the cards for her.
“How can you judge how relaxed people are with me?” she asked him. “You’ve only seen me with the Warners, Lydia and Danny.”
“I had a talk with your neighbor yesterday when I came home. She was sitting on her porch and she waved and said hello.”
“Mrs. Garcia is lonely,” Cassie explained. “She’s a widow.”
“She said you spend time with her.” His voice had gone gentle as if he appreciated that fact about her.
“I do. She’s a lovely woman and has some great stories to tell. I think she’s trying to keep her memories alive. She says when you reach a certain age, all of your memories tend to blur together. I enjoy spending time with her.” Since her own mother wasn’t in her life now—her mother’s choosing, not hers—Renata Garcia helped fill a hole in her heart.
“She told me that you’d lost both your parents. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Cassie was dumbfounded for a moment but maybe not entirely surprised that Renata had told Nash. Most of her neighbors and coworkers thought that was what had happened to her parents. The problem was—it was a lie. Somehow, making up a story for other people hadn’t seemed so bad. She’d done it to protect herself and her mother and her business at the Bluebonnet. She’d seen everyone’s reaction to Carol Calloway’s arrest, trial and imprisonment. She’d learned it was better to propagate a myth and she’d had to do that to start over.
But Cassie felt terrible about lying to Nash. Still, hadn’t her experience told her that was the best thing to do?
She decided it would be better to lead the subject away from herself. Since Nash did look tired, she asked, “How was your day?”
“Long,” he answered with half a smile.
“Did you meet with potential clients? Did you sign any?”
Nash’s brown eyes seemed to darken. His mouth turned down as if he was chagrined at her question.
She hurried to say, “I didn’t mean to pry.”
After a moment he explained, “Sometimes I learn information about my clients that I’d rather not know.”
“I imagine a financial advisor’s relationship with clients is somewhat like a lawyer’s.”
“I suppose they could be compared,” Nash said politely, maybe a little coolly as if he didn’t intend to talk about it anymore. He straightened, lifted his coffee mug to his lips and drained it. “Good coffee,” he said. “I’ll just set this in the sink.”
“Will you be eating supper with us tonight?”
“No, I had a big lunch.”
“There are sandwich fixings in the refrigerator if you find you want something later. Tomorrow night I’ll be making a very early supper here. It’s Paint and Sip night at the Mendoza Winery. If you want to get to know more about Austin, you could stop in. It’s usually a friendly crowd.”
“You’ve done this there before?”
“Two months ago. It went over really well, so we planned another one.”
“I’ll definitely consider it,” he told her. “You have a good night.”
Cassie followed him into the guest area and watched him put the mug in the sink. Then he picked up his jacket from the back of a chair and headed upstairs without looking back.
Maybe she’d been all wrong about an attraction between them. Maybe only she was the one who felt the attraction. Maybe she’d poked and prodded too much. Whatever the reason, she felt a bit rebuffed. She’d just keep her distance from Nash Tremont, and the attraction would go away on its own.
* * *
If Cassie had the opportunity and the funds, she’d eat at La Viña, the Mendoza Winery’s restaurant, as often as she could. She liked the atmosphere there. The interior had a lot of large windows that during the day provided an extensive view of the vineyard. At night, floodlights showed off the grounds. The ceiling was oak-paneled and rounded to reflect the shape of the inside of a wine barrel.
The restaurant had been rearranged for the Paint and Sip party. Easels were set up along two sides of the restaurant. Patrons could pay the entire fee and actually paint a canvas with Cassie, or they could opt for a lesser fee that would cover only hors d’oeuvres and wine. That way friends who didn’t want to paint could come along with friends who did. There were always a lot of watchers.
Carlo Mendoza had greeted Cassie and made sure she had everything she needed. His fiancée, Schuyler, acted as a hostess of sorts. Already this evening, Cassie had taken her students through a step-by-step process. They could wander around and study her painting. They could listen in as she migrated from student to student, giving help where needed. Servers poured wine and served plates of hors d’oeuvres as patrons went to the tables to enjoy conversation, wine and everything from crab balls to mini tacos.
Cassie was helping one of her students, a woman who had been to her last Paint and Sip party here, when she glanced around the room and spotted Nash. He hadn’t told her he was coming. Of course, he didn’t have to. Was he interested in actually painting? Or did he just want to try the Mendoza wines?
When she and her student finished their conversation, she moved on and noticed Nash was talking to Carlo. They seemed to be having a detailed conversation. She kept her eye on him as she walked around the room. When he’d finished speaking with Carlo, he crossed to a server who was headed toward the kitchen. They had a conversation, too. She wandered what that was all about.
Nash was dressed in an Oxford shirt and black jeans rather than a business suit. Still, was he making contacts?
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