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"Sure you do," Dani says, patting Grant's back condescendingly. She's beat him every time I've seen them play.
Dani smiles at me. "Thanks for coming, Asher. You really livened up the party."
I wave and leave, glad I'm not in trouble for the illegal dances.
CHAPTER THREE
Clover
So what if Asher heard me say something less than polite about him? Assuming he did hear it and I'm not just imagining the emphasis he put on the words dog and fetch.
It's fine, I tell myself as I wander into the den. Asher isn't my friend and I don't want him to be my friend. It doesn't matter if he knows what I really think of him.
I plop onto the leather couch nearest the windows and sigh with relief. My legs ache from a hard workout earlier today and an hour of walking and standing on them at the party.
No matter what I tell myself, though, I can't help the bad feeling in my gut. I know what it's like to be talked about behind my back. Everyone who's been to high school knows what it's like. And I hate that I did it to someone else. I may not care if Asher likes me, or want him to be my friend, but I hate that he's seen this side of me. I hate that I might have hurt his feelings.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this a private room?"
I look up to see a man standing in the doorway. He looks to be about my age and he's take-my-breath-away hot with kind eyes and thick brown hair.
"Come on in," I say as I get to my feet. I gesture at the room that Dani worked so hard to set up with games from the Regency era, card and dice games mostly. "This room is meant to be enjoyed by guests."
He steps closer, eyes on my chest, and a cold chill washes over me. I'm alone in a room with a stranger, far enough from anyone else that I'm not sure they'd hear me scream.
He looks up quickly, smiling. "Clover Weston. Are you part of the family?"
I relax as I realize he was checking out my name tag, not my cleavage. "I am. Do you want to play a game? My sister Dani left instructions for all of them."
"I would, but I've actually been looking for someone to tell me more about the sanctuary farm. I set aside money to donate every year, but I like to know it's going someplace worthy."
My left eye twitches, and I check my escape route. "What did you say your name is?"
"You're right. I should have introduced myself. I'm Nate Phillips. Maybe you know my parents? They own the feed store out on Old River Road."
"Uh-huh." Phillips is on my father's list, but what was the first name?
"I imagine you and your sisters are at the feed store often," Nate says with a kind smile. Of course, he's a nice guy. Why couldn't Dad have conned evil bastards? And what the hell is the name on the list?
There's a silence in the air like something heavy was just put out there and Nate peers at me like he's waiting expectantly. I open my mouth to ask what he said, and the name pops into my head. "Ronald."
Nate's brow creases. "You mean my dad?"
Crap, Nate is the son of a man my father, Earl Weston, conned out of a substantial amount of money fourteen years ago. I want to ask Nate why he'd ever want to donate money to a farm run by the family of the man who conned his father, but maybe his father didn't tell him.
When Earl convinced locals to invest in his plan, a huge adventure park that would draw in hundreds of tourists and make the investors rich, he asked them to keep it quiet. After he left town with their money, shame may have kept them from admitting they'd fallen for his scam.
Whether or not Nate knows, I won't allow another Weston to take his money.
"Yep," I say. "How's he doing? He's always been so nice when I've seen him at the, um, feed store."
"You've seen him there?" Nate frowns. "He promised Mom he'd stay away." His expression softens when he looks at me. "Don't worry. You didn't get him in trouble. He's had some health issues and stress isn't good for him."
Stress. Like the stress my father caused when he stole Ronald Phillips' money? "The farm is a great charity," I say. "But we've, um, we've met our goals for this fundraiser, and it sounds like your father could use a relaxing vacation."
Nate shakes his head, and a bit of his thick brown hair falls across his forehead. It should be illegal how good looking he is. Especially now that he's officially off-limits. I could never get involved with anyone from a family my father conned. How could they even stand to look at me?
"Dad will never take a vacation. He's rooted to this town like someone planted him here fifty years ago."
