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“Is that so?” She tipped her head to one side, as if she needed to see him from another angle.
As if she didn’t believe him.
“Yes. You told me you don’t want to help me sort through it, so I’ll manage on my own.” He was grateful when the old barn came into view, his truck parked between it and the ramshackle farmhouse where she’d grown up.
“Right. But if I recall correctly, that just means you’ll say whatever you think someone wants to hear while going ahead with what you had planned in the first place.” She braked to a fast halt and jammed the van into park before sending him a withering look. “At least these days, I know what to expect from you.”
Levering the driver’s side door open, she hopped down to the dusty gravel and walked away as fast as her boots would take her. Had he thought she was non-confrontational? Damn.
Time had changed her, apparently.
Nate watched her go a moment too long for him to convince himself that it didn’t matter, his surgical scar throbbing in painful time to the beat of her retreating footsteps.
He’d known that his grandfather was sending him on a fool’s errand, so it hardly came as a shock that Keely hadn’t given him a warm welcome. But since he wasn’t about to let his grandfather set the lawyers on a woman who once meant everything to Nate, he would find a way to smooth things over between them.
Exiting the delivery van, Nate headed toward his truck, reminding himself that no hitter worth his salt let himself get down about the first strike.
He was prepared to go deep in the count. He just needed to dig in.
Chapter Two
“Did you hearNate’s back in town?” a woman asked in a whispered rush behind Keely’s right ear.
She hadn’t even finished unloading her van with flower arrangements for the Daughters of Last Stand meeting, and the question was already being asked. Exhaling slowly in a bid for patience before she turned around, Keely forced a smile before thrusting a pot of flowers toward the woman.
“How nice for him.” She made eye contact with the event hostess, Brittney Ramsey, who also happened to be Nate’s stepmother. “Where would you like the coreopsis arrangement?”
Dressed in a yellow silk maxi dress that looked more like a gown, Brittney stared at Keely with an expectant expression, her highlighted hair swept to one side so that curls trailed artfully over one shoulder. She had always been kind to Keely, supporting her wildflower business, but the town of Last Stand had never embraced Brittney for swooping in and stealing Clint Ramsey away from his first wife.
Around them, catering staffers were hurrying in and out of the back entrance to the oversized brick mansion that Clint and Brittney called home. Silver chafing dishes rolled past on carts, wafting culinary scents that reminded Keely she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She’d been too upset after Nate’s visit, accusing her of overstepping her property line. How could he think that of her?
“Honey.” Brittney leaned closer, shaking her head as she laid a hand on Keely’s forearm. An emerald the size of a robin’s egg glittered on one finger. “You’re not hearing me. Nate ishome. Andsingle.” Straightening from the shared confidence, she winked. “I think he still has his eye on you.”
Keely’s fingers flexed against the painted terra-cotta pot full of blooms. “I think he has an eye on a pennant for his team.” She sidled around the woman to find a clear path into the house. “I’d better get started with the arrangements before the guests begin arriving.”
Charging up the stone steps toward the service entry, Keely hoped she wasn’t being rude. Brittney had been a good client. As one of the wealthiest women in town—who also enjoyed showing off her luxurious lifestyle—the second Mrs. Ramsey was a customer Keely couldn’t afford to lose. But reminders of Nate left her feeling a little too raw today after he’d broken their five-year silence only to fling accusations at her.
Inside the sprawling Ramsey place, Keely focused on her job in an effort to block out memories of the last time she’d set foot in here. With Nate, of course.
The cathedral ceilings and marble floors were still imposing, the house scaled more like a hotel than a private residence. She’d read the square footage at some point, and it was far more than any family would ever need, a home that had always highlighted the vast chasm between her hardscrabble upbringing and Nate’s privileged world. Even now, years after construction, the place still echoed as she walked through it, the sound of her boots bouncing around the empty walls. To her left loomed a space dedicated to a grand piano that no one in the family played. In the great room to her right, the catering station and temporary bar still left plenty of room for extra tables draped with fresh white linens and antique lace runners. With the white-on-white theme for decorating, Keely’s flowers would offer the only splashes of color.
Settling the coreopsis on the end of the bar, Keely pulled off a single broken bloom then adjusted a ribbon before heading back to the van to finish unloading. She wanted to complete the job before guests started arriving, but between Nate’s visit and her van trouble, she’d been running late all day, a frenetic pace she welcomed to work off the agitation she felt since seeing him. Now, as she juggled her third armful of table displays into the great room, the doorbell chimed, sending everyone involved in the event setup into an even higher gear. Behind the bar, a bottle of champagne popped. Two of the caterers arranging white draping over the folding chairs rushed from the room with their bolts of fabric under each arm. A French bulldog wearing a designer hair bow yipped as it ran down the main staircase and into the foyer, a collar bell jingling the whole way.
Technically, Keely belonged to the Daughters of Last Stand organization and had received an invitation to the evening function, but that didn’t mean she wanted to attend. She far preferred the paycheck that came from providing the flowers, especially when being a guest would mean fielding inquiries about Nate.
Darting from table to table to place the last of the flower pots, Keely was almost done when the sound of approaching footsteps and chatter warned her that the first wave of attendees would be entering soon. When she glanced up to see who it was, she spotted her friend Emma Garcia, an English teacher at Creekbend High School, at the front of the group.
“The flowers are gorgeous, Keely,” Emma enthused as she strode closer. Dressed in a flowing purple tunic she’d paired with black yoga pants and Doc Martens, Emma had a funky style that Keely envied. Emma’s chin-length red hair was cut in a razor-sharp line, the ends brushed in a way that made them end at the dimple in her left cheek. “I was so worried you’d try and escape the meeting before I got here.”
Reaching Keely’s side, Emma was about to fold her into a hug when she stopped. Studied Keely’s face.
“You were about to leave, weren’t you?” she accused softly, hugging her anyway. “Please stay. I can’t sit through one of Brittney’s programs without you.”
“She’s not that bad.” Keely tipped a finger against one of Emma’s dangly tassel earrings that she guessed Emma had made herself, hoping to distract her. “These are pretty.”
“Thank you.” Emma smiled before glancing behind them—most likely to see if anyone was within listening distance—and lowering her voice. “And don’t make excuses for the woman who once tried to console me after my breakup with Wes Ramsey by telling me I should have set my sights on someone with a moreestablishedbaseball career.”
Keely shuddered, remembering how indignant Emma had been. “In that case, maybe you can understand why I’m unwilling to hang out tonight.”
