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Bree already knew that he’d met her mother. One of Audrey’s many charitable causes was the cover for the inclusion of Rylan’s group of young artists in the show. The fact that Bree had accepted the situation without comment confirmed that her mom regularly involved her in similar activities.
Even so, he caught the shift in her expression, maybe because he was watching her so closely. Gone almost as soon as it had appeared, it was a flare that could have been annoyance or impatience.
“I should have guessed she wouldn’t be able to resist sharing that information.” She hunched a shoulder. “Actually, that’s unfair. It was a nasty incident.”
“Have the police arrested anyone?”
“No. My brother, Trey, is the sheriff. He’s been investigating, but so far he doesn’t have any leads.” Her face was troubled. “Our family has been having some problems lately.”
Blaine had alluded to this but hadn’t gone into detail. The focus of their conversation had been on what was happening with Bree. Rylan knew, of course, that Blaine’s older brother, Wyatt, had recently been investigated when the body of a young woman was found on his ranch. Things had gotten nasty when the press put a spin on the story, leading the townsfolk to believe that Wyatt was guilty and getting preferential treatment because he was a Colton and his cousin was the sheriff.
Rylan had heard that the case had been closed with all charges against Wyatt dropped. However, from the way Bree was talking, it sounded like they had problems that were about more than one family member.
“You think those issues could be linked to the attack on your gallery?” he asked.
She hesitated, and Rylan hoped she might be about to confide in him. Then she smiled. It was a little too bright, as though she could be trying hard to convince him, or maybe herself, that everything was okay. “I’m sure they’re not. And please don’t worry about the safety of the artists you represent. I’ve had the front window replaced with toughened glass, and the alarm system has been upgraded.”
The moment was lost, and Rylan bit back his frustration. Instead, he tried another approach. “I hear you’ve been working late every night.”
“You hear?” This time Bree’s smile was genuine. “Now, whoever could have told you that? Surely, Kasey, my super-discreet assistant, hasn’t been telling tales about me?”
He grinned. “Actually, I overheard her talking to the security guy. He was asking if the reason you were staying so late is because of the big event coming up. I guess that’s because he needs to know so he can ensure the place is safe during the show?”
“David?” Bree asked. “Yes, he’s very conscientious, but he doesn’t work just for me. He’s employed to provide security for several of the businesses in the Diamond. He also does maintenance work for us. He’s a busy guy.”
Rylan was a native Coloradan, but he was new to Roaring Springs. Nestled within the valley, the town, with its bustling downtown area, was surrounded by the mountains, forests and a large lake.
First settled in the late 1800s because of gold mining, it grew to be a tourist destination, then blossomed further a decade ago when the Roaring Springs Film Festival was created. Although it always had celebrity visitors, the town had become a must-see trip for A-listers and wealthy executives.
Rylan had learned that the former warehouse units on the edge of Second Street were just on the cusp of the trendy part of town. Like this gallery, the new companies were young and vibrant. Restaurants, bars, nightclubs and technology firms formed the bulk of the businesses. The area was named after the central diamond-shaped space within, where tables and chairs spilled out from the bars, coffee shops, restaurants and the Yogurt Hut.
“I hope you’re taking care of yourself.” Rylan kept his voice light and teasing, trying to avoid showing that he actually did care. “Getting plenty of sleep. Eating proper meals.”
“I’m dyslexic.” Bree said it casually, but the sidelong look she gave him told Rylan his reaction was important. “By the time I’ve read a recipe, the ingredients have gone stale.”
“You need someone to cook for you.” He tried to remember the last time he’d felt this nervous. He seriously didn’t think he ever had.
Bree’s smile held a trace of shyness. “Well, if you’re offering...”
* * *
Aware that, if she wasn’t careful, her lips had a tendency to turn up at the corners in an I-have-a date-with-a gorgeous-man smile, Bree did her best to appear brisk and levelheaded as she walked through the gallery. It wasn’t easy, because Rylan really was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
He had the kind of looks that made her belly flutter, her pulse race and her thoughts stray into dangerous territory. Her first glimpse of him had made her jaw drop, and he had only improved on closer acquaintance. His hair was light blond and slightly curly, his neatly trimmed beard just a shade darker. There was something about the strong, determined lines of his face, an alertness that became more intense when she was around. His eyes were as blue as a summer sky. When they looked her way, their expression became so hot and hard it made her skin feel too tight.
He was tall and very well built. Broad in the chest and shoulders, with long, strong legs and the thickly muscled arms of a man accustomed to physical exercise. She was used to being around tough men, her brother and most of her cousins certainly fit that description, but she had never been so aware of a man’s power. Rylan’s raw masculinity made her conscious of her own femininity in a way she had never experienced before.
There was something else about him as well. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. An air of danger, mystery...and more. It felt like sorrow. He was a puzzle she couldn’t quite put together. All she knew for sure was that she wanted to try.
And he was cooking her dinner later.
Reminding herself that she was a successful businesswoman, she resisted the temptation to dance the length of the gallery. Because this was more than a date. They’d both known it as they made the arrangements. He was coming to her apartment. He was cooking her his signature dish. The night was leading somewhere...
What if he thinks I do this all the time?
Doubt hit her like a slap in the face, and she glanced over her shoulder. Maybe she should go back, talk to him, explain that she liked him, but she wasn’t very good at this whole dating thing? She bit back a groan. Here we go again.
No. She gripped the handle of her office door tightly, taking a moment to get her thoughts under control. Just because she had been burned in the past didn’t mean it was about to happen again. It was just dinner, for goodness’ sake. They were both adults. It didn’t have to lead to anything more... But she liked Rylan. A lot. What was wrong with taking a chance?
With a decisive nod, she stepped into her familiar space. She had a lot to do, starting with some calls. As she moved toward her seat, her gaze fell on the desk. There, in the center of the polished surface, was her digital recorder.
She gave an exclamation of delight and, snatching it up, hurried across the corridor to Kasey’s office. “Where did you find it?”
“Find what?” Kasey looked away from her pile of papers with a frown.
“My recorder.” Bree held it up to show her.
“Um... I didn’t. I’ve been right here since we last spoke.”
“Oh.” Bree turned the recorder over in her hand, studying it carefully. It was definitely hers. “I wonder who found it? Did you hear anyone go into my office?”
Kasey shook her head. “Maybe it was there all the time, and you just overlooked it?”
Bree knew that wasn’t the case. Yes, today had been an early start after a late night, and the caffeine had still been working its way through her system when she first reached for the recorder. But she had searched her office thoroughly. The device had not been there when she left and went to the promotions office to talk to Rylan. Which meant someone had found it and put it on her desk while she was gone.
“You could ask David to check the security cameras and see if anyone went into your office,” Kasey suggested.
Was it worth that sort of effort? Bree had her recorder back, which was the important thing, and she was too busy to take any more time out of her schedule. Besides, David Swanson, the security guard and handyman, was always running here, there and everywhere as he tried to meet the competing demands of his various employers.
Ignoring a tiny lingering doubt, Bree shrugged. “Too much to do.” She tried to make her next words sound casual. “And I don’t want to work late tonight.”
Chapter 2 (#u91ecdebd-38d6-5a69-9844-2e5006dda521)
Bree looked down at her empty plate with a contented sigh. After a three-course meal that would have graced the menu of the most elegant restaurants she’d visited, she regarded Rylan with newfound respect. “You are the only person I’ve met who has a signature dish that deserves the name. Where did you learn to cook?”
“I taught myself. I figured, as a single guy, I could live on takeout and microwave meals, or I could enjoy my food.”
As a single guy. The matter-of-fact statement intrigued her, made her want to ask him more questions. Why was he single? Why did he sound so sure he would stay that way?
Instead, she tilted her wine glass toward him. “The meal was a charming gesture. Thank you.”
A corner of his mouth turned upward. “I have a confession to make.”
Her heart began to beat a little faster. “You do?”
The smile deepened, quickly becoming irresistible. “I hoped you’d be charmed.”
This was where she should smile seductively. Maybe twirl her hair and bat her lashes. Even trail a finger down his bicep. The problem was, Bree didn’t do flirting. The only times she had attempted it she’d either knocked things over or came across about as sexy as a lost puppy. Since she really liked Rylan, she wasn’t going to scare him off by trying.
“Do you live in Roaring Springs?” She almost groaned out loud. Just because she didn’t flirt, did she have to turn the conversation around and make it sound like a job interview?
Rylan didn’t appear to notice. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his long legs in front of him. Although he had drunk one glass of wine at the start of the meal, he’d switched to water because he was driving. He took a sip before he spoke. “Not quite. I was born near Denver, but I joined the army when I was eighteen. When I got out, I went into business and traveled around a lot. But I always planned to settle down in Colorado, and—” He broke off abruptly, making her wonder what he’d been about to say. “I had an army buddy who talked about his home here in Roaring Springs. When I sold the business, I found a ranch a few miles west of here.”
“You’re a rancher in your spare time?” She raised her brows at him.
He laughed. “I’m a lot of things in my spare time.”
“I can see that.” She started to count on her fingers. “Soldier. Chef. Rancher. Art promoter.”
She wasn’t sure she could pinpoint exactly what it was that changed about his manner. It was as if her words made him watchful. “I’m new to the art world. As you can probably tell.”
Bree frowned, sensing that he was closing down a line of conversation that made him uncomfortable. Since she didn’t know him well enough to prod further, she was forced to let it go. However, the knowledge that he could be hiding something nagged at her. What bothered her even more was the idea that, after knowing him for less than a week, she cared that this man might be keeping secrets.
“You said you went into the army at eighteen.” She decided on a different approach. “Didn’t you come back to visit your family between then and now?”
He hunched a shoulder. “There was no one to visit. I’m an only child. My father died when I was twelve, and cancer took my mom just before I enlisted.”
Bree sensed a whole world of pain behind those words. Reaching across the table, she took his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He responded with a slight smile. “I’m thirty-four. Being on my own is what I do best.”
“Coming from such a large extended family, I can’t imagine how that would feel.”
Rylan looked around the spacious, elegantly furnished loft apartment. “I guess being a Colton has its advantages.” It was the same assumption many people made, but somehow it hurt more coming from him. As Bree made a movement to withdraw her hand, Rylan tightened his grip. “Hey.” His gaze scanned her face. “What did I say?”
Usually, she avoided explanations, but his opinion mattered. “Thanks to my mom’s tenacity, my dyslexia was diagnosed early. I went to a public school for pupils with learning disabilities, not a private school. Our parents wanted to keep us grounded, so they made sure Trey and I had chores on the farm. I grew up loved and cherished, but I was taught that working hard, not money, is the key to success.” She cleared her throat. “So when I wanted to pursue art as a career, my mom and dad were unsure if I was capable of meeting the academic demands of a college course. To show them what I could do, I paid my own way through art school with a series of side jobs.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I came into my inheritance on my twenty-fifth birthday. I’m now twenty-seven.” She waved a hand to indicate her surroundings. “The gallery, my business, my reputation, this apartment... You think I achieved all that in just over two years?”
“Bree, I’m sorry.” Rylan caught hold of her free hand, stopping it from fluttering. He held both her hands in a strong, warm clasp. “I jumped to an incorrect conclusion, and I’ve offended you.”
She exhaled slowly. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I overreacted. Sometimes the name Colton can be a burden.”
He bent his head, grazing the knuckles of her right hand lightly with his lips. The action sent pleasurable little bursts of heat shimmering along her nerve endings. “Tell me what you did.”
“Hmm?” She’d been too focused on the sensation of his mouth on her flesh to concentrate on the words.
“How did you build up your business before you came into your inheritance?”
“Oh?” Were they still on that topic? “Even in art school, I was selling my own work for really good prices. I used the proceeds to buy new pieces, and before long, I was getting great returns on my investments.”
He raised his brows in acknowledgment of her achievement and she allowed herself a little smile of pleasure.
“I was also making a name for myself in the art world, showcasing my own work and that of other African American artists. That was how Wise Gal was born. When it came to finding a site for the gallery, real estate in the Diamond was low in price with incentives for new businesses, so it was the obvious place.”
Rylan smiled. “Wise Gal? I figured it was a joke, but I can see it has a deeper meaning for you.”
Bree nodded, pleased at his understanding. “Growing up in a family of overachievers was hard. I didn’t make those childhood milestones on time and, as a consequence, felt like I was always running faster than my cousins just to keep up.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “While my family was worrying about me, I was always aware that being different is an important part of who I am. I don’t necessarily see my dyslexia as a gift, but I believe it is linked to my creativity. It may sound corny, but I feel my artistic vision is stronger than my ability to see characters on a page.”
The way Rylan was looking at her made her breath catch in her throat. “That’s a very inspiring way to view your condition.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you heard my language when I try to read without text-to-speech software,” she said. “But to return to your comment about the gallery name... Yes, it’s a play on words. I may not be a wise gal in the traditional sense, but the little Colton cousin who couldn’t speak in sentences until she was nearly five hasn’t done too badly.”
“I’d say you’ve done very well.” Rylan’s voice was deep and smooth, like cream poured over chocolate. It made her insides melt.
Conscious that she was gazing into his eyes and clutching his hands as if she might never let go, Bree roused herself from her trance. “Let’s take the dishes through to the kitchen, and I’ll load the machine.” Reluctantly, she stood. “The least I can do is take charge of the clean-up operation.”
She was smiling up at him as she got to her feet, but the smile faded when he rose with her. His nearness was a dangerous reminder of an attraction that could easily spin out of control. With only inches between them, desire rippled through her, driving the breath from her lungs. She saw an answering flare in the depths of Rylan’s eyes.
For an instant, his gaze hooked her and held her, refusing to let her go. Then he blinked, and the spell was broken.
“I’ll make coffee.” His voice was slightly husky. “Point me in the direction of your machine.”
“Follow me.” Bree carried their plates through to the open-plan kitchen. “I was out of coffee, but I got some from the store at lunch time.” She indicated a cabinet above the coffeemaker. “The new pack is in there.”
As she bent to open the dishwasher, she heard Rylan searching through the shelves. After a minute or two, he closed the door. “I can’t find the coffee.”
Bree straightened. “Are you one of those guys like my dad?” she teased. “If it doesn’t jump out at you the first time, you just give up?”
“Ahem.” He crooked a finger at her. “Come and find it for me, wise gal.”
Chuckling, Bree went to stand beside him. Since she knew exactly where she had placed the coffee, she suspected this was a ruse to get her close to him. If so, she was happy to play along.
Except...where was the coffee? She turned her head, frowning at Rylan over her shoulder. “It was right here.” She indicated the empty spot on the shelf where she had placed the new pack of coffee beans earlier that day.
“Hey.” He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “It’s not a problem. There’s an all-night convenience store on Second Street, right? I can just—”
“It’s not that.” She stopped biting her lip long enough to blurt out what was bothering her. “This has happened twice today.”
His grip tightened slightly. “You’ve already lost your coffee once before now?” Although the words were light, his gaze was intent.
“No.” Quickly, Bree told him about the incident with her recorder. She brought her hands up across her body to grip her forearms. “I think of my brain as a filing cabinet. Because I’m dyslexic, the drawers weren’t labeled properly when I was born. That means I have to be extra organized. If I’m not, I can file something in the wrong drawer and lose it forever. I don’t make mistakes like this.”
“You’re under a lot of pressure with a big show coming up,” Rylan reminded her.
She tilted her chin. “I accepted what happened with the recorder as a mistake on my part for just that reason. Maybe I mislaid it, and someone found it and returned it to my office. But this?” She gestured to the empty space in the cupboard. “I know I bought coffee, and I know I put it right there.”
“Does anyone else have a key to your apartment?” Rylan asked.
“Only my mother, but why would she come down here without telling me just to move my coffee?” The question struck her as so ridiculous that she had to bite back a laugh, even though she didn’t find the situation remotely amusing. Could she actually be losing her mind?
“I don’t want to alarm you, but this is classic stalking behavior.”
“Is it?” Bree wrinkled her brow. “How do you know that?”
There was a momentary pause before he answered. “I must have read it somewhere. The stalker moves, damages or hides the victim’s belongs. It unnerves her, making her think she’s imagining things. Has anything else been happening lately that could be linked to this?”
