A Maverick To (Re)Marry. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
happened in the past, that was then. We need to get over it.”
“I know that, Amy.” He regarded her solemnly.
“We have a job to do, Derek.” Did she sound whiny? Well, why shouldn’t she? She certainly felt whiny. “People we care about are counting on us.”
“You’re right.” He took a step closer and spoke in a rough whisper. “You want the truth from me?”
Did she? Really? She wasn’t sure. But she had too much pride to back down now. “Yes, I do. Tell me the truth, Derek Dalton.”
“I didn’t call all week because I kept thinking of the past, you know? Of you and me and everything that went down. I didn’t trust myself to call you. After everything we were to each other once, I felt like I was going to end up blowing it, saying something way out of line to you. I don’t want to do that. And so, I put off calling you.”
That hurt. On a lot of levels. But the truth was like that sometimes. “It’s not that easy for me, either,” she confessed in a small voice.
He stood there in the fading light of day, just looking at her with those green eyes she still sometimes saw in her dreams. “Amy?”
“Yeah?”
“You mind if I come up there on the porch with you?”
By way of an answer, she scooted over and patted the empty space beside her. He came up the steps, hooked his hat on the finial at the end of the porch rail and plunked down next to her. She got a whiff of his scent—soap and clean skin. All manly and fresh and much too well-remembered.
“I...go back and forth,” she said.
He frowned. “About?”
She refused to let her gaze waver. “What to say to you. I mean, we did kind of leave it hanging, didn’t we?”
His eyes had shadows in them now. “You sent me the papers and I signed them. Nothing left hanging about that.”
“Derek, you told me to go.”
“You wanted to go.”
She shut her eyes and turned away. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this. I mean, what’s the point, really?”
There was a silence, one full of all the things she wasn’t sure how to say—didn’t really believe she even should say.
Finally, he spoke. “How ’bout this?” His voice was gentle now. Coaxing. “Let’s start with the picnic.”
“There’s a picnic?” She faced him again. “What picnic?”
“Well, when I called, you didn’t seem happy about my breaking our non-date.”
“I wasn’t happy. Not in the least.”
“So, I figured I needed a backup plan. I decided if you wouldn’t come out to the Manor with me now, I would put on my pitiful face and say, ‘Then how ’bout a picnic, Amy?’ Because it just so happens I have one all ready to go in the truck.” He looked at her hopefully.
“Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
She waved a hand in a circle around his face. “Is that your pitiful face?”
He chuckled. “It depends. Is it working?”
She was not going to smile at him. He didn’t deserve it. Not yet, anyway. “Hmm. Depends on what’s in the picnic.”
“You’ll be relieved to know I stopped by the main house for the food. I have my mom’s fried chicken and biscuits all fancy in a basket. I even brought a big blanket to sit on.”
“All of a sudden, I’m starving.”
“And there’s apple pie, too.”
She kind of wanted to hold out against him, leave him hanging at least a bit longer. But then her stomach betrayed her with a hungry little growl. His grin said he heard it. At that point, what could she do but give in? “All right. A picnic, then—but I think we’ll need to eat inside.” She stared out at the darkening sky. “It’s almost nighttime. I’m not sure I want to stumble around in the dark looking for somewhere to spread a picnic blanket.”
He leaned closer. “Go in and get a sweater. It’s getting chilly out.”
“But—”
“Shh.” His warm breath tickled her ear. “It just so happens I also brought a lantern.”
* * *
Two hours later, they sat under the stars with the lantern turned down low providing a soft circle of light to push back the shadows.
By then, they’d agreed on the games for the party: a modified version of The Newlywed Game, which they’d dubbed “The Nearly Newlywed Game.” Also, they planned a scavenger hunt and some random betting and gambling games in a Western-themed, mini-casino setup. They’d made lists of all the things they would need to buy and assemble for each activity, and he’d been fine with her ideas for the decorations.
Tomorrow, she would shop online, making sure to get expedited shipping. Monday, she would drive to Kalispell and try to buy what she hadn’t found online. Monday evening, they would meet again and decide how to find or make whatever items they still needed.
Amy grabbed the sweater she’d brought from the house and stuck her arms in the sleeves for warmth against the nighttime chill. “We should probably talk about the cost of all this.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll pay you back for anything you have to buy.”
“Derek, come on. It’s a lot more than the decorations and games. I totally intend to pay for that stuff myself. But there’s still food and drinks. And what about the venue and the music?”
“It’s covered,” he said.
“Covered?” She couldn’t help scoffing. “All of it?”
He shrugged. “I told you that Nate Crawford offered the Manor. And he offered it at a deep discount, believe me. Just about everyone in town will be there and that’s good PR for the Manor. There’ll be plenty of finger food. As for alcohol, Hudson is footing the bill for the champagne and soft drinks.” Hudson Jones, a very wealthy man, was Bella Stockton’s husband. “I promise I’m good for whatever the final bill amounts to.” And then he laughed. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not the same broke-ass cowboy you used to know.”
“I’m not worried. Really.”
“Oh, yeah, you are. But you don’t need to be. I’m doing all right. You remember Collin Traub?”
“Of course.” Collin had been in their graduating class. “Eva told me that Collin married Willa Christensen.” Willa was younger. She’d graduated a few years after them. “Eva also mentioned that Collin’s the mayor now. But what has Collin Traub got to do with how we plan to split up the cost of the bachelor party?”
“Collin’s uncle Casper had a saddle-making business, which Collin inherited when Casper passed on. I hooked up with Collin a while back. Besides working the family ranch, I make saddles and a variety of fine leather goods. I’ve kind of built a name for myself—and earned some good money, too.”
Leatherwork. He’d always had a talent for that. He used to make pretty beaded leather jewelry for her. And for her eighteenth birthday, he’d made her a leather vest and a fringed skirt. She’d loved them and worn them proudly. Still had them, too, tucked in the back of her closet.
Because she never could quite bear to get rid of them.
“We have a shop on Sawmill Street, at North Broomtail Road,” he said.
“CT Saddles, right?”
“That’s it.”
“I