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She still ached deep in her belly, but she’d lost Uncle Lochlan a long time ago. It had been years since he’d been the loving uncle of her childhood. The knowledge that he was at peace was her only solace. Wherever he was, his mind was once again clear, and he was himself.
This room had been her home for the last five months, decorated soothingly with a wallpaper border around the ceiling, landscape scenes on the wall, and a comfortable bed fitted with the finest linens and a warm duvet. Sitting at the desk, she went through the necessary paperwork.
She’d held no funeral for Uncle Lochlan. His friends were long gone, all except Clyde Westerbourne, who’d called to offer his condolences. “Oh my dear, I am so sorry. I know how hard this must be for you.”
The loss had been only a couple of days old when he’d phoned, and she’d felt the tears rising again. But she didn’t let them fall. “Thank you, Clyde. I miss him, but this was truly a release for him.”
“This may sound harsh right now, but I hope you see it as a release for yourself too, my dear. You’ve suffered, watching his decline.”
She didn’t want to admit it, but Clyde had known her so long. And he’d found Dane for her, the man he’d said would be the perfect employer.
Over the twelve years she’d worked for Dane, Clyde’s words had proven to be prophetic.
It was only with Dane’s comfort that she’d made it through the night of Uncle Lochlan’s passing. And every day since, she’d worked diligently on the estate, wanting the paperwork finished before she returned to Pebble Beach. Her uncle didn’t have much, since she’d sold the house and everything in it to pay for his care. But there were still government agencies to be informed and details to take care of.
The harder she worked, the more she was dying to get back to Dane. To get back to work. They’d already bounced around projects and ideas that might be good for the new merger.
Needing a break, she typed a quick text: Dear Lord Barnacle, have you seen Charlie Ballard’s work?
Of course Dane would have. He’d probably learned all about Charlie’s talents while chatting at the signing dinner.
He opened a video chat immediately. “Now I’m a barnacle?” he muttered, his face unshaven, as if he’d only just gotten up, though it was past ten.
She shrugged, suppressing a smile. “You can’t help it.” Then she rushed on to make her point. “I’m just wondering how we can incorporate Charlie’s artwork in some way at the resorts.” Then she thought of Ari’s background in child development. “And what do you think about Ari Tremont checking out the daycare facilities at the resorts and making sure they’re up to snuff?”
“As always, you’re my brilliant idea genie.”
She hoped his words hadn’t made her blush. Dane always filled her up. Someday, she hoped to run a project herself. She hadn’t been able to think about it while she had her uncle to care for. And she had to be completely honest with herself—being one hundred percent in control of a project was a little daunting. If anything went wrong, the burden would be on her shoulders. But one of these days, she’d do it. She just needed to get her feet under her after Uncle Lochlan’s ordeal.
What she really needed was to get back to Dane.
* * *
Practically the moment Cammie brought up Charlie Ballard’s work, Dane set up a meeting with her. And now, only two days later, he sat on a camp chair in Charlie’s studio on Sebastian Montgomery’s sprawling estate in the Hayward Hills.
Workbenches filled every wall, along with tool chests and stacks of supplies, barrels of nuts and bolts, and great wooden crates holding metal, ceramic, stone, and piping—anything Charlie could use to create her art. Despite the vast quantity of materials, the studio was the picture of orderliness, everything at hand or easily located.
Which was in complete contrast to the beautiful mess of a woman before him. Tendrils of curly red hair fell from a hastily secured knot on the top of her head. She wore stained overalls over a torn sweatshirt. But none of that mattered when her work was so pristine.
She’d removed her goggles and turned off the blowtorch when he arrived, but even as they talked, she assembled bits and pieces of what would become a…
“I’d like to say I know exactly what you’re making.” Dane leaned closer to the metal pieces covering the floor, as if that would help. “But I can’t tell.”
Charlie laughed, a musical sound that reminded him of Cammie. He couldn’t stop the errant thought that he wished she’d come back soon. But he had to give her these two weeks. After everything she’d been through, she needed the time.
