“Of course I did.” And a smile lit his face, giving Sam a glimpse of the lady-killer he’d someday be. Right now, he probably held the hearts of every teenage girl in Nugget. “I’ve got to finish getting the horses in. Catch you later.”
“Hey, buddy,” Emily called to him. “You forgetting something?”
He circled back around. “It was nice to meet you, Sam.”
“Likewise,” she said.
Emily took her into the kitchen, a warm and inviting room that seemed to embrace Sam in a big hug, and asked if she was hungry.
“This is spectacular,” Sam said, looking around.
“This is Colin Burke,” Emily said. “He redid the space from top to bottom. Clay grew up in this kitchen and was having palpitations at the idea of changing it. But even he loves what Colin did.”
“I can see why.” She spied the old-fashioned Wedgewood stove and the gleaming marble countertops.
“So what brings you to the ranch?” Emily motioned to a giant farm table that sat next to two picture windows with views of the range and the mountains. “Sit. We’ll have tea.”
She put a pot on to boil, removed a pair of cups and saucers from the cupboard, piled a platter with cookies—homemade if Sam was to guess—and set one end of the table. Papers, notes, magazine cutouts, and a fat binder cluttered the other end.
Sam nudged her head at the stack. “Wedding stuff?”
“Yep.” Emily eyed the pile and winced. “Barely two months to go and I feel as disorganized as when I first started. I don’t know how we went from a midsize gathering for family and friends to five hundred guests. But I’m blaming Clay, who’s decided to invite everyone in Plumas County.”
“Oh my,” Sam said. “You’re doing this yourself?”
“Yep.” Emily nodded her head. “And did I mention that I have a cookbook deadline? Crazy, right?”
“Just a little.” Sam made an inch with her thumb and forefinger.
And now I’m going to ask you to cook for the inn.
“And guess what happened today?” Before Sam could ask what, Emily blurted, “The florist canceled—just called and said, ‘I know your wedding is in June, but something has come up and I can’t do it.’ Can you believe that?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Beats the hell out of me. Have any ideas?”
“I might have someone for you,” Sam said. “Let me sleep on it.”
“Sure. But enough about me, what’s going on with you? How’s life at the Lumber Baron?” The water started to boil and Emily got up to make the tea.
“Life at the Lumber Baron is . . .” She had no intention of telling Maddy’s best friend her troubles with Nate, but, boy, would it be nice to have a shoulder to cry on. “We lost our cook today.”
“Uh-oh,” Emily said. “What are you planning to do?”
Sam looked at her and started to laugh. “I was going to ask you to do it . . . just temporarily . . . until we can hire someone. Bad idea, right?”
“Ah jeez, Sam. Any other time I’d be happy to pitch in. But I’m drowning. What about Donna?”
“She’s next on my list. It’s just that we really wanted . . . Don’t worry about it. We’ll find someone. Hopefully Donna will do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course,” Sam said, though she wanted to beg and plead.
Everyone loved Donna, even if she had a broken filter and said the first outrageous thing that popped into her head. Yesterday she’d told Sam that her blouse made her look pregnant with twins. Otherwise she was a fabulous person and a wonderful cook. It’s just that her food, more down-home fare, wasn’t as sophisticated as Emily’s. Sam knew Nate preferred sophisticated, and for some unfathomable reason she wanted his approval. Pathetic, especially as he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted her gone from the inn. But Sam intended to show him that she was no quitter and that she was born to the job of event planning.
Ditto for her dad, who needed to understand that his daughter was more than an ornament. In the meantime, she had a plan to keep him from selling the summerhouse. The scheme still needed finessing, but she had an appointment with a lawyer next week.
“You liking the work at the Lumber Baron?” Emily asked, pushing a plate of cookies closer to Sam.
“I am.” She took one and nibbled. “It’s challenging, but in a good way.”
“Nate’s a great boss, isn’t he?” Sam must have looked at her funny, because she said, “I did a cookbook for Breyer Hotels. He commissioned it.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. He pretty much gave me full rein on it and loved the finished product. Are you two not working well together?”
“Yes . . . well kind of . . . no,” Sam said. “Not so good. Although today we had sort of a breakthrough. He thanked me for helping with breakfast after Carmela was a no-show. But the bottom line is he wishes Maddy would’ve chosen someone with more experience, because this is my first job—ever.”
“Maddy says you’re killing it,” Emily said, and Sam didn’t detect any judgment on her part, even though most thirty-one-year-olds had had multiple jobs by now.
“I’m trying. And I’m really enjoying it.”
“Nate will come around, you’ll see. He’s a terrific guy.”
“I hope so.” Sam grabbed her purse and got up to go. “I know you’ve got lots to do, so I’ll get out of your hair.”
“And if you think of a florist, you’ll let me know?”
“Of course,” Sam said. She was nearly out the door when an idea struck. “Emily, what if I did your wedding planning for you? I know I just told you that I’ve never had a job before, but I’ve been planning parties and big charity events since my twenties. I could do this for you.”
“I don’t know, Sam. It’s a lot of work and you already have a full-time job.”
“But if you took over the cooking duties at the Lumber Baron until we can find someone to do it permanently, I know Nate would free me up to work on your wedding.” Sam didn’t really know that, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she wanted to do it, never having planned anything on a cattle ranch before. Country weddings were extremely popular right now, and this would look great in her portfolio, not to mention that poor Emily could use the help.
“There’s a lot to do. I have the food covered and Clay’s hired the band, but we haven’t chosen our linens, haven’t hired a photographer or videographer, and haven’t . . . well, you know about the flowers.”
“You just give me those magazine pictures you snipped and I can take care of all of that—with your input, of course.”
“And all I’d have to do is make breakfast for the inn?”
“As well as hors d’oeuvres for our afternoon wine and cheese service. But you wouldn’t have to be there for that. You could just make them ahead of time, and I could pop them in the oven right before serving them.”
“In exchange, you would do all this wedding stuff—help me with the seating arrangements, sending out the invitations, the whole caboodle?”
“All of it,” Sam said. “And Emily, I’ll make it beautiful. I could show you pictures of some of the parties I’ve planned.” The elegant black-and-white ball at the Waldorf. And the Greenwich debutante cotillion, a stodgy old affair that Sam had revamped and turned into the “it” event of the season.
“I have no doubt about your abilities, Sam. But keep in mind that I don’t have a bottomless budget.”
“You just tell me what it is and I’ll stick to it,” Sam said, beaming with excitement. She loved the idea that she would have a part in making their big day.
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Emily said. “You have time now to sit down and we could go over a few details?”
“Absolutely.”
For the next hour, Emily highlighted some of her ideas, and by the time Sam left she had a long to-do list and a binder full of inspiration. She just hoped that Nate would be on board. Otherwise, she might have bitten off more than she could chew. After all, there were only so many hours in a day.
The next morning she decided to break the news to Nate about the deal she’d brokered with Emily gently, starting with the good news first. Unlike most days, when he wore suits or a sports jacket with a tie, today he’d gone casual—Levi’s and an oxford shirt. As loath as she was to admit it, he looked extremely good in jeans. They rode low on his hips and hugged about the best butt she’d ever seen. But staring at her boss’s ass was probably a “don’t” in the employee handbook, so she quickly looked away as he bent over the kitchen coffeemaker to pour himself a second cup.
“You have a minute?” Sam asked.
He grunted something unintelligible, but gave her his attention.
“Today’s the last time we’ll have to scramble for breakfast.” Nate had paid Tater again to prepare a French toast bread pudding, fruit salad, and potatoes.
“How’s that?” He looked interested.
“I got Emily to do it—just temporarily, until we find someone else.”
“No kidding,” he said. “That’s great.”
“I’m glad you think so, because I had to promise to help plan her wedding in exchange. It’s a lot of work and I’ll have to use some of my time here to do it.”
“Ah,” he said. “Bored already and moving on to the next thing, huh?”
She straightened to her full five feet, seven inches.
How dare he?
“No, I did this to help the Lumber Baron, because unless I took over the planning of her wedding, Emily wasn’t going to cook for us.”
“Mm-hmm,” Nate said, and Sam contemplated wiping the dubious expression off his face. With her fist.
“What is your problem?”
“My problem is that running this inn and planning events here is a full-time job, Samantha. It’s not something you fit in between helping your girlfriends. I’m thrilled you got Emily to sign on, but we could’ve just paid her. Fiscally it makes more sense than lending her one of my employees to help her pick out bridal lace.”
“Do you realize how demeaning you sound?”
“What, the heiress doesn’t like it when people are frank with her?”
“You want frank, I’ll give you frank. You’re an asshole, Nate. I am putting everything I have and then some into this job. I won’t apologize for being born into wealth, which you seem to resent so much. Why, I have no idea, since you don’t exactly seem to be hurting for money. Is that the Jag you drove to work this morning or the Range Rover?”
“I earned every cent of my money.”
“Good for you. And how much of it have you used to help others? This may be my first job, but I’ve raised and given away millions of dollars to people in need, the arts, and a dozen other important causes. How much have you raised?”
Before he could answer, she added, “And by the way, Emily wouldn’t have saved our butts for a paycheck. She only did it for my services.” Sam started to walk away. “Don’t worry, I’ll have my stuff packed and be out of here in the next hour. Thank you for at least having given me the opportunity.”
Nate leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee, and raised his eyes over the mug to stare at her. “Quitting so soon?”
“I’m not quitting. I just figure you’ll fire me for insubordination.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” He turned to leave the kitchen but stopped to say, “I’ve gotta go to San Francisco for a few days. Hold down the fort while I’m gone, would ya?”
“What about Emily’s wedding?” she asked, unsure of what game he was playing.
“I guess we don’t have much of a choice. Just try to organize your time wisely.”
He left her standing there, stunned.
The man must have a brain tumor,
she thought. What else could explain his complete capriciousness?
Nate returned from San Francisco four days later, just in time to meet with Landon Lowery. Tracy rode up with him and planned to catch a commercial flight back to the city from Reno-Tahoe International as soon as they concluded the conference.
The woman had talked his ear off during the long drive. She was good-looking, though, with a tight little body. If Nate hadn’t had a policy about dating employees, he might’ve asked her out. She’d come on to him plenty, making it known that she’d be amenable to dating, sex, and pretty much anything Nate wanted. For that reason, he questioned how smart it was for them to be sharing a car together. But having her fly both ways when he was driving anyway, seemed stupid.
Tracy took a quick tour of the Lumber Baron, then commandeered Maddy’s office, forcing Sam to conduct her business at the front desk. Tracy had also asked Sam for a cup of coffee. Sam got it for her willingly enough, but Nate figured she had to be bristling at being treated like the help. He also figured it was good for her.
They stood around in the lobby, watching the clock and waiting. When Landon finally pulled up, Sam seemed surprised that he drove a Prius. “That’s his car?” she said, as if she expected a limousine.
Tracy snorted. “Boy, you really are new.” She trotted down the porch steps and gave Landon a big hello.
“Nice place,” he said, staring up at the Lumber Baron.
“We like it,” Tracy said, and Nate laughed to himself. Not until thirty minutes ago had she ever stepped foot on the property.
Tracy escorted Landon onto the veranda and introduced him to Nate, skipping over Sam. Undaunted, Sam stepped up and shook Landon’s hand. “Samantha Dunsbury. We talked on the phone.”
“Hey, Samantha. You were right about the drive. It was insanely awesome.”
Tracy wedged her way between the two. “Landon, can Sam get you something to drink or eat?”
“I’ll take a Red Bull, if you’ve got one.”
“Hon”—Tracy called to Sam as she led Landon away—“why don’t you bring that to the conference room. And mineral waters for Nate and me.”
The conference room had been the innkeeper’s quarters before Maddy had married Rhys and moved into his farmhouse at the end of McCreedy Road. They decided that turning the suite into a luxurious meeting room, done up in Victorian furnishings and gumwood wainscoting, might snag them extra business, including companies looking to hold small retreats.