Cutter Mountain Rendezvous (4 page)

Once inside, he made cautious steps over the oak floors with fresh vanish and stopped. “You sure this floor is dry?”

“Positive.”

“You plan on holding square dances in here? Don’t believe I’ve seen an entry that goes clean through the house. Where do the stairs lead?”

“Three bedrooms and three baths. That’s where the real work needs to be done. That’s my place to your left. This entry and everything to the right is new construction. The idea came from Hermitage House, where Andrew Jackson lived near Nashville. I love that house.”

“Where’s my room?”

“Now that’s downright presumptuous, cowboy.”

“Here?” He reached for the door to his right, cracked it open a couple inches, and stepped inside a large room with the same oak floors and pale peach walls. Two floor-length windows faced the large covered front porch. The side window framed a weathered barn. “Nice.”

“Thank you. And no furniture, you’ll notice.”

“You did hear me say I slept on Bobby’s couch last night, right?”

“I heard. I just didn’t believe.”

“Believe it. That floor looks like heaven.” He moved through the room and into the bathroom with sparkling fixtures. “You’ve got to know I’m salivating over that shower.” He turned to see her frowning at him. “Can I shower while you call Judge Ludlow?”

“Hold up on those plans I see flying around your head and follow me. I’ll need you to dig out your driver’s license.”

“You wouldn’t be related to Davy would you?” He pulled his wallet from a back pocket.

“Possibly.”

“Damn. I had a coonskin cap when I was a kid.”

“Walt Disney was the marketing genius who started that trend. It was so successful he tagged the coonskin cap to Daniel Boone when that series started. Boone probably never wore one in real life.”

Colton listened to Kate as he trailed behind her and admired her furnishings. It was high-end mountain decor with a timeworn river stone fireplace. Rustic oak floors held thick deep burgundy rugs with Indian designs. Much like out West.

Kate had a few bucks. That or she had a sweet divorce settlement.

They walked into the large kitchen, and he made a low whistle. Granite counters, light cherry cabinets and professional chef-quality kitchen appliances. He knew about these things after spending months with a decorator on his place back in Chicago. “Two refrigerators and two dishwashers?”

“I’ll need them if I have a full house,” she said while pouring coffee into large yellow stone mugs. “That two-story foyer is twenty-five foot wide by fifty foot deep. I intend to make it into a communal sitting and breakfast area. Cream? Sugar?”

“Both.”

She opened one of the refrigerators and poured fat-free half-’n-half into an old-fashioned cut-glass cream pitcher. Peanut butter cookies were arranged on a yellow plate from a cat-shaped cookie jar and set out with the coffee on a round pedestal table painted a pale yellow with dark green placemats. “Sit. I’ll go make a few calls.”

She disappeared up a staircase that ran behind the refrigerator wall with her coffee mug. He reached for a peanut butter cookie. They were homemade. He ate two more in the cozy kitchen, silent except for the hum of the appliances and her voice off in the distance.

He eyed a Barbie coloring book and crayons at the other end of the table and reached across a bowl of fresh fruit to grab it. Kate had a kid? Unbelievable.

Something rubbed up against his leg. “Jesus.”

The chair scrapped the floor as he gave his booted foot a swift kick. A large gray cat yowled and headed up the staircase with its tail straight up in the air. A small bell tinkled from the cat’s collar.

“Sorry, puss. How about telling your owner to shake a leg.”

He pulled a pink crayon from the box.

The name
Lindsay
was signed at the bottom of a colored picture. Cute. The kid autographed her work like a pro.

Chapter Four

“Meow.” Tinkerbelle wound around Kate’s ankles. She reached down to pull the heavy cat onto her lap and listened to her dad’s amused tone.

“You’ve a celebrity under your roof.”

“Never heard of him.” She ran her hand over the cat’s soft fur. His body vibrated beneath her touch before he bolted away. “Never cared much for baseball. He said he’s injured. Do you know the particulars?”

“No. Some kind of accident. Don’t recall the details.”

“Do you think its okay to rent him a room?”

“Why not? You wanted to be an innkeeper. An idea your mother and I aren’t wild about.”

Kate felt the sting of his disapproval much like Cousin Jeff. More pressure she didn’t need at the moment. “Just once have a little faith in me. I have to be able to support myself down the road.”

“Get back to your roots, Kate.”

“What do you think this is about?”

“You know what I mean. You had the sense to leave Trey. Start writing again. Nothing’s holding you back but yourself at this point. The inn’s a diversion.”

“The inn’s my livelihood. You and mom need to accept my decision.”

She hung up. There was no way to go back and recapture the momentum of ten years ago. Too much had changed in the music industry. Life changed, and the inn was her effort to get things back on track to prove she could make sweeping changes by reinventing herself.

Why couldn’t he encourage her instead of throwing in a dig to undermine her already shaky confidence? Neither of her parents understood the price she paid to set aside her dreams to be a good wife and mother.

Between Cousin Jeff and her dad’s comments, then Colton’s surprise to her aversion to rent to a stranger, she found herself wondering if an inn was a safe environment for Lindsay.

She wandered aimless around her bedroom to stall.

Let the
famous
ballplayer wait.

Grabbing a hairbrush, she smoothed her hair back into a ponytail. She examined her fingernails, too long to play guitar. Mostly, they needed a manicure.

One good cleansing breath and she headed down the steps to the kitchen. If Mr. Rich Britches thought he would bulldoze his way into a room with his wallet, she was about to show him she ran this inn.

Kate entered the kitchen to find his broad shoulders hunched over Lindsay’s Barbie coloring book. His face brightened with a smile that could melt paint off walls. Her pulse fluttered in response.

“Got bored. Hope Lindsay won’t mind.” He read her name off a picture she had colored. “How’d I check out?”

“You didn’t come up on any predator databases, if that’s what you mean.”

“I could have told you that.” He put a blue crayon back into the box and set them on top the coloring book.

Conflicted about renting him a room when she didn’t feel organized made her push for cash, sure he would refuse. Then she would be helpful and find him a room in town. “How does two hundred a day cash in advance sound?”

His eyebrows shot up. Scuffing back the chair, he stood staring down at her with his hands on his hips. “For a floor?”

“Uh, that includes three meals.” Oh man! What made her say
that
? She let his looming height intimidate her. Not to mention it was a haul into town to eat the simpler meals.

“Fair enough. How about I write you a check?”

“You wanted to pay with cash and that’s fine with me.”

“Did you call Judge Ludlow?”

“No. I called my dad. He’s County Sheriff.”

“But Judge Ludlow can tell you I’m good for a check.”

“Why? Because you’re some hotshot ballplayer?”

“Ah, honey, that’s a low blow. But, yeah, I’m some hotshot ballplayer.” He opened his wallet and stuffed in the driver’s license. Eight hundred dollars was pulled out and slapped on the table. “That leaves me ten dollars and change. You want to see that too?”

Kate swallowed the lump in her throat. “How about I take six of your eight and hold as a deposit. I’ll return anything you don’t use up.” She leaned in to take the money, her flannel shirt flapping open.

He clamped a loose hold around her wrist and let go as fast. His hands went back to his narrow hips. “You always wear a gun under your shirt?”

“It’s legal.”

“Oh, right. This is the mountains. Rifles and fishing rods in gun racks mounted on the back of good ole boy trucks.” He hummed a bar from
Deliverance
. In tune, she noticed. This man was a living, breathing menace.

“You’re in Tennessee not Georgia. We’re simple mountain folk.”

“Whose women pack firearms?”

“I don’t wear it all the time but I’m out here alone with Lindsay so I’m cautious. Bears wake up in spring. I’ve shot a rifle since I was twelve and handguns since I was eighteen. Don’t worry. I can shoot straight.”

“Seeing as I paid cash, feel free to keep your gun holstered.” He nudged the stack of bills with his finger. “Do you have a towel or sleeping bag for the floor tonight?”

“I’ve a rollaway. Linens. Towels. Soap, too.” She widened her eyes in an expression she hoped mimicked mock surprise. In reality, she felt hot and itchy after negotiating the money. She made herself hold her ground and picked up six hundred, leaving two on the table. He snatched it up and jammed it haphazard into his wallet.

“Can you give me fifteen minutes to get things set up?”

“I’ll help. Where’s the rollaway.”

“Mr. Gray, this is an inn. Your six hundred dollars entitles you to deserved services.”

“Deserved services?” A corner of his mouth curled up as he scratched the stubble on his jaw. His topaz eyes glittered with tease as he ran a seductive look over her. “Let’s see. How about you stand guard outside the shower door with your gun to keep the press away from me and dry my back. Does that qualify as deserved services?”

Kate found she was holding her breath. Heaven help her. Colton Gray could liquefy her bones just pretending she was desirable. She hadn’t felt sexy or desirable in years. Must she carry a sidearm to get noticed? “You a comedian, cowboy?”

“Just saying. Let’s negotiate. Since the inn’s not officially open, let’s forego the
deserved
services my
two
hundred a day gets me and let me do my part. I’ll help put up the rollaway, and you can rustle up your regular services.”

“You are such a jerk. I don’t know how you got famous.”

“Jesus, I’ll bet that red hair gets you into a heap of trouble.”

“For your information, it’s auburn not red. And furthermore, around here, we don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“You should be glad I didn’t say worse.”

“I’ve a seven-year-old daughter. Do
not
swear in front of her.”

“
Seven!
Hell, were you ten when you had her?”

“Hell is a swear word.”

“Really. I thought it was a noun. “Hell, damn, shit. Wimp words in my world.”

“Not here. You’re in my world now. Step out of line”—she patted her sidearm—“and I will shoot you in the leg.”

“Could you make it the right shoulder? It’s already shot.”

Kate coughed into her hand to cover the sputter of laughter that rose without warning. She could see why he was famous. His charismatic personality made an argument fun.

****

Colton removed a brand-new rollaway from its carton, glad to see a nice thick mattress. He felt like he could lie down right then and there and sleep a week.

Kate was puttering in the bathroom, domestic like, hanging towels and essentials she’d brought in a large tote.

“There’s shampoo, soap, toothpaste,” she told him upon joining him in the bedroom to pull white linens from the tote. “Would you mind getting the quilts and pillow I set on the kitchen table?”

“Sure. Glad to be of service.” Colton winked and made his way across the foyer. His cowboy boots echoed in the hollow room and made him throw his weight to the ball of his feet. She would charge him extra if he scuffed her floors.

When he returned, he eyed her busily making the bed. He wanted to run his finger along the heart-shaped outline of her jaw and over her perfect skin. She might not be his type, but there was something special about Kate that spoke to him. He set the bundle on the floor. “My grandmother had quilts like these on her beds. She lived in Wyoming.”

Kate beamed a smile so sweet it took his breath away. When had that ever happened? “I’ll turn the heat up for this side of the house. It’s cool in here.”

“I’m hot-blooded. Sleep au natural with little more than a sheet.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

“If I didn’t have confidence in myself, sweetheart, I wouldn’t be that famous guy you seem to hate.”

Finished with the bed, she straightened to face him. “I don’t hate you as a person. I hate what men like you let money do to them. Puffing up your egos until you’re overbearing pricks in need of running everyone’s life like it were his own.”