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Not too much later, dressed in a short denim skirt and a soft plaid shirt, she was on her way to Kalispell. At the first drugstore she came to, she bought a root beer and the hormone pill she needed. She took the pill the moment she got back behind the wheel, sipping the root beer slowly as she drove back to town.
That taken care of, she helped Claire in the kitchen for a while and then went upstairs to check email and dig into some projects she’d acquired through her website. Last Friday, when she’d agreed to ride the Gazette float, she’d told Dawson Landry, the paper’s editor and publisher, that she was looking for design work. Dawson had said that if she came by, he would put her to work. She’d said she would, on Tuesday.
Well, it was Tuesday. And follow-through mattered.
So once she’d made sure she was on top of her other projects, she called Dawson. He said to come on over.
At the Gazette, she spent a couple of hours punching up the layout for the next edition. Once she got absorbed in the work, she was glad she’d come. It helped to keep busy.
As for Carson, well, whatever they’d done last night, it wouldn’t be happening again. Last night was clear proof that she should have followed her first instinct when it came to him, should have stayed at the boardinghouse and out of his way.
She wouldn’t be seeing him anymore. She would get past her own stupid choices yet again. Everybody made mistakes and life went on.
And if Homer Gilmore knew what was good for him, he’d keep the hell away from her for the next hundred years.
* * *
Carson didn’t notice the sketchbook until late that afternoon.
He’d driven into Kalispell, too. He’d had a late breakfast at a diner he found. And then he’d wandered around the downtown area, checking things out, seeing what the larger town had to offer.
Was he hoping he might run into Tessa?
A little. Maybe.
But it didn’t happen.
It was so strange, the way he felt about her. He missed her. A lot. He’d met her less than twenty-four hour ago, yet somehow he felt as though he knew her. She had a kind of glow about her, an energy and warmth. Already he missed that glow.
His world was dimmer, less vibrant, without her.
As he drove back toward Rust Creek Falls, he realized that he hadn’t felt this way about a woman in years. Not since he was fifteen and fell head over heels for Marianne.
He wished he could remember making love with Tessa. Somehow, even though he couldn’t remember what they’d done late in the night, the clean, sweet scent of her skin and the lush texture of her hair were imprinted on his brain.
At the Manor, he spent a couple of hours catching up with email and messages. He got on the phone to a number of employees and associates in Southern California. When asked how the moonshine project was going, he said that it had fallen through.
He didn’t, however, mention flying back to LA, though he might as well pack up and go. There was no reason to stay. So far, though, he’d failed to start filling suitcases. Nor had he alerted the pilot on standby in Kalispell to file a flight plan and get his plane ready to go.
At a little after four, Carson dropped to the sofa in the suite’s sitting room and reached for the TV remote on the coffee table in front of him.
He noticed the two dozen colored pencils and bright, fat, chalklike pastels first. For several seconds, he frowned at them, wondering where they might have come from. Then he saw the sketchbook. The maids had been in and placed it just so on top of the complimentary stack of magazines.
Tessa. The sketchbook must be hers. But he didn’t remember her carrying any art supplies with her yesterday. Where had the pad, the pencils and the pastels come from?
He had no idea. It was yet another lost piece of last night. Curious and way too eager to see what might be inside, he grabbed the sketch pad and started thumbing through it.
Instantly, at the first drawing of a series of different-shaped jars and bottles, he was impressed. Each design was unique. The jars were mason-style, the kind with raised lettering manufactured into the glass. Each one made him feel that he could reach out and grab it, that he could trace the pretty curves of the lettering with the pad of a finger. She had great skill with light and shadow, so the bottles almost seemed to have dimension, to be smooth and rounded, made of real glass.
Carson got that shiver—the one that happened whenever he had a really good idea.
These drawings of Tessa’s gave him ideas.
She gave him ideas. Because beyond being gorgeous and original, with all that wild, dark hair and a husky laugh he couldn’t get out of his head, Tessa Strickland had real talent. He slowly turned the pages, loving what he saw.
She knew how to communicate a concept; her execution was brilliant. Unfortunately, now that a deal with Homer was off the table, he wouldn’t be able to use what she’d come up with here.
But you never knew. Homer Gilmore didn’t have the moonshine market cornered. If Drake Distilleries developed their own, less dangerous brand of ’shine, the Blue Muse and Peach Lightning flavors might well have a future, after all.
And even if he gave up on making moonshine completely, Drake Distilleries could benefit from a talent like Tessa’s. And so could his restaurants and nightclubs. Targeted, carefully executed advertising and effective promotion were a lot of what made everything he put his name on successful. Adding Tessa to the firm that promoted his brand could work for him in a big way.
And for her, too. Before last night faded into oblivion, they had talked about her career, about where she might be going with it. He’d said she should go big. Now that he’d seen her work, he knew he’d been right. If he could make her a tempting enough offer, maybe he could convince her to come to LA, after all.
All at once he felt vindicated. He hadn’t told his people he was returning to Southern California because he wasn’t. Not yet.
Not until he’d convinced Tessa Strickland to move to LA, where he could help her have the kind of successful design career she so richly deserved. He knew he could give her a big boost professionally.
And if it went somewhere personal, too, he would be more than fine with that.
* * *
First thing the next morning, Carson called Jason Velasco, his contact at Interactive Marketing International in Century City. He was about to explain that he’d found a brilliant graphic designer and he was hoping she might be a fit for IMI. He planned to tell Jason that he wanted Tessa working on the various ad campaigns that IMI developed for both Drake Distilleries and Drake Hospitality, which was the mother company for Carson’s clubs and restaurants.
But then he caught himself.
True, Jason knew where his bread was buttered. If Carson wanted Tessa working at IMI, Jason would damn well do all in his power to make that happen.
But how would Tessa react to Carson’s setting her up for an interview without consulting her first?
Quite possibly not well.
Given that she’d walked away from him yesterday without a backward glance, he really couldn’t afford to take the chance of pissing her off in any way.
And Jason was still waiting on the line, probably wondering if he’d hung up. Carson said lamely, “Hey! Just thought I’d call and check in, see how we’re doing with the new campaign.” Drake Distilleries was preparing to launch a series of flavored brandy-based liqueurs.
Jason gave him a quick rundown. Then he asked, “So you’re still in the wilds of Montana on that supersecret new acquisition of yours?”
“Still in Montana, yes. And the project did start out as a secret. But this is a small town, and it’s hard to keep a secret around here.” He explained about Homer’s moonshine, and how he’d thought it might work for Drake Distilleries. “But it was a long shot and it didn’t pan out. The downstroke is it’s a no go.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Can’t win ’em all.”
“So you’ll be on your way back now?”
“Not yet. I have a few more things I need to look into here first.” Things like how to convince a certain adorable brunette that California is the place for her.
“But we’ll see you on the twentieth?” On the twentieth, Jason and his team would be presenting the game plan for the liqueur campaign. It was an important meeting. In fact, Carson had more than one meeting he couldn’t miss during that week. He would have to return to LA by then.
That gave him two and a half weeks to get through to Tessa. Ordinarily he had limitless confidence in his powers of persuasion. Not so much in this case.
“Carson? You still with me?”
“Right here. And of course I’ll be there on the twentieth.”
Once he hung up with Jason, Carson called Strickland’s Boarding House. Tessa’s sister Claire answered, politely identifying herself. He almost told her who he was. But then he remembered the look on Tessa’s face when she’d left him the morning before. If Tessa knew he was calling, would she even come to the phone?
He decided to take no chances. “I’d like to speak with Tessa Strickland.”
“Hold on.”
A moment later, she came on the line. “This is Tessa.”
Just the sound of her voice made his chest feel tight. He wanted to see her, wanted it a lot. “You probably won’t believe this, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
A silence. Not a welcoming one. “Hello, Carson.”
“I was thinking maybe lunch. We could drive over to—”
“Carson, I don’t think so.”
He lowered his head and stared at his boots. “It’s just lunch.”
She spoke again, her voice almost a whisper. “Please don’t worry. I went to Kalispell yesterday and took care of it.”
“It?” And then he caught on. He swore low. “Come on, Tessa. Don’t. I’m not calling about the damn morning-after pill.”
A silence on her end. A long, gruesome one. Then finally, “It’s just...not a good time for me to get anything started, you know?”
“Fine.” Though it wasn’t. Not fine in the least. “This isn’t a personal call, anyway.” That was only half a lie. He wanted to get close to her, absolutely. But he also wanted to help her have the career she deserved. “Did you know you left sketches in my suite?”
“Yeah. I saw the sketch pad on the coffee table and looked through it. I don’t remember how or when it happened, but apparently we plotted out a moonshine campaign.” She paused, then, “Wait a minute. You’re going ahead with the moonshine thing after all?” Now she sounded surprised—and not in a good away.
“No.”
She sighed. “Glad to hear it. You had me worried there for a minute.”
“This isn’t about the moonshine. It’s about you, about your future. Those sketches are amazing. I want you to think about—”
“Carson.”
He stared at his boots some more and knew he was getting nowhere. Feeling desperate and pitiful—emotions with which he’d never been the least familiar—he took one more stab at getting through to her. “You have so much talent. I only want to—”
“No, thank you,” she said softly, with utter finality. “I have to go now. Goodbye.”
Chapter Five (#ulink_9694338f-e8cd-5868-aca6-a089eebacc47)
Tessa hung up the phone and hated herself.
She wanted to see Carson so much she could taste it, like a burning sensation on her tongue. She’d hurt him, blowing him off like that. She didn’t want to hurt him.
She just...
She needed to keep her head about her, needed to remember that getting swept off her feet by a killer-handsome, charismatic rich guy didn’t work for her.
Been there, done that. Not going there again.
She wanted real now—a down-to-earth life in this beautiful little town full of people she cared about. And if she couldn’t make that happen here, she would come up with a workable compromise, one wherein she could build a satisfying career and still visit Rust Creek Falls at least a few times a year. Eventually, once she figured out how to make the life she wanted for herself, she might even start looking for a guy who wanted the same things she did.
Carson Drake was not that guy. And it really was for the best that she’d told him goodbye.
* * *
At first, after Tessa hung up on him, Carson was seriously pissed off. He spent half the day on the phone, keeping up with things in LA, asking himself constantly why he hadn’t packed his bags and called his pilot.
That evening, he went downstairs to the hotel bar for a drink and ran into Nate Crawford, the owner of Maverick Manor. Nate said his wife, Callie, was working late at the medical clinic. “And I’ve been here at the hotel all day. How about a change of scenery? Follow me into town. We’ll grab a beer at the Ace in the Hole.” The no-frills saloon was the only bar inside the town limits.
At the Ace in the Hole, Carson had a longneck, played a little pool and talked business with Nate, who was always promoting investment opportunities in Rust Creek Falls. Nate wanted him to meet with some guy named Walker Jones who owned a number of day care centers all over the western states and was apparently on track to open a new day care in town—to cope with the recent baby boom, Carson assumed. Nate said Walker Jones might be willing to take on a silent partner or two.
“I’m in liquor and hospitality,” Carson reminded the other man. “I know nothing about child care centers.”
Nate shrugged. “Why not just meet with the guy? He’ll be in town in a couple of weeks.”
Carson should have said that he would be long gone by then. But he didn’t.
Because he was going nowhere—not until he absolutely had to. Not until he’d found a way to get Tessa to spend a little more time with him, not until he’d gotten his chance to make her see that LA was the right move for her. He really had a thing for her. And he just couldn’t walk away from that. Not until he was certain that it was never going anywhere.
Yeah, it didn’t make a lot of sense. He’d spent the last decade carefully avoiding anything remotely resembling an actual relationship with a woman and he’d planned on keeping it that way.
But then there was Tessa. Just the sight of her in her silly stork costume, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than on that float holding Kayla’s baby...
One look at her and he’d known his plans were about to change.
He said, “I have meetings I can’t miss in LA the week of the twentieth. But if your guy is here before then, sure. Let’s have a drink at the Manor Bar, the three of us.”
Nate set down his beer. “I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, I’ve been meaning to ask...”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happened with Homer Gilmore and that moonshine project of yours? You ever get him to meet with you?”
“I spoke with him briefly Monday night at the picnic.”
Nate chuckled. “That Homer. One of a kind. And judging by the look on your face, the moonshine project is on hold?”
“You could say that.”
“Don’t want to talk about it, huh?”
