Wedding His Takeover Target (3 page)

In Gavin's opinion, making a woman fall for him under
false pretenses was about as low as a man could get. How could he respect himself if he pulled that kind of crap? Refusal hovered on his tongue.

“Son, if you want that five acres, this is the only way you're gonna get it. That's my deal. Take it or leave it.”

Man, this was insane.

A tap on the door preceded Sabrina returning with a laden tray. Gavin's pulse thudded harder and faster.

Marry her?

There are worse things than being married to a beautiful woman.

This had to be flat-out the craziest scheme he'd ever heard in his life. So why was he still standing here?

If marriage was the only way to get the land back, to succeed where his father had failed and to keep his family from losing even more acreage, what choice did he have? For the good of his family and Jarrod Ridge, he had to accept the deal.

But the marriage would be temporary. Once he returned to his regular job nature would take its course and, aided by his long absences, the relationship would die a natural death—as had all his previous liaisons.

Hell of a way to start a relationship—planning its demise.

But he was attracted to Sabrina and the idea of sharing her bed appealed tremendously.

He'd need an ironclad prenup.

“Can I get you anything else?” Sabrina asked, her suspicious gaze drilling his. The familiar clench of desire fisted in his gut and pounded through his veins.

“This'll do, love,” Caldwell answered.

She left the room, her protectiveness of her grandfather clear in her reluctant steps.

Gavin took a deep breath, willing sanity to return and offer him a better option. It didn't. “I'll do it.”

H
er grandfather had closed the door.

Sabrina couldn't remember any other time in her life when Pops had shut her out of a conversation. She blamed their unexpected visitor—one who couldn't be bothered to make an appointment—for the exclusion.

Gavin Jarrod epitomized everything Sabrina disliked about the soon-to-be-arriving ski season guests. Rich guys like him, with their perfectly tousled hair, flawless faces and gym-buffed bodies swaggered into town like they owned the place. They threw around their money and entitled attitudes, expecting the world to revolve around their wants and acting like the local businesses should kiss their expensively-shod feet and be grateful for whatever crumbs the rich guests threw their way.

Well, not her. She'd had enough of that holier-than-thou behavior throughout school from the wealthy snobs who'd attended the elite private college where her parents had taught.
Those snotty students had made sure Sabrina knew she was not one of them. As if being a professor's daughter made her somehow genetically inferior to someone born to money.

She swished the cleaning cloth over the countertop and tried to ignore the anger and worry making her stomach churn. She knew her grandfather's health wasn't as good as it had been when she'd arrived three years ago. He slept more, ate less and had trouble keeping up with the inn's routine maintenance—a job he used to tackle with enthusiasm. But he wouldn't let her hire anyone to help him. He always claimed he'd get to the tasks, but the to-do list kept growing and the clock ticked down on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday when the ski slopes would officially open and the guests would arrive—whether the inn was ready or not. Unless a miracle happened, this year the inn wasn't going to be ready.

Was Gavin Jarrod here to try and buy the inn? She couldn't imagine her grandfather handing over the reins, but that day was coming, she realized with a heavy cloak of sadness. She'd hoped—
prayed,
really—he'd let her take over, but a few months ago while cleaning his office she'd come across a pamphlet on his desk on donating property to the historic trust. When she'd asked him about it he'd told her not to worry, he had everything under control. But how could she not lose sleep? If he donated or sold the inn she'd have to find a new home and job.

In the meantime, the only thing she could do was try to help more. She glanced at her sore thumb. Carpentry wasn't her strong suit, but she'd get better with practice.

The sitting room door opened, and footsteps—too sure and firm to be her grandfather's—approached.

“Thanks for the coffee and snack.”

Who was Gavin Jarrod and what business did he have with Pops? Reluctant to face the brown, gold-flecked eyes
that seemed to see straight through her, she turned slowly. “You're welcome.”

“Your coconut cake is probably the best I've ever tasted.”

Pleasure sent another blast of heat through her already warm body. She struggled to suppress the reaction. No doubt his charm and flattery combined with his money and looks made it easy for him to coast through life. “It's my grandmother's recipe.”

“Henry said you don't have any guests tonight.”

Why would Pops volunteer that? “No. Early November is like the lull before the storm.”

“It's been the same back at The Ridge ever since the Food & Wine Gala ended. I'm exploring the area restaurants before the tourists hit town. Show me your favorite tonight.”

She fought a grimace. He wasn't the first of his kind to assume she could be had as easily as booking a room. “I don't have a favorite, and I've already prepared dinner for myself and my grandfather.”

His eyes narrowed. “Henry can serve himself. Let someone cook for you for a change.”

Eating someone else's cooking was tempting, but not with Gavin Jarrod or his ilk. She'd been led on by too many rich boys and then dumped when she wouldn't get naked for them or get her parents to give them better grades.

“No. But, thank you.” She tacked on the last hastily because she could almost feel the ghost of her grandmother rapping her knuckles for being ungracious and impolite.

His steady gaze continued to drill her. She felt like a butterfly fighting to get free of a collector's pin. “Henry is worried that you don't get out often enough.”

Embarrassment bubbled inside her.
Thanks, Pops.
“That's because I don't date.”

“Ever?”

“No.”

His square jaw dipped. “Are you gay?”

Typical. “Do you assume every woman who turns you down is gay?”

A slow smile curved Gavin's full lips. “Only the ones who ignore the obvious chemistry between us.”

So he'd caught that, had he? She hadn't experienced that rush of response since before her husband had died and it had caught her off guard. She had no interest in pursuing it. “There is no chemistry.”

The fire in Gavin's eyes told her she shouldn't have challenged him. Two long strides brought him within touching distance. Within
smelling
distance. An outdoorsy, woodsy and clean scent mixed with a hint of something spicy and exotic clung to him.

She stared into his handsome face, alarm prickling the hairs on her nape and arms. He wasn't particularly tall—six feet, maybe a little more—but he seemed bigger in an intimidating, turf-conquering way despite the snowboarder-disheveled hair that should have made him appear easygoing and approachable.

“No chemistry?” He lifted a hand.

Sabrina backed out of reach. “Don't.”

“Don't prove you're lying?”

“Calling a woman a liar is a unique way to win points. Does that approach usually work for you, Mr. Jarrod?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You seem like the type who'd appreciate honesty.”

“Good deduction. Let's start with what business do you have with my grandfather?”

“I'd be happy to tell you.” Gavin's smile broadened, revealing an orthodontist's dream of straight white teeth. “Over dinner.”

Sabrina ground her molars in aggravation. How could she
protect her grandfather and the inn without information? “Nice try. The answer's still no.”

“Not even if I tell you your grandfather has something I want?”

Warning sirens blared in her head. “What?”

“Join me and I'll tell you.”

She really hated being backed into a corner, but she wasn't going to let Gavin have the upper hand.

“Make it lunch.” It wouldn't be a date. It would merely be a fact-finding mission.

Those gold-flecked eyes probed hers. “I'll pick you up tomorrow at eleven. Dress warmly. Wear walking shoes.”

Without waiting for an answer he brushed past her and exited via the back door.

Dress warmly? Wear walking shoes?
What had she gotten herself into? At the sound of the lock catching, the tension deflated from her muscles like air escaping from a balloon.

The creak of a floorboard brought her around. Pops made his way down the center hall, his steps lacking the vigor that had once radiated from him. She tucked her concern away for later and parked her hands on her hips. “What was that about?”

“Jarrod's just being neighborly.”

The fact that he didn't look at her when he spoke sent tingles of worry down her spine. “Baloney. What does he want?”

“Can't a body converse with a neighbor?”

“He told me you had something he wanted.”

He shrugged. “The Jarrods own half the damn valley. What more could they want?”

When Pops wore that stubborn expression trying to get him to talk was a waste of time, but she didn't believe the just-being-friendly story for one second.

“Pops, why did you tell him I don't go out?”

“You don't.”

She shook her head. “You know I'm not interested in—”

“You should be. Your husband died. You didn't.”

She flinched at the quick stab of pain. “I'm not ready.”

She'd never be ready. She'd given up everything for love, and when Russell had died she'd had nothing left—nothing except Pops and the Snowberry Inn. And now she could lose those.

His shoulders drooped. “When I'm gone—”

“Stop. You know I hate it when you talk that way.”

“Hating it doesn't change the facts, girl. You can't run this place by yourself. It's too much. You need someone to help you. Someone who doesn't punch a time clock or resent the long hours.”

“I don't have to be married to be a good businesswoman. I can take care of the inn the way you and Grandma taught me.”

He shook his head. “You're missing the point, Sabrina. Life is meant to be shared and enjoyed, not endured. If you try to run this place on your own you won't have time for a life. Russell would be the last one to want you to sit on the bench for the remainder of your days.”

Sabrina swallowed to ease the grief tightening her throat at the mention of her husband. “I haven't noticed you dating since Grandma passed.”

“That's because I already had forty-six years with the best woman God ever created. No one else can measure up. I don't want to lead a lady on only to disappoint her, 'cuz I ain't settling for second-best, and I ain't getting hitched again. I'm too old to change my ways to suit another. You're only twenty-five. Too young to quit living. Tarnation, I have more of a social life than you do.”

“I could always join your weekly poker club.” Her tongue-in-cheek comment deepened the concern shadowing his eyes.

“Don't sass me, Sabrina. You once talked about traveling the world and filling your home with a passel of young'uns. You still have time for both. But not if you keep hiding here.”

The cold ashes of dead dreams stirred inside her. “I'm not hiding. I'm working. And I don't need children to have a full life. As far as seeing the world, I have everything I want right here, Pops. The world's travelers come to us.”

“The world might come to Aspen, but hearing about somebody else's adventures secondhand and watching from the sidelines ain't the same as playing in the game.”

“I certainly don't have a future with some rich guy who's only counting days until he can leave town.”

“He ain't your father. Jarrod might have left town, but he came back the minute his daddy died. Don't try to tell me you're not interested in him. I saw you putting on lip gloss in the hall.”

Guilt burned Sabrina's cheeks. “I was working outside trying to fix the loose railings when he interrupted me. My lips were dry.”

“Yep, I'm sure that explains why you couldn't take your eyes off each other when you were in the same room.”

She didn't bother to deny it. “You don't know him. How can you or I trust him? I've heard you refer to the Jarrods as land-hungry thugs too many times to count.”

“That was their daddy. Donald Jarrod turned into a heartless, selfish bastard after his wife died. He gobbled up everything around him, and he rode his kids so hard it's no wonder they all skedaddled as soon as they could. But I know more about the Jarrod boys than you think. I watched 'em grow up. The whole town did. And while those boys might
have gotten up to some high jinks like reg'lar kids, they were hard workers and always respectful.”

Hard workers? She couldn't imagine anyone with the Jarrods' wealth doing anything that required them to break a sweat except maybe watching the stock market play with their investment portfolios. Jarrod Ridge catered to the wealthiest clients who wanted pampering and spoiling. Their guest list read like a global who's who of famous names, and a day at the resort's spa cost more than she made in a month's salary. She knew that much from the grapevine and the local paper.

But that didn't tell her why Gavin had come here and secluded himself in a room with her grandfather. Was Pops going to donate the inn to the historic preservation society or was he thinking of selling to the Jarrods? “He's not here to buy the inn, is he?”

“He's not interested in the inn.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” But again, his gaze drifted away from hers.

She had to find out what was going on. The only way she'd get her answers was to get as wily as Pops. She wouldn't tell him she'd already been coerced into lunch.

“I'll go out with Gavin if you'll agree to let me hire a handyman to get this place in shape. We're booked solid beginning the Monday before Thanksgiving all the way through mid-March.”

His pride obviously ruffled, Pops puffed up his narrow shoulders. “I can handle the chores.”

“I'm sure you can. There's not that much to do. But this way you can focus on the important items and let someone else sweat the small stuff.”

His eyes narrowed and his thumb jabbed his chest. “You got yourself a deal but only if I get to pick the handyman. And you'll give Jarrod a fair shot. Y'hear?”

“I'll go out with him once. It's up to him to make me want more.” And she could safely guarantee that would never happen. She was through with love and all the heartaches that went with it. And she specifically wanted nothing to do with Gavin Jarrod.

 

The knock on the front door filled Sabrina with dread. She'd rather slam her thumb with the hammer again than go on this outing.

Determined to get this over with, she shrugged on her coat and zipped it to her chin, then marched across the foyer and opened the door. Gavin, wearing a black ski jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders, filled the entry. Her insides did an inexplicable gelatin jiggle thing, and the frosty air sweeping inside did nothing to cool her suddenly warm cheeks.

Okay, so he was attractive. But nothing was going to happen between them no matter what Pops hoped.

Gavin's dark gaze skimmed Sabrina from her barely behaving curls to her scuffed boots. “Bring gloves and a toboggan.”