Christmastime Cowboy. Maisey Yates
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right before they went in to sign paperwork. He should wait until after. When it was too late for her to pull out.
He had already faxed over all the legal agreements for the business partnership, and they had been signed by Lindy. For this, Sabrina would be signing on behalf of the winery.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.
She jerked, like he had shocked her with a cattle prod. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Have you ever signed mortgage documents?”
“Yes. I bought a house four years ago.”
“Good.” That kind of surprised him. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. That she lived on the winery property, or that she perhaps still lived with her parents. Which was ridiculous, considering she was thirty years old.
But rich girls like her, they often did continue living with their parents. At least, in his head they did. Otherwise, they were sent to some fancy school by their parents. And then subsequently had their housing paid for.
“Where did you go to school?”
She looked at him blankly. “What?”
He realized that he had skipped a step with her. But in his head it had made sense. “School. I was just wondering where you went to college.”
“Oh. Just... I went to Oregon State.”
“I figured you would go somewhere a little bit...bigger of a deal.”
“It’s a great school,” she said, visibly bristling. “Go Ducks.”
It was fine enough, he was sure. But he had gone to a top-ranked university with her father’s money. He had assumed that she would do nothing less.
“I figured that you would go somewhere further afield,” he said. “That’s all.”
She stiffened. “Things change.”
“All right. I guess that’s true. So, what kind of house do you have?”
“What, is this interrogate Sabrina hour?”
“In fairness, it’s basically interrogate Sabrina five minutes. Hour is vastly dramatizing the situation.”
“Have you ever bought a house?” she asked, clearly looking to turn the spotlight onto him.
“Not a house. But a penthouse. New York City.”
She blinked rapidly, her pale eyebrows knitting together. “But those cost...millions of dollars.”
He just let the implication of that hang between them, and watched as her skin went slightly waxen.
“Grassroots Winery and Laughing Irish?” An older woman with dark hair peeked out of one of the glass corner offices with a smile pasted on her face.
“That’s us,” Liam confirmed.
For some reason—instinct, something—he reached out and pressed his palm against Sabrina’s lower back to guide her toward the office. She stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze sliding over to him, irritation glittering sharply there.
“Do you touch men you’re doing business deals with like that? Because I’ll tell you, that’s some mental image.”
“No,” he said, lowering his hand slowly.
“I don’t mind a little Brokeback Mountain fantasy, Liam.”
“After you,” he said, waiting for her to walk into the office before he followed behind her.
It had been a stupid thing to do, touching her like that. Normally, he would never do something so asinine with the woman he was doing a business deal with. He would normally never do that with anyone.
There was just something about Sabrina that pushed him to do things he was usually way too smart to do.
They took a seat at the table with the banker and with another person who was introduced as the notary. Gage West had apparently signed his end of the deal already.
The stack of papers was indeed massive, and both Liam and Sabrina were given pens before the banker handed him the first page, which Sabrina promptly took. “We’re the first name on the documents, as we own a larger portion,” she said crisply.
She signed quickly next to a sticky tab, then passed the paper back to him. As if it mattered which order they signed in as long as they signed on the right spot. But he could tell she was compelled to make an issue out of it, so he was going to let it go.
They carried out the signing in relative silence, the only real conversation happening when the banker explained a page that he was certain both he and Sabrina already understood, but that she was legally bound to verbally expound on.
Sabrina passed one paper to him, and he pressed his fingertips down on it, brushing the tips of them against hers. She jerked back, trying to look composed as she moved on to signing the next document.
“There,” the woman said, smiling through the tension that was making the air crackle, “all finished. Congratulations. You are now the proud owners of some very nice property.”
“Thank you,” Sabrina said. “I hope that you’ll come down for the grand opening. There’s going to be wine, cheese and all manner of festivities.”
“Definitely,” the banker said, and Liam really couldn’t tell if she was being genuine, or if there was just no other polite response to give.
Considering they had just signed a considerable amount of their lives over to this establishment, she did have to be polite.
Well, it was a considerable amount of Grassroots’ life, and Lindy’s, he imagined. It wasn’t so much to him. Even if Finn was being adamant that it all be paid for with Donnelly ranch money, and not Liam’s.
As they walked out of the bank, Sabrina still had a large, fake-looking smile plastered on her face. But as soon as the glass door closed behind them, she chucked the Styrofoam cup of coffee in the trash beside the building. “That was disgusting coffee.”
He grimaced and sent his cup the same direction. “Agreed.”
“Well, I need more coffee. Better coffee. So I’m going to head down to The Grind and grab some, and then I’m going to go to the shop.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She looked...not shocked, but a little bit like she wanted to argue. “I don’t really have any plans. I just want to make a quick sketch of the floor plan so that I can get a rough idea of what we need to get, and you know, layouts and things.”
“Right. Do you have a tape measure, anything on you?”
“I can buy one,” she said, looking mulish.
“I have a toolbox in the back of my truck. Why don’t you ride down with me?”
He knew that she was annoyed. And he also knew that she would rather ride with him than protest. Because he could tell that she was caught between wanting to spend less time with him and wanting to act like it didn’t matter.
For his part, he wasn’t really sure why he cared either way.
Really? You don’t know why you care?
As if his stomach didn’t clench tight when he smelled vanilla, which was a scent that he had always associated with her. Like he hadn’t quit a job because he’d worked closely with a woman who shared her name, and he couldn’t hear it without thinking of her and that devastated expression on her face when he’d left her that night.
As if he didn’t have a tattoo on his body that was dedicated to her.
He could admit that now. He had been in pretty deep denial even when he had gotten the ink. But, as it had taken shape, as he had laid out what he had wanted, it was pretty hard for him to deny that the barefoot blond figure that