To Kiss A Cowgirl. Jeannie Watt
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did she, even after booking two more artisans—a leatherworker and a woman who made picture frames. She was making progress, but she wanted to fill the front of the store with interesting items, make a statement, catch the eye as people came in and then keep them coming back when gift-giving occasions arose. No one was going to drive a few extra miles for a tiny selection of handcrafted goods. She needed more artisans.
When she walked into the bar that night, Jim raised a lazy hand to greet her and she could see that it had been a slow afternoon, which wasn’t unusual for a Thursday. He poured them both seltzer water, as he usually did when they had downtime, and after putting her purse away, she perched on her stool near the edge of the bar.
“Probably not a big tip night,” she said, nodding at the two patrons playing a game of pool.
“It’ll be a sleeper,” he agreed. He leaned his elbows on the bar opposite her. “So how’s your big project coming?”
“I’m halfway there. I need just four more artists to have a respectable showing.”
“I talked to Mac.”
Jolie had her glass halfway to her lips then put it back down. She’d asked Jim about his brother’s ironwork, but Jim hadn’t been hopeful about Mac agreeing to participate. “And?”
“He said I can pull some of his stuff out of the garage and let you display it. I got you two wine racks and two towel bar sets.”
“Oh, my gosh.” Jolie practically jumped off the stool. Mac’s wrought-iron work was gorgeous.
“And he’s working with a guy whose brother just got out of prison at Deer Lodge. He hitches horsehair and has some belts he’d like to commission.”
“Jim, you are a bona fide doll.”
He went a little red. “I know.”
Jolie’s run of good luck continued for the next few days. On Saturday she heard back from a leatherworker who had spur straps and wallets to display and on Monday a silversmith finally returned her message and agreed to drop off twenty pieces of jewelry. She was so tempted to walk into Dylan’s office and slap her list of artists on the desk in front of him, but she refrained. Partly because she was above that and partly because he’d been avoiding her, which made her believe he’d felt the same sense of tension building between them that she did.
During her lunch hour, Jolie walked the area near the front of the store where she wanted to build her display and debated about how best to squeeze in an attractive backdrop, attractive being the key word. The walls were painted flat white and the floor was half-century-old cracked tile. She didn’t have a lot of time and her budget was very close to zero dollars. She would have to make do with what she could scrounge around the place.
She went back behind the counter, flipped open the notebook she used to jot down special orders and, after a moment, started sketching, trying to come up with a way to cover the walls, build shelving, disguise the floor—
The bell above the door rang and she jumped a mile. Dylan gave her an odd look as he crossed the room and she slowly closed the notebook.
“Did I interrupt something?” he asked curiously.
“No. I was just drawing.”
“Drawing.”
“Ideas for my display.”
He stopped on the other side of the counter. “I take that to mean that you contracted your seven artisans?”
“I did. Now I’m going for ten.”
“Can I see your plan?”
“I don’t think so,” Jolie said with an easy smile. It was beyond rough and she wasn’t presenting any ideas to him until they were polished. She’d learned her lesson about that.
“Is it some big secret?”
“Maybe I don’t want you taking over.”
His eyebrows shot up as if he had no idea what she was talking about. “Why would I take over?”
Her lips twisted. Really, Dylan? “Because that’s our history. You take over.”
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “This is your baby. I’m just curious in case Mike has questions.”
There was something in his tone that caught her attention. “Will Mike have a problem with this?” She liked the gruff old guy and wouldn’t want to upset him.
“Mike doesn’t like change.”
“At all?” Was that why Finn had also dragged his feet when she’d discussed improvements during the few weeks they’d worked together?
Dylan gave his head a slow shake. “Not a fan. It’s gotten worse over the past few years.”
“Then moving has got to be killing him.”
“If the house didn’t have so many damned stairs, he’d never leave.”
“Well...” she said slowly, “can you convince him this will be a change for the better? After you convince yourself, of course.”
He didn’t deny that he had to be convinced, but she hadn’t expected him to.
“How are you going to display this stuff when it comes in?” He leaned an elbow on the counter as he cast a sweeping glance around the store and again she had that feeling of being too close to him, even though there was a good two feet of wood and glass between them.
“I’ll have to rearrange, but all of your stock will be easily available.”
“Just run any big changes by me, okay?”
“Sure.” She caught the scent of his aftershave and it made her want to lean even closer...maybe even follow him when he retreated to his office. That had never happened in high school. Had they been so busy sniping at each other in the lab that she’d never noticed that the guy was jangling her nerves?
No. Something had changed. They were still sniping...but it felt different. And even though Dylan was technically her boss, it didn’t feel the way it did with Finn.
Maybe because of that fantasy comment he’d made?
Even though she told herself it was only a quip, meant to throw her off balance, it had stuck with her. As had the realization that Dylan had lips that could take part in a fantasy—hers—and that was...disconcerting.
She cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to her, which had not been her intent. She smiled at him, hating the feeling that she was somehow at a disadvantage because his very presence was making her feel all edgy and unsettled.
“You were going to say something?” he finally asked.
Instead of saying no, as she should have, Jolie decided to take control. “I was wondering if you have some kind of time frame in which you have to get back to your other job.”
He blinked at her as if she was not making sense. Or as if he didn’t want to answer that particular question. “Counting the days until I’m out of your hair?”
“Actually, no. I was just curious.”
“As soon as Finn gets back, I’m heading home.”
“You’re on leave?” She leaned on the counter. He was withdrawing. Fast.
“Yes.”
“Your old job waiting for you?”
“Pretty much.”
She waited a moment. “Not going to share any details, are you?”
“Don’t really see any need to,” he said, his eyelids dropping an iota. He regarded her for a few long seconds, as if challenging her to ask yet another question he wasn’t going to answer.
She did love a challenge.
“What