The Boss, the Bride & the Baby

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“I think,” she said, “if you merged the wording of number three with the graphics of number four, then used the background of number one, it would be a lot closer to what you’re looking for.”

“Maybe so,” he said. “I’ll give that some thought. Thanks.”

As she stood beside him, he caught a whiff of her scent—something soft and exotic. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting her to be wearing. Something down-home and country, he supposed. Something more suited to Brighton Valley. But then again, she was city bound. Why wouldn’t she have a more sophisticated air? But did her scent come from her perfume or lotion? Or perhaps from her shampoo?

He glanced at her wild, bed-tousled curls, which gave her a sexy look that the frumpy cotton robe couldn’t hide.

What a contradiction she seemed—country vs. city. Lady vs. vixen.

Once again, his attraction built to the point he found it impossible to downplay or ignore, especially at this late hour, with several bedrooms down the hall to choose from.

Unable to help himself, he reached out and twined a loose red curl around his finger. “Has anyone ever asked you if your hair color is real?”

She sucked in a breath, yet she didn’t pull away. “Yes, they have. And it is.”

“I know it’s real. I remember you when you were a girl. It’s just that the shade is so...remarkable. Most people might question whether it was possible for something that pretty to be natural.”

Their gazes met and locked. For a moment, he could have sworn their breathing stopped.

Then she took a step back, and as her hair tightened against his finger, he let it uncoil.

While he might have released their physical connection, something else held them taut. Something he could almost reach out and touch.

She bit down on her bottom lip, then placed her hand over her stomach. He’d seen her make that nervous gesture before, which seemed to be unique to her. Other women nibbled a nail or twisted a strand of hair around a finger seductively. But he’d never seen another stroke her belly.

He found it kind of cute—the gesture, as well as the fact that he made her nervous.

She took another step back, clearly uncomfortable with the heat sparking between them, and nodded toward the doorway. “I’m going to start that grocery list now. And then I’ll try to get some sleep. Otherwise I won’t be worth a thing tomorrow.”

He sensed that she was the kind of woman who’d be worth her weight in gold—either as an employee or a lover. But he damn well couldn’t have her as both. So he let her go.

As he heard her bare feet pad down the hardwood floor, he glanced back at the screen, which displayed the artwork the head of marketing had sent him. He tried to imagine the changes Juliana had mentioned, realizing they did have some merit.

The woman might not have a business background, but she did have some experience with art—if you could give her points for working at what had to be a two-bit gallery in a town that wasn’t much bigger than Brighton Valley.

After giving her suggestion some thought, he shrank the screen and signed into his email account.

Doug,

Do me a favor. Try using the background on number 1. Then merge the text of sample 3 with the graphics on 4. Let me see what that looks like.

Jason

Then he hit Send. He wasn’t an artist, so he’d have to see the sample to know if it would work the way Juliana seemed to think it would. But it certainly sounded as though it might be a lot closer to what they were looking for.

If that was true, Juliana would have more than paid for her keep already. Of course, it was early yet. They still had a ranch full of memories to pore through.

And less than three weeks to do it.

* * *

In spite of getting very little sleep last night, Jason woke early and started breakfast. By the time Juliana walked in, freshly showered and ready to start the day, the coffee had finished brewing and the bacon sizzled in Granny’s favorite cast-iron skillet.

“Something sure smells good,” she said. “I thought you weren’t a cook.”

“I’m not, but I was a Boy Scout. So some things are easy. But I’m usually better frying bacon on a campfire.” He tossed her a smile. “I’m also good at making s’mores.”

She laughed, which lent a flush of pink to her cheeks and lit a glimmer in her caramel-colored eyes.

Damn, she was pretty—even casually dressed in blue jeans and a blouse she hadn’t taken the time to tuck in, the bottom button still undone.

“Besides,” he added, “I didn’t want you to think that you were going to starve while living out in the boondocks. And the truth is, I’m pretty good at fixing breakfast.”

“That reminds me,” she said, “I’ll need to make a grocery run sometime today. That is, unless you want to do it.”

He reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet and peeled out several hundred dollars. “Will this cover whatever you have on the list you made?”

“That’ll be more than enough.” She folded the bills in half, then tucked them into the front pocket of her jeans. “My plan is to get started with the inventory and packing. Then I’ll take a break and go to the market sometime this afternoon.”

“That sounds good to me.” He nodded toward the coffeepot. “It just finished brewing. Would you like a cup?”

“No, thanks. I’ll finish the orange juice instead.”

He pulled the OJ from the fridge. Then he emptied the carton into a glass he withdrew from the cupboard and handed it to her. “You’ll have to add juice to that list.”

“Will do.” She turned and moved about the kitchen, taking time to check out the scarred oak table and chairs, as well as the various plaques, pictures and cross-stitch hangings with upbeat sayings Granny had used to adorn the walls.

Jason hadn’t wanted to spend any more time in this room than he had to. If he wasn’t careful, it would be too easy to become nostalgic and reflective here, mostly because he could almost feel Granny, could still hear her speaking to him, especially with so many of her favorite sayings nearby.

He glanced over his shoulder at Juliana. She was looking closely at a decoupage plaque. He couldn’t actually read the words, but he knew what that one said. It was a Bible verse.

He hadn’t meant to memorize it, but for some reason, it had stuck with him for years and he’d never forgotten it. He probably never would.

Granny had pointed it out to him the day before he’d left for prep school in California. She’d said she had claimed that particular proverb as God’s promise to her. For that reason, she said that she knew Jason, unlike his father, would grow up to be his own man. And that he’d always choose to do what was right and true.

For a moment, Jason thought Juliana might read it out loud. She didn’t, though. Yet she didn’t have to. He could almost hear Granny saying it to him again. Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6.

Still, Juliana continued to study it, as if pondering the wisdom of it.

“Did you know my great-grandmother?” he asked.

Juliana turned to him and smiled. “Just about everyone in Brighton Valley did. She was a warm and caring woman. I think she was a lifetime member of the PTA, even though she hadn’t had a child in school for ages. She was also very involved in the Brighton Valley Community Church. When my mom was recovering from surgery, she and a couple other ladies brought meals to the house on a regular basis.”

“What about when Granny was sick? Before she died. Did anyone from the church bring meals to her?”

“I’m not sure. As far as I know, she kept her illness to herself.”

Jason certainly hadn’t heard a peep from her about any ailments. But then again, she’d never been one to complain. Her doctor must have known something, though. “You don’t think she told anyone how sick she was?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Still, her family should have been aware of it. And they should have done something—visited more. At the very least, one of them should have been with her at the end so she didn’t have to die alone.

A stab of guilt shot through him. Had she thought that her family hadn’t come through for her like they should have?

More importantly, had she thought Jason hadn’t?

Sure, he’d called regularly and sent money. He also had made a point to come to visit on Christmas and her birthday. Not always on the actual day, but close enough to count.

At least, he’d always thought so. But now, standing in her kitchen, surrounded by her furnishings, by her memory, he wasn’t so sure.

Juliana moved on to the far corner of the kitchen, where Jason and Carly had set the boxes and the painting that belonged to Braden.

“What’s this?” she asked. “Did you get sidetracked and leave this stuff here?”

“Actually, that can stay where it is. It belongs to my brother. He’s supposed to come for it when he gets back from Mexico.”

She reached for the painting, a Southwestern style of an old church at night, with a crescent moon and bright stars overhead.

“This is very good,” she said.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I’ve never been a huge fan of that particular style. I do like the bright colors, though. It would look good in a ranch-style home.”

That’s probably why Braden had bought it. Jason returned his focus to the bacon, removing the last strip from the pan and turning off the flame.

“Wow,” Juliana said. “That’s weird.”

Jason turned and leaned his hip against the kitchen counter, the tongs still in his hand. “What is?”

“It was painted by Camilla Cruz.”

At that, he set the utensil down, turned away from the stove and made his way across the kitchen to the oak table, where Juliana had placed the painting to get a better look.

“The same artist who did Granny’s portrait?” Jason asked.

“Yes. The signature is the same. See?”

He leaned in closer to take a better look at the script. “That’s really strange.”

“I wonder who she is.”

So did Jason. Obviously, Granny and Braden both knew her. Or at least one of them did. “Maybe you were wrong about her not being a local artist.”

“I suppose she could be,” Juliana said.

She seemed to think that she was an art expert, but Jason wasn’t convinced. After all, she’d only worked at a gallery in a relatively small town—and for just a couple of years at most. She was lovely, though.

As she leaned closer, her head angled next to his, her exotic scent snaking around him, he was willing to concede any credentials she wanted to claim.

She glanced closer at the delicate script of the signature. “It’s a Hispanic surname. Do you think it has anything to do with why Braden went to Mexico?”

“No, I doubt it. This is Texas. A lot of people have Hispanic surnames. I’m sure Braden is in Mexico because he’s following my dad’s trail.”

Juliana straightened, taking her scent with her.

“Are you sure my brother never mentioned anything to you about where he was going or why?” Jason asked.

“Sorry. I haven’t talked to him lately.”

Jason glanced at the box of pottery, as well as the other box that had been sealed shut with packing tape. If his brother had been missing in Mexico, with foul play suspected, he would have had every right to tear into the cardboard lid and try to solve the mystery of Braden’s whereabouts. But as far as he knew, his brother was alive and on some international escapade, the details of which he’d either neglected or flat-out refused to share with Jason.