Can′t Fight This Feeling
Can't Fight This Feeling
Christie Ridgway
Welcome back to charming Blue Arrow Lake as temptation sizzles in a glittering new romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Christie RidgwayBlue-collar landscaper Brett Walker has no interest in the Hollywood vacationers flocking to his hometown in the California mountains. But the scarred ex-soldier does have a duty to protect Blue Arrow Lake–and the family ski resort–from a serial burglar. So when he suspects a break-in, he takes action…and ends up catching sinfully tempting down-on-her-luck heiress Angelica Rodriguez. She reminds him of trouble, but he can't deny her a safe place to stay–in one of his cabins.Angelica has plenty of reasons to distrust–losing her money to her father's legal woes being one of them. Getting up close and naughty with rough, tough and sexy Brett tempts her out of her comfort zone and into the arms of a man who's not from her wealthy world. She's after safety and he's chasing justice, but the fire between them might reveal that all they want is each other.
Welcome back to charming Blue Arrow Lake as temptation sizzles in a glittering new romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway
Blue-collar landscaper Brett Walker has no interest in the Hollywood vacationers flocking to his hometown in the California mountains. But the scarred ex-soldier does have a duty to protect Blue Arrow Lake—and the family ski resort—from a serial burglar. So when he suspects a break-in, he takes action...and ends up catching sinfully tempting down-on-her-luck heiress Angelica Rodriguez. She reminds him of trouble, but he can’t deny her a safe place to stay—in one of his cabins.
Angelica has plenty of reasons to distrust—losing her money to her father’s legal woes being one of them. Getting up close and naughty with rough, tough and sexy Brett tempts her out of her comfort zone and into the arms of a man who’s not from her wealthy world. She’s after safety and he’s chasing justice, but the fire between them might reveal that all they want is each other.
Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway (#u469ec1f8-ecd9-5d51-ab6b-491471fa33a8)
“Ridgway’s writing is impeccable.”
—RT Book Reviews on Make Me Lose Control
“This sexy page-turner [is] a stellar kick-off to Ridgway’s latest humor-drenched series.”
—Library Journal on Take My Breath Away
“Emotional and powerful...everything a romance reader could hope for.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review) on
Bungalow Nights
“Kick off your shoes and escape to endless summer. This is romance at its best.”
—Emily March, New York Times bestselling author of Nightingale Way, on Bungalow Nights
“Sexy and addictive—Ridgway will keep you up all night!”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Andersen on Beach House No. 9
“A great work of smart, escapist reading.”
—Booklist on Beach House No. 9
“Sexy, sassy, funny, and cool, this effervescent sizzler nicely launches Ridgway’s new series and is a perfect pick-me-up for a summer’s day.”
—Library Journal on Crush on You
“Pure romance, delightfully warm and funny.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Crusie
“Christie Ridgway writes with the perfect combination of humor and heart. This funny, sexy story is as fresh and breezy as its Southern California setting. An irresistible read!”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs on How to Knit a Wild Bikini
Can’t Fight This Feeling
Christie Ridgway
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In memory of my mother, who fostered my love of books, fashion and family. I love you forever, Mom.
Dear Reader (#u469ec1f8-ecd9-5d51-ab6b-491471fa33a8),
Welcome back to Blue Arrow Lake, where the mountains stand guard over pine trees, deep lakes and the hardy souls who live there year-round. Brett Walker, the oldest of the Walker clan, works hard in his landscaping business and to keep his heart safe after more than one emotional upheaval. But there’s a woman who threatens his equilibrium, and he’s not sure how to fight off the temptation
of her.
Angelica Rodriguez led a privileged life…but now it’s shattered. She’s looking to build something new for herself and is deeply attached to this beautiful mountain enclave. But it includes Brett Walker, who she’s crushed on for months…and who seemed to disapprove of her on sight. Circumstances force them together, though, and she begins to hope that she can soften this granite man.
Trusting another person with your secrets and your happiness is never easy, as these two find. There are rewards to the risk and both Brett and Angelica have so much to offer each other. He needs her sunny smiles; she needs his unwavering strength. As always, it’s a pleasure to tell the story of a couple finding each other and finding a way to get past their fears. Ready for me to take you on a sexy, emotional ride? Come on board, relax and let the events unfold. Destination…romance!
Christie
Contents
Cover (#uc0ed0df2-2e5b-5b70-9bb5-14cab4e8ceb3)
Back Cover Text (#uee2508b4-4a32-5d33-b1e9-93b573a559e2)
Praise (#ud0826327-7d93-52f6-9644-0c215c7f7d9f)
Title Page (#ud0eefa55-4d7c-5ab8-b53a-25f7b18632ac)
Dedication (#u23855455-4c73-55cc-91c0-91ded473ccba)
Dear Reader
CHAPTER ONE (#u1bffa9e3-3c0a-5230-b658-92b19c29884b)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua7e701bc-a725-58e4-ade8-60d0eba1ed44)
CHAPTER THREE (#u1907fd2e-503d-57b4-a1ad-c7a9ec09501d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u77443897-3085-58af-9741-504057382b11)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ub4f7cd26-946e-5f4c-8015-edb17862b256)
CHAPTER SIX (#u5e4d1765-7b14-529b-bad9-47d2e4a5813e)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u20c273ab-c52d-53fc-b75a-5af8c576702c)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u2e121b01-4e2a-59e3-9e49-277a4fb6863a)
CHAPTER NINE (#u7afc901a-7fa4-56a3-b307-30a2b83a7e3e)
CHAPTER TEN (#uef167178-af1b-589b-9497-abc254217569)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#u3c4936e3-f9b5-5603-b1d7-963851d47ef8)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#u0f56a947-989b-512c-9950-737e493c924d)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#u87723a10-15c8-5d86-878f-06ba78c645cc)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#u2c9cf361-c97f-533b-b923-4508e0fcfa6c)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#u1d02d8c7-fd8f-5578-a507-6fa14e1bc780)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#u5040ceea-078f-531e-9d5f-2e8a4bddacc7)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#u69048ee5-2cae-5421-a3bd-e3bdd3890b3f)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ub479aa1b-1005-565b-8231-88e972484018)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#u90fbd41b-c63b-5d58-9034-9a2b5b714637)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#u657007f4-1995-51f9-8e1c-535115b0fefb)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#u81bb0b03-237d-5001-ad9e-05a73a36c782)
Extract (#u9827abd7-1b3d-5f50-9409-d989abc37c1a)
Copyright (#ub42ef03d-0541-5789-8714-7609656401d7)
Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.
—Jim Bishop
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_951b2e90-f586-53a9-b2a9-1d1cddd8887b)
WHEN BRETT WALKER caught sight of the flashing lights in his rearview mirror, his heart gave a quick jolt and he wondered why he was being pulled over. His DMV tags were for the correct year. He was up-to-date on his bills. The license for his landscaping business was current, too. As he pulled to the side of one of the narrow lanes in the wealthy enclave of Blue Arrow Lake in the Southern California mountains, he thought perhaps one of his three younger sisters might have called the sheriff’s department to execute a welfare check. Poppy was the most likely choice. But Shay might have done it, too.
It wasn’t that he was avoiding his two youngest sisters exactly, but they were so damn starry-eyed over the men in their lives. While all four Walker siblings were pretty hardheaded, only his other sister, Mackenzie—Mac—had the same hard soul as he. All the smiles and sighs and grins and kisses a person had to witness when hanging around Poppy and Ryan and Shay and Jace rubbed said soul raw.
So he’d been pacing himself on the Walker fests.
Brett unrolled his window as a man wearing a tan uniform strolled up to the driver’s side. Placing both hands on the wheel—this wasn’t his first rodeo—he glanced up. “Don.” Even a law-abiding citizen felt a spurt of relief at recognizing a longtime friend. “What is it, a broken taillight?”
“Naw, nothing like that.” He hitched up the belt bristling with equipment. “I saw you go by and thought I’d take the opportunity to have a little chat.”
Brett remembered another “chat” he’d been forced to have with a law enforcement officer. His gut curdled at the memory. The result had been a two-day stay in the lockup. “You’re making me anxious here, Don,” he said. “I’m shaking in my boots.”
The other man snorted. “You’re wearing your usual granite face. How’s the family?”
He meant Brett’s sisters, since his mother and father had been gone for years. “Poppy and Shay are both engaged now.”
“I heard that. Flatlanders?”
It was what the mountain people called those who came from “down the hill” to visit their peaks and pines at 5,000 feet and beyond. Those who usually resided by the beaches and in the cities of SoCal could hardly believe it when they climbed into their cars and took a two-hour drive to discover a place with four actual, authentic seasons. Lakes for summer play. Snow for winter games. The spring and fall were quieter, but no less beautiful to residents like the Walkers who lived here full-time and had done so for one hundred fifty years.
The full-timers had to share with those flatlanders, though. The resort mountain communities of the area had palatial homes near ski runs and expansive mansions on the banks of private lakes. Wealthy people came up on weekends to their alpine retreats, which gave rise to businesses that provided for the visitors’ needs and tastes: gourmet grocers and house-cleaning services, organic restaurants and landscape-maintenance companies.
“Yep, flatlanders,” Brett told the other man.
“Rich?”
Brett shrugged. “Eye of the beholder, right?” Money didn’t impress the Walkers. The opposite, really, and he’d been inclined to dislike Ryan and Jace on that principle alone. But the men his sisters had chosen had proved themselves, which hadn’t always been the case.
Shay had been the product of a brief affair between their mother and a wealthy visitor when his parents’ marriage had hit a rough patch and his father had temporarily decamped to South America. But Dell Walker had ultimately returned and treated Shay as his own for the rest of his life—her bio dad had never shown his face again.
Poppy had become a single mom when her son’s rich-but-shallow father had run back to Beverly Hills.
Brett had been screwed in his own way by the moneyed. He’d earned the chip on his shoulder.
“Business good?” Don asked now.
“Sure.” This time of year, he was still mowing and trimming, but soon enough he’d be planting bulbs for spring and protecting flower beds and shrubbery from the coming harsher weather. “We’ll see what happens in winter.” Then he switched to snow removal. If there wasn’t any white stuff to shovel or plow, he’d be in for a dry spell.
“But you’re still out and about the area every day, right?”
Brett’s eyes narrowed. Don wasn’t just shooting the breeze. “Yeah...” He drew out the word, uneasy again.
Don cleared his throat. “I don’t like to sound an alarm...”
Except that’s exactly what he was doing. “Spit it out.”
“Looks like we have a string of burglaries,” he said, frowning.
“Here?” Brett glanced around. This particular community was gated, and besides the patrolling sheriffs, residents could let a security service know their schedule and request daily checks.
“Here, there, across the lake, on the mountain ridge. There isn’t a real pattern we’ve detected, other than break-ins and missing valuables. You and I both know there are ways to get to these homes that bypass the gates and kiosks.”
“Yeah.” Brett ran a hand over his short hair. Thieves could come by boat or zip around on dirt bikes and avoid the paved roads. “We had trouble with kids in our cabins during the summer.”
“I thought of that,” Don said. “Any trouble since?”
“No. I’m living out there now.” Four miles off the mountain highway was a tract of Walker land that had once been a successful, though small, ski resort. After a wildfire came through and destroyed nearly everything, it had been left to nature. Then, last spring, Poppy had decided she wanted to refurbish the dozen cabins that remained standing. Despite the initial objections from the rest of the siblings, they were making progress. Slow progress, but progress all the same. “We think the fire in one of the bungalows was set by local kids. This seem the same? Locals?”
“They’d know how not to get caught.”
Unless they were naive enough to let themselves be used, Brett thought. But he shook it off because he wasn’t eighteen any longer and at the mercy of a lying little rich girl and her daddy who thought his spoiled darling could do no wrong.
“Keep your eyes open, will you, Brett?” Don said. “Since you’re cruising around all day, you might catch sight of something or someone that will help us crack this.”
“Will do.”
With a wave, Don returned to his car and Brett continued on with his day. But uneasiness continued to dog him. If people suspected area kids were the culprits, it wasn’t a large leap to any local being blamed. If the owners of the vacation homes began distrusting the help they hired, it could impact the bottom line of people like Brett with his landscaping business. His sister Mac, too, who operated a cleaning service.
This wasn’t good.
His schedule full, Brett’s day didn’t finish until he was nearly out of daylight. Muscles aching, he pushed the lawn mower up the ramp into his truck’s bed. Then he settled into the driver’s seat and grabbed some water, practically hosing it down his parched throat. He’d brooded over the burglaries while he worked at a handful of properties. The usual mowing and clipping, but he’d also raked up mountains of fallen leaves. The pinecones had seemed to have it in for him. Two of the prickly buggers had fallen directly on his head.
He wanted a cold beer, a long shower and a hot meal.
Since he’d have to make yet another stop to purchase two out of the three, his lousy mood was only amplified as he started off in the direction of the highway.
It was quiet in the neighborhood. Nothing unusual for a midweek autumn day. But, remembering Don’s words, he paid more attention than he normally would. That’s why he slowed and gave a piercing once-over of the Rodriguez place.
“Liar,” he muttered to himself.
The piercing once-over was all about the damn woman he wanted to be all over—Angelica Rodriguez.
He sighed. She was so exactly not the type for him. She’d spent the summer at the house that now looked empty of life. Her mother was an infamous supermodel, now divorced from Angelica’s father, a hedge-fund manager with a Midas touch. Brett didn’t think the young woman did anything but dream up ways to torture him. When he arrived to work on the grounds, she’d come outside wearing radiant smiles and little sundresses.
She was evil like that.
Not to mention how she tempted him in other ways. Freshly made lemonade. Oatmeal and raisin cookies—his favorite. He didn’t know how she’d discovered that fact, but he wouldn’t put it past her to use Daddy’s money to purchase a background check of him.
All summer he’d been completely, uncomfortably, maddeningly aware she’d had an itch to go slumming. With him.
But looking at the huge villa-style house on the lake, dark except for a couple of dim security lights mounted on the outside, he guessed she’d gone home...or at least to some other Rodriguez-owned domicile. In Bel-Air, maybe. Malibu. For all he knew, Paris.
Thank God. He’d been losing his will to hold out against her. Would any man blame him? She had liquid brown eyes, a wealth of silky, espresso-dark hair, a body...
Don’t think about her body.
She’d once told him she’d modeled for a time in childhood to early teens, until she’d gotten too “fat.” Translation: long legs, beautiful features.
And breasts.
Bountiful, distracting, unforgettable breasts.
Brett closed his eyes, and he could still see them, damn it. Beneath a tank top. Under a loose-fitting shift. Once he’d seen her in a bikini.
That day, he’d been afraid he’d lose his eyesight. Because not only had he garnered a glance at her front, but she’d turned around and he’d spied her luscious butt in bathing-suit bottoms.
Yeah, that kind of “fat.”
It should be against the law.
Blowing out a breath, he opened his eyes to take a final look at the place before moving on. He could see it clearly enough through the iron bars of the wide double gate. Now that she was gone, he was going to forget all about her.
A tiny light moved behind a window.
Brett rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Was he seeing things? Blinking hard, he surveyed the place once more. The light was gone—
No, there it winked on again.
A prickly sensation skittered down his spine.
Putting his truck in Reverse, he slowly backed up the street and parked twenty-five yards away. There was more iron fencing at the sides of the property and it didn’t prevent him from seeing that light moving again, a firefly behind the glass and the briefest outline of a familiar figure. The hair on the back of his neck rose. All his nerve endings were awake now, and the weariness from the day’s endeavors were replaced with something else—curiosity, anticipation, maybe some dangerous combination of the two.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, he climbed out of the truck.
He didn’t bother pulling out his cell phone. This wasn’t a police matter. It was something else—the someone skulking about the inside of that mammoth house was none other than its mistress.
Don’t think of the word mistress.
His instincts were certain it was her because, since first seeing her, his body reacted in just this way when she was anywhere in his proximity. His skin would twitch, his scalp would tingle and he’d turn around and Angelica Rodriguez would be there in one of her witchy outfits—jeans, a pair of hiking shorts, a voluminous beach cover-up, it didn’t matter what she wore—and he’d have to steel his spine to be as hard as that other part of him was becoming.
No, I don’t want lemonade. Or a cookie. Or to spend endless nights in bed with you.
“Liar,” he muttered again. He’d wanted it all.
But she was doing something shady, he could feel that, too, and so he made his way around the side of the house; his aim, that moving light. There was no fencing between the house and its lake access and soon he was prowling toward that window.
Then he was right outside it. In the minuscule glow of the penlight she had in her hand, he could make out parts of her as she moved about the den. The dark pools of her eyes. The elegant line of her small nose. The dip above her bowed upper lip. Without a hesitation, he rapped on the glass.
Jumping, she shrieked. He could see the sharp sound of surprise on her startled face, which jerked his way, feel the vibration of it in his fingers, which were pressed flat on the pane.
She trained the light on him. He smiled at her. Toothily, he supposed, because she came toward the window at a wary pace until there was only a couple of inches between them.
And yet they were still worlds apart.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “Why don’t you let me in?”
* * *
ANGELICA RODRIGUEZ STARED through the glass into the early evening darkness and cursed fate.
She’d been doing a lot of that lately, as the very foundation of her life had cracked and then fallen away in the past few days. Some cheery—and at times annoying—inner voice kept reminding her to see this situation as an opportunity, but it sure didn’t feel that way when the man who had disliked her at first sight was now staring her down.
The man who, from first sight, she’d liked entirely too much.
“Let me in,” he said again.
Um, no. It didn’t seem wise to be too close to him when all her defenses were in this rocky state. So she smiled and waved both hands in a gesture that was supposed to communicate that she didn’t need him around or that she couldn’t exactly hear him or perhaps she was just too busy for a chat...anything that would get him moving along so she could sneak out of the house where she wasn’t supposed to be in the first place.
She turned away from the window to scoop up the papers she’d left on the desk and he rapped again.
Like a demand.
Holding on to her cool, she glanced over her shoulder. There he was, thirtyish, muscled and a bit threatening-looking, even though in the darkness she could only see his bulk and not those very fascinating scars on his face. One slashed through his brow to his hairline. Another crossed the bridge of his nose.
Angelica had never found the courage to ask him about them.
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the back door that led to the lake-view terrace. “Open up.”
The sounds of the words were not hampered by the glass, but she sure as heck wasn’t going to obey! Past June she would have opened up to him. She’d wanted to, and she’d been rebuffed enough times that it embarrassed her to count them. It had been amazing to her, how drawn she’d been to him then. For a woman who had a lousy history with the opposite sex—lousy enough that she was relatively inexperienced when it came to them—she was surprised to find Brett Walker brought out a different side of her.
The idea of kissing him had consumed her instead of making her cringe. The sensation of his arms around her was something she’d wanted, not wanted to run away from.
Now she didn’t have time for fantasy. She had a real life she needed to build for herself.
His mouth moved again, four syllables that she thought he might never have said aloud before. “Angelica—”
Twisting away from the sound, from him, she moved forward at the same time...and tripped over a trash can beside the desk. That sick sense of falling lasted only milliseconds. Then her palms slammed to the hardwood, preserving her nose from a flattening. The penlight she’d held rolled away, dashing light on the floor and baseboards.
Adrenaline was still shooting through her system when she heard him knocking on the window again. Ignoring it, she got to her knees and breathed, trying to slow her heartbeat. She shook out her hands.
Cursed fate. Her own clumsiness.
The knobs on the back door rattled. She glanced through the den’s open doorway, past the kitchen to the terrace. He was standing out there now, looking even bigger than before. More menacing. Impatient.
His fist pounded on the glass and it sounded so loud she worried the noise of it might carry across the lake and alert the sheriff’s department or the private security force. On a sigh, she clambered to her feet and approached the French doors.
She turned the lock and inched one open, prepared to tell him to go away.
He pushed, forcing himself inside.
In retreat, her feet tripped again, and she thought she might go down once more. Brett Walker grabbed her by the elbow to steady her. “Are you all right?”
She wrenched her arm away. “I’m fine.” Deciding offense was the best defense, she scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw your flashlight moving around and decided to investigate. Power out?”
“No—” she started, but it was too late. He’d flipped on the closest switch. She squinted as the overhead lighting blazed on. “Please turn that off. The glare gives me a headache,” she lied.
He instantly turned it off, surprising her. “Sorry,” he said, his voice going softer. “Do you get migraines? My mother did. I know it’s hell.”
Guilt stabbed. “Um...well.” She couldn’t think of what else to say as her brain became occupied with the notion that handsome, sexy, manly man Brett Walker had a mother. It seemed as if he should have been carved from a giant redwood. Hewn from a granite mountain outcropping. Fallen from the sky like a meteor to dazzle humanity.
Of course, she’d met his sister Shay—beautiful—but to think of Brett with a parent meant he’d once been a boy. It boggled the mind.
Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness again and she saw one corner of his full mouth hitch in a sort-of semblance of a smile. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I’m having a hard time picturing you as someone’s little kid.”
“I was a typical one. Too loud, hated taking baths, relished teasing my younger sisters.”
It was the most conversation he’d ever had with her. She resisted the urge to hold the words close to her chest. The time for being thrilled over a tête-à-tête with Brett Walker was gone. More important matters should be occupying her mind.
The next thing she knew, he had hold of one of her forearms. “What?” she said, instinct causing her to try tugging free.
His clasp was gentle but firm. “Checking for damage. You went down hard. Not uncommon to sprain a finger that way. Break your wrist.”
He was running a warm, callous hand over her, from fingertips to wrist in a calming gesture. Inside she was quivering. On the outside, she kept still as he moved each finger individually, then rotated her wrist. “Hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head. He let that arm go, only to take up the other one. His thumb stroked the tender inside of her wrist, where the veins seemed to be scrambling like every clear thought in her head. She was pure sensation: hot skin, thrumming pulse, a heartbeat loud in her ears.
The edge of his thumb traced the outside of hers, then probed the triangle of flesh between it and her forefinger. “Tender?”
She shook her head. That was him, his ministrations so gentle they made her ache.
“Sensitive?”
This time she nodded, because his touch made her so aware of the difference between the two of them. He was hard male; she was soft female. He could be the port she needed in the current storm that was her life. One move would put her against him, and she could cling to all that muscled strength. Lean on him to hold her up.
But men had only disappointed her before, and remembering that, she snapped back to reality and stepped away.
Brett’s eyes narrowed, which reminded her again that he didn’t even like her. “You could have a snuffbox injury—scaphoid fracture—if you’re in pain there.”
“I’m fine,” she said again. “Really.”
He studied her face. “What’s going on?”
My father has been arrested for fraud. Our family properties have been confiscated and all his accounts have been frozen. Before being taken into custody, my dad siphoned off all my personal monies saved from my time modeling and from my trust, and he put them who knows where or used them for who knows what. I have no place to live, no money to live on, and I broke into my former home so I could collect some things beyond the clothes on my back.
“My father’s putting this place up for sale,” she said, lying again.
Brett’s gaze ran around the gourmet kitchen, where copper pans hung from a rack and spices were lined up on a shelf. He looked at the couches and chairs in the adjacent family room. “With all this stuff inside?”
“Uh-huh. Will add to the value as a very famous interior designer picked out everything from the paint colors to the window coverings to the custom furnishings.”
His mouth curled. “I just bet.”
It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to be impressed. “Anyway, there was a mix-up and I didn’t get a chance to pack my suitcases or retrieve my passport from the safe in the den.”
“That is a headache,” he said, though she wasn’t sure he accepted that as a logical explanation for why she was skulking around.
She smiled anyway. “So...I’m just going to make a quick trip upstairs and dump a few things in a bag. The rest I’ll get another day.” Without taking her eyes off him, she moved backward, heading in the direction of the stairs. “See you around.”
He prowled toward her. “I’ll go with you.”
“No!” She swallowed, modulating her voice. “No, no. You don’t need to do that.” While months ago she might have swooned at the idea of having him in her bedroom, now wasn’t the time to have him in there, distracting her.
“I’ve seen women’s underwear before,” he said.
Of course he had. “Not my underwear.” Curses! That had come out a little...throaty. Flirtatious even.
One of his brows winged up. “I’ll close my eyes when you go through that particular drawer.”
She’d reached the bottom of the staircase and put one hand on the newel. “This is completely unnecessary—”
“It’s completely necessary. There have been burglaries in the area. I don’t feel right leaving you here alone.”
“You didn’t worry about me being alone all summer,” she retorted, then felt her cheeks go hot. That sounded like a complaint from a silly woman with an even sillier crush. “Never mind,” she muttered, and turned to stomp up the stairs. Arguing would only prolong this whole embarrassing encounter.
Still trying to do her business without attracting the attention of anyone who knew she shouldn’t be in the house, she only allowed herself to turn on the closet light. If Brett wondered about that and why she pulled the curtains across her windows first, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he just stood in the middle of her rug, hands in his pockets, while she hurriedly packed two suitcases and gathered up her toiletries from the bathroom and put them in a smaller bag.
The only noise he made was when she tried to stack all three pieces of luggage in preparation for wheeling them out the door. “You can’t take them down the stairs that way,” he said. One went under his arm, the other he gripped in his right hand, the third he took up in his left. “This all?”
“Yes.” She gritted her teeth and tried sounding gracious. “Thanks.” For months she’d wanted a bit of his attention and now it was coming at the lowest point of her life when she couldn’t even enjoy it.
Maybe because he didn’t seem to be enjoying it.
Great.
They made it outside and she locked up after setting the alarm. The key went into her pocket instead of its hiding place behind the mailbox. She’d return it later.
Brett didn’t comment as he followed her to her car, which she’d parked down the road. If he asked why she’d avoided the driveway...
She hadn’t a clue. Trying to think up some excuse only gave her the beginnings of that headache she’d laid claim to earlier.
He must have seen it. Because after placing her things in the trunk of her car, he studied her face with a new intensity. “Cool compress on your forehead. Pain relievers,” he said. “Rest.”
“Yeah.”
“You have someone to take care of you?”
No. I realize now I never have. “Sure.”
“Okay.” Still, he hesitated. “You’re certain everything’s okay? There’s nothing I should know about?”
He’d never wanted to know anything about her. “Yes.”
“Good.” He touched one fingertip to her cheek. “Because if I find out differently, there’ll be hell to pay.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_cae506c9-1908-5608-a687-b74d407422f9)
AT BLUE ARROW LAKE’S Hallett Hardware, Angelica stood at the rear, stocking lightbulbs, her tension unwinding with every minute she arranged the cardboard boxes on the shelves. Working at her part-time job was one of the few things that made her feel at peace these days. She’d taken the job before the financial disaster as a lark to help out her friend Glory Hallett when the other woman had lost an employee.
There was something soothing about unpacking cartons. The task was defined. It had purpose. A customer would come in, needing a 40-watt candelabra bulb, and she’d know exactly where to direct them. Better, she could convince them that the more expensive energy-efficient halogen bulb would be the best choice. Yes, more expensive in the short-term, but in the long run a smarter selection for both economic and environmental reasons.
She supposed some people would laugh themselves sick at the idea of Angelica Rodriguez—she of fancy boarding schools and an expensive women’s college—enjoying work at a hardware store, but it was the first time she’d ever actually earned a paycheck.
Well, there was the modeling she’d done as a youngster, which had paid ridiculously well, but those gigs had been arranged by her mother, and she’d been so self-conscious as she grew older that when she turned twelve the photographer’s assistant had started giving her mojitos before a shoot. The hangovers had been hell, so she’d started packing on the pounds until she’d lost her shot at a modeling career.
Turned out she never grew tall enough anyway.
The smell of rum and doughnuts still made her nauseous, though.
“What’s that face for?”
Angelica swung around to see Glory coming down the aisle.
“What did that indoor floodlight ever do to you?”
Angelica smiled at her friend. They were opposites in practically everything. While she was tallish—though not tall enough for worldwide fame and European runways—Glory was petite. Angelica’s long, brunette hair and dark eyes were nothing like Glory’s short blond feathers and big blues. Until now, Angelica had led a fairly useless life, while Glory had been working at the family hardware store since she was old enough to push a broom and weigh a brown paper bag of nails. They’d struck up a conversation when she’d come browsing at the store one rainy spring weekend and just...clicked. Upon her return for her summer stay, she’d revisited the store and over one coffee and then a lunch, a friendship had fully formed. “The bulb is innocent. I was just mulling over my life.”
Glory frowned. “What’s happened now?”
“Nothing new.”
“Did you get your clothes?”
Angelica nodded. “Last night.” She decided against mentioning her run-in with Brett Walker. Glory didn’t know about that silly crush she’d suffered, and there was no reason to tell her now. Away from the house where he landscaped on a weekly basis—she had no idea whether the authorities would have him continue the service—she’d likely never see him again.
Because if I find out differently, there’ll be hell to pay.
It had been a macho-man parting shot, that’s all. He wouldn’t care enough to find out any more about her or her situation. His complete disinterest all summer had made that abundantly clear.
“I wish you’d come live with me,” Glory said.
“No, no. You have that adorable one-bedroom cottage that is perfect for you...but not you and me. I’ve got that room at the Bluebird. They have reasonable weekly rental rates.”
If you had more money coming in.
She didn’t say that, but perhaps Glory could read minds. “I wish I could offer you more hours,” she said.
“Please.” Angelica touched her friend’s arm. “I’m grateful for what I have. I’m here in the mountains, far from the limelight of the financial press.”
“They’ll be looking for you, you think?”
“Probably. Yes. I was warned about it by the lawyers, anyway.” There was precedent for the families of fraudsters being hounded. Daddy, how could you? she thought now. Reporters—and those he’d swindled—would want to know the answer to that question, too, and she didn’t have one. At his insistence, after college she’d gone back to their home in LA, where she’d been a hostess for his business soirees for a couple of years. But as time went on, he’d become increasingly reclusive.
He’d never shared the why of that or the what for. The man had never made it a secret that he’d wanted a boy and that her gender was a great disappointment to him. Though she’d excused it as a cultural and generational thing, they’d never been close.
He’d been her dad, though. And she’d been dutiful, always seeking his approval, she saw now, instead of her own brand of happiness.
Glory picked out another package from the carton and stared down at it. “No word from your mom, either?”
“Not one. Likely traveling around Europe or Asia with Hubby Number Four.” Angelica watched her friend frown, knowing that she’d find this baffling, too. While Glory was an only child like Angelica, her parents were still married to each other and lived in relative contentment in their beloved mountains.
Which were becoming beloved to Angelica, as well. “I’m happy to be here,” she told Glory again. “It’s going to be okay for me.” As soon as she managed to build a new life.
“I—” But what her friend was about to say was interrupted by the sound of the bell on the door. “We’ll talk later,” she said, and headed toward the front of the store.
Angelica hoped not. Hashing and rehashing the particulars of her sucky current situation would only pierce the bubble of peace she’d found in Hallett’s. During her shift, she wanted the most difficult thing she tackled to be the box of misplaced goods that required reshelving.
In the distance, she heard Glory greeting the customer. “Good morning,” she said, in her friendly, I-know-you voice. “How’s it going, Brett?”
Angelica froze. Brett? Brett Walker? The deep-voiced response told her that it was indeed him. Why? Shouldn’t he be somewhere with his truck, working? She took a peek at the slice of front window she could see, and the sun was still shining. Perfect weather for him to be out on the job, away from here. Away from her.
Because, darn it, she couldn’t seem to keep her feet rooted to the floor. Instead, they were creeping closer to him, her traitorous eyes wanting to get a glimpse of him. Shielding herself behind a rotating display of work gloves, she peered through the leather-and-fabric fingers.
Did he have to be so ruggedly good-looking? In the height of summer, he’d worn long shorts and work boots. A T-shirt that he’d often take off as he pushed the mower, allowing her to see the muscles in his back flexing. His arms were roped with muscle and more than once she’d stood at a window, hidden behind a curtain kind of like how she was hiding now, just to watch his pumped biceps and flexing forearms.
Those were covered now. Today a plaid shirt was buttoned over his torso and a worn pair of jeans encased his long legs. Hugged his most excellent butt. He ran a hand over his hair as he talked to Glory, a gesture she’d seen him make a dozen times. It always made her curious, that habitual movement, because his hair was shorn short enough that it never appeared disordered. The stuff was brown, but tipped in gold, highlights that a woman would pay a mint for in a salon, but that only needed his constant exposure to the sun.
Then there were those intriguing scars that only served to make him more sexy. More male.
Still ogling, Angelica tuned into what Glory was now saying. “That’s right. I know those clippers are in from the sharpener’s. They’re in the back room somewhere. Hold on a second and I’ll find them.”
Angelica had to bite her lip to stop from volunteering for the task. Not only could she put her hands on them immediately—she’d designated a space in the storeroom for items delivered from the man who did the work—but Glory was hopeless when let loose in that area. She moved perfectly ordered items around, reshuffled organized paperwork and generally made a mess.
As Brett waited, the bell sounded again, signifying another customer.
Argh! Usually, with Glory occupied elsewhere, she’d be hurrying forward to help the person. But that would give her away to Brett, and she really wasn’t up to a second confrontation with him in two days.
She was too busy to deal with her ridiculous response to him.
He murmured something, greeting the newcomer, she supposed. A local, she guessed, since the hardware store was hardly the midweek hot spot for the town’s wealthy visitors. Drumming her fingers on the skirt of the sturdy, butcher-style apron she wore over her clothes, she wondered how long she could let the latest customer go without service.
Already, her conscience was pinching at her. Then it got worse. “Where’s Angel?” an elderly man enquired.
“Angel?” Brett repeated. “You mean Glory?”
He’d make that assumption, Angelica thought, because he didn’t know the name that Mr. Bowman used for her. C’mon, Glory. She sent out vibes toward the back room. Get out here with Brett’s tool!
With him safely on his way, she could help the customer asking for her.
“No,” Mr. Bowman said. “Angel. That dark-haired girl who works here. She’s my color muse.”
The dear, Angelica thought. One of her favorite parts of the job was keeping the display of paint chips organized. She loved playing with the colors and imagining them on walls, on furniture, covering the trim outside a house. Mr. Bowman had found her there one day and she’d helped him pick choices to freshen the interior of his home.
“Bob...” Brett cleared his throat. “I really don’t think there’s any Angel—”
“Of course there is. This is one of the days she works.” His voice rose. “Angel? Angel!”
The jig’s up, girl, she told herself, squaring her shoulders. “I’m here, Mr. Bowman. Do you want to meet in the paint section?”
“Certainly,” the old man called back.
Angelica let out a breath. Maybe, while she was busy with Mr. Bowman, Brett would collect his tool and carry on his day. They’d never have to come face-to-face.
She gave all her attention to the older gentleman, who loved the shade they’d picked for his office and now wanted something to brighten the kitchen. They picked several tagboard swatches that he would bring home for his wife’s ultimate approval. Before he went on his way, she kissed his cheek and he beamed at her. Then he wandered toward the front door.
Angelica, breathing easy, turned in the direction of the lightbulb shelves. Her face almost mashed into Brett’s plaid shirt as he came around a corner. She skittered back.
His gaze ran over her, from her jeans and low-heeled boots, to the apron covering her long-sleeved tee. She’d written her name in block letters on the beige twill in blue permanent marker. It was situated in the vicinity of her collarbone, so there was no reason for her breasts to respond as if he was staring at them. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You actually work here.”
“I’m helping out.”
“That’s your name on the apron, Angel. Some of it, anyway.”
“Angelica wouldn’t fit.”
“Huh.” He was still staring at her. “I guess I now have a new appreciation of having a short name.”
“Even better for you, two of the five letters in yours are the same.”
His brows rose. “Yeah. Made it so even a mountain yokel like me could learn to write it.”
She glared at him. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t.” There was a speculative light in his gray eyes. Against his tanned face, they looked almost like clear water. “What are you doing working here, Angelica?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She loved the store and the hours she spent here gave her more job satisfaction, she suspected, than any career in high finance ever could.
“It’s not your kind of place.” He glanced around, his gaze roaming over the bins of nails and the spools of chain in various gauges. “A woman like you...”
The word spoiled went unspoken. So did good-for-nothing. One time she’d overheard him talking to his sister, and he’d referred to Angelica as a useless piece of fluff. Out loud.
She should despise him.
“Don’t you know...” she started sweetly. “Oh, but you wouldn’t, so let me explain. Some of us, you know, we elite, we have a program.”
“Oh, yeah?” His eyes narrowed and now he crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of program?”
“Kind of like...like scouting.”
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, how’s that work exactly?”
“We earn badges for doing things the common folk do.”
“Badges.” He sneered the word. And though of course he couldn’t possibly believe her, she continued in a haughty tone.
“Yes. Badges. For learning to boil water. Or helping out an elderly man. Or earning a paycheck for an honest day’s work.”
And with that she swept off. It wasn’t a flounce. Only a rich, spoiled girl would do that, and the woman who was now Angelica Rodriguez was so far from that, it wasn’t even funny.
* * *
THE PROPRIETORS OF THE Bluebird Motel had decided to close for the season early. The small rooms weren’t properly winterized, so it had always been open for the fair-weather seasons only. Despite that, Angelica had thought she might have a few more weeks in room 4. Now they told her she could have her spot with the reasonable rates for just a few more days. The owners wanted to get to their second home in Phoenix as soon as possible.
Which meant Angelica needed a new place to live and another job to pay for it. Other rentals in the mountains were more expensive.
The village of Blue Arrow Lake was composed of fancy boutiques and lovely restaurants, but she’d struck out finding work in any of them. It was an in-between time. Not the summer when people came up to play in the sunshine and not the winter when they came for the snow. Still, as she walked to her car parked on a side street, the buttery color of the fall sunshine was buoying. The air smelled clean with just a touch of nuttiness from the drying leaves and grasses. The cool nip to the air was bracing.
As if to reward her rising mood, she saw a help-wanted sign posted in the window of a small building. Over the door was another that read Maids by Mac.
While she didn’t have retail experience and had never worked in a restaurant, she’d gone ahead and asked about jobs anyway. It seemed she might have a better shot at a business that was actually advertising for workers. And perhaps cleaning wasn’t something that required a wealth of prior professional experience.
Of course working as a maid might not be a coveted career choice, but Angelica was desperate enough to squelch any hesitation and hurry for the door. The knob turned and it swung soundlessly, allowing her to enter a small office space. Behind a counter was a desk with a computer and phone. A filing cabinet sat in one corner. A half-open closet door revealed shelves neatly stocked with cleaning supplies. No one was in the space, but another door was open at the rear that revealed a tiny courtyard. There she saw the back of a woman as well as a bistro table on which two coffees were set. The woman was talking to someone, but Angelica could only see a pair of long legs in jeans from where she stood.
Unsure whether to call out or just wait to be noticed, Angelica hesitated. The slender woman had hair as dark as her own, though shoulder length. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a thin, slouchy sweater in pale blue.
“You seem more grouchy than usual,” the woman was telling the other person in the courtyard. “What’s up?”
The human attached to the legs—a man—grunted in reply.
Maybe the woman sensed Angelica then because she suddenly looked around. “Oh!” She had eyes the same icy blue as her sweater. “There’s someone here. Just a minute,” she called out. Then to the grouchy man, “Don’t go anywhere, honey.”
And it was a familiar voice that responded. “Not moving. I have to make some calls.” Brett Walker’s voice.
Brett Walker here! Several days had passed since their contact in the hardware store and she wasn’t thrilled to run into him again. But Angelica couldn’t exactly retreat, now that the woman was coming toward her, wearing a welcoming expression.
Wait, Angelica thought, her stomach starting to jitter. The brunette had called Brett “honey,” and he wasn’t the kind of man to whom you threw out casual endearments. Could it be...was it possible... Might this woman be Brett’s wife?
She felt a flush climb up her throat. What if all this time she’d been mooning over a married man? Maybe every night he’d gone home to this pretty woman with her warm smile and arresting eyes and laughed about Angelica’s obvious crush.
“Can I help you?”
Her gaze shifted to the woman’s left ring finger. No wedding band. She knew Brett didn’t wear one either, but if these two worked with their hands it was conceivable they left their rings at home. She should have pumped Glory for information on the landscaper. Oh, why hadn’t she pumped Glory?
“Miss?” the woman prompted again, her smile fading to a puzzled expression.
Embarrassment coursed through Angelica once more. She had to think up some excuse! With Brett—unmarried or not—nearby, she didn’t want to beg for a job application. It would be mortifying for him to find out she was nearly broke. He didn’t have a high opinion of her as it was, so she didn’t want to add the term wastrel to the list of labels he applied to her.
Her gaze jumped around the room and landed on a plaque hanging on the wall. She gestured toward it. “I’m visiting the local businesses that are part of the Mountain Historical Society,” she said, improvising like mad. Though she actually was a volunteer for the group, so it wasn’t such a stretch, she decided. “I wanted to thank you in person for your past support and give you a report on the overwhelming success of our recent auction.”
The woman came closer. “Say it again?”
Angelica realized she’d been almost whispering. Hoping like heck that Brett was preoccupied with his phone calls, she cleared her throat and drifted nearer the counter. “The Mountain Historical Society auction we held at the end of the summer. I was part of the committee that put it on.”
“Oh.” The other woman blinked. “Are you from around here? I thought I knew just about everyone.”
“I’m a relative newcomer.” She stuck out her hand—what else could she do? “Angelica Rodriguez.”
“Mackenzie Walker.” Her grasp was firm. “But everybody calls me Mac.”
Mac Walker. “Nice to meet you.”
“So how’d you get involved with the historical society?” Her assessing gaze took in Angelica’s black jeans, black boots and the black-and-white sweater she was wearing that had white chiffon cuffs and a matching chiffon underlay that peeked out below the hemline. “It’s not something I’d guess a newcomer would join.”
Glancing toward the courtyard, Angelica saw the legs hadn’t moved and she could hear Brett murmuring, presumably into his phone. “It was my friend Glory Hallett,” she said. “She knew I had some experience putting together fund-raisers and she invited me to serve on the committee with her.”
“Now Glory I know,” Mac said. “And I remember hearing about the big party that accompanied the auction—at one of the fancy mountain lodges, right? I think my sister and her fiancé attended.”
“It was a wonderful event at the Aspen & Oak Lodge. Dinner, dancing and then the silent auction. We had many beautiful and valuable things to offer, thanks to Walter Elliott. When he passed away, he left the historical society the contents of his mountain home.”
At the mention of the name, Mac stiffened. “That’s right. Walter Elliott,” she repeated.
“It was quite the success,” Angelica said brightly. “We hope to have an annual fund-raiser from now on. Maybe next summer you and your husband—”
“What are you doing here?” Brett said, strolling into the office. His gaze was trained on Angelica’s face. He didn’t look pleased to see her.
Mac glanced over at him. “This is An—”
“I know who she is.”
The other woman’s brows rose. She looked from Brett to Angelica and back again. “You two are acquainted,” she said, in a speculative tone.
Angelica felt herself flushing again. “Uh, hardly. Not even a little bit, really. I’ve seen him around once or twice.”
“Not even a little bit?” Mac repeated.
Maybe the other woman was the jealous type who would scratch her eyes out for merely looking at her husband. If Brett was married to her, Angelica was sure she’d probably find herself very possessive. “I should be going,” she said, taking a step back.
“Not so soon,” Mac replied, a smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. “We’re just getting friendly.”
Angelica fanned herself. “Is it a little warm in here or is it just me?”
“I think it’s just you,” Mac said, with a light in her eyes that Angelica didn’t trust. “I’m perfectly comfortable. How about you, Brett?”
He was still staring at Angelica as if she was something he’d brought in on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m always comfortable.”
“Well. Um.” Angelica wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “I was just popping by to give you that update.”
“What update?” he asked.
Mac’s expression looked way too innocent. “On the historical society fund-raiser. Angelica had a hand in it. Remember the one that Poppy and Ryan attended about a month ago?”
“I don’t listen to half the things she prattles on about,” he said.
Mac rolled her eyes in Angelica’s direction. “Men! And then they wonder why they have so much trouble with us. If only they’d pay attention every once in a while.”
Rather than speaking, Angelica responded with a tentative smile. With that pair of crystalline eyes on her, it was hard to think.
“I rarely have trouble with women,” Brett said.
“Because they’re often much too accommodating,” Mac retorted. She directed her attention back to Angelica. “Are you married? Have a boyfriend?”
“No. I’m, um, on my own right now.”
“Isn’t that fascinating? Brett’s on his own right now, too.” She shot the man a look. “Or has that changed?”
When he didn’t answer, Angelica gestured between the two on the other side of the counter. “Oh. I thought maybe you two might be married.”
Mac let out a loud hoot. “No, thank you. He’s my brother.”
It wasn’t relief or anything like it that sluiced through her, Angelica told herself. Or if it was, it was only because it would have been humiliating to have spent so much time fantasizing about a guy who was already spoken for. “I met your sister once, then. Shay?”
“Sure.” Mac glanced over at Brett. “So our brother introduced you?”
“Angelica introduced herself,” Brett said. “And if I recall correctly, she thought Shay might be my girlfriend.”
“Hmm.” Mac tucked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans. “You seem very interested in my brother’s relationship status,” she murmured.
Angelica barely registered the other woman’s remark, as the memory of that particular meeting ran through her mind again. “You told her I was a useless piece of fluff,” she said to Brett. It had hurt then. It still hurt.
He winced. “You heard that?”
“Never mind,” Angelica muttered. “I’ve got to go.” The universe, clearly, had its back still turned to her. “It was nice to meet you,” she said, nodding to Mac. Then she headed for the door.
“Wait,” Brett began, but she was already out the door.
When it shut behind her, she began jogging, even though the heels of her boots wobbled on the uneven sidewalk. No matter, she needed to put distance between herself and the man who always made her feel awkward and uncertain—not to mention hot and hyperaware of every inch of skin.
“Hey!”
She’d only made it half a block from Mac’s business so, pretending she didn’t hear Brett’s voice, she moved faster.
Then a hard hand closed around her elbow. She skidded to a stop. Rounding on him, she yanked her arm from his hold. “What now?” she demanded, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
He stepped back, then he smiled.
It was devastating. He’d never smiled at her, but there it was, a slice of white teeth and attractive lines around the corners of his beautiful eyes. How she despised herself for being so susceptible to him. She slammed her hands on her hips. “Well?”
“You’re pretty cute when enraged.” His smile widened when she made a low, furious sound in her throat and he held up his palms. “You can retract your claws, kitten. I’m not here to steal your catnip.”
Still, he stole her breath. And if she wasn’t careful, he might steal something else. “What are you following me for?” she demanded.
“To deliver an apology.”
“Did your sister put you up to this?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s all my own idea, okay? That was a lousy thing I said to Shay. I was probably in a crappy mood and just mouthed off.”
“Probably in a crappy mood?”
“Okay, I’m sure I was in a crappy mood. You seem to bring out the worst in me.”
“I am devastated to hear that,” she said, her tone sarcastic.
He winced again. “Angelica—”
“Never mind.” She pretended to wipe a slate clean. “Apology accepted.”
“Thank you.” He continued to watch her. “So.”
“So.” She refused to twitch. Then she couldn’t stand the silence a second longer. “Well... Have a nice life.”
One of his eyebrows rose, the one with the intriguing scar.
“We’ll likely never see each other again,” she explained.
“It’s a small town,” he said, rubbing his palm over his hair in that habitual gesture.
She shrugged. “Just in case, then.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Just in case then,” he finally agreed. “Be happy.”
It would only take a job, some place to live and a way to forget all about him. “I intend to,” she said, and hoped that intention was enough to make it so because luck hadn’t been on her side lately.
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Christie Ridgway
Welcome back to charming Blue Arrow Lake as temptation sizzles in a glittering new romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Christie RidgwayBlue-collar landscaper Brett Walker has no interest in the Hollywood vacationers flocking to his hometown in the California mountains. But the scarred ex-soldier does have a duty to protect Blue Arrow Lake–and the family ski resort–from a serial burglar. So when he suspects a break-in, he takes action…and ends up catching sinfully tempting down-on-her-luck heiress Angelica Rodriguez. She reminds him of trouble, but he can't deny her a safe place to stay–in one of his cabins.Angelica has plenty of reasons to distrust–losing her money to her father's legal woes being one of them. Getting up close and naughty with rough, tough and sexy Brett tempts her out of her comfort zone and into the arms of a man who's not from her wealthy world. She's after safety and he's chasing justice, but the fire between them might reveal that all they want is each other.
Welcome back to charming Blue Arrow Lake as temptation sizzles in a glittering new romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway
Blue-collar landscaper Brett Walker has no interest in the Hollywood vacationers flocking to his hometown in the California mountains. But the scarred ex-soldier does have a duty to protect Blue Arrow Lake—and the family ski resort—from a serial burglar. So when he suspects a break-in, he takes action...and ends up catching sinfully tempting down-on-her-luck heiress Angelica Rodriguez. She reminds him of trouble, but he can’t deny her a safe place to stay—in one of his cabins.
Angelica has plenty of reasons to distrust—losing her money to her father’s legal woes being one of them. Getting up close and naughty with rough, tough and sexy Brett tempts her out of her comfort zone and into the arms of a man who’s not from her wealthy world. She’s after safety and he’s chasing justice, but the fire between them might reveal that all they want is each other.
Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway (#u469ec1f8-ecd9-5d51-ab6b-491471fa33a8)
“Ridgway’s writing is impeccable.”
—RT Book Reviews on Make Me Lose Control
“This sexy page-turner [is] a stellar kick-off to Ridgway’s latest humor-drenched series.”
—Library Journal on Take My Breath Away
“Emotional and powerful...everything a romance reader could hope for.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review) on
Bungalow Nights
“Kick off your shoes and escape to endless summer. This is romance at its best.”
—Emily March, New York Times bestselling author of Nightingale Way, on Bungalow Nights
“Sexy and addictive—Ridgway will keep you up all night!”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Andersen on Beach House No. 9
“A great work of smart, escapist reading.”
—Booklist on Beach House No. 9
“Sexy, sassy, funny, and cool, this effervescent sizzler nicely launches Ridgway’s new series and is a perfect pick-me-up for a summer’s day.”
—Library Journal on Crush on You
“Pure romance, delightfully warm and funny.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Crusie
“Christie Ridgway writes with the perfect combination of humor and heart. This funny, sexy story is as fresh and breezy as its Southern California setting. An irresistible read!”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs on How to Knit a Wild Bikini
Can’t Fight This Feeling
Christie Ridgway
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In memory of my mother, who fostered my love of books, fashion and family. I love you forever, Mom.
Dear Reader (#u469ec1f8-ecd9-5d51-ab6b-491471fa33a8),
Welcome back to Blue Arrow Lake, where the mountains stand guard over pine trees, deep lakes and the hardy souls who live there year-round. Brett Walker, the oldest of the Walker clan, works hard in his landscaping business and to keep his heart safe after more than one emotional upheaval. But there’s a woman who threatens his equilibrium, and he’s not sure how to fight off the temptation
of her.
Angelica Rodriguez led a privileged life…but now it’s shattered. She’s looking to build something new for herself and is deeply attached to this beautiful mountain enclave. But it includes Brett Walker, who she’s crushed on for months…and who seemed to disapprove of her on sight. Circumstances force them together, though, and she begins to hope that she can soften this granite man.
Trusting another person with your secrets and your happiness is never easy, as these two find. There are rewards to the risk and both Brett and Angelica have so much to offer each other. He needs her sunny smiles; she needs his unwavering strength. As always, it’s a pleasure to tell the story of a couple finding each other and finding a way to get past their fears. Ready for me to take you on a sexy, emotional ride? Come on board, relax and let the events unfold. Destination…romance!
Christie
Contents
Cover (#uc0ed0df2-2e5b-5b70-9bb5-14cab4e8ceb3)
Back Cover Text (#uee2508b4-4a32-5d33-b1e9-93b573a559e2)
Praise (#ud0826327-7d93-52f6-9644-0c215c7f7d9f)
Title Page (#ud0eefa55-4d7c-5ab8-b53a-25f7b18632ac)
Dedication (#u23855455-4c73-55cc-91c0-91ded473ccba)
Dear Reader
CHAPTER ONE (#u1bffa9e3-3c0a-5230-b658-92b19c29884b)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua7e701bc-a725-58e4-ade8-60d0eba1ed44)
CHAPTER THREE (#u1907fd2e-503d-57b4-a1ad-c7a9ec09501d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u77443897-3085-58af-9741-504057382b11)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ub4f7cd26-946e-5f4c-8015-edb17862b256)
CHAPTER SIX (#u5e4d1765-7b14-529b-bad9-47d2e4a5813e)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u20c273ab-c52d-53fc-b75a-5af8c576702c)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u2e121b01-4e2a-59e3-9e49-277a4fb6863a)
CHAPTER NINE (#u7afc901a-7fa4-56a3-b307-30a2b83a7e3e)
CHAPTER TEN (#uef167178-af1b-589b-9497-abc254217569)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#u3c4936e3-f9b5-5603-b1d7-963851d47ef8)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#u0f56a947-989b-512c-9950-737e493c924d)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#u87723a10-15c8-5d86-878f-06ba78c645cc)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#u2c9cf361-c97f-533b-b923-4508e0fcfa6c)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#u1d02d8c7-fd8f-5578-a507-6fa14e1bc780)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#u5040ceea-078f-531e-9d5f-2e8a4bddacc7)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#u69048ee5-2cae-5421-a3bd-e3bdd3890b3f)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ub479aa1b-1005-565b-8231-88e972484018)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#u90fbd41b-c63b-5d58-9034-9a2b5b714637)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#u657007f4-1995-51f9-8e1c-535115b0fefb)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#u81bb0b03-237d-5001-ad9e-05a73a36c782)
Extract (#u9827abd7-1b3d-5f50-9409-d989abc37c1a)
Copyright (#ub42ef03d-0541-5789-8714-7609656401d7)
Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.
—Jim Bishop
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_951b2e90-f586-53a9-b2a9-1d1cddd8887b)
WHEN BRETT WALKER caught sight of the flashing lights in his rearview mirror, his heart gave a quick jolt and he wondered why he was being pulled over. His DMV tags were for the correct year. He was up-to-date on his bills. The license for his landscaping business was current, too. As he pulled to the side of one of the narrow lanes in the wealthy enclave of Blue Arrow Lake in the Southern California mountains, he thought perhaps one of his three younger sisters might have called the sheriff’s department to execute a welfare check. Poppy was the most likely choice. But Shay might have done it, too.
It wasn’t that he was avoiding his two youngest sisters exactly, but they were so damn starry-eyed over the men in their lives. While all four Walker siblings were pretty hardheaded, only his other sister, Mackenzie—Mac—had the same hard soul as he. All the smiles and sighs and grins and kisses a person had to witness when hanging around Poppy and Ryan and Shay and Jace rubbed said soul raw.
So he’d been pacing himself on the Walker fests.
Brett unrolled his window as a man wearing a tan uniform strolled up to the driver’s side. Placing both hands on the wheel—this wasn’t his first rodeo—he glanced up. “Don.” Even a law-abiding citizen felt a spurt of relief at recognizing a longtime friend. “What is it, a broken taillight?”
“Naw, nothing like that.” He hitched up the belt bristling with equipment. “I saw you go by and thought I’d take the opportunity to have a little chat.”
Brett remembered another “chat” he’d been forced to have with a law enforcement officer. His gut curdled at the memory. The result had been a two-day stay in the lockup. “You’re making me anxious here, Don,” he said. “I’m shaking in my boots.”
The other man snorted. “You’re wearing your usual granite face. How’s the family?”
He meant Brett’s sisters, since his mother and father had been gone for years. “Poppy and Shay are both engaged now.”
“I heard that. Flatlanders?”
It was what the mountain people called those who came from “down the hill” to visit their peaks and pines at 5,000 feet and beyond. Those who usually resided by the beaches and in the cities of SoCal could hardly believe it when they climbed into their cars and took a two-hour drive to discover a place with four actual, authentic seasons. Lakes for summer play. Snow for winter games. The spring and fall were quieter, but no less beautiful to residents like the Walkers who lived here full-time and had done so for one hundred fifty years.
The full-timers had to share with those flatlanders, though. The resort mountain communities of the area had palatial homes near ski runs and expansive mansions on the banks of private lakes. Wealthy people came up on weekends to their alpine retreats, which gave rise to businesses that provided for the visitors’ needs and tastes: gourmet grocers and house-cleaning services, organic restaurants and landscape-maintenance companies.
“Yep, flatlanders,” Brett told the other man.
“Rich?”
Brett shrugged. “Eye of the beholder, right?” Money didn’t impress the Walkers. The opposite, really, and he’d been inclined to dislike Ryan and Jace on that principle alone. But the men his sisters had chosen had proved themselves, which hadn’t always been the case.
Shay had been the product of a brief affair between their mother and a wealthy visitor when his parents’ marriage had hit a rough patch and his father had temporarily decamped to South America. But Dell Walker had ultimately returned and treated Shay as his own for the rest of his life—her bio dad had never shown his face again.
Poppy had become a single mom when her son’s rich-but-shallow father had run back to Beverly Hills.
Brett had been screwed in his own way by the moneyed. He’d earned the chip on his shoulder.
“Business good?” Don asked now.
“Sure.” This time of year, he was still mowing and trimming, but soon enough he’d be planting bulbs for spring and protecting flower beds and shrubbery from the coming harsher weather. “We’ll see what happens in winter.” Then he switched to snow removal. If there wasn’t any white stuff to shovel or plow, he’d be in for a dry spell.
“But you’re still out and about the area every day, right?”
Brett’s eyes narrowed. Don wasn’t just shooting the breeze. “Yeah...” He drew out the word, uneasy again.
Don cleared his throat. “I don’t like to sound an alarm...”
Except that’s exactly what he was doing. “Spit it out.”
“Looks like we have a string of burglaries,” he said, frowning.
“Here?” Brett glanced around. This particular community was gated, and besides the patrolling sheriffs, residents could let a security service know their schedule and request daily checks.
“Here, there, across the lake, on the mountain ridge. There isn’t a real pattern we’ve detected, other than break-ins and missing valuables. You and I both know there are ways to get to these homes that bypass the gates and kiosks.”
“Yeah.” Brett ran a hand over his short hair. Thieves could come by boat or zip around on dirt bikes and avoid the paved roads. “We had trouble with kids in our cabins during the summer.”
“I thought of that,” Don said. “Any trouble since?”
“No. I’m living out there now.” Four miles off the mountain highway was a tract of Walker land that had once been a successful, though small, ski resort. After a wildfire came through and destroyed nearly everything, it had been left to nature. Then, last spring, Poppy had decided she wanted to refurbish the dozen cabins that remained standing. Despite the initial objections from the rest of the siblings, they were making progress. Slow progress, but progress all the same. “We think the fire in one of the bungalows was set by local kids. This seem the same? Locals?”
“They’d know how not to get caught.”
Unless they were naive enough to let themselves be used, Brett thought. But he shook it off because he wasn’t eighteen any longer and at the mercy of a lying little rich girl and her daddy who thought his spoiled darling could do no wrong.
“Keep your eyes open, will you, Brett?” Don said. “Since you’re cruising around all day, you might catch sight of something or someone that will help us crack this.”
“Will do.”
With a wave, Don returned to his car and Brett continued on with his day. But uneasiness continued to dog him. If people suspected area kids were the culprits, it wasn’t a large leap to any local being blamed. If the owners of the vacation homes began distrusting the help they hired, it could impact the bottom line of people like Brett with his landscaping business. His sister Mac, too, who operated a cleaning service.
This wasn’t good.
His schedule full, Brett’s day didn’t finish until he was nearly out of daylight. Muscles aching, he pushed the lawn mower up the ramp into his truck’s bed. Then he settled into the driver’s seat and grabbed some water, practically hosing it down his parched throat. He’d brooded over the burglaries while he worked at a handful of properties. The usual mowing and clipping, but he’d also raked up mountains of fallen leaves. The pinecones had seemed to have it in for him. Two of the prickly buggers had fallen directly on his head.
He wanted a cold beer, a long shower and a hot meal.
Since he’d have to make yet another stop to purchase two out of the three, his lousy mood was only amplified as he started off in the direction of the highway.
It was quiet in the neighborhood. Nothing unusual for a midweek autumn day. But, remembering Don’s words, he paid more attention than he normally would. That’s why he slowed and gave a piercing once-over of the Rodriguez place.
“Liar,” he muttered to himself.
The piercing once-over was all about the damn woman he wanted to be all over—Angelica Rodriguez.
He sighed. She was so exactly not the type for him. She’d spent the summer at the house that now looked empty of life. Her mother was an infamous supermodel, now divorced from Angelica’s father, a hedge-fund manager with a Midas touch. Brett didn’t think the young woman did anything but dream up ways to torture him. When he arrived to work on the grounds, she’d come outside wearing radiant smiles and little sundresses.
She was evil like that.
Not to mention how she tempted him in other ways. Freshly made lemonade. Oatmeal and raisin cookies—his favorite. He didn’t know how she’d discovered that fact, but he wouldn’t put it past her to use Daddy’s money to purchase a background check of him.
All summer he’d been completely, uncomfortably, maddeningly aware she’d had an itch to go slumming. With him.
But looking at the huge villa-style house on the lake, dark except for a couple of dim security lights mounted on the outside, he guessed she’d gone home...or at least to some other Rodriguez-owned domicile. In Bel-Air, maybe. Malibu. For all he knew, Paris.
Thank God. He’d been losing his will to hold out against her. Would any man blame him? She had liquid brown eyes, a wealth of silky, espresso-dark hair, a body...
Don’t think about her body.
She’d once told him she’d modeled for a time in childhood to early teens, until she’d gotten too “fat.” Translation: long legs, beautiful features.
And breasts.
Bountiful, distracting, unforgettable breasts.
Brett closed his eyes, and he could still see them, damn it. Beneath a tank top. Under a loose-fitting shift. Once he’d seen her in a bikini.
That day, he’d been afraid he’d lose his eyesight. Because not only had he garnered a glance at her front, but she’d turned around and he’d spied her luscious butt in bathing-suit bottoms.
Yeah, that kind of “fat.”
It should be against the law.
Blowing out a breath, he opened his eyes to take a final look at the place before moving on. He could see it clearly enough through the iron bars of the wide double gate. Now that she was gone, he was going to forget all about her.
A tiny light moved behind a window.
Brett rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Was he seeing things? Blinking hard, he surveyed the place once more. The light was gone—
No, there it winked on again.
A prickly sensation skittered down his spine.
Putting his truck in Reverse, he slowly backed up the street and parked twenty-five yards away. There was more iron fencing at the sides of the property and it didn’t prevent him from seeing that light moving again, a firefly behind the glass and the briefest outline of a familiar figure. The hair on the back of his neck rose. All his nerve endings were awake now, and the weariness from the day’s endeavors were replaced with something else—curiosity, anticipation, maybe some dangerous combination of the two.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, he climbed out of the truck.
He didn’t bother pulling out his cell phone. This wasn’t a police matter. It was something else—the someone skulking about the inside of that mammoth house was none other than its mistress.
Don’t think of the word mistress.
His instincts were certain it was her because, since first seeing her, his body reacted in just this way when she was anywhere in his proximity. His skin would twitch, his scalp would tingle and he’d turn around and Angelica Rodriguez would be there in one of her witchy outfits—jeans, a pair of hiking shorts, a voluminous beach cover-up, it didn’t matter what she wore—and he’d have to steel his spine to be as hard as that other part of him was becoming.
No, I don’t want lemonade. Or a cookie. Or to spend endless nights in bed with you.
“Liar,” he muttered again. He’d wanted it all.
But she was doing something shady, he could feel that, too, and so he made his way around the side of the house; his aim, that moving light. There was no fencing between the house and its lake access and soon he was prowling toward that window.
Then he was right outside it. In the minuscule glow of the penlight she had in her hand, he could make out parts of her as she moved about the den. The dark pools of her eyes. The elegant line of her small nose. The dip above her bowed upper lip. Without a hesitation, he rapped on the glass.
Jumping, she shrieked. He could see the sharp sound of surprise on her startled face, which jerked his way, feel the vibration of it in his fingers, which were pressed flat on the pane.
She trained the light on him. He smiled at her. Toothily, he supposed, because she came toward the window at a wary pace until there was only a couple of inches between them.
And yet they were still worlds apart.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “Why don’t you let me in?”
* * *
ANGELICA RODRIGUEZ STARED through the glass into the early evening darkness and cursed fate.
She’d been doing a lot of that lately, as the very foundation of her life had cracked and then fallen away in the past few days. Some cheery—and at times annoying—inner voice kept reminding her to see this situation as an opportunity, but it sure didn’t feel that way when the man who had disliked her at first sight was now staring her down.
The man who, from first sight, she’d liked entirely too much.
“Let me in,” he said again.
Um, no. It didn’t seem wise to be too close to him when all her defenses were in this rocky state. So she smiled and waved both hands in a gesture that was supposed to communicate that she didn’t need him around or that she couldn’t exactly hear him or perhaps she was just too busy for a chat...anything that would get him moving along so she could sneak out of the house where she wasn’t supposed to be in the first place.
She turned away from the window to scoop up the papers she’d left on the desk and he rapped again.
Like a demand.
Holding on to her cool, she glanced over her shoulder. There he was, thirtyish, muscled and a bit threatening-looking, even though in the darkness she could only see his bulk and not those very fascinating scars on his face. One slashed through his brow to his hairline. Another crossed the bridge of his nose.
Angelica had never found the courage to ask him about them.
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the back door that led to the lake-view terrace. “Open up.”
The sounds of the words were not hampered by the glass, but she sure as heck wasn’t going to obey! Past June she would have opened up to him. She’d wanted to, and she’d been rebuffed enough times that it embarrassed her to count them. It had been amazing to her, how drawn she’d been to him then. For a woman who had a lousy history with the opposite sex—lousy enough that she was relatively inexperienced when it came to them—she was surprised to find Brett Walker brought out a different side of her.
The idea of kissing him had consumed her instead of making her cringe. The sensation of his arms around her was something she’d wanted, not wanted to run away from.
Now she didn’t have time for fantasy. She had a real life she needed to build for herself.
His mouth moved again, four syllables that she thought he might never have said aloud before. “Angelica—”
Twisting away from the sound, from him, she moved forward at the same time...and tripped over a trash can beside the desk. That sick sense of falling lasted only milliseconds. Then her palms slammed to the hardwood, preserving her nose from a flattening. The penlight she’d held rolled away, dashing light on the floor and baseboards.
Adrenaline was still shooting through her system when she heard him knocking on the window again. Ignoring it, she got to her knees and breathed, trying to slow her heartbeat. She shook out her hands.
Cursed fate. Her own clumsiness.
The knobs on the back door rattled. She glanced through the den’s open doorway, past the kitchen to the terrace. He was standing out there now, looking even bigger than before. More menacing. Impatient.
His fist pounded on the glass and it sounded so loud she worried the noise of it might carry across the lake and alert the sheriff’s department or the private security force. On a sigh, she clambered to her feet and approached the French doors.
She turned the lock and inched one open, prepared to tell him to go away.
He pushed, forcing himself inside.
In retreat, her feet tripped again, and she thought she might go down once more. Brett Walker grabbed her by the elbow to steady her. “Are you all right?”
She wrenched her arm away. “I’m fine.” Deciding offense was the best defense, she scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw your flashlight moving around and decided to investigate. Power out?”
“No—” she started, but it was too late. He’d flipped on the closest switch. She squinted as the overhead lighting blazed on. “Please turn that off. The glare gives me a headache,” she lied.
He instantly turned it off, surprising her. “Sorry,” he said, his voice going softer. “Do you get migraines? My mother did. I know it’s hell.”
Guilt stabbed. “Um...well.” She couldn’t think of what else to say as her brain became occupied with the notion that handsome, sexy, manly man Brett Walker had a mother. It seemed as if he should have been carved from a giant redwood. Hewn from a granite mountain outcropping. Fallen from the sky like a meteor to dazzle humanity.
Of course, she’d met his sister Shay—beautiful—but to think of Brett with a parent meant he’d once been a boy. It boggled the mind.
Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness again and she saw one corner of his full mouth hitch in a sort-of semblance of a smile. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I’m having a hard time picturing you as someone’s little kid.”
“I was a typical one. Too loud, hated taking baths, relished teasing my younger sisters.”
It was the most conversation he’d ever had with her. She resisted the urge to hold the words close to her chest. The time for being thrilled over a tête-à-tête with Brett Walker was gone. More important matters should be occupying her mind.
The next thing she knew, he had hold of one of her forearms. “What?” she said, instinct causing her to try tugging free.
His clasp was gentle but firm. “Checking for damage. You went down hard. Not uncommon to sprain a finger that way. Break your wrist.”
He was running a warm, callous hand over her, from fingertips to wrist in a calming gesture. Inside she was quivering. On the outside, she kept still as he moved each finger individually, then rotated her wrist. “Hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head. He let that arm go, only to take up the other one. His thumb stroked the tender inside of her wrist, where the veins seemed to be scrambling like every clear thought in her head. She was pure sensation: hot skin, thrumming pulse, a heartbeat loud in her ears.
The edge of his thumb traced the outside of hers, then probed the triangle of flesh between it and her forefinger. “Tender?”
She shook her head. That was him, his ministrations so gentle they made her ache.
“Sensitive?”
This time she nodded, because his touch made her so aware of the difference between the two of them. He was hard male; she was soft female. He could be the port she needed in the current storm that was her life. One move would put her against him, and she could cling to all that muscled strength. Lean on him to hold her up.
But men had only disappointed her before, and remembering that, she snapped back to reality and stepped away.
Brett’s eyes narrowed, which reminded her again that he didn’t even like her. “You could have a snuffbox injury—scaphoid fracture—if you’re in pain there.”
“I’m fine,” she said again. “Really.”
He studied her face. “What’s going on?”
My father has been arrested for fraud. Our family properties have been confiscated and all his accounts have been frozen. Before being taken into custody, my dad siphoned off all my personal monies saved from my time modeling and from my trust, and he put them who knows where or used them for who knows what. I have no place to live, no money to live on, and I broke into my former home so I could collect some things beyond the clothes on my back.
“My father’s putting this place up for sale,” she said, lying again.
Brett’s gaze ran around the gourmet kitchen, where copper pans hung from a rack and spices were lined up on a shelf. He looked at the couches and chairs in the adjacent family room. “With all this stuff inside?”
“Uh-huh. Will add to the value as a very famous interior designer picked out everything from the paint colors to the window coverings to the custom furnishings.”
His mouth curled. “I just bet.”
It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to be impressed. “Anyway, there was a mix-up and I didn’t get a chance to pack my suitcases or retrieve my passport from the safe in the den.”
“That is a headache,” he said, though she wasn’t sure he accepted that as a logical explanation for why she was skulking around.
She smiled anyway. “So...I’m just going to make a quick trip upstairs and dump a few things in a bag. The rest I’ll get another day.” Without taking her eyes off him, she moved backward, heading in the direction of the stairs. “See you around.”
He prowled toward her. “I’ll go with you.”
“No!” She swallowed, modulating her voice. “No, no. You don’t need to do that.” While months ago she might have swooned at the idea of having him in her bedroom, now wasn’t the time to have him in there, distracting her.
“I’ve seen women’s underwear before,” he said.
Of course he had. “Not my underwear.” Curses! That had come out a little...throaty. Flirtatious even.
One of his brows winged up. “I’ll close my eyes when you go through that particular drawer.”
She’d reached the bottom of the staircase and put one hand on the newel. “This is completely unnecessary—”
“It’s completely necessary. There have been burglaries in the area. I don’t feel right leaving you here alone.”
“You didn’t worry about me being alone all summer,” she retorted, then felt her cheeks go hot. That sounded like a complaint from a silly woman with an even sillier crush. “Never mind,” she muttered, and turned to stomp up the stairs. Arguing would only prolong this whole embarrassing encounter.
Still trying to do her business without attracting the attention of anyone who knew she shouldn’t be in the house, she only allowed herself to turn on the closet light. If Brett wondered about that and why she pulled the curtains across her windows first, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he just stood in the middle of her rug, hands in his pockets, while she hurriedly packed two suitcases and gathered up her toiletries from the bathroom and put them in a smaller bag.
The only noise he made was when she tried to stack all three pieces of luggage in preparation for wheeling them out the door. “You can’t take them down the stairs that way,” he said. One went under his arm, the other he gripped in his right hand, the third he took up in his left. “This all?”
“Yes.” She gritted her teeth and tried sounding gracious. “Thanks.” For months she’d wanted a bit of his attention and now it was coming at the lowest point of her life when she couldn’t even enjoy it.
Maybe because he didn’t seem to be enjoying it.
Great.
They made it outside and she locked up after setting the alarm. The key went into her pocket instead of its hiding place behind the mailbox. She’d return it later.
Brett didn’t comment as he followed her to her car, which she’d parked down the road. If he asked why she’d avoided the driveway...
She hadn’t a clue. Trying to think up some excuse only gave her the beginnings of that headache she’d laid claim to earlier.
He must have seen it. Because after placing her things in the trunk of her car, he studied her face with a new intensity. “Cool compress on your forehead. Pain relievers,” he said. “Rest.”
“Yeah.”
“You have someone to take care of you?”
No. I realize now I never have. “Sure.”
“Okay.” Still, he hesitated. “You’re certain everything’s okay? There’s nothing I should know about?”
He’d never wanted to know anything about her. “Yes.”
“Good.” He touched one fingertip to her cheek. “Because if I find out differently, there’ll be hell to pay.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_cae506c9-1908-5608-a687-b74d407422f9)
AT BLUE ARROW LAKE’S Hallett Hardware, Angelica stood at the rear, stocking lightbulbs, her tension unwinding with every minute she arranged the cardboard boxes on the shelves. Working at her part-time job was one of the few things that made her feel at peace these days. She’d taken the job before the financial disaster as a lark to help out her friend Glory Hallett when the other woman had lost an employee.
There was something soothing about unpacking cartons. The task was defined. It had purpose. A customer would come in, needing a 40-watt candelabra bulb, and she’d know exactly where to direct them. Better, she could convince them that the more expensive energy-efficient halogen bulb would be the best choice. Yes, more expensive in the short-term, but in the long run a smarter selection for both economic and environmental reasons.
She supposed some people would laugh themselves sick at the idea of Angelica Rodriguez—she of fancy boarding schools and an expensive women’s college—enjoying work at a hardware store, but it was the first time she’d ever actually earned a paycheck.
Well, there was the modeling she’d done as a youngster, which had paid ridiculously well, but those gigs had been arranged by her mother, and she’d been so self-conscious as she grew older that when she turned twelve the photographer’s assistant had started giving her mojitos before a shoot. The hangovers had been hell, so she’d started packing on the pounds until she’d lost her shot at a modeling career.
Turned out she never grew tall enough anyway.
The smell of rum and doughnuts still made her nauseous, though.
“What’s that face for?”
Angelica swung around to see Glory coming down the aisle.
“What did that indoor floodlight ever do to you?”
Angelica smiled at her friend. They were opposites in practically everything. While she was tallish—though not tall enough for worldwide fame and European runways—Glory was petite. Angelica’s long, brunette hair and dark eyes were nothing like Glory’s short blond feathers and big blues. Until now, Angelica had led a fairly useless life, while Glory had been working at the family hardware store since she was old enough to push a broom and weigh a brown paper bag of nails. They’d struck up a conversation when she’d come browsing at the store one rainy spring weekend and just...clicked. Upon her return for her summer stay, she’d revisited the store and over one coffee and then a lunch, a friendship had fully formed. “The bulb is innocent. I was just mulling over my life.”
Glory frowned. “What’s happened now?”
“Nothing new.”
“Did you get your clothes?”
Angelica nodded. “Last night.” She decided against mentioning her run-in with Brett Walker. Glory didn’t know about that silly crush she’d suffered, and there was no reason to tell her now. Away from the house where he landscaped on a weekly basis—she had no idea whether the authorities would have him continue the service—she’d likely never see him again.
Because if I find out differently, there’ll be hell to pay.
It had been a macho-man parting shot, that’s all. He wouldn’t care enough to find out any more about her or her situation. His complete disinterest all summer had made that abundantly clear.
“I wish you’d come live with me,” Glory said.
“No, no. You have that adorable one-bedroom cottage that is perfect for you...but not you and me. I’ve got that room at the Bluebird. They have reasonable weekly rental rates.”
If you had more money coming in.
She didn’t say that, but perhaps Glory could read minds. “I wish I could offer you more hours,” she said.
“Please.” Angelica touched her friend’s arm. “I’m grateful for what I have. I’m here in the mountains, far from the limelight of the financial press.”
“They’ll be looking for you, you think?”
“Probably. Yes. I was warned about it by the lawyers, anyway.” There was precedent for the families of fraudsters being hounded. Daddy, how could you? she thought now. Reporters—and those he’d swindled—would want to know the answer to that question, too, and she didn’t have one. At his insistence, after college she’d gone back to their home in LA, where she’d been a hostess for his business soirees for a couple of years. But as time went on, he’d become increasingly reclusive.
He’d never shared the why of that or the what for. The man had never made it a secret that he’d wanted a boy and that her gender was a great disappointment to him. Though she’d excused it as a cultural and generational thing, they’d never been close.
He’d been her dad, though. And she’d been dutiful, always seeking his approval, she saw now, instead of her own brand of happiness.
Glory picked out another package from the carton and stared down at it. “No word from your mom, either?”
“Not one. Likely traveling around Europe or Asia with Hubby Number Four.” Angelica watched her friend frown, knowing that she’d find this baffling, too. While Glory was an only child like Angelica, her parents were still married to each other and lived in relative contentment in their beloved mountains.
Which were becoming beloved to Angelica, as well. “I’m happy to be here,” she told Glory again. “It’s going to be okay for me.” As soon as she managed to build a new life.
“I—” But what her friend was about to say was interrupted by the sound of the bell on the door. “We’ll talk later,” she said, and headed toward the front of the store.
Angelica hoped not. Hashing and rehashing the particulars of her sucky current situation would only pierce the bubble of peace she’d found in Hallett’s. During her shift, she wanted the most difficult thing she tackled to be the box of misplaced goods that required reshelving.
In the distance, she heard Glory greeting the customer. “Good morning,” she said, in her friendly, I-know-you voice. “How’s it going, Brett?”
Angelica froze. Brett? Brett Walker? The deep-voiced response told her that it was indeed him. Why? Shouldn’t he be somewhere with his truck, working? She took a peek at the slice of front window she could see, and the sun was still shining. Perfect weather for him to be out on the job, away from here. Away from her.
Because, darn it, she couldn’t seem to keep her feet rooted to the floor. Instead, they were creeping closer to him, her traitorous eyes wanting to get a glimpse of him. Shielding herself behind a rotating display of work gloves, she peered through the leather-and-fabric fingers.
Did he have to be so ruggedly good-looking? In the height of summer, he’d worn long shorts and work boots. A T-shirt that he’d often take off as he pushed the mower, allowing her to see the muscles in his back flexing. His arms were roped with muscle and more than once she’d stood at a window, hidden behind a curtain kind of like how she was hiding now, just to watch his pumped biceps and flexing forearms.
Those were covered now. Today a plaid shirt was buttoned over his torso and a worn pair of jeans encased his long legs. Hugged his most excellent butt. He ran a hand over his hair as he talked to Glory, a gesture she’d seen him make a dozen times. It always made her curious, that habitual movement, because his hair was shorn short enough that it never appeared disordered. The stuff was brown, but tipped in gold, highlights that a woman would pay a mint for in a salon, but that only needed his constant exposure to the sun.
Then there were those intriguing scars that only served to make him more sexy. More male.
Still ogling, Angelica tuned into what Glory was now saying. “That’s right. I know those clippers are in from the sharpener’s. They’re in the back room somewhere. Hold on a second and I’ll find them.”
Angelica had to bite her lip to stop from volunteering for the task. Not only could she put her hands on them immediately—she’d designated a space in the storeroom for items delivered from the man who did the work—but Glory was hopeless when let loose in that area. She moved perfectly ordered items around, reshuffled organized paperwork and generally made a mess.
As Brett waited, the bell sounded again, signifying another customer.
Argh! Usually, with Glory occupied elsewhere, she’d be hurrying forward to help the person. But that would give her away to Brett, and she really wasn’t up to a second confrontation with him in two days.
She was too busy to deal with her ridiculous response to him.
He murmured something, greeting the newcomer, she supposed. A local, she guessed, since the hardware store was hardly the midweek hot spot for the town’s wealthy visitors. Drumming her fingers on the skirt of the sturdy, butcher-style apron she wore over her clothes, she wondered how long she could let the latest customer go without service.
Already, her conscience was pinching at her. Then it got worse. “Where’s Angel?” an elderly man enquired.
“Angel?” Brett repeated. “You mean Glory?”
He’d make that assumption, Angelica thought, because he didn’t know the name that Mr. Bowman used for her. C’mon, Glory. She sent out vibes toward the back room. Get out here with Brett’s tool!
With him safely on his way, she could help the customer asking for her.
“No,” Mr. Bowman said. “Angel. That dark-haired girl who works here. She’s my color muse.”
The dear, Angelica thought. One of her favorite parts of the job was keeping the display of paint chips organized. She loved playing with the colors and imagining them on walls, on furniture, covering the trim outside a house. Mr. Bowman had found her there one day and she’d helped him pick choices to freshen the interior of his home.
“Bob...” Brett cleared his throat. “I really don’t think there’s any Angel—”
“Of course there is. This is one of the days she works.” His voice rose. “Angel? Angel!”
The jig’s up, girl, she told herself, squaring her shoulders. “I’m here, Mr. Bowman. Do you want to meet in the paint section?”
“Certainly,” the old man called back.
Angelica let out a breath. Maybe, while she was busy with Mr. Bowman, Brett would collect his tool and carry on his day. They’d never have to come face-to-face.
She gave all her attention to the older gentleman, who loved the shade they’d picked for his office and now wanted something to brighten the kitchen. They picked several tagboard swatches that he would bring home for his wife’s ultimate approval. Before he went on his way, she kissed his cheek and he beamed at her. Then he wandered toward the front door.
Angelica, breathing easy, turned in the direction of the lightbulb shelves. Her face almost mashed into Brett’s plaid shirt as he came around a corner. She skittered back.
His gaze ran over her, from her jeans and low-heeled boots, to the apron covering her long-sleeved tee. She’d written her name in block letters on the beige twill in blue permanent marker. It was situated in the vicinity of her collarbone, so there was no reason for her breasts to respond as if he was staring at them. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You actually work here.”
“I’m helping out.”
“That’s your name on the apron, Angel. Some of it, anyway.”
“Angelica wouldn’t fit.”
“Huh.” He was still staring at her. “I guess I now have a new appreciation of having a short name.”
“Even better for you, two of the five letters in yours are the same.”
His brows rose. “Yeah. Made it so even a mountain yokel like me could learn to write it.”
She glared at him. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t.” There was a speculative light in his gray eyes. Against his tanned face, they looked almost like clear water. “What are you doing working here, Angelica?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She loved the store and the hours she spent here gave her more job satisfaction, she suspected, than any career in high finance ever could.
“It’s not your kind of place.” He glanced around, his gaze roaming over the bins of nails and the spools of chain in various gauges. “A woman like you...”
The word spoiled went unspoken. So did good-for-nothing. One time she’d overheard him talking to his sister, and he’d referred to Angelica as a useless piece of fluff. Out loud.
She should despise him.
“Don’t you know...” she started sweetly. “Oh, but you wouldn’t, so let me explain. Some of us, you know, we elite, we have a program.”
“Oh, yeah?” His eyes narrowed and now he crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of program?”
“Kind of like...like scouting.”
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, how’s that work exactly?”
“We earn badges for doing things the common folk do.”
“Badges.” He sneered the word. And though of course he couldn’t possibly believe her, she continued in a haughty tone.
“Yes. Badges. For learning to boil water. Or helping out an elderly man. Or earning a paycheck for an honest day’s work.”
And with that she swept off. It wasn’t a flounce. Only a rich, spoiled girl would do that, and the woman who was now Angelica Rodriguez was so far from that, it wasn’t even funny.
* * *
THE PROPRIETORS OF THE Bluebird Motel had decided to close for the season early. The small rooms weren’t properly winterized, so it had always been open for the fair-weather seasons only. Despite that, Angelica had thought she might have a few more weeks in room 4. Now they told her she could have her spot with the reasonable rates for just a few more days. The owners wanted to get to their second home in Phoenix as soon as possible.
Which meant Angelica needed a new place to live and another job to pay for it. Other rentals in the mountains were more expensive.
The village of Blue Arrow Lake was composed of fancy boutiques and lovely restaurants, but she’d struck out finding work in any of them. It was an in-between time. Not the summer when people came up to play in the sunshine and not the winter when they came for the snow. Still, as she walked to her car parked on a side street, the buttery color of the fall sunshine was buoying. The air smelled clean with just a touch of nuttiness from the drying leaves and grasses. The cool nip to the air was bracing.
As if to reward her rising mood, she saw a help-wanted sign posted in the window of a small building. Over the door was another that read Maids by Mac.
While she didn’t have retail experience and had never worked in a restaurant, she’d gone ahead and asked about jobs anyway. It seemed she might have a better shot at a business that was actually advertising for workers. And perhaps cleaning wasn’t something that required a wealth of prior professional experience.
Of course working as a maid might not be a coveted career choice, but Angelica was desperate enough to squelch any hesitation and hurry for the door. The knob turned and it swung soundlessly, allowing her to enter a small office space. Behind a counter was a desk with a computer and phone. A filing cabinet sat in one corner. A half-open closet door revealed shelves neatly stocked with cleaning supplies. No one was in the space, but another door was open at the rear that revealed a tiny courtyard. There she saw the back of a woman as well as a bistro table on which two coffees were set. The woman was talking to someone, but Angelica could only see a pair of long legs in jeans from where she stood.
Unsure whether to call out or just wait to be noticed, Angelica hesitated. The slender woman had hair as dark as her own, though shoulder length. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a thin, slouchy sweater in pale blue.
“You seem more grouchy than usual,” the woman was telling the other person in the courtyard. “What’s up?”
The human attached to the legs—a man—grunted in reply.
Maybe the woman sensed Angelica then because she suddenly looked around. “Oh!” She had eyes the same icy blue as her sweater. “There’s someone here. Just a minute,” she called out. Then to the grouchy man, “Don’t go anywhere, honey.”
And it was a familiar voice that responded. “Not moving. I have to make some calls.” Brett Walker’s voice.
Brett Walker here! Several days had passed since their contact in the hardware store and she wasn’t thrilled to run into him again. But Angelica couldn’t exactly retreat, now that the woman was coming toward her, wearing a welcoming expression.
Wait, Angelica thought, her stomach starting to jitter. The brunette had called Brett “honey,” and he wasn’t the kind of man to whom you threw out casual endearments. Could it be...was it possible... Might this woman be Brett’s wife?
She felt a flush climb up her throat. What if all this time she’d been mooning over a married man? Maybe every night he’d gone home to this pretty woman with her warm smile and arresting eyes and laughed about Angelica’s obvious crush.
“Can I help you?”
Her gaze shifted to the woman’s left ring finger. No wedding band. She knew Brett didn’t wear one either, but if these two worked with their hands it was conceivable they left their rings at home. She should have pumped Glory for information on the landscaper. Oh, why hadn’t she pumped Glory?
“Miss?” the woman prompted again, her smile fading to a puzzled expression.
Embarrassment coursed through Angelica once more. She had to think up some excuse! With Brett—unmarried or not—nearby, she didn’t want to beg for a job application. It would be mortifying for him to find out she was nearly broke. He didn’t have a high opinion of her as it was, so she didn’t want to add the term wastrel to the list of labels he applied to her.
Her gaze jumped around the room and landed on a plaque hanging on the wall. She gestured toward it. “I’m visiting the local businesses that are part of the Mountain Historical Society,” she said, improvising like mad. Though she actually was a volunteer for the group, so it wasn’t such a stretch, she decided. “I wanted to thank you in person for your past support and give you a report on the overwhelming success of our recent auction.”
The woman came closer. “Say it again?”
Angelica realized she’d been almost whispering. Hoping like heck that Brett was preoccupied with his phone calls, she cleared her throat and drifted nearer the counter. “The Mountain Historical Society auction we held at the end of the summer. I was part of the committee that put it on.”
“Oh.” The other woman blinked. “Are you from around here? I thought I knew just about everyone.”
“I’m a relative newcomer.” She stuck out her hand—what else could she do? “Angelica Rodriguez.”
“Mackenzie Walker.” Her grasp was firm. “But everybody calls me Mac.”
Mac Walker. “Nice to meet you.”
“So how’d you get involved with the historical society?” Her assessing gaze took in Angelica’s black jeans, black boots and the black-and-white sweater she was wearing that had white chiffon cuffs and a matching chiffon underlay that peeked out below the hemline. “It’s not something I’d guess a newcomer would join.”
Glancing toward the courtyard, Angelica saw the legs hadn’t moved and she could hear Brett murmuring, presumably into his phone. “It was my friend Glory Hallett,” she said. “She knew I had some experience putting together fund-raisers and she invited me to serve on the committee with her.”
“Now Glory I know,” Mac said. “And I remember hearing about the big party that accompanied the auction—at one of the fancy mountain lodges, right? I think my sister and her fiancé attended.”
“It was a wonderful event at the Aspen & Oak Lodge. Dinner, dancing and then the silent auction. We had many beautiful and valuable things to offer, thanks to Walter Elliott. When he passed away, he left the historical society the contents of his mountain home.”
At the mention of the name, Mac stiffened. “That’s right. Walter Elliott,” she repeated.
“It was quite the success,” Angelica said brightly. “We hope to have an annual fund-raiser from now on. Maybe next summer you and your husband—”
“What are you doing here?” Brett said, strolling into the office. His gaze was trained on Angelica’s face. He didn’t look pleased to see her.
Mac glanced over at him. “This is An—”
“I know who she is.”
The other woman’s brows rose. She looked from Brett to Angelica and back again. “You two are acquainted,” she said, in a speculative tone.
Angelica felt herself flushing again. “Uh, hardly. Not even a little bit, really. I’ve seen him around once or twice.”
“Not even a little bit?” Mac repeated.
Maybe the other woman was the jealous type who would scratch her eyes out for merely looking at her husband. If Brett was married to her, Angelica was sure she’d probably find herself very possessive. “I should be going,” she said, taking a step back.
“Not so soon,” Mac replied, a smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. “We’re just getting friendly.”
Angelica fanned herself. “Is it a little warm in here or is it just me?”
“I think it’s just you,” Mac said, with a light in her eyes that Angelica didn’t trust. “I’m perfectly comfortable. How about you, Brett?”
He was still staring at Angelica as if she was something he’d brought in on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m always comfortable.”
“Well. Um.” Angelica wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “I was just popping by to give you that update.”
“What update?” he asked.
Mac’s expression looked way too innocent. “On the historical society fund-raiser. Angelica had a hand in it. Remember the one that Poppy and Ryan attended about a month ago?”
“I don’t listen to half the things she prattles on about,” he said.
Mac rolled her eyes in Angelica’s direction. “Men! And then they wonder why they have so much trouble with us. If only they’d pay attention every once in a while.”
Rather than speaking, Angelica responded with a tentative smile. With that pair of crystalline eyes on her, it was hard to think.
“I rarely have trouble with women,” Brett said.
“Because they’re often much too accommodating,” Mac retorted. She directed her attention back to Angelica. “Are you married? Have a boyfriend?”
“No. I’m, um, on my own right now.”
“Isn’t that fascinating? Brett’s on his own right now, too.” She shot the man a look. “Or has that changed?”
When he didn’t answer, Angelica gestured between the two on the other side of the counter. “Oh. I thought maybe you two might be married.”
Mac let out a loud hoot. “No, thank you. He’s my brother.”
It wasn’t relief or anything like it that sluiced through her, Angelica told herself. Or if it was, it was only because it would have been humiliating to have spent so much time fantasizing about a guy who was already spoken for. “I met your sister once, then. Shay?”
“Sure.” Mac glanced over at Brett. “So our brother introduced you?”
“Angelica introduced herself,” Brett said. “And if I recall correctly, she thought Shay might be my girlfriend.”
“Hmm.” Mac tucked her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans. “You seem very interested in my brother’s relationship status,” she murmured.
Angelica barely registered the other woman’s remark, as the memory of that particular meeting ran through her mind again. “You told her I was a useless piece of fluff,” she said to Brett. It had hurt then. It still hurt.
He winced. “You heard that?”
“Never mind,” Angelica muttered. “I’ve got to go.” The universe, clearly, had its back still turned to her. “It was nice to meet you,” she said, nodding to Mac. Then she headed for the door.
“Wait,” Brett began, but she was already out the door.
When it shut behind her, she began jogging, even though the heels of her boots wobbled on the uneven sidewalk. No matter, she needed to put distance between herself and the man who always made her feel awkward and uncertain—not to mention hot and hyperaware of every inch of skin.
“Hey!”
She’d only made it half a block from Mac’s business so, pretending she didn’t hear Brett’s voice, she moved faster.
Then a hard hand closed around her elbow. She skidded to a stop. Rounding on him, she yanked her arm from his hold. “What now?” she demanded, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.
He stepped back, then he smiled.
It was devastating. He’d never smiled at her, but there it was, a slice of white teeth and attractive lines around the corners of his beautiful eyes. How she despised herself for being so susceptible to him. She slammed her hands on her hips. “Well?”
“You’re pretty cute when enraged.” His smile widened when she made a low, furious sound in her throat and he held up his palms. “You can retract your claws, kitten. I’m not here to steal your catnip.”
Still, he stole her breath. And if she wasn’t careful, he might steal something else. “What are you following me for?” she demanded.
“To deliver an apology.”
“Did your sister put you up to this?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s all my own idea, okay? That was a lousy thing I said to Shay. I was probably in a crappy mood and just mouthed off.”
“Probably in a crappy mood?”
“Okay, I’m sure I was in a crappy mood. You seem to bring out the worst in me.”
“I am devastated to hear that,” she said, her tone sarcastic.
He winced again. “Angelica—”
“Never mind.” She pretended to wipe a slate clean. “Apology accepted.”
“Thank you.” He continued to watch her. “So.”
“So.” She refused to twitch. Then she couldn’t stand the silence a second longer. “Well... Have a nice life.”
One of his eyebrows rose, the one with the intriguing scar.
“We’ll likely never see each other again,” she explained.
“It’s a small town,” he said, rubbing his palm over his hair in that habitual gesture.
She shrugged. “Just in case, then.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Just in case then,” he finally agreed. “Be happy.”
It would only take a job, some place to live and a way to forget all about him. “I intend to,” she said, and hoped that intention was enough to make it so because luck hadn’t been on her side lately.
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Christie Ridgway
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Welcome back to charming Blue Arrow Lake as temptation sizzles in a glittering new romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Christie RidgwayBlue-collar landscaper Brett Walker has no interest in the Hollywood vacationers flocking to his hometown in the California mountains. But the scarred ex-soldier does have a duty to protect Blue Arrow Lake–and the family ski resort–from a serial burglar. So when he suspects a break-in, he takes action…and ends up catching sinfully tempting down-on-her-luck heiress Angelica Rodriguez. She reminds him of trouble, but he can′t deny her a safe place to stay–in one of his cabins.Angelica has plenty of reasons to distrust–losing her money to her father′s legal woes being one of them. Getting up close and naughty with rough, tough and sexy Brett tempts her out of her comfort zone and into the arms of a man who′s not from her wealthy world. She′s after safety and he′s chasing justice, but the fire between them might reveal that all they want is each other.