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“I find that hard to believe. You have a rough sense of humor I appreciate. You’re protective—maybe a little bossy at times but you mean well.”
“Uh, thanks—”
“You’re handsome,” I continued as I rounded the corner of the counter to stand in front of him. His eyes shone in the dim afternoon daylight spilling into the dimly lit bookstore as they met mine. “Like, really handsome.”
“Being good-looking doesn’t automatically mean people are going to like you—”
“So, you admit that you’re good-looking?” I said with a hoarse laugh, smiling at him.
He stepped toward me, closing the distance between us. “What’s your objective, Sierra? Buttering me up like this?”
“I’m not buttering you up. I just think you’re being too hard on yourself. It’s like you don’t want people to like you. Like you think you’re not deserving of—”
“I know what I deserve,” he said in whisper. He was so close I could smell the cologne he wore everyday—something dark and woodsy that made my skin ripple with gooseflesh.
We stood there practically chest to chest for what felt like an eternity but was really only a few seconds. He reached up and brushed a lock of my hair off my shoulder, his fingertips grazingmy neck. I fought the urge to sigh and close my eyes at the brief and shockingly intimate touch. I reminded myself that these feelings were just my raging hormones and not unrequited desire for Pete.
“Time to go,” he said, breaking the spell.
Shocked is the only way to describe how I felt when we arrived at the Hallston Ranch, which was one of the largest and most prosperous in the whole state of Montana. A large house—a mansion, really—stood regal and tall on the crest of wide hill along a dirt road surrounded by green pasture.
Smaller buildings were dotted around the developed property—several large warehouses, barns, stables, and cabins. Workers milled about dressed in jeans and denim shirts that were worn and dusted with dirt and flecks of grass as they led horses back to the stables.
As we pulled into the circular driveway of the grand house, I looked in the distance at a much smaller, white-washed house surrounded by a picket fence, a small warehouse, and barn in its sprawling backyard.
“Who lives in that house?”
“George and Keely,” Pete said, matter-of-factly. That’s the original farmhouse, actually. George bought it and roughly ten acres of pasture from Grant five or so years ago, before he knew the Edgewater property was still in his family. They’re moving out soon. I think he’s gonna sell it back to Grant.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” I mused dreamily, looking around as I hopped out of the car. I wore a flowy, floral print skirt and cream-colored blouse I’d picked up at a boutique next door to the bar, and cowboy boots that Pete had brought home for me one day. He’d acted like it was nothing to buy them for me, but I’d blushed like a schoolgirl when I opened the box and smelled nothing but rich leather and saw the fine handiwork. “I’d love to live in a place like this one day.”
“Better save your money.” Pete chuckled. “Grant is richer than God himself and this place is worth… I don’t know, millions at this point. Maybe more.”
I caught the hint of disdain in his voice but decided to ignore it as two people stepped out onto the porch.
“Hey there,” Grant Hallston, a handsome man with sandy brown hair and big green eyes said from the covered porch. He was holding a little girl of maybe a year or so, her red hair gleaming in the sunset. Moira, I guessed, the fiery redhead with smoke-show looks that Keely talked about constantly, stood next to him with her hands planted firmly on her slim waist.
“About time you actually showed up to one of these dinners, Pete,” Moira chirped, smirking as Pete held up two bottles of wine as we walked up the porch steps.
“I’ve been busy.”
“We know,” Moira crooned, and turned to me but nothing but warmth and excitement in her eyes as she abruptly took my hands and squeezed. “Keely won’t shut up about you. I am so glad I finally get to meet you. We desperately needed another lady in our friend group.”
Pete and Grant exchanged a look but I ignored them both as Moira led me into the house.
Keely was setting a large platter of fried chicken on the table and screeched when she saw me walk in, her hands donning oven mitts.
“You’re just in time! I noticed you ate fried chicken without needing to throw up, so that’s what I made!” she said excitedly. A tall, broad man in a cowboy hat walked out from the kitchen holding a pot of mashed potatoes and stopped in his tracks when he saw me standing in the threshold of the dining room. His blue eyes looked me over, and his mouth twitched into a friendly smile that reminded me so much of Pete. This must be George, and I was right.
“Welcome, Sierra.” He smiled, setting the pot down.
“Get ready for the show.” Moira giggled behind me.
“What show?” I laughed.
And then I found out.
Chapter Fifteen
