Should've Said No (8 page)

Lindsey enjoyed the beautiful summer evening as she walked to The Canary. She passed another of several parks she’d seen in town where young parents gathered, most of them dressed mountain casual in jeans and hiking boots, their children busy on the playground equipment. A little blond girl squealed as she slid down the slide then ran full speed to climb up and do it again.

A rustic hotel took up much of the next block, its parking lot filled with cars, and people coming and going. Lindsey was starting to recognize the difference between locals and tourists, mostly because of the laid-back nature of the locals. Two boys on skateboards rolled past, headed in the direction of the skateboard park.

After a turn and a walk down a residential block, Lindsey spotted The Canary, set away from the business district. She allowed herself one more thought of Carden and an indulgent smile, and vowed not to think of him again while she was in the Karlssons’ restaurant. That would only be polite, considering Carden was a ranking officer in the enemy camp, although it seemed ridiculous to think of him that way. Lindsey hoped that tales of the legendary feud had been exaggerated, and that Tansy’s cutting looks at Stella were all that was left in the fight.

If Lindsey could get through dinner without a mention of the bad blood between the families, she’d feel a lot better about her loyalties, which currently were divided between a hot bachelor she had no business kissing, and somewhat distant relatives she barely knew—
but owed, big-time. She hoped she and her aunt and uncle could simply stick to the facts and not the feud, and things would begin to make sense.

She blew out a long breath as she stopped in front of The Canary, an unexpectedly nice clapboard building painted light yellow with gray trim. It was nestled on a quiet corner with a large Cottonwood tree out front, looking totally unlike anything Lindsey had pictured during her conversations with her grandmother.

Feeling encouraged about her great-aunt and -uncle’s situation, she stepped inside the restaurant, surprised to see gleaming polished wood, stained-glass window accents, white tablecloths, and vases of fresh wildflowers on the tables. The place resembled an upscale saloon, complete with a beautiful bar and a parlor furnished with antiques, Victorian couches, and curio cabinets featuring items from Thistle Bend’s early history. Business must be pretty good since most of the tables were occupied, and two families and an older couple were waiting to be seated. The Canary might not be as impressive as the Crenshaw’s mining interests, ranches, and land, but it was a heck of a lot nicer than the fried chicken restaurant Lindsey had imagined. “You must be Lindsey,” the young hostess said. She wore black pants and a white peasant blouse, and clutched several menus in her hand.

If all they served was fried chicken, why did they need menus?

“I am,” Lindsey said, pleased that she’d found a cute sundress to wear that appeared to be the right choice for the occasion. “And you are?”

She looked surprised by the question, and then replied, “Hailey.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Mr. and Mrs. Karlsson are expecting you. I’ll take you to your table.”

Lindsey followed Hailey to a table in an alcove off the middle of the main dining room, where a bay window overlooked a healthy herb garden. The round table for four was set for three.

Hailey glanced at the menus and hesitated. Clearly the Karlssons wouldn’t need them.

Lindsey tipped her head toward the menus and smiled. “I’d like one.”

“Sure thing.” Hailey put it on the table next to one of the place settings. “I’ll tell them you’re here.” Lindsey was eager to see them, especially her uncle Oscar, whose family was supposedly the one that lost out on the disputed land deal. Not that he and Tansy were even aware that Lindsey knew about the conflict. Surely that was the reason for their dinner invitation, and Lindsey couldn’t wait to get it out in the open. Was it possible she’d get the truth if she just came out and asked Oscar about it? No doubt it would be the Karlssons’ version of the truth, just like the Crenshaws would tell her theirs. So how was she going to know who to believe, and what if the proof of what really happened wasn’t found before it was time to open the museum? She gazed out at the herb garden, contemplating questions that were becoming more complicated by the day.

“Hello, Lindsey,” Tansy said from behind her.

Lindsey turned to see her great-aunt standing next to Oscar, who was about her height, but as skinny as Tansy was stout. It was as if Jack Sprat and his wife had come to life before her eyes.

“We’re so happy you could come.” Tansy looked around cautiously, although it appeared the other diners were seated out of earshot. She stepped closer and tugged on the sleeve of Oscar’s chambray shirt, pulling him into the alcove. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen us, but you remember your great-uncle Oscar,” she said in a hushed voice.

Lindsey reached out and took his hand, since hugging him would not only have been awkward, but also too familiar, since she’d supposedly never met the man. At least she figured that’s what the other diners were to be led to believe. “Happy to see you again,” she said, matching Tansy’s secretive tone. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Oscar gave her a firm handshake and a warm smile that brought dimples to his cheeks just above his short, white beard. The top of his head was totally bald, and what was left of his hair was white, too. “Our pleasure.” The familiar expression took on a totally different hue when her great-uncle said it instead of Carden. Lindsey tried to blink away the thought of Carden, but it lingered, along with a twinge of excitement about seeing him after dinner.

Tansy smoothed her hand down the front of her billowy blue blouse, and gestured toward the place where Hailey had set the menu. “Have a seat.”

Oscar pulled out the chair for Lindsey, who sat. He did the same for Tansy, then settled at the table himself. No sooner than they were seated a tall, skin-and-bones waitress came to the table wearing tiny black pants and a white oxford shirt that swallowed her, sleeves rolled up. She’d pulled her wavy brown hair into a ponytail and wore large, dark-framed glasses that dwarfed her long, narrow face.

“Shelby,” Tansy said, “This is Lindsey Simms, the young lady who’s spearheading the museum project.”

Shelby tipped her head. “Nice to meet you. And good luck with the museum.” She puckered her lips, making her cheeks appear even more hollow. “Heck of a job you got there.”

Tansy and Oscar shared a look.

“I’m up for the challenge,” Lindsey said brightly. What else could she say?
You have no idea
would be totally inappropriate, but that’s the first thing that came to mind.

Shelby’s eyebrows popped above the rims of her glasses. “You think you are, huh?”

Tansy and Oscar gazed at her with narrowed eyes while Lindsey focused on keeping a pleasant expression on her face.

“What shall we order?” Oscar asked lightly, as if there was more than one entrée to choose from.

Lindsey chuckled, thankful he’d intervened. “I hear the fried chicken is amazing.”

“Then fried chicken it is,” Oscar said, still grinning.

Shelby managed to take their drink orders without any more questionable remarks. “I’ll have your drinks and appetizers out in a jiffy.”

Lindsey glanced at the menu that she hadn’t yet opened and looked curiously at Shelby. Fried chicken was the entrée, but were there choices for appetizers or sides?

“It’s a set menu for everyone,” Tansy said. “Family style.”

Shelby nodded and Lindsey wondered how her glasses stayed perched on her narrow nose. “Plenty to choose from. As for the appetizers, the tomato chutney’s my favorite, especially on top of the cottage cheese. And people really love the relish tray. They swear the pickled pears are the best they ever—”

“Thank you, Shelby,” Tansy said with a tone to match one of the sharp looks she’d given Stella the other day at the museum.

Shelby pressed her lips together tightly and nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned and scurried toward the kitchen.

Lindsey unfolded her cloth napkin, spread it across her lap, and set her gaze on Oscar. “So this restaurant has been in your family for—”

“A hundred years.” He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. The history of it is on the back of the menu there.”

Lindsey turned over the menu and quickly skimmed the few paragraphs. A century ago, The Canary was one of several taverns in Thistle Bend, and the first stop for miners coming back from their work out of town. It managed to survive during the Depression, and the lean years after the mines closed—and the restaurant was still thriving today.

“This place has an incredible story,” Lindsey said.

Tansy furrowed her brow. “We’ve made it work for us, but things could’ve been so different. Oscar’s great-grandfather was cheated by the Crenshaws in a
very lucrative
land deal that would’ve allowed him to diversify the family’s interests. Instead, he labored in the mines for years until he retired and opened The Canary with his son.”

“My grandfather,” Oscar said.

Tansy leaned close to Lindsey and whispered, “I’m sure your grandmother must have mentioned the land deal.” She sat straight and leveled a look at Lindsey that had her feeling as if she were knee-deep in quicksand and sinking fast.

“I don’t recall her saying anything about it.” Lindsey grabbed a fistful of the napkin in her lap and kneaded it between her fingers and her thumb. “What’s the story?” She gave Oscar a pleading look, hoping he was getting ready to come through with a truthful tale that would make some sense of the silent feud.

“We don’t have the full story,” Oscar said. “Yet.”

Lindsey’s heart plummeted.

“We think you’ll find the truth in the documents and journals that have been donated to the museum.” Oscar nodded. “Tansy and Stella Crenshaw have been racing to find it, so that tells us the Crenshaws don’t really know what happened either, or they do know and they’re trying to hide it.”

Oh, boy.

The conversation came to a halt as Shelby delivered their drinks. Considering how things were going so far, Lindsey wished she’d ordered a shot of something stiff instead of iced tea. She eyed Oscar’s Jameson on the rocks.

“Don’t mind me,” Shelby said. “Y’all can keep talking.”

But no one did until she’d left the table.

Oscar cleared his throat. “I’ve been told all my life that someone knows the whole story. Either they’ve donated the information to the museum anonymously, they’re going to come forward soon, or you’ll figure out who they are.” He set a serious gaze on Lindsey. “But they will be more likely to do that if they don’t know you’re related to us.”

Heat rose in Lindsey’s face and she swallowed hard, wondering how long they expected her to keep that secret? “What makes you think any of those things will happen?” She struggled to keep the doubt out of her voice.

Oscar took a slug of his drink and winced. “People here don’t mind speculating with talk, but when it comes to documenting official history, they’ll make sure we get it right regardless of whose got power in this town.”

The Crenshaws are like royalty in Thistle Bend.
Holly’s words echoed in Lindsey’s mind.

“What if the information hasn’t been donated?” she dared to ask. “Or no one comes forward. Or I don’t figure out who knows and convince them to tell?”

Tansy clutched Lindsey’s forearm with frightening strength. “Then, as a relative of us Karlssons, you need to make sure it’s officially documented in the museum that the Crenshaws stole our land deal, and those thieves have been living on the spoils ever since.”

Chapter 10

“Cover your eyes,” Carden said to Lindsey as they stood beneath a starry Colorado sky, Blue not far behind them. Carden unlocked the door to his workshop—one of his favorite places on his ranch, set on a rise about fifty yards behind his house. Rustic yet open and airy, the workshop had banks of windows on every side that let in plenty of natural light. Tonight, they’d have to make do with artificial, plus whatever seeped in from the nearly full moon.

He opened the door, made sure Lindsey had her hand over her eyes, and flipped the overhead lights on. He put his arm around her and guided her inside. “I got you.” His pulse picked up as he skimmed his fingers over the gauzy fabric of her sundress, clutched the teasing curve of her hip, and caught the seductive scent of her perfume.

She tipped up her nose and inhaled. “Smells like sawdust. And paint. Or maybe glue.”

“All of the above.” Carden situated her at the best angle, and rested his fingers at the small of her back. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

He gently grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away from her eyes. “Welcome to Thistle Bend, circa nineteen-twenty-something.” He gestured toward the expansive model town that his grandfather had started building years ago, and that Carden continued to work on.

Lindsey’s eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open and she covered it quickly. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her words muffled by her hand. “This is…” She took her hand away from her mouth and clutched his biceps. “A masterpiece.” She tugged him along as she stepped closer, gazing at the diorama.

Carden’s heart swelled with pride as he flipped a nearby switch and the model train began chugging along the tracks, complete with sound effects. “All the engines and freight and passenger cars are scale replicas of actual Denver & Rio Grande Western trains from the twenties.” The train passed in front of them, headed toward the depot, and he ran his finger along a stretch of the track. “Narrow gauge tracks made it easier for the trains to maneuver up and down the mountains.”

“You built this?” Lindsey asked, still looking awestruck.

Every second he’d spent working on the model was now worth it. “My grandfather did a lot of it before he died nine years ago, I’ve been working on it since.”

Lindsey winced. “I’m sorry about your grandfather. Was he Stella’s husband?”

“Yep. Quincy Crenshaw, but we called him Pops.” Carden smiled ruefully, missing the quiet time they’d spent together building miniature houses, painting tiny figures, sharing the present and the past. Pops would’ve loved seeing Lindsey’s reaction to the model. He would’ve loved seeing Lindsey, period.