High Country Hearts. Glynna Kaye
in his eyes had already dimmed.
“So where’s the paint, huh?” She looped her arm through his, feeling him flinch as her bare arm made contact with his rock-solid one.
“You want to paint?”
“Sure. What else do I have to do today?”
“Maybe see your family? Relax? That’s what vacations are for, right?”
She shrugged, not wanting to explain why she’d come back to Canyon Springs. He might not take it kindly that her plans included worming her way back into Singing Rock management. “There’s plenty of time to fulfill familial obligations.”
“Well, then—” He slipped out of her light grasp and stepped away, almost as if relieved to put some distance between them. “I have primer and paint back at the lodge. Rollers, brushes and drop cloths.”
Gazing happily at him, she winked. “So let’s get to it, Mr. McGuire.”
And knock off with the frowning.
“How’s it going up there in the Northland, Rob?” His mom’s words echoed through the cell phone as slivers of Wednesday morning’s dawn penetrated the thick stand of pines. Cloudless sky at the moment, but end-of-monsoon-season rains filled the forecast. “Is Canyon Springs everything Meg painted it to be?”
Settling himself on the lodge’s porch steps, he took a sip from his coffee, savoring the warmth on this chilly morning. Hard to believe overnight lows could be in the fifties this time of year. His little sister had made a big deal about the cool, more-than-a-mile-high-elevation summers in Canyon Springs. Sure beat baking under a desert sun.
“Haven’t really gotten out that much in the community, Mom. An errand here and there. But it’s beautiful country. And everyone seems friendly enough.”
Not too nosy.
He took another sip of coffee as his gaze took in the forest clearing—Paul and Rosa’s cabin, still dark at this early hour—and their youngest daughter’s silver coupe parked outside. While his sister sang the praises of small-town America, assuring him Canyon Springs was the cure for whatever ailed you, she’d failed to mention her husband’s attractive, vivacious cousin in that portrait of the community she’d wooed him with.
He’d done his best to keep as far from Olivia as he could while priming the damaged cabin walls yesterday morning. But over and over she’d invaded his personal space, standing too close, brushing against his arm. Talking, smiling, laughing the whole time—and dragging him in on it—totally oblivious of the fact he’d rather be left alone.
“Do you see Meg often?” His mother’s voice drew him back to the present, away from memories of the sunny animation that characterized Olivia Diaz.
“Like I’ve said before, she’s teaching and it’s hard for me to get away from here. But she and Davy brought me dinner Monday night when Joe was out working his shift, and we enjoyed catching up. She’s sure loving that stepson of hers. And she glows when she talks about her job and Joe.”
“Good. But I hope her feelings about the town haven’t given you unrealistic expectations. She tends to see it through rose-colored glasses.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. You know me, my feet are planted firmly on the ground.”
She didn’t immediately reply and the silence stretched.
“What?” he pressed, not certain he wanted to hear what she had on her mind.
“Little towns talk.”
He took a deep breath and set the mug on the porch. “I know.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt, honey.”
“I don’t want that, either. But Vegas, Phoenix—any big city—they’re out of the question now.”
“You’re still having trouble dealing with what happened.”
No point in denying it.
“Try having a gun put to your head and see how you’d be doing.” He forced a chuckle, hoping to allay his mother’s concern. But he squeezed his eyes shut as the muscles in his stomach tightened and he broke out in a light sweat. Just as he did each time he relived the cold steel pressed against his temple—remembered what he’d come so close to losing. “But I like the job. I like what I’ve seen of the town. My employers are putting their faith in me and I intend to deliver.”
He heard a disturbance in the background at the other end of the line. A familiar, plaintive, high-pitched voice. Then his mother’s reassuring murmurs. Her laugh.
“There’s someone here who wants to talk to you, Rob.”
“Put her on.” His spirits rose in anticipation.
More commotion. The sound of the phone being dropped. Recovered. Then a heavy breathiness coming through the receiver, pulsing warmly across the miles.
“Is that you, Angie?” he teased, his heart warming. He lived for these phone calls. “What are you doing up so early, pumpkin?”
A giggle tickled his ears.
“Daddy!”
Chapter Four
No doubt about it, Rob was trying to avoid her.
When they’d finished painting at Bristlecone yesterday, he turned down her invitation for a jaunt to Camilla’s Café for lunch. Looking uncomfortable, he’d hustled off, claiming he had an important phone call to make. She hadn’t seen him the rest of the day. In fact, not until a short while ago when he settled himself on the steps of the lodge’s front porch.
Peeking from behind a lacy curtain at her folks’ house, she’d watched as he pulled out his cell phone and dived into a conversation as he savored his morning coffee. The chat appeared to start out light, then got serious. But by the time it wrapped up, he seemed in a good mood. Smiling. Laughing. Even with the window open, she couldn’t hear specific words from across the clearing. He kept his voice low. But she could hear his teasing tones. The laugh.
A business call? Not likely. Unless girlfriend business.
Which would explain a lot of things. Like why, although he apologized about his earlier brusque behavior, he still hadn’t encouraged anything but conversational superficialities. Certainly no “remember when” stuff. He’d remained pretty much Mr. Sobersides. Still seemed on edge even when they’d gotten that Gretchen issue out of the way. He’d laughed about that. Seemed to loosen up. Then shut down again.
Maybe his girlfriend was the jealous type, whose ire he didn’t want to raise by mentioning an old college acquaintance—a female one at that. A clingy, suspicious woman didn’t deserve a man like Rob. Two-timing wasn’t in his vocabulary. Squeaky-clean. Principled. High standards both for himself and others. If you couldn’t trust a guy like that, who could you trust? If his lady friend had reservations about the very foundation that made up Rob McGuire, she didn’t stand a chance of hanging on to him for long.
Which meant he might soon be in the market for a new one?
When he shut off his cell and reentered the lodge, Olivia dashed off to don a sweatshirt, then rushed across the clearing. Her timing coincided with him coming out again and heading to the Jeep. He certainly looked more than fine this morning in that blue chambray shirt, jeans and work boots.
She stopped not far from him, slipping her hands into her back pockets. “Hey, Rob.”
“You’re an early bird.” His low voice rumbled, as if not yet quite awake.
“Ready for Timberline, how about you?”
From the uncertainty flickering through his eyes, he’d obviously hoped he could slip off without being seen. “Plenty to do out there. But you know what would help me most?”
She shook