Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch (12 page)

“Will—­?” she murmured, lifting her head, feeling dazed, her contacts blurry as she blinked her eyes repeatedly.

“You fell asleep,” he murmured against her forehead. “Your purse is on your stomach. Can you reach your keys?”

“Put me down, Will. Honestly, I'm awake.” And she yawned again.

“Well, only because I have no choice if we're going to get into the house.”

He lowered her legs, and she enjoyed the sensation of briefly sliding along his body.

“Hmm,” she said appreciatively, then swayed.

“Hey, you almost dropped your purse,” he said, amusement laced through his words.

“What—­? Oh, yeah.” She felt like she could barely function.

When she came up with the keys, he took them from her and unlocked the door. And then he swung her back up into his arms and headed into the house.

“Will!”

“What? I'm not going to watch you stumble around. I'm going to take you to bed.”

Those words should sound erotic, but not like this. “I'm so sorry.” She buried her face in his chest and just breathed in the soapy scent of him. “Wait, you can't put me to bed. I've got to take my contacts out.”

So he turned away from the bedroom and put her down in the bathroom doorway.

He leaned against the frame to watch her take out her contacts. “So why are you so exhausted? Isn't today a day off for teachers?”

Still feeling bleary and dazed, she opened her contact case and spoke without thinking. “I had to get up early and write all day.” And then she held her breath in a little gasp.

He cocked his head and looked at her in the mirror. “Writing? What were you writing?”

She couldn't meet his gaze and was glad she could focus on removing her contacts. “Lots of stuff. Teachers have a lot of paperwork.” That wasn't a lie—­she didn't want to lie to Will. But if she told him about her book, he'd want to read it, and it was too soon in their relationship for him to know she'd resurrected her long-­ago crush on him. She hoped he'd be flattered, but maybe he'd be embarrassed—­or even mad.

He cocked his head. “Even after our date last night, you got up early?”

She shrugged and put on her glasses, turning to face him. “Gotta do what we gotta do, right?”

But he was studying her with a bit too much interest, as if he didn't quite believe her but knew it wasn't his place to question her.

“Okay, then I'll let you get some sleep,” he said, and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss.

A kiss in her bathroom. Her second date couldn't go any better, she thought with frustration. “I'm sorry, Will. You should stay and have a drink.”

“No, it's okay. I got up early, too. Seems we're two ­people who work too hard.”

She followed him to the front door. “I'll see you at the softball game Monday night?”

“Yep. To think you used to forget them, and here you are reminding me.”

“I won't forget them anymore, since the widows and your grandma plan to make the next few interesting.”

He put a hand to his heart. “I'm hurt. You don't want to watch my athletic brilliance?”

She laughed. “I am looking forward to it immensely. I always do.” She caught his sleeve when he would have opened the front door. “Will—­” she whispered.

Whatever he heard in her voice made him turn around. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss. Drawing her tight against him, he deepened it, taking her mouth hungrily. She could feel the beating of his heart against her ribs, felt his erection against her stomach and rotated her hips against his. His shoulders felt incredible, his neck strong, and his hair, so thick and soft and—­

He broke away first, lifting his head. “Go to sleep, darlin'. We have all the time in the world.”

But they didn't—­she knew that, and she pressed herself harder against him, but only briefly. Then she let him go. She'd have to get used to that.

 

Chapter 11

A
t the Silver Creek ball field Monday evening, the sky was deep blue, with not a cloud to mar its perfection. The mountains rose up on either side of the valley as if they were another ring of spectators. But chill evening air had already settled over Valentine Valley, and Lyndsay wore a fleece as she carried a picnic basket across the grass. Rather than sit in the stands, she spread out a blanket where Will would be able to see her from the dugout.

Mrs. Thalberg's banner was still in place, although now there was another one, with Mrs. Sweet's logo of a broad feminine hat and V
OTE FOR
E
ILEEN
S
WEET
across the brim. Maybe she thought using her actual photo was vulgar.

“Now this is unexpected.”

Lyndsay felt a jolt of pleasure just hearing Will's voice. He was wearing his Tony's Tavern uniform and a ball cap, and he was carrying his mitt. She leaned back on her hands in the grass to gaze up with admiration.

“Hi,” she said, feeling almost shy after the abrupt end to their second date.

“Is this all for me?” he asked, squatting down, his forearms resting on his thighs.

“Only if you play well.”

“You're a demanding girlfriend.”

She felt a little thrill at the term. “You have no idea. And aren't you making an assumption here? I don't think I'd call myself your girlfriend just yet.”

She loved the way his eyes seemed to darken and grow heavy when his thoughts turned sensual. He reached out and touched the top of her foot, barely covered by a thin little sandal, and she shivered. He rubbed his fingers along the strap, then up until his hand circled her ankle—­like he was going to pull her legs apart.

It shot a trembling heat deep within her belly, and her lips parted as she met his gaze again.

“Hey, none of this in front of kids—­my kid in particular.”

Lyndsay jerked her head up and saw Kate approaching, wearing a teasing smile. She had on jeans and a Tony's Tavern t-­shirt beneath an open zip-­up sweatshirt.

At her side, Ethan was tossing a ball repetitively into his mitt. He was grinning, but he didn't do more than glance down at Lyndsay on her blanket before tossing his ball at Will as he rose.

Will caught it. “Just wait until you're old enough to be on the team. I won't be so easy on you.” He gave Lyndsay an intimate smile and turned to jog after Ethan.

Kate sat down beside her, cross-­legged, and with a blissful sigh, Lyndsay lay back on the blanket, folded her arms beneath her head, and stared up at the swaying trees framing the blue sky.

“Things are going well, I take it,” Kate said, laughter threaded through her voice.

“Hmm, yes. We're taking things slow and easy.”

“Three dates in four days? That's slow and easy?”

“Well, Tony's on Saturday couldn't be called a date, since we would have gone there separately anyway. And today? I'm here to support my brother.”

“You have a brother on this team? I had no idea. What's his number?”

“I don't know anybody's number,” Lyndsay said, closing her eyes.

“What's Will's number?”

“Ten.”

“Aha!”

Lyndsay opened one eye. “Are you surprised I know that?”

“I'm not aha-­ing about you at all. I think the next skirmish in the historical society election has begun.”

Lyndsay sat up and eagerly looked around. Near the stands—­and beneath Mrs. Sweet's banner—­her granddaughters Emily and Steph had set up a table and were now unboxing tiny items individually wrapped.

Kate and Lyndsay exchanged an eager glance, stood up, and walked toward them.

“Hi, Em, Steph,” Lyndsay called.

Steph gave a cheerful smile, but Emily appeared more nervous.

“Whatchya doing?” Kate asked.

“A favor,” Emily hedged.

Lyndsay bent over the table to see what they were unpacking, then picked up a sugar cookie that had been frosted in bright green. Written across it were the words
Sweets from Mrs. Sweet.

Emily sighed. “Grandma Sweet asked for our help.”

“Don't act so apologetic,” Lyndsay said. “She's your grandma—­of course you should help with her campaign.”

“Em's worried ­people will be offended.” Steph rolled her eyes. “I keep telling her they're getting free cookies—­they won't care. You guys can be the first.”

But Ethan, chasing a rolling ball, snatched one first and kept running. “Thanks!” he called.

Laughing, Lyndsay unwrapped her cookie and took a big bite. “Oh, these are as good as always. I think your delicious baking will make lots of ­people consider their vote more carefully.”

“You're just being kind,” Emily said, smiling at last. “Grandma had to do something. She'd put up a tasteful display in the lobby about the importance of voting for the historical society president, but we had to point out to her that
locals
needed to be reminded to vote, not tourists.” Suddenly alert, she called, “Hi, Grandma!”

Lyndsay turned to see Mrs. Sweet gliding toward them gracefully, wearing a summer dress more suitable for a wedding. Her granddaughter Theresa labored beneath two chair bags slung over her shoulders.

“Good evening, ladies,” Mrs. Sweet said, smiling at them all. “I do hope you're enjoying the cookies.”

“We are, thank you, ma'am,” Lyndsay said.

Mrs. Sweet's sharp gaze focused on her. “I understand you're dating my grandson, William.”

“Yes, I am.”

“A smart decision on his part.”

“You're just saying that to influence my vote, Mrs. Sweet,” Lyndsay teased.

“Then you'll be surprised to hear, young lady, that just last week, I was pointing out your character strengths to him.”

Lyndsay's mouth fell open, and she glanced helplessly at Kate, whose eyes were wide. “Why—­that was very kind of you, ma'am.”

Mrs. Sweet sniffed. “I certainly won't hold it against you that your father is foolish enough in his old age to trail around after my opponent.”

“Grandma!” Emily said, her voice aghast.

Kate was biting her lip hard, and Lyndsay knew she was desperately trying not to laugh. That wasn't helping her own rising amusement.

“I'm just speaking the truth,” Mrs. Sweet answered. “Lyndsay knows that, don't you, dear?”

“I know you're speaking your opinion,” Lyndsay said pleasantly. “I can't fault you for that. I just disagree with it, of course. If he and Mrs. Thalberg enjoy each other's company, why should it bother you?”

“You're right, it should not. It has nothing to do with our civic duty to keep the historical society and museum thriving. Now please enjoy another cookie, and consider me when it's time to cast your vote.”

Kate finally spoke up. “We always consider before we vote.”

Mrs. Sweet nodded and moved away, taking several cookies with her as she went to greet ­people she knew.

“
Please
take another cookie,” Emily said regretfully. “Really, we have plenty. And . . . I don't know what has gotten into my grandmother.”

“The pressures of the election,” Kate said. “And of course, now we all know that Mrs. Thalberg has taken a man away from her, so she must still resent it.”

“Well, she didn't take my dad away from anyone,” Lyndsay protested. “But yeah, I'll take another cookie, thanks. You guys have fun!”

Steph winked, but Emily only gave a weak smile. Kate and Lyndsay walked back to the blanket together.

“That was interesting,” Kate said in a low voice. “You'd think after over fifty years, she'd leave resentment behind.”

“Yeah, but it's not just high school, remember. They've been getting on each other's nerves for years. This election just seems to be the culmination of it. At least they seem to be fighting fair . . .”

Her voice trailed off as she saw a pickup truck slowly coming across the lawn in reverse. In the bed was Mrs. Thalberg's election sign.

“I don't get it,” Kate said. “They have a sign here already.”

The pickup parked near the cookie stand, and Mrs. Thalberg slid out of the cab unassisted. Her son Doug—­father of Nate, Josh, and Brooke—­got out of the driver's seat. He had brown hair going gray and a bushy mustache. His glasses glinted beneath his Stetson. He hurried around the pickup, too late to help his mother. But he took the cane for his wife, Sandy, and offered an arm for her slow descent. Sandy had MS, and though she had occasional flare-­ups that put her in the hospital or a wheelchair, she mostly got around just fine with her cane.

Sandy limped toward her mother-­in-­law, who was waiting at the rear of the truck. Doug touched his cowboy hat in greeting to Kate and Lyndsay but didn't stop. He lowered the rear door of the pickup to reveal two giant plastic tubs, one piled with two-­liter bottles of soda, and the other—­a keg of beer.

Lyndsay and Kate looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I know, I know,” Sandy began, “but—­”

“I thought it was a good idea,” Mrs. Thalberg said placidly. “A ball game on a beautiful night makes everybody thirsty, don't you agree?”

And sure enough, ­people were leaving the cookie table—­with a cookie in hand, of course—­and heading right for the cups of beer Doug was already pouring. And printed on the cup?
Vote Thalberg.

The other two widows, Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Ludlow, strolled up with their various friends and relations in tow. Mrs. Ludlow went to talk to Mrs. Sweet, but Mrs. Sweet never came near the pickup, of course.

Beer and cookies in hand, Lyndsay and Kate headed back to the blanket, surprised that the first inning had already passed. Luckily, there was no score.

“Now that we're alone again,” Kate said, “I can tell you what I've been dying to say all day—­I loved your book!”

Lyndsay gasped in delight. “Oh, I'd hug you if I didn't want to spill beer down your back.”

“What book?”

Some of the beer did spill as Lyndsay whirled around. It was Jessica, carrying her own beer and cookie, catching up with them.

“Tell her,” Kate said. “She won't tell anyone else. She's a reporter—­she knows how to keep a source quiet.”

“She's a reporter! They disseminate news.”

“What news?” Jessica asked. “What book?”

Lyndsay hesitated, then happily admitted, “I've written a book.”

“Wow, I didn't know you were a writer,” Jessica said. “We have even more in common. And you're a lot more private than I thought, to keep that from another writer.”

“I know, I know, it just works better for me that way.”

Kate piped in, “She's leaving out the good news. Her book was bought by a major publisher and will be in bookstores in just a ­couple weeks.”

Jessica's mouth dropped open before she could help it. “Oh my God, that's wonderful. You must be so excited! I've got to ask—­how long did it take you to sell?”

“I've been serious about writing for the last eight years.”

“You never gave up—­good for you! What do you write?”

“Romance.”

“One of my favorite reading habits! Oh, wait, you should have told me earlier so we could plan when to run the best promotional interview. A romance writer from Valentine Valley! There's no better hook than that.”

“No, we can't do that yet,” Lyndsay said. “I had my publicist hold off contacting the
Gazette
so I could talk to you personally. It's got to be a secret for now.” She looked all around, but they were still alone as they stood around her blanket. “Nobody knows but the two of you and my family. It's got to stay that way for a little while.”

“But why? Promotion is important so you can get a lot of sales the first week. That's how you make lists!”

“I know, I know, but as I've already told my family, I'm just a newbie romance writer, without the print run to make it big. For now, I just want this kept quiet until school is out. That way, by the time we return in the fall, the worst of the questions and shock will be over. Hopefully any of my squeamish parents will let their outrage go.”

“Outrage? Over a romance?”

“It happens.”

“Okay, I promise I won't say a thing—­until you give me the word.”

Lyndsay made herself relax, and the three of them sat down on her blanket. Then she got to have the joy of hearing someone other than her editor wax poetic about why she liked
A Cowboy in Montana.
Although Kate steered clear of mentioning who the hero was based on, Lyndsay knew she'd have to ask her about it another time. Was it obvious? Or could she breathe easily when friends and family eventually read it?

Lyndsay's happiness felt complete, here in this moment, sitting with her girlfriends, who finally knew her secret, and watching with satisfaction as Will ran hard for home plate.

Oh, she hoped he'd be sliding into home plate in the bedroom pretty soon . . .

W
ill was pleasantly sweaty and tired by the time the game was over. Tony's Tavern had beaten Hal's Hardware and was undefeated so far this season. And Lyndsay waited on a blanket just for him, a picnic feast all on her own.

Of course, before he could get to her, he had to say hello to his grandma, who was taking this vote way too seriously. Preserving the history of Valentine Valley was important to her, so she
should
take it seriously, but Will found it hard to be forced to publicly choose sides in a town as small as Valentine Valley.

Even Mrs. Thalberg wouldn't expect him to vote against his own grandma. He stopped to say hi to the Thalbergs first, although he declined a beer.

“Guess you'd take one if the cup didn't promote my mother,” Doug Thalberg said, smiling.