Can't Fight This Feeling. Christie Ridgway
home in Phoenix as soon as possible.
Which meant Angelica needed a new place to live and another job to pay for it. Other rentals in the mountains were more expensive.
The village of Blue Arrow Lake was composed of fancy boutiques and lovely restaurants, but she’d struck out finding work in any of them. It was an in-between time. Not the summer when people came up to play in the sunshine and not the winter when they came for the snow. Still, as she walked to her car parked on a side street, the buttery color of the fall sunshine was buoying. The air smelled clean with just a touch of nuttiness from the drying leaves and grasses. The cool nip to the air was bracing.
As if to reward her rising mood, she saw a help-wanted sign posted in the window of a small building. Over the door was another that read Maids by Mac.
While she didn’t have retail experience and had never worked in a restaurant, she’d gone ahead and asked about jobs anyway. It seemed she might have a better shot at a business that was actually advertising for workers. And perhaps cleaning wasn’t something that required a wealth of prior professional experience.
Of course working as a maid might not be a coveted career choice, but Angelica was desperate enough to squelch any hesitation and hurry for the door. The knob turned and it swung soundlessly, allowing her to enter a small office space. Behind a counter was a desk with a computer and phone. A filing cabinet sat in one corner. A half-open closet door revealed shelves neatly stocked with cleaning supplies. No one was in the space, but another door was open at the rear that revealed a tiny courtyard. There she saw the back of a woman as well as a bistro table on which two coffees were set. The woman was talking to someone, but Angelica could only see a pair of long legs in jeans from where she stood.
Unsure whether to call out or just wait to be noticed, Angelica hesitated. The slender woman had hair as dark as her own, though shoulder length. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a thin, slouchy sweater in pale blue.
“You seem more grouchy than usual,” the woman was telling the other person in the courtyard. “What’s up?”
The human attached to the legs—a man—grunted in reply.
Maybe the woman sensed Angelica then because she suddenly looked around. “Oh!” She had eyes the same icy blue as her sweater. “There’s someone here. Just a minute,” she called out. Then to the grouchy man, “Don’t go anywhere, honey.”
And it was a familiar voice that responded. “Not moving. I have to make some calls.” Brett Walker’s voice.
Brett Walker here! Several days had passed since their contact in the hardware store and she wasn’t thrilled to run into him again. But Angelica couldn’t exactly retreat, now that the woman was coming toward her, wearing a welcoming expression.
Wait, Angelica thought, her stomach starting to jitter. The brunette had called Brett “honey,” and he wasn’t the kind of man to whom you threw out casual endearments. Could it be...was it possible... Might this woman be Brett’s wife?
She felt a flush climb up her throat. What if all this time she’d been mooning over a married man? Maybe every night he’d gone home to this pretty woman with her warm smile and arresting eyes and laughed about Angelica’s obvious crush.
“Can I help you?”
Her gaze shifted to the woman’s left ring finger. No wedding band. She knew Brett didn’t wear one either, but if these two worked with their hands it was conceivable they left their rings at home. She should have pumped Glory for information on the landscaper. Oh, why hadn’t she pumped Glory?
“Miss?” the woman prompted again, her smile fading to a puzzled expression.
Embarrassment coursed through Angelica once more. She had to think up some excuse! With Brett—unmarried or not—nearby, she didn’t want to beg for a job application. It would be mortifying for him to find out she was nearly broke. He didn’t have a high opinion of her as it was, so she didn’t want to add the term wastrel to the list of labels he applied to her.
Her gaze jumped around the room and landed on a plaque hanging on the wall. She gestured toward it. “I’m visiting the local businesses that are part of the Mountain Historical Society,” she said, improvising like mad. Though she actually was a volunteer for the group, so it wasn’t such a stretch, she decided. “I wanted to thank you in person for your past support and give you a report on the overwhelming success of our recent auction.”
The woman came closer. “Say it again?”
Angelica realized she’d been almost whispering. Hoping like heck that Brett was preoccupied with his phone calls, she cleared her throat and drifted nearer the counter. “The Mountain Historical Society auction we held at the end of the summer. I was part of the committee that put it on.”
“Oh.” The other woman blinked. “Are you from around here? I thought I knew just about everyone.”
“I’m a relative newcomer.” She stuck out her hand—what else could she do? “Angelica Rodriguez.”
“Mackenzie Walker.” Her grasp was firm. “But everybody calls me Mac.”
Mac Walker. “Nice to meet you.”
“So how’d you get involved with the historical society?” Her assessing gaze took in Angelica’s black jeans, black boots and the black-and-white sweater she was wearing that had white chiffon cuffs and a matching chiffon underlay that peeked out below the hemline. “It’s not something I’d guess a newcomer would join.”
Glancing toward the courtyard, Angelica saw the legs hadn’t moved and she could hear Brett murmuring, presumably into his phone. “It was my friend Glory Hallett,” she said. “She knew I had some experience putting together fund-raisers and she invited me to serve on the committee with her.”
“Now Glory I know,” Mac said. “And I remember hearing about the big party that accompanied the auction—at one of the fancy mountain lodges, right? I think my sister and her fiancé attended.”
“It was a wonderful event at the Aspen & Oak Lodge. Dinner, dancing and then the silent auction. We had many beautiful and valuable things to offer, thanks to Walter Elliott. When he passed away, he left the historical society the contents of his mountain home.”
At the mention of the name, Mac stiffened. “That’s right. Walter Elliott,” she repeated.
“It was quite the success,” Angelica said brightly. “We hope to have an annual fund-raiser from now on. Maybe next summer you and your husband—”
“What are you doing here?” Brett said, strolling into the office. His gaze was trained on Angelica’s face. He didn’t look pleased to see her.
Mac glanced over at him. “This is An—”
“I know who she is.”
The other woman’s brows rose. She looked from Brett to Angelica and back again. “You two are acquainted,” she said, in a speculative tone.
Angelica felt herself flushing again. “Uh, hardly. Not even a little bit, really. I’ve seen him around once or twice.”
“Not even a little bit?” Mac repeated.
Maybe the other woman was the jealous type who would scratch her eyes out for merely looking at her husband. If Brett was married to her, Angelica was sure she’d probably find herself very possessive. “I should be going,” she said, taking a step back.
“Not so soon,” Mac replied, a smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. “We’re just getting friendly.”
Angelica fanned herself. “Is it a little warm in here or is it just me?”
“I think it’s just you,” Mac said, with a light in her eyes that Angelica didn’t trust. “I’m perfectly comfortable. How about you, Brett?”
He was still staring at Angelica as if she