Borrowing Trouble (32 page)

Brady woke early the next morning. Lying in bed, he listened for any sign of movement next door. Last night, like the night before, Sloane's lights had been out by the time he'd gotten home. He could tell that the last couple of days had been exhausting for her.

Before jumping in the shower he went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. He'd tank up on more at the inn. The Lumber Baron, unlike the rest of Nate's hotels, had good brew. Brady had made sure of it. Coffee was one of the first things he'd have changed at Breyer Hotels. No one in a great city like San Francisco should be forced to drink swill.

After showering, he dressed and sat out on the porch to enjoy the morning. He didn't have to leave for a while and wanted to take advantage of the sunrise and the quiet. Other than the river rushing and the birds chirping, it was as peaceful as you could get in civilization. Perfect for contemplation. Boy, would he miss it.

Sloane's door creaked open and she stepped out. Early day at the office, he supposed.

“Hey,” he said, the sound of his voice clearly startling her.

“I didn't see you.”

“Just taking a moment before I head to the inn.”

She'd swapped out her uniform for a pair of jeans tucked into boots, and a suede jacket. Her blond hair was down and she looked heart-stoppingly beautiful. His first impulse was to forget work, forget that he was leaving, and drag her to bed.

“You off today?” he asked.

“No. But the kids and I are going to Lucky's cowboy camp today for our first riding lesson.”

Rays of sunlight backlit her, and from where Brady was sitting she looked like an apparition. An angel. She embodied everything he'd ever wanted in a woman—beauty, kindness, and kickassness—and here he was walking away.

He scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw and got to his feet. “I better get going.”

At the inn he went through the breakfast routine in a haze, reaching for ingredients by rote and popping dishes in and out of the oven without a lot of conscious regard. Luckily, Lina had school, Maddy was out, and Nate and Sam were meeting with a vendor in the conference room. He had the kitchen to himself with only a few guests to serve. The Fagans had left early in the morning to catch a flight home.

He took a couple of French-toast soufflés to the dining room and quickly escaped back to the kitchen. The phone rang and Brady figured Andy would get it. When he didn't, Brady forced himself to pick it up.

“Lumber Baron Inn.”

“Why haven't you returned any of my calls?” Tawny asked.

“Didn't want to.” Brady smiled. “I heard Sloane's coming over to the ranch with her pilot kids to go horseback riding.”

“I heard you're an imbecile. Furthermore, if you don't cater our wedding, I will never speak to you again.” There was a long silence. “Some people search a whole lifetime to find what you've got here. Cowboy up and stop running.”

Brady couldn't believe she'd hung up on him.

For the rest of the morning he cleared and cleaned in the same blur he'd cooked in. There wasn't much to do for the afternoon wine and cheese, so he took off his apron, grabbed his jacket, and got in his van. He drove the backcountry, taking any road that looked interesting. Despite the drought, the Sierra was awash with color. Greens, purples, oranges, and browns.

In a blink of an eye, the landscape changed from forest to high desert and everything in between. A person, he realized, could never get bored here because nothing ever stayed the same. The land was a constantly evolving canvas. He thought of all the places he'd been, the people he'd known . . . the women. And his mind kept coming back to Sloane.

Somehow he'd wound up on the highway, just before the turnoff to Sierra Heights. He pulled in through the gate. No security guard this time, and he cruised the streets aimlessly. Last he'd heard, Griffin had sold three more houses. He parked at the clubhouse, took the flagstone path past the swimming pool and tennis courts, and found himself peeking in the window of the model with the pimped-out kitchen. Sloane's words came back to haunt him.

We go to Sierra Heights to look at those houses and even playing around you made sure to let me know that the idea of us living together was out of the question
.

“What's up?” Griffin came up behind Brady and he jumped.

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. Will you sell me this one?”

Griffin looked at him like he was joking. “It's the model. I thought you were leaving town.”

“Change of plans. I want this one, Griff. Will you sell it to me?”

Griffin just kept staring at him. “I guess I can turn one of the others into a model. Are you just yanking my chain?”

“Nope. Who do I have to talk to? Dana? Carol?”

“Sure. But we're friends. If you really want the place, we'll work something out.”

“I've got a few things to do, but I'll get back to you.”

“Okay.” Griffin shoved his hands in his pockets, dumbfounded.

Brady ran to the van, floored it out of the parking lot as fast as he could, and tried not to break any traffic laws on the way back to the inn. Andy was checking a couple out of the Lumber Baron as Brady came through the door.

“Where's Nate?”

“His office.”

He nearly collided with Sam as he jogged down the hall.

“Where's the fire?” she called to him.

“I need to talk to Nate.” He knocked, then burst through Nate's door. “I need to talk to you.”

“So I heard. They also heard you in China.”

“The job for Breyer Hotels . . . is it still open?”

Nate swiveled his chair away from his desk. “Hell yeah, it's still open.”

“I'll take it then.”

Behind him someone shouted, “Yes.” Brady turned around to find Sam loitering near Nate's doorway. She wrapped her arms around him and jumped up and down.

“I've gotta go,” Brady said, and pulled loose from Sam's grasp and kissed her on the forehead.

“We have to talk salary,” Nate called after him.

“I want your last dollar offer, four weeks paid vacation, and complete creative control over anything food- and beverage-related.”

“Within reason.” Nate followed him to the front door.

“Nope. It's my way or the highway.”

“Sounds fair. Come back later and sign the paperwork.”

“Sam, you heard what he just said. Complete creative control. You're my witness.” Brady took off across the square to the police station and pushed through the office. “Where's Sloane?”

“She's on her way to Lucky's cowboy camp,” Connie said.

“It's not even three. I thought she was taking the kids.” He rushed for the door.

“They have half—”

Brady didn't let her finish her sentence, just ran for his van and started the engine. Halfway to Lucky's ranch, he hung a U-turn. That's when he realized he was making a huge mistake.

S
loane's radio went off just as Lucky taught them how to put the bit in the horse's mouth.

“What's your 10-20, Officer McBride?” Connie knew what her location was. Sloane had been talking about the cowboy camp all day.

“I'm at Lucky's,” she said, not bothering to hold back her annoyance.

“We need you to go to 1240 Pine Cone Lane for a house call.”

A house call?
What the hell was Connie talking about?

“I don't copy you.”

“The chief says when you get there to stand by. That's a direct order.”

“Ten-four.” What the . . . Couldn't they send Jake, who was already on patrol? Unless something big was going down. Then, of course, Sloane didn't want to miss it.

“Hey, guys, I just got called out,” she said to her group now huddled around Lucky's daughter, Katie, who was demonstrating how to put a saddle on the horse.

“I'll make sure they get home safely,” Lucky said. “Do what you got to do.”

Sloane headed to her SUV. She didn't even know where Pine Cone Lane was, and turned on her GPS. It seemed to be taking her on a circuitous route away from town, past McCreedy Road, to Sierra Heights. Sierra Heights? Nothing ever happened there. She drove through the gate, following the GPS's instructions, wondering if she was lost. Now wouldn't that be embarrassing?

“You have arrived at your location,” the disembodied GPS voice said. The location happened to be the clubhouse and pro shop parking lot in the planned community.

Ah hell, this couldn't be right. Just to make sure, she hopped out of her truck and followed the flagstone path past the clubhouse, the pool, and tennis courts to catch an address. Sure enough, she stood on Pine Cone Lane. Tracing the addresses she found 1240—the model she and Brady had liked so much. The one he didn't want to live in with her.

Stand by, Connie had told her. Impatient, she radioed back. “I'm here. What am I supposed to do?”

“The chief says to go inside but stand down. This is not an emergency. I repeat: This is not an emergency.”

Sloane signed off and cursed. What was it then, a freaking scavenger hunt? She went inside. It was still a breathtaking house with its soaring ceilings, huge picture windows, and polished hardwood floors, but quiet as a library. And a bit unnerving. Despite the chief's command to stand down, Sloane's hand automatically reached inside her purse for the butt of her gun.

“Anyone here?” she called, and the words echoed through the big space. “Hello?”

She walked through the front room, down the long dining room, and into the kitchen. A giant bouquet of red roses had been arranged in a crystal vase on the counter. Next to it was a champagne bucket, filled with ice and a bottle of bubbly. Two glasses stood at the ready.

Someone in the corner cleared his throat. Sloane jerked up and did a double take.

“What is this?”

“Crappy champagne because it was all I could find at the Nugget Market on short notice.”

She wouldn't know the difference between André and Dom Pérignon. “Brady?”

“Sloane?” He came for her, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her close. “Change of plans.”

“What's that?”

“I'm staying, I'm buying this house, and I'd appreciate it if you'd at least allow me to make the loft my man cave before you fill the rest of the place with your frilly, floral stuff.” His lips were so close to her ear it tickled.

“You can't afford this house.”

“Says who?”

She pushed away to read his face. “What's going on, Brady?”

“Today . . . maybe yesterday . . . hell, I don't know when. Maybe I knew all along that I couldn't live without you . . . that if I ran away, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Be with me, Sloane. Make a life with me and I promise to love you forever.”

Sloane choked on a sob. “I love you, Brady Benson. So if you're messing with me, I swear I'll shoot you. Don't test me.”

He kissed her, bent her over the miles of granite countertop, and continued to kiss her into sheer oblivion. “This is the only kind of messing with you I want to do.” His hand went for the zipper on her jeans.

“Wait a minute. Are we really buying this house?”

“If you want it, I'll buy it. I've been saving forever for a restaurant, which I'll use for the down payment. With my new job as executive chef of Breyer Hotels, we should have no problem making the mortgage. What do you think?”

“Executive chef of Breyer Hotels.” Her eyes grew big. “You've been busy. When did this happen?”

His hand reached for her zipper again. “I'll tell you all about it as soon as we're done initiating these countertops. One question first: Will you have me?”

Sloane stifled a sob. “That was never in doubt.”

“Y
ou promised that the loft and the kitchen were my domain,”

Brady said as he blocked Sloane from bringing one of her frou-frou chairs up the stairs.

“There's no room for it downstairs and I really like it.” She pouted.

“It doesn't go with the leather stuff.” They had something like five thousand square feet of space. She couldn't find a spot for the chair?

“But it could be my chair when I come up here to watch TV with you.”

“All right,” he said, giving in without much of a fight. He was finding that he had a hard time saying no to her. “I draw the line at the kitchen, though, Sloane.”

Ah hell, who was he kidding? If she wanted to put up lacy curtains and block their fantastic views, he'd let her. That's how much he was in love with her.

Sloane climbed to the loft landing, handed Brady the chair, and let her gaze drift around their new house. “Are you sure we can afford this?”

Brady chuckled. “With what Nate's paying me . . . hell yeah.”

It had been two months since he'd taken the job with Breyer Hotels and he was loving it. Gold Mountain had opened early—and with a bang. Longtime guests, who Nate had feared would balk at rate hikes due to all the renovations, were so smitten with the changes—especially the restaurant—that they'd renewed their weeklong leases. Some had left, vowing to never come back, but that was to be expected.

Slowly but surely, Brady was changing the menus at Nate's other hotels. So far, Nate had kept his word on giving Brady full control over food and beverages. Occasionally he missed slinging hash at the Lumber Baron, but the two extra hours he got to stay in bed with Sloane made up for it. Man, did he love her. He'd never been this happy in his entire life.

“You think we'll have this place in shape by the time your family comes next week?” Brady asked. The week after, his family was coming.

Everyone wanted to meet each other. Brady supposed they were all waiting for a marriage announcement, which would come in good time. Right now, he and Sloane wanted to enjoy their new house and take their time planning the big day. Oddly enough, Brady would've marched down to Nugget City Hall and had Dink, the mayor, perform the ceremony this very minute. It was Sloane who wanted to wait. He suspected that she had her heart set on July, the same month as Tawny and Lucky's wedding, and didn't think they could pull it together fast enough.

“Yep,” Sloane said. “All five of them are coming, and the way I talked up this place, it better be ready.”

He grinned at her like a lovesick fool. “Then we'll have it ready.”

“The kids are coming over this afternoon to help us unpack.” Rose, Rudy, and Simpson would walk through fire for Sloane. Next fall, she had five more kids wanting to sign up for Rhys's crazy pilot program.

“Hey, Brady, I think Aidan might go for that job at Cal Fire. Would you have a problem if he stayed with us for a while? The thing with Sue . . . he's having a rough time.”

“Would it mean we'd have to stop having sex?”

“Uh, definitely not. My hospitality only extends so far.”

“Okay, then he can stay. But let's start now.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her backwards to the couch. “We need to break this place in.”

And that's when his badass cop girlfriend giggled. Giggled. “We've been breaking it in for two months. If Griff knew what we were doing in this house before escrow closed, he'd have a heart attack.”

“Nah, he's got his own good stuff going on. You have a problem with us breaking it in some more?” He went down on the sofa and pulled her on top of him.

“Nope. Not a bit.”

“Good.” He got to work undressing the both of them.

“I love you, Brady.”

And for the next hour he took his time loving her back.