Smitten Book Club (29 page)

“With my luck? I’ll drown in the Green River.”

“And . . . problem solved,” Abby said.

Three sets of eyes darted her way.

“Kidding!” Abby set her tea down. “Listen, I think you should take him up on it. You can learn this stuff. Think how much money you’d save if you could do the tours yourself. Office help is cheap.”

She was right. Dwight was good, but he hadn’t come cheap. Molly had paid for his benefits too. If she could learn all the guide stuff, maybe that would solve her deeper financial problem. Still . . .

“Can you really see me taking on the great outdoors?” Molly asked.

Heather wrapped an arm around Molly’s shoulders. “Girl, I can see you doing anything you put your mind to.”

Molly stepped into the store, her hands shaking. Somehow this had seemed so much easier the other night after the unfruitful treasure hunt. The girls had left her feeling all Annie Oakley. But now, looking around the huge interior of Explorations, she wondered if she wasn’t in way over her head.

It was impossible not to compare Gage’s shop with her own. Excitement sizzled in the air. Customers bustled around readying for trips, choosing equipment, signing paperwork.

Upbeat music flowed from invisible speakers somewhere up in the rafters. Employees in khakis and logoed polos greeted customers. The place smelled like adventure and money.

I am so out of my league
.

Maybe Gage Turner was underhanded. Maybe he was sneaky and dishonest. But the man obviously knew how to run a business. Or maybe he ran it in a way that she never would.

“Can I help you?” A young blonde beamed a smile, baring a dimple.

“Is Gage Turner in? I mean, if he’s busy, that’s fine, I don’t have—”

“In his office.” Suzy Q gestured toward a hallway at the back. “First door on the left.”

“I don’t want to bother—”

“Go on back. He won’t mind.” With a parting smile, she peeled off to assist a customer with hiking shoes.

Molly regarded the hallway with a frown.
Now or never, Molly. Just get this over with
.

She skirted customers and racks of expensive outerwear. When she came to the open doorway, she paused. The office ceiling vaulted over a rugged oak desk. Matching cabinets
lined the ecru walls, and a masculine rug hugged the plank floor. His window overlooked the scenic river. Of course it did.

Gage was hunched over his desk, pen in hand. He punched numbers on a calculator, wearing a frown surely caused by concentration, not distress.

He was good-looking, she couldn’t deny that. His dark, tousled hair looked as if he’d just woken, and his lids covered a pair of blue eyes that probably made women melt into a puddle at his feet. The perpetual five o’clock shadow didn’t hurt either, nor did the cleft in his chin. He was rugged, smart, handsome, and probably pretty darn rich too.

She mentally added the list of adjectives Curtis had supplied, none of them good. She’d have to stay on her toes where this one was concerned.

Drawing a deep breath, she tapped her knuckles on the oak doorframe.

His head came up, his brows rising expectantly. Upon seeing her, they fell. His lips slackened before tipping up in a cautious smile.

“Am I interrupting?”

He set his pen down and straightened in his chair. “No. Come on in.”

She stepped into the office, leaving the door open. Something masculine with a touch of pine filled her nostrils.

“Have a seat.”

Molly perched on the edge of the cushy chair opposite his desk, clutching her bag to her stomach. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

If there were any progress required, she had yet to spot it.

“What can I do for you?” His chair creaked as he settled back into it. Waiting.

Suck it up, Molly
. She bit the inside of her lip. “So, when you came by last week . . . I wasn’t very friendly. I’m sorry about that.”

He lifted one shoulder and the same corner of his lip. “You were fine.”

He had a really nice voice. Deep and gravelly. It kind of made her chest flutter.

Ulterior motive, Molly. He probably has one, remember?

“Um, that’s very gracious.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. They were warm, the color of faded denim.

She had to focus. She needed his help, but she needed to know something else first. He probably wouldn’t tell her the truth, but she had to ask. “I was, um, wondering why you, you know, offered to help me.”

His brows rose a millimeter. He opened his arms on the desk, his hands palms up. “We’re neighbors.”

Neighbors. Of course. They were competitors too, but he failed to mention that. Of course, with the state of things, she was hardly even that.

Which brought her back to this little visit. “I’m afraid I may have rejected your offer prematurely.” Heat climbed into her cheeks. Was no doubt blooming into a blotchy shade of red. Nice.

“What can I do for you, Molly?”

Her name on his tongue made something warm unfurl in her stomach, a sensation she hadn’t felt in years and didn’t welcome now. Not good. Not good at all.

“Um, I’m sure you’ve heard I lost my guide.”

He tipped his head forward.

“I haven’t been able to find a replacement, and I’m thinking about taking over that portion of the business myself.”

“Makes sense.”

Only because he didn’t know her. She had trouble imagining herself doing all those outdoor things. But she thought of Noah’s bright brown trusting eyes and their cozy farmhouse, the only bit of normalcy they’d had since his father passed, and knew she’d scale Everest if she had to.

“Do you have any training?” he asked.

“I was actually wondering if you might know someone who could teach me. I know it’s asking a lot. If you can’t help, I understand. It’s the busy season. Your guides are probably booked.”

He tipped his head back, studying her. Probably noting her slight frame and glossy pink fingernails. Visualizing the lame little fly-fishing demo she’d given in her office the week before.

“I’m a quick learner.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“I could tag along on tours or something? I could . . . I could even pay.”
Really, Molly? With what?

He shook his head. “Leading a group isn’t the same as being a participant. You have to learn the skills, yes, but you also need to learn to teach them. Having rock climbing experience would be helpful, for instance, but you need to learn how to belay.”

“Oh.” What was he saying? Was this a no?
Please, God. A little help here
.

“I’d be happy to give you some lessons, though.”

“You?”

He tweaked a brow, making him look ornery. “I do possess the necessary skills.”

What was his game? Was this part of his heinous plot to take her down?

“I’m AMGA certified,” he added.

Her heart dropped. “I thought we didn’t need certification in Vermont.” At least, that’s what Curtis always said.

“Not necessary, but very helpful—something to work toward. So what do you say?”

“I’m sure you’re busy.”

“I have some downtime in my schedule. I can have you trained for the basics in a couple weeks, tops.”

“Oh.” What now? Like she had a choice. It was this or foreclosure. Mother and child out on the streets, business bankrupt, no job. She straightened in her chair. “Great. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

They set a time for the next afternoon, and Molly shuffled from his office a few minutes later. Ready or not, she was going to learn to run this business of hers from the bottom up.

Be as cheerful and carefree as you can be. Do not trouble your suitor with your worries, and he will be pleased with your company.

P
EARL
C
HAMBERS
,
The Gentlewoman’s Guide to Love and Courtship

CHAPTER THREE

T
ime for bed, sport.” Molly gave the Nerf football one last toss and stood, shutting off the TV.

“Five more minutes?” Noah threw a spiral that sailed over her head, ricocheted off the hall wall, and bounced into the spare room. “My bad,” he said.

“You already got fifteen extra minutes, and tomorrow’s a school day. Get into your pajamas.”

Molly followed the ball’s trail, frowning as she scoped out the spare room. Okay, junk room. The space had become a catchall for every object without a place. Her mom’s piano, her old computer, Curtis’s sporting equipment, baby toys and special clothes that held memories too dear to part with.

Leaning over, she spied the ball under the piano bench. She stooped down and scooped it out, then stood, pausing to run her fingers over the dusty piano. How long had it been
since she’d played? She couldn’t remember. She’d practically forgotten it was even here.

Drawn to the keys, to this joyful part of her past, she propped open the lid. It creaked in protest. She ran a hand along the lid. “Sorry, friend. Guess I’ve neglected you, huh?”

She used to play all the time. It was her favorite de-stressor. But after she’d married, Curtis had complained about the noise. He liked quiet when he came home.

The bench creaked as she sank onto it. She opened the lid. The instrument was probably out of tune. She was definitely out of practice. But she lowered her fingers over the keys anyway and tried a chord progression in C-sharp minor, followed by a rippling four-octave scale.

Out of tune, yes. But the keys felt good under her fingertips. Familiar and comforting. She began to play the “Moonlight Sonata,” pleased when her fingers remembered the deep arpeggiated chords. She closed her eyes and let her hands move over the keyboard as warmth flowed through her.

Ah, she’d missed this. Why had it taken so long for her to play again? After the last melancholy chord died away, she launched into Mozart’s happy little
Sonata in C.
Her fingers, catching on, zipped over the keys. She smiled, delighted she could still handle the difficult trills and mordents.

“You haven’t played in a long time.” Noah appeared at her side, snapping up his football. “I like when you play.”

Molly finished the B section, letting the last chords ring through the room. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Can you play anything you want?”

“Well . . . not anything. Not unless I have music.”

“Can you play ‘Best Day Ever’?”

“From
SpongeBob
? If I had the music.”

“What about ‘Another One Bites the Dust’?”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “Someone’s stalling.” She smacked his pajama-clad backside and lowered the lid. “Come on, let’s tuck you into bed.”

He groaned but followed her up the creaky wooden stairs. In his room he hopped into his bed and fell back onto his pillow. His room smelled like dirty socks even though they’d just cleaned it last weekend.

She pulled his Catamounts comforter to his chin. He had his dad’s square chin and dark hair, but his brown eyes were just like hers, right down to the golden flecks. Sometimes when she looked into them, she worried. He’d lost his dad so young. What effect would that have on him? Was she doing enough to help him cope? Was she giving him everything he needed?

When Noah finished his prayers, she kissed his forehead and stood.

“You should play more often, Mom.”

“The piano?”

“Yeah.” He burrowed into his pillow. “It makes you smile.”

She scanned his sweet little face. How did she get such a special boy? “I might just do that, buddy.”

Molly looked up at the cliff face, and her knees went weak. She’d hoped to start with something easy like fly-fishing, but she had a couple scheduled for rock climbing tomorrow.

The morning was perfect, she had to admit. The air
still held a chill, and the sun was just rising over Sugarcreek Mountain against a clear blue canvas. The smell of pine trees and the loamy scent of earth fragranced the air.

Behind her, Gage pulled the equipment from the bag. He’d said she needed to experience climbing before she learned to belay. She was going to be hanging by her fingertips from a sheer cliff face. Never mind that the man holding the rope was a competitor who no doubt hoped to see her fail. A long, hard fall would probably suffice.