“No.”
“Then it’s yours.”
Later when Holly was alone again, she stood surrounded by both dog and cat, marveling at the truth.
She wasn’t really alone at all, and she hadn’t been since she’d first arrived.
RILEY SPENT the entire next two days dealing with a ring of ranch thieves. The property in question was on the far north quadrant of the county, which meant he spent more time out of town than in it.
He had invaluable help from both the neighboring county sheriff and his own staff, but it was still Wednesday before he was back in his office on a normal schedule.
He pulled up to his building after a morning of chores on his own ranch and took a double take at the Café Nirvana.
The parking lot had cars in it.
Amazed, he crossed the street, envisioning a nice hearty breakfast, something he hadn’t had time for since Maria had cooked his last one on Sunday.
Just the thought had his mouth watering.
And his heart pounding.
Because truth was, it wasn’t just his stomach he was thinking about. No, it was that odd little quiver in the region above, where his heart lay.
Damn, but he was doing it again. Thinking about a woman he didn’t want to be thinking about. Why couldn’t it be simple? If he had to start thinking soft, mushy thoughts, why couldn’t it be for someone he could really fall for, someone who could actually fit into his life?
Not someone like his own mother, someone who would never stick around. He’d had plenty of women in his past, but he’d never felt the earth move or heard fireworks in his head while being with one. He’d never really thought about a particular woman in the permanent sense before, and he wasn’t superhappy about doing it now, but he wouldn’t shy from it.
He just didn’t want it to be Holly.
He opened the door to the café, anticipation thrumming through him in spite of himself.
And found utter chaos.
The stark white walls were halfway painted in a soft pastel color he couldn’t have named to save his life. On a ladder, covered in paint, was his deputy sheriff, Jud.
The counter was stripped of its usual disorganization and assortment of salt and pepper shakers, sugar holders and napkins containers. Straddled on top of it, scrubbing for all she was worth was…Dora? The grocery clerk?
Seated in the corner, listing ingredients into a small tape recorder was Maria. Maria?
That settled it, he’d stepped into an episode of the X-Files.
It got even more curious.
Both the dog and Harry slept on a rug at his feet. Together.
The red booths were all ripped out and upside down on the floor. Replacing the faded red vinyl with new, dark-blue material was Mike, who looked to be in the middle of a sales pitch to Holly about his latest paintings.
“They’ll make great wall hangings,” he was saying around the two nails sticking out his mouth.
Holly herself didn’t look like Holly. Her hair was up, but not in its usual sophisticated style. Instead it’d been shoved into a ponytail holder. Blond strands escaped everywhere, curling around her temples and cheeks. She wore a sleeveless cotton number in can’t-miss-me-green and…jeans. Jeans. He looked twice to be sure, but yep, that was form-fitting, soft-looking denim clinging to her every curve.
When she saw him, she went still. Then she smiled. It knocked his socks right off and for a moment he couldn’t remember why he was here.
Then she moved toward him, setting down her clipboard. When she stood before him, separated only by the mat holding the sleeping animals, she clasped her hands together and looked at him.
He wondered if her hands had the same itch to reach for him as his had to reach for her.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey back.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“Yeah. So have you.” He nodded to the animals, both of whom looked as if maybe they’d been washed clean. “You have mascots now?”
Her smile faded. “They’re not staying.” She looked around her. “Don’t you…notice anything different?”
“You’re wearing jeans. Nice. Very nice.”
“I meant the redecorating.”
“I liked it the way it was. Those jeans though, they can stay.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, he could tell.
“I guess you’re not offering breakfast,” he added.
“I’m going to reopen on Monday. Newly decorated, with a new style. That family thing I was telling you about. Three meals a day.”
“You’re…up for that?”
Her smile was a little tight, tenser than before. “I’ve hired help. This is going to work. It’s going to be perfect.”
“What do the new owners think of that?”
“There hasn’t been an offer on the place yet.”
He’d like to think he saw a flicker of relief at that sentence, but he was probably just reading something into nothing. He was sure of it, because Holly was nothing if not utterly forthcoming. If she wanted, for some odd reason, to stay in Little Paradise, she would just say so.
Hell, she’d just buy the place and make the announcement.
But she wasn’t going to do any such thing and he needed to remember that.
“I was really hoping for breakfast,” he said, rubbing his empty belly.
Her gaze followed the movement. Then as if she were afraid he’d notice her staring at him, she turned away and said quickly, “I have oatmeal in the back. It’s not instant this time, honest, I got the recipe from Dora and it’s…”
“It’s…?”
“Good.” She smiled as she once again looked at him. “It’s really good.”
He was still digesting the fact that she and Dora-complete opposites-were working together, that Holly had cooked oatmeal, that she was offering him some, when she apparently took his silence for rejection.
As if she didn’t know what else to do, she hunkered down and stroked a hand along the dog’s back, then Harry’s before rising and turning from him.
He just caught her arm before she vanished on him. “Wait-”
“I have work.”
“Just wait a sec.” Turning her to face him, he looked into her still-tense face. Lord, what was it about her? Unable to help himself, he stroked a thumb over her jaw.
Her expression wasn’t unreadable as it usually was, and he saw her confusion. Then, as if with great effort, she blinked and stepped back, sending a haughty I-don’t-care-what-you-think glance over her shoulder at the other people in the room.
He’d never been one to care about what others thought, either, and he didn’t particularly care now. If he wanted to touch her, he would because in truth, they’d been heading toward this since the day she’d stepped out of her Jeep and into Little Paradise. But in deference to her obvious discomfort, he sent everyone a pointed look and suddenly they all became busy again.
“I’d love some oatmeal,” he said. “In the kitchen?”
She nodded, and he followed her, enjoying the way her jeans showed off her body in ways her dressier clothes never had.
Mike high-fived him as he passed, looking happier than Riley had ever seen him. They’d gone to school together, until Riley had left for college. Mike had gone into his father’s remodeling business, even though everyone knew he wanted to be an artist with all his heart. But painting in a small ranching town with little to no tourism didn’t pay the bills, and he had four kids and a wife to support.
“I’m going to put up some of my artwork on the walls,” Mike said proudly. “Maybe even sell some.”
“Can’t wait to see it all. Maybe I’ll pick one up for the spot over my mantel.”
Mike beamed. “That would be nice.” He stopped to swipe at his brow. “I won’t fool myself, I won’t be retiring from the building business any time soon, but this is fun, getting to see my work up on walls that aren’t even mine. Assuming Holly doesn’t accidentally burn the place down next.”