“That’s Natalie Valentine’s place. You interviewed her today after I left, right?” Her question came out quiet, noncommittal.
He couldn’t get a read on her—was she defensive or enthusiastic? Chels wasn’t usually guarded around him, so she must be fishing.
Well, he wasn’t feeling the need to share about his attraction. While Natalie might be new to the area, it was clear she’d become the town darling. The small community had embraced the young widow, and he sure as hell wasn’t the boy-next-door type of person. “Yes, I spoke with Natalie Valentine today. That’s how I heard about her place. It seems like a solid fit for me, given I don’t know how long I’ll be here.” He’d done some additional online digging into her business after Natalie left. More detailed, yes, more personal.
The house was a far cry from the penthouse hotel suites he usually frequented. The B and B looked cozy—it was a white wood home, with large porches, ferns and rocking chairs. The ancient oak spread welcoming branches casting long-reaching shadows.
And it was as far from the harsh streets of LA as he ever could have imagined. The town sprawled, buildings seemed to resist the urge to converge, to press against one another. There was space here. Places to go and exist. Places to hide, too.
“Okay, that’s cool, Max,” Chelsea said slowly.
“You aren’t going to argue?” he asked, surprised. “That’s a first.”
“Nice. Not,” she joked right back.
“I would just expect you to warn me off her, given you know who I am, how I am. She’s a war widow with two children.”
“Of course I know you. Very well, in fact. And I know someday you’ll stop running.”
Unease crawled up his spine. “Are you trying to push me toward her? Matchmake?”
She chuckled lowly. “I wouldn’t dream of maneuvering your life.”
Yeah. Right.
Staying silent, he kept on driving, noting the old 1960s’ tin diner on the side of the road. A mix of old, rust-peppered cars were scattered throughout the parking lot, contrasting with newer, sleeker models. He had to be close to Natalie’s place. Based on the concentration of buildings—the diner, a strip mall and a grocery store—he guessed this was the center of town.
“Max, really, I just figured you must be drawn to her if you’re staying there. You have to admit, that isn’t the kind of accommodations you usually choose.”
True, perhaps. But there was a
time he would have considered the Cimarron Rose pure heaven and far out of his reach. In many ways, it still was. He’d chosen a different path for his life. Impersonal. Sleek.
Impenetrable. Just like his cybersecurity.
So how to deal with Chels’s Cupid leanings?
Don’t even take the bait. This was about him and Natalie. And who the hell even knew where it might lead? But he wouldn’t want there to be gossip. “Natalie offered.” Remembering that moment pleased him. She had seemed to surprise herself with the offer, but she’d been sincere. Hell, something told him she’d needed to make the offer and contribute to keeping her town safe. He liked that. “She seems to want to help. I’m comfortable with the choice, and it will give me the opportunity to get the pulse of the traffic flowing in and out of town in a way I wouldn’t be able to do staying at your place.”
“Right,” Chels said skeptically. “Okay, so you’re staying there because it’s comfy. Got it. Are you sure there’s enough bandwidth for you there?”
As if he would rely on anyone else’s connection?
“Ah, come on, you know me better than that. Since when do I travel without remote-access capabilities?” He had his own equipment and boosters up the wazoo.
“Okay, I’ll be frank. I know you too well to buy these cagey answers. Natalie is not the kind of woman you usually pursue, so I think you need to be careful, for your sake. I care about you, bro.” Chels always had a knack for being blunt, even when Max didn’t want to hear it.
She was worried about his feelings?
For real?
“Who even said I’m chasing her?” he asked too quickly. Damn it. Still, he wasn’t giving ground. He pulled into the B and B’s lot.
No. This wasn’t the kind of place he typically stayed in. The pictures online hardly did the place justice.
The white cottage with reddish-brown trim was framed by an oak tree that seemed to use a tree branch to gesture invitingly to the front door. A warm glow emanated from the windows.
His eyes were drawn to the side yard—to Natalie. A golden retriever danced around, nuzzling Natalie’s son. Her daughter stood leaning against her leg, head thrown back in a giggle, red pigtails dancing.