“Mr. Porter is interested in a church wedding. With the twins present, it’s difficult for us to carry on a discussion. Perhaps you could help him while I babysit?” Keeping her back toward the man in question, Sara silently begged her sister to intervene.
“I’m booked with consults all day, sorry. But Reese will be down in a few minutes. Apparently the agency is sending him a new nanny to replace the one who quit this morning. He’ll take the twins when he goes to meet her.” Katie leaned closer and whispered, “Is there some reason why you don’t want to handle Mr. Porter’s wedding?”
“Aside from the fact that I haven’t done one in two years?”
“You’ll do fine. Your weddings were always the most unique.”
Sara made a face. During her previous employment at Woodwards, her family had meddled with every wedding plan she’d organized—just like they interfered in everything else in her life.
Which was why she’d left.
Reese chose that moment to thunder down the stairs, calling to his sons. He stopped when he saw Cade. Sara introduced the two men.
“Congratulations. You have two creative artists in the making.” Cade showed him the pictures. “They’re horses,” he hinted as Reese tilted his head sideways.
“They’re fantastic horses.” Reese ruffled the boys’ hair. “Good job, guys.”
From his speculative look, Sara knew her brother was taking stock of their client. Reese had to notice the way his sons refused to release Cade’s pant leg even after the cowboy awarded a tie for first place, but her brother made no effort to free their client.
“Brady, Brett, let go of Mr. Porter.” Embarrassed, Sara tried to shift the chubby fingers, with no success. “I’m afraid they come by their stubbornness honestly,” she apologized. “Reese was just as determined when we were kids.”
“And so was I.” He grinned at Reese. “Could I invite you and your boys for a horse ride at my ranch—in the interest of adding perspective to their artistic endeavors? And because they both won first prize?”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Reese asked after shushing the boys’ begging pleas. “How long have you had with them? Obviously not long enough to recognize the devastation they bring.”
“I have a rough idea of their capabilities.” Cade winked at Sara. “There’s nothing they can wreck on the ranch.”
“I doubt your horses will think so after they leave.”
“Please, I’d love to have you bring them. Is Saturday okay?”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Cade scooped both boys in his arms for a goodbye hug. He thanked them for drawing him the pictures and promised to hang them up at home.
To the twins’ delight, Reese agreed they could visit the ranch on Saturday. Once a time was chosen, Reese hurried the kids out to his car, trying to hush their loud and prolonged goodbye calls to Cade.
“So, Sara, you’re now free to discuss Mr. Porter’s wedding.”
Sara struggled to smile, remembering the windows.
“Would it be okay if we talked at that coffee shop around the corner?” Cade asked. “I haven’t had my quota of java yet, and I wouldn’t mind something to eat. I think I’ll need my energy to make all these decisions you’re talking about.”
“It’s—”
“A wonderful idea!” Katie’s smile resembled that of an obsequious slave. “Take as long as you like, Sara. We want to do our best for Mr. Porter.”
“Please, call me Cade.”
Sara frowned at Katie. Earlier her sister had bawled her out for redoing the display mannequin’s makeup instead of attending to the massive files stacked behind the reception desk. Now suddenly Katie was all smiles and pleasantness at the prospect of having Sara leave the building?
Something was fishy.
“The desk will be unattended,” she reminded softly. “I could be gone a while.”
“I’ll find someone else.” Katie’s smile never wavered.
Cade cleared his throat. “If the arrangement isn’t to your liking, Ms.—”
“Her name is Sara. Sara Woodward.” Katie’s Cheshire cat smile widened.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sara,” Cade said softly, his smile charming. “But I repeat, if the arrangement isn’t to Sara’s liking…”
Nothing about her current circumstances was to Sara’s liking. Her “liking” would be to work with Gideon Glen—a special-effects genius whose work Sara had admired for years. Sara’s biggest “liking” would be for her family to accept her independence and stop trying to coax her back into the family business.
But she could hardly say that in front of a client. Instead Sara leaned forward, grasped her sister’s arm and excused herself.
“We’ll just be a moment, Mr. Porter.”
“It’s Cade.”
“Of course it is.” Sara dragged Katie around the corner.
“Sara!” Katie struggled to free her arm. “What are you doing?”
“Consulting. Katie, this guy doesn’t have the first clue about a wedding.” She kept her voice subdued through rigid control.
“You’ll figure it out. Work with him. And take your time,” Katie said sweetly. Too sweetly.
Warning bells chimed a second time, but all Sara could do was ignore their caution and follow her sister back into Woodwards’ reception area.
“Enjoy your coffee, you two.” Katie made it sound like a date.
Sara ached to refuse. But with Cade Porter watching—
You’re home to help, remember. So help.
“Mr. Porter, how do like your coffee?”
“Strong and black.” He flashed his smile and Sara’s knees softened.
Those blue irises are only colored contacts.
Her knees didn’t seem to care.
“Bye.” Katie waggled her fingers at them before picking up the phone.
Cade opened the big glass entry door. Sara walked through, wondering if she’d imagined the smug look on Katie’s face.
“Autumn’s such a refreshing season, isn’t it?” Mr. Porter grinned as he clapped a hand on his Stetson so the wind couldn’t take it.
“I guess.”
It was obvious from his deep breaths that he’d found the store confining and enjoyed the freedom of outside. Sara struggled to match her step to his. Not an easy feat wearing the needle-thin heels Katie insisted were the only appropriate footwear for a fashion-conscious house like Woodwards’. Her best effort was a mincing half jog.
When they finally arrived at the coffee shop, Sara collapsed into a chair and brushed the mass of damp tumbling curls off her face. Her look, reflected in the pastry case mirror across the room, was so not the image of a pulled-together career woman out for coffee with a client.
“Makeup artist, cure thyself,” she muttered, patting a napkin against her damp forehead.
“Excuse me?”
“Talking to myself. Often happens after a round with the twins.” Hiding facial flaws on others was Sara’s passion. Hiding her own was a losing battle, so she ignored her reflection. “Somehow those two little kids always leave me feeling like I need time to recoup. Happy but drained. The