“And about this moving forward... Would it have something to do with Max St. Cloud staying here?” Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Brandee exchanged a glance with Emily, who offered her a mimosa.
Natalie made notes in her sketchbook, not that she needed to, but it was easier than meeting their eyes.
“Why would you say that? He’s just a boarder, staying here while helping the town.” Natalie worked to keep the heat from rising to her cheeks.
Brandee snorted halfway through a sip of her mimosa. “Seriously? I saw you two out front playing with the kids and when you walked past each other in the hall on our way in here. The two of you all but launch electric static snapping through the air when you’re in the same room.” She turned to Emily. “Am I wrong?”
Emily refilled her crystal flute. “Just the looks you two exchange damn near singe my hair.”
Natalie conceded the obvious, making her way to the sewing machine. “He’s an attractive man, Emily.” Arranging the material, she began to work, hoping the sound of the machine would disrupt this conversation.
“And you’re an attractive woman.” She swept both hands through the air to form Natalie’s shape.
Clutching satin, Natalie sagged back from her sewing machine. “I’m a tired, overworked mom.”
“Hmm...” Brandee clapped her hands together. “Maybe you need a spa day.”
Natalie’s spine stiffened defensively. “I’m not going to launch some Cinderella-vamp makeover to snag a man.”
Tut-tutting, Brandee shook her head. “No argument. I’m going to schedule it for next week. This is for you. Just for you. You deserve it.”
Emily smiled knowingly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you already snagged his attention.”
Natalie shot to her feet. “I’m going to get us more pastries and something to drink without alcohol.”
With quick steps, she made her way to the kitchen, popped open the largest cabinet and extracted an ornate crystal pitcher—her great-grandmother’s. Absently, she tossed the already-sliced lemons from the fridge into the pitcher, filled the bulk of the container with ice cubes and added water. As the impact of water caused the ice-cube cluster to melt and disperse, she heard a steady, almost undetectable sound.
The pitter patter of a slight drip. The sink was leaking ever so slightly. Another thing to fix—after she finished this gown session, of course.
As Natalie began to make her way back to the craft room, the scene from outside the oversize window arrested her gaze.
Max.
But not just Max. He sat at the pink-and-white Little Tikes picnic table across from Lexie. Her chatterbox daughter was serving him imaginary tea, and had just extended a feather boa to Max, who good-naturedly rested the bright purple boa on his shoulders.
As Natalie clutched the water pitcher, she swallowed.
Trouble.
Maybe that spa day wasn’t what she needed. Maybe instead she needed the frumpiest burlap sack and chastity belt money could buy.
* * *
For the past three days, Max had been holed up at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The beginnings of investigations were always the same. A blur of faces, words, files. For Max, the initial phase of the investigation was at once the most frustrating and most fascinating.
All the contingent possibilities took shape before him—the various paths seemed to reveal themselves as he met with the key town players.
Max had to continue to watch how the men postured, wait for nuggets of information to be dispensed. Analyze. Repeat several more times until something like a lead developed.
After a long Wednesday of scanning through the files of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, his eyes demanded some rest, craved home.
He corrected himself. He craved his makeshift bed in his transitory space—the theme of his life. Home was never locatable, and this dusty town was not home, either.
Max barely registered the drive back to the Cimarron Rose. Flashes of leaves turning from bright green to yellow and the lack of cars on the road both gave Max a feeling of timelessness. Ironic, considering everything except for this car ride had turned his world on its head. Max’s time at the bed-and-breakfast had been a surprise, to say the least. Not just because of a certain auburn-haired bombshell with sweet, sad eyes that melted his soul. But he’d been surprised how drawn he was to two of the cutest rapscallions on the planet as they rode their tricycles and played ball. Max usually avoided interactions with children, but now it seemed he was living under the same roof as two of them. He should be irritated. Or avoiding them.
Not having freaking tea parties, for God’s sake. He laughed to himself, recalling the way Lexie had sidled up to him, her invitation to have a cup of tea was the most earnest request he’d ever heard.
Just like that, two-year-old Lexie—who had inherited her mother’s eyes—had him, a big, bad billionaire, eating out of her hand in no time. He’d even worn a boa at her tea party, much to Lexie’s delight.
It seemed, though, that four-year-old Colby would be a tougher nut to crack. Could a kid that age be brooding? This one was. How much was the autism and how much was the boy’s personality? Max wasn’t sure, but he definitely had felt an instant kinship with the boy, who appeared to be a tech geek in the making with his video games and his aptitude at the computer.
But the kinship went deeper. Though their experiences were inherently different, Max knew what it was like to always be positioned on the outside of “normal” routines. As he made his way to the door, he found himself wondering what he could do for Colby. He would figure something out, a way to connect with the kid.
Now, though, he was having a harder time processing his reaction to Natalie, and the instant twinge of arousal that kicked through him every time she entered the room. Hell, even when she was bent over her sewing machine working on a new design for a wedding dress. So Max had decided to give himself a breather by spending some time working on the case these past three days.
But for now, there was no avoiding the need to go back to his room to compile his latest round of interviews and some data he’d gleaned from the Texas Cattleman’s Club’s files.
As he pulled into the parking lot, he noted the stillness of the air, the lack of guests. So many of the guests who had been there over the weekend had checked out, leaving him largely alone in this place.
As he was turning the doorknob, a scream assaulted his ears. Heart hammering, ratcheting into overtime, he dropped his things at the front door, his body posed to launch in the direction of the distress.
Worry coiled around bones, and an unsettling image of Natalie cornered in the kitchen seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of his mind.
But then another sound.
A squeal of wicked laughter. And another. Suddenly, the bed-and-breakfast was filled with the sound of hysterical laughter, emanating from multiple people. Heart steadying and curiosity rising, he followed the sounds.
His inner investigator egged him on.
The squeals and peals of laughter intensified as he neared the bright kitchen.
Nothing could have prepared Max for the sight in the kitchen. Water pooled everywhere on the tile, and more water continued to bubble from underneath the sink, creating a kind of indoor, shallow water park. Lexie theatrically splashed around, combining water stomping with something that looked like ballet. Her laughter and antics even incited the ever-reserved Colby to motion. Miss Molly ran circles around them, barking and wagging her tail in a golden fan.
Natalie’s rich laughter warmed the kitchen, made the disaster seem less like a crisis and more whimsical. Water soaked her shirt and her loose hair dripped, clinging to her.