expect. “After a few more days, I won’t be a stranger, will I?”
“Maybe not,” she murmured, then took another step back. “I have to make a grocery run and then prepare something for supper.”
“And I have a meeting,” he said, deciding if he was a financial consultant, he should meet with a client or two or three. After all, he now had boots to wear with a Western-cut jacket.
He motioned toward the stairs. “After you.”
Once they were both on the second floor again and the stairs had been raised into the ceiling, he said, “So...I’ll see you later. I have a few things I have to bring in from my SUV.” He headed off down the hall, grateful he’d found a way to exit.
Because he’d almost done exactly what he knew he shouldn’t. He’d almost kissed her.
* * *
Cassie was in the kitchen making a list of the groceries she’d need, trying not to think of her time with Nash in the attic. Just what had that been about? She’d felt such a pull toward him. He’d even seemed to understand her paintings. Unless that was an act...unless he was a player.
However, she didn’t think so. She wasn’t getting that vibe from him at all. Still, what did she know? It wasn’t as if she had dated very much.
Almost finished with her list, she heard Nash’s boots on the stairs. When he reached the first floor she glanced up and her heart beat in double time. He was wearing a Western-cut suit jacket, black dress jeans, white shirt and bolo tie. In his hands, he held his Stetson. He looked fantastic.
He turned toward her and smiled. “I thought you’d be out the door.”
Because she’d run away from him so fast? She waved to the list on the counter. “I need to make sure I have everything written down that I need so I don’t forget anything. Trips to the grocery store take too much time, and I don’t want to be running there more than I have to.”
“So you believe in efficiency? So do I.”
She must have still been staring at him because he asked with a grin, “Do I have shaving cream on my nose?”
She felt herself blushing. “No. Of course not. What restaurant are you going to?”
She definitely thought he was meeting someone for lunch. “I’m going to meet my client at his hotel and we’ll go from there. Do you have any suggestions?”
“There’s the Sundance Restaurant. Lots of business folk go there.”
“I’ll take that as a recommendation.”
“Is there anything special you’d like me to pick up at the grocery store, maybe for snacks?”
“Corn chips and salsa,” he responded with a wink.
“Mild or spicy?” she asked and then wondered if he thought that was a double entendre.
He must have because something sparked in his dark brown eyes. Something that made tingles dance on all her nerve endings.
“Definitely spicy,” he answered.
“Got it.” She definitely did. They were attracted to each other. Big-time.
He took his keys from his pocket and gave her a wave. “Have a good afternoon.”
She said goodbye but wasn’t sure he heard it because the door was already closing behind him.
She felt hot. How could a little conversation with a man make her feel hot? How could standing close to a man urge her to feel his kiss? How did looking at a man make her wish for so many things she couldn’t have?
It was simple, really. A man like Nash wouldn’t flirt with her at all if he knew her mother was in jail.
Nash sat in a chair at a computer in the library forgetting all sense of time and place. The text on the screen, as well as the notes he had made, caused a sinking sensation in his stomach. He actually felt sick. Research on Jerome Fortune or Gerald Robinson, however you wanted to look at it, was not a feel-good experience.
In a normal investigation, he could contact the Robinsons for more information. But because he was investigating Gerald’s wife, he couldn’t do that.
Nash thought about his mother again and her lack of bitterness against Gerald. She must have really loved the guy. She’d told Nash that Gerald was lonely and his wife was a witch. As far as Nash was concerned, it was that old “she doesn’t understand me” line. But if Charlotte Robinson was guilty of the crimes Nash suspected she was guilty of, maybe she really had been a witch...and still was.
Putting his notes aside, he stopped reading about the Robinsons in order to focus on photos. Gerald and Charlotte were in the paper constantly at charity fund-raisers, community events, when a new illegitimate child made the news. Nash didn’t want the spotlight turned on himself. He definitely didn’t intend to make the news.
He studied his father’s face, unsure of what he was looking for. Signs of recognition? Was he trying to see himself in his father’s face? He certainly hoped he couldn’t find his own. He’d rather think he inherited all of his mother’s attributes and physical features. But there was that hint of stubbornness in Gerald’s jaw that Nash knew he had to own up to also.
He continued to pore over photo after photo. More recent ones caught his attention. He found the Fortune name mentioned in conjunction with a Valentine’s Day party at the Mendoza Winery. Cassie had mentioned that winery and the fact she’d be doing a Paint and Sip party there.
If she taught her Paint and Sip class there, he could tag along or stop in incognito. It would be the perfect opportunity to nose around. Certainly, someone at the winery would remember the Valentine’s Day party and the people who had attended. He could just claim he was thinking about contacting the famous family to inquire if they needed his financial services. He had to keep his investigation moving forward. He didn’t have that much time in Austin.
Wanting to ditch the suit he’d worn to his pretend meeting, he stuffed the small spiral-bound notebook with thoughts and facts about the Fortunes into an inside pocket. Then he closed down the computer. To his surprise, the afternoon had passed into evening. Immersed in his research, wondering how he could really get the goods on Charlotte, he’d lost track of time.
Rush-hour traffic was heavy as he headed back to the B&B. He found himself eager to see Cassie. She was like a bright star floating in and out of his mind, even as he tried to concentrate on grittier things like the Fortunes.
Fortunately, he found a parking space near the B&B. As he walked up the street, he thought again about the Paint and Sip party. The more he thought about going along with Cassie, the more he liked the idea. He was passing the house next door to the B&B when he realized someone was sitting on the porch in a caned rocking chair. The woman looked to be in her late sixties. She waved to him in a friendly greeting.
“Nice night,” she called out. “But it’s getting a bit chilly.”
At the foot of the stairs to her porch, he stopped. “Yes, it is. Are you people-watching?” he asked with a smile.
“That’s mostly what I do now,” she said. “Especially in the evenings. I have a lot to watch with the B&B next door. I can see folks coming and going. I spotted you leaving earlier.”
This woman must not have much to take up her time, and maybe not enough people in her life, Nash surmised. He went up the porch steps and extended his hand to her. “Nash Tremont,” he said.
“I’m Renata Garcia.”
“I’m enjoying the bed-and-breakfast. It’s a nice atmosphere.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Don’t you just love the way Cassie painted