Should've Said No (2 page)

The road led her past a cute Western-style shopping center—a hardware store, a pastry shop, a grocery store, even a movie theater, none of them chains like she’d seen in most of the cookie-cutter towns she’d passed through on her way here.

“Hmm…Kind of charming.”

But Thistle Bend really turned on the charm when it came to its main street, Larkspur Avenue. The center of the historic mining town surprised Lindsey, inviting her in, looking like something out of a Western storybook. Colorful Victorian buildings lined the street—pink, blue, yellow. Whimsical gables and awnings accented shops and offices and restaurants, the latter of which also had quaint outdoor dining areas. Bright flowers billowed from hanging baskets at nearly every door, and bloomed in planters along the sidewalk. Aspen trees dotted the way, their leaves fluttering in the breeze, glimmering in the dimming daylight.

Lindsey relaxed a little. At least the town was cute, and she’d seen some people that looked to be about her age. She’d be okay here for a little while, right? A year, tops.

One turn took her past an A-frame Catholic church, a bed-and-breakfast, and a park with a babbling creek running through it. She passed well-kept homes, and charming cottages with picket fences and friendly porches. People strolled by, walking their dogs, or pedaled bicycles, none seeming rushed to get anywhere.

They smiled.

They waved.

They looked content.

Was it possible people lived like this?

Lindsey took a left and, in less than a block, pulled the U-Haul to a stop in front of what was supposed to be 410 Primrose Street, according to the map. Her heart sank and she slumped her tired shoulders, her gaze shifting from the old miner’s cabin to the map and back.

No picket fence.

No friendly porch.

“No way,” Lindsey murmured.

But sure enough, next to the front door hung the wooden numbers four, one, and zero. The four had lost a screw and turned upside down. It fit right in with the peeling paint, sagging shutters, and rusty tin roof.

Home sweet home?

Clearly the property management company had posted old pictures of a freshly painted house in much better repair. From the looks of it, Lindsey guessed they’d colorized photos taken back in the mining days. The place was more like a shack than a cabin, and calling it a cottage was really pushing it. She thought about the plumbing situation and a flash of panic shot through her. If she walked around back and found an outhouse…

She took a deep breath, puffed up her cheeks, and blew it out slowly. This is what she got for doing her interview by Skype. A visit here would’ve been a wiser idea, but that hadn’t been in either budget—hers or the hiring committee’s. So here she sat in a big honking U-Haul in front of a dilapidated shack otherwise known as her new home. No wonder the property manager had arranged to leave the house open with the keys inside. Who would go near it?

Except for me.

Lindsey had signed a lease, and paid a deposit and the first month’s rent. Now she was stuck with the little shack for at least six months. She pinched her eyes closed for a moment, too realistic to hope that things would look better when she opened them. Night was falling as she got out of the truck, slammed the door with a
clang,
and headed up the path where a sidewalk should’ve been. The grass was way too high, but on the bright side, wildflowers bloomed in the yard. She could make out the yellow and pink blossoms, even in the twilight.

Stopping on the rickety front stoop, she reached over to the house numbers and twisted the four right-side-up. But the second she let go, it swung upside down again. Undaunted, she righted the number once more. She pulled the gum out of her mouth, stuck it behind the four, pressed it against the house and crossed item number one off her to-do list.

Finding the front door unlocked as promised, Lindsey winced as she opened it, afraid of what she’d see inside. Probably the best idea she’d had all day was to show up here at night…or was it?

Evening light seeped through the windows, enough that she could see an empty living area with wide-plank, hardwood floors, a stone fireplace, and a tiny kitchen beyond. The cabin wasn’t nearly as dilapidated on the inside. A couple vases of those wildflowers might bring the place up to quaint. A dark hallway probably led to the lone bedroom and—
please, God
—a bathroom.

Teeth clenched, she swiped the light switch next to the door, but all she got was a
click.

Click, click.

“Ugh,” Lindsey moaned. She’d need to flip a breaker, and for that she’d need a flashlight. But that would only fix things if the power was actually
on.

“I’m working on that.” The deep voice with a drawl came from the dark hallway, and the man that matched it stepped out of the shadows.

Chapter 2

All it took was half-light for Carden Crenshaw to see that the woman people in town were calling “the museum lady” blew his stereotype to smithereens. He’d imagined an older librarian sort. Maybe a middle-aged history teacher type. Surely neither would’ve had his heart galloping like the girl who stood silhouetted in the open front doorway—and Carden’s heart rarely galloped.

Slender legs in snug blue jeans. Just-right curves in a clingy white tee. Tousled blond hair that begged to have his fingers running through it. The sun had just stepped in the door at dusk.

She gasped the second he emerged from the hallway. The sound shot straight down his spine and spiked lower. It had been way too long since he’d heard a sound like that from a woman like her. Too bad it was because he’d scared her.

“Sorry I spooked you.” He held up his hands—palms out—and halted, even though he would’ve liked a closer look. “I should have the lights working for you in a few.”

She gazed at him sharply and squinted. “Are you Dean?” Southern twang with a touch of sass.

“No, ma’am. Dean found a problem with the lights this afternoon when he brought your keys over. He asked me to come fix it.” Carden hitched his thumb in the tool belt that hung around his hips.

She pushed her hair behind her shoulder and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Is that the only thing on your list?”

“Far as I know.”

“And it’ll only take a few minutes to fix?”

He nodded slowly. “Hope so.”

“How long have you got?” She glanced out toward the street and the waning light caught her large, light eyes. Definitely blue or green. Either way, the museum lady was a knockout. “Because if you have some extra time,” she said, “I’ll take a look around. Something tells me I might find a couple more things that need fixing before I move in here in the morning…if you’d be so kind. I can grab a notepad out of my truck and make a list.”

He looked beyond her at the old U-Haul parked out front. “You drove that truck here?” He just couldn’t see it.

“All the way from D.C.”

Carden tugged at the worn bill of his favorite ball cap and pulled it tightly against his head. He struggled to keep the amazement out of his eyes. In his experience, women hadn’t taken kindly to him acting surprised when they did something kind of cool and sort of crazy—but that was exactly the kind of woman he liked. “Hmm.” He worked to hit an I’m-impressed pitch and hoped he didn’t come off as cocky. “That probably took you—”

“Three days.”

“Talk about saddle sores.”

“I’d rather not,” she said lightly. She tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as if she had something to hide. Carden imagined just the opposite—he’d bet everything back there was really fine.

Although he worried about the length of the to-do list she was about to make, he couldn’t bring himself to say no to her. Usually his top priority was running the Crenshaw Family Trust, but his preparations for an important meeting early tomorrow morning would have to happen later. And he had his own never-ending to-do list waiting for him at his cattle ranch. Even so, he liked helping out as a handyman in town, especially for older folks like Dean.

And for beautiful blondes.

“The least I can do is give you an extra few minutes, considering.” He tipped his chin toward the truck. “Three days in that thing?”

She held up three fingers and gave him a demure smile that had his heart tripping over itself. Blinking several times, he struggled to shake her spell. He’d seen plenty of gorgeous girls but couldn’t recall any rustling him up like this one. What had come over him tonight?

“You’re an angel,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She turned and pulled the door closed behind her.

Carden swallowed hard. The girl had blown into his head like a dust devil. Determined to get the lights on, he pulled his flashlight from his tool belt, clicked it on, and headed toward the breaker box. But the usual flip of switches still left him in the dark.

Light footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors in the front room. “Hello?” she called.

Carden made his way back through the kitchen, the flashlight beam darting across walls and windows. He got within steps of her and caught the faint tinge of her perfume—clean and natural, unusual and provocative. Not at all what he would’ve expected on a girl from D.C. Eager to decipher the scent, he drew in a deep breath. Something woodsy with citrus, maybe neroli and lemon or grapefruit. The old Montgomery sisters would know for sure. Over the years, they’d used all kinds of herbs and spices in their soaps, perfumes, and tonics—and God knew what else.

“It’s going to take longer than I thought to fix the lights.”

“Bummer,” she said, sliding her purse onto the kitchen counter. It overflowed with papers and mail, yet she reached in and pulled out a little notepad without even looking. Next came a mechanical pencil, which she tucked over her ear. The girl was ready for business.

“You’ll need this.” Carden held out the flashlight and she reached for it.

“Thank you,” she said. Her fingers swept over his, nearly as light as snowflakes, and a thrilling chill prickled through him.

She began her inspection, giving him a hazy, all-angles look at her, courtesy of his Maglite. Man, he loved that flashlight.

“Other than that U-Haul, what brought you here from D.C.?” he asked, as if he didn’t know already.

“A job.” She gracefully turned from in front of the fireplace and faced him. One corner of her mouth quirked up, as if she had doubts about her new opportunity.

Carden couldn’t blame her. Thistle Bend had a thorny history, and everyone had their own version of what really happened in the not-so-sleepy little town. He nodded slowly, scrubbing his fingers across his four-day beard.

Without another word, she disappeared down the dark hallway, taking only minutes to check out the little bedroom and bath. She flushed the toilet and seconds after the tank filled, she passed him on her way to the kitchen. “I’m kind of putting together the new museum in town,” she said.

“I’ve heard about that.” No reason to let on that his grandmother was on the museum’s board and had approved the recruiting committee’s decision to hire her. She’d meet all the key players soon enough. “Word has it that they finally closed on the old gas station building this week and it’s ready to go.”

“What does the old gas station building have to do with the museum?”

“It is the museum.”

She closed the cabinet she’d been peering into and aimed the beam at him, spotlighting the dark grease stain on his T-shirt and the rip in the knee of his jeans. He shoved his hands in his pockets. At least she hadn’t blinded him with the light.

“They’re putting the museum in a
gas station
? I mean, they said they were in the process of buying a building for it, but…” She moved the beam away from him, set her notepad on the counter, and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“It was a hardware store, too,” he said, as if that would make things better. “Historic building. Great location. Sits right on Larkspur Avenue.”

She gave him a forced, tight-lipped smile. “Perfect.”

Figuring the subject was best closed, Carden stepped over to the counter and glanced at her notepad.

Tighten handle on toilet…

Lock on bedroom window—screw missing…

“Not much of a list you got there.”

She lifted her slim shoulders as if it was hard to believe there wasn’t more to fix.

“The place is really decent in here,” he said. “Even though it looks beat up on the outside. You’ll understand why after you’ve been here awhile. It’s hard to keep up against scorching sun in the summer and snow up to your—” He cleared his throat. “And lots of snow most of the winter.”

“Guess that’s good job security for you since there’s always work to do.”

He nodded once. “Absolutely.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill, again without looking inside. “Getting the lights on is the most important thing.” She tore her list from her notepad and handed it to him along with the five. “But I’d really be grateful if you’d fix these other things, too.”

He slid the five along the countertop, leaving it next to her purse. “I can’t take your money.”

“Seriously, I want you to. I know how tough times are for people right now.” She frowned. “I could write a book about it.” She picked up her purse, and left the money on the counter. “But I’ve got a gas-station-hardware-store-museum to get going. And a bed at a hotel with my name on it. Speaking of—I’m Lindsey.” She offered him her hand and he shook it casually, as if those thrilling chills hadn’t made a swift return.

“Carden.”

“Hmm. That’s an unusual name. I like it.” She smiled and headed for the door. “Thanks for helping me out, Carden. Hope I’ll see you around.”

Chapter 3

Lindsey took the one day she had before starting her job to move into the cabin and get somewhat settled. Her aunt had recommended two young guys that worked at The Canary to help Lindsey move in. In less than an hour, they’d unloaded the few pieces of furniture she had, and all the boxes. Lindsey had concentrated on her clothes and lighter-weight items. She’d figured she would take advantage of the muscle while she could.