“You’re right.” She sighs, a hand pressed across her ample bosom. “I would. If only you were twenty years older.”
“If I were twenty years older, I’d make a proper woman out of you in a heartbeat,” I say, winking. She blushes. Donna lives for this.
“Age ain’t nothing but a number, handsome.” She tops off my coffee before shuffling to the kitchen. “Say the word and I’m all yours.”
By the time Donna disappears around back, the bells on the front door jingle and Leighton’s heading for her white Chevy.
I finish my breakfast and leave the cash on the counter before replacing my hat and heading back to the farm. I’ve got a to-do list a mile long, which means I don’t have time to worry about anyone else’s shit but my own.
And that’s just the way I like it …
… usually.
There’s something unsettling about watching her leave, but I can’t quite place my finger on it.
Chapter Five
Leighton
“Leighton, are you in there?” Mrs. Brostrom, the proprietor of the Pink Castle Bed and Breakfast, knocks on my door. “I don’t normally serve dinner, but I was making myself some beef stew, and I was wondering if you’d like to join me in the dining room?”
I shove the last of my clothes into my suitcase and pull the zipper tight.
My eyes are on fire and my nose has been dripping like a faucet ever since I came back here earlier today. I stopped at the local pharmacy on the way over, grabbing a couple allergy options, but one only made me sleepy and the other may as well have been a placebo.
Opening the door, I’m greeted with the sweet smile of a lonely woman.
An orange tabby cat dashes from between her legs and runs to my bed, jumping up and settling in the center of my suitcase.
“My goodness. Cat Stevens, you know the rules.” Mrs. Brostrom places one hand on her hip, wagging a pointed finger. “You’re not allowed in the guest rooms.”
The house rules must not have applied to the calico cat I found in my bathroom this morning or the black cat with the yellow eyes that slipped into my room in the middle of the night, nestled on the foot of my bed, then proceeded to bat at my feet as if my toes were made of cat nip.
I have no idea how they keep getting in here, and I’m afraid to ask.
Pushing past me, she swoops the cat into her arms and offers an apologetic smile. But the second her eyes land on the packed suitcase that smile disappears.
“Are you leaving?” she asks.
I hesitate before a sneeze steals my opportunity to answer.
“Bless you,” she says. “Are you catching a cold?”
“I’m allergic to the cats,” I say, just as a white cat begins to rub itself against my legs.
I love animals, I do, but I can’t deal with cats coming out of the woodwork. And I can’t suffer through these allergies another night.
“Where will you go?” she asks, legitimately concerned. “All the hotels are booked.”
“I’ll figure it out.” I step over another cat, this one a Siamese mix with beautiful blue eyes and a mean leer, and pull my suitcase off the bed.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, following me to the hall. “I hope you enjoyed your stay. I’d love a review on Yelp when you get the chance …”
“Of course.”
I lug the bag down the polished wooden stairs. Aside from the menagerie of felines roaming the halls, this place is beautiful. A fully restored Victorian, this place is like stepping into another century only with such modern luxuries as running water and electricity.
Mrs. Brostrom cradles a cat in her arms as she watches me leave, her lips smiling but her gray eyes hinting at gnawing loneliness.
I wish I could stay here, I do.
Rubbing hard at my itchy, watery eyes, I thank her for everything.
And then I sneeze.
Four times in a row.
Looks like I’ll be sleeping in my car tonight.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” A man’s muffled voice startles me awake the next morning.
Starting my car, I roll down the window when I see him: the asshole cowboy.
“Tell me you didn’t sleep in your car last night,” he says, hunched over with his callused, overworked hands resting on the roof.
I couldn’t stay at the bed and breakfast, not with all those cats roaming around. The two hotels in this town were all booked thanks to some annual demolition derby competition at the fairgrounds this week, and the nearest hotel was a ninety-minute drive west and listed on some bed bug registry.
My car felt like the safest bet.
Plus, I won’t get my final paycheck from the gallery until next Friday. I need to stretch what remains in my checking account until then. Last I checked, the cheapest flight out of Pierre on such short notice was almost eight hundred bucks.
For now, I’m stuck here.
“So what’s your plan, city girl?” he asks.
I pull my phone off the charger and check the time. It’s eight in the morning and already I have two missed calls from Grant.
The man is still tirelessly persistent. It may well be the one quality that hasn’t changed about him over the last couple of years.
“I’m not sure that concerns you,” I say, tasting stale breath on my tongue. I’ll have to find some gas station to grab a bite to eat and get cleaned up. “How did you find me anyway? First the diner, now here. Are you following me?”
“You’re parked behind the co-op. I’m here to get some salt licks for my yearlings. But if it makes you feel better, sure. I was following you. Ever since you showed up at my door two days ago, I can’t get you out of my head.” He keeps a straight face. “I’m obsessed with you, Payton.”
“Leighton.”
“Same difference.”
I roll my eyes. “You done yet?”
“Guess so.” He stands straight, squinting in the morning sun toward the back of the co-op building, where an employee fidgets with the lock on the other side. A couple of half-ton pickups pull into the back parking lot.
“Okay … bye.” I wait for him to leave, but he just stands there.
“Look,” he says, face winced as if it pains him to say this. “I’ve been meaning to hire someone to help out a bit this summer.”
“Pass.”
“Let me finish.”
I glance up, meeting his overriding stare.
“I have a bunk house,” he says.
“I know you have a bunk house. My father built that bunk house.”
“You can sleep there if you want.” He removes his hat, runs his fingers through his dark hair, then places it back. “But only if you help out around the farm … chores and all that in exchange for room and board.”
It’s ironically kind of him to offer since so far he hasn’t proven himself to be a kind person. I can’t imagine working for him would be a walk in the park, but a nice, clean bed would be a godsend.
I rub the crick in my neck, staring past the steering wheel.
“I don’t have all day,” he says, brows lifted. “And you’re looking like you could use a hot shower, so ...”
Oh, god.
I would kill for a hot shower right now.
“Not going to twist your arm,” he says. “Not going to stand around waiting for you to make up your mind either.”
Massaging my temples, I exhale. “I … I don’t know.”
I want to.