him, he caught a whiff of something flowery. Could be shampoo. Could be lotion. He didn’t think she’d wear perfume for this little jaunt, but what did he know? Women mystified him most of the time.
Jazzy clambered down the steps in a way that told him she was high-energy. She went outside to the porch railing and stared up at the sky that was almost the same color as her eyes. She pointed up to the white clouds scuttling across the vista, hanging so low they looked as if a person could reach them.
“Isn’t that beautiful? I never appreciated a day without rain as I do now.”
She wasn’t just pretty. She was gorgeous. Not in a highfalutin-model kind of way, but in a prettiest-gal-in-town way. He crossed the distance between them and stood at the railing with her.
“I know what you mean. I’ve never seen so much devastation. Half the town was affected. Thank God for our hills. The General Store, Daisy’s and Strickland’s were all on the higher side. The other side of Rust Creek is still recovering, and that’s where we’re headed.” Standing beside her like this, his arm brushing hers, talking about the sky and the flood, seemed a little too intimate somehow. Weird. He had to get his head on straight and do it fast.
Jazzy gave him one of her quick smiles. He’d seen a few of those the other night at the Ace in the Hole. Then she headed for the steps. She was a woman who knew how to move. A woman with purpose.
In his truck, he said, “You didn’t wear a jacket. Even though we’re having a bout of Indian summer, the morning’s a little cool. Want the heat on?”
Glancing over at him, she motioned to the coffee in the holder. “If one of those is mine, that’s all I need.”
“Donut now or later?”
“One now wouldn’t hurt.”
He chuckled and reached for the bag in the back. “Cream and sugar are in there, too.”
He watched as she poured two of the little cream containers into her coffee and then added the whole pack of sugar. She wasn’t a straight caffeine kind of girl, which he supposed was all right.
“Dig around in the bag until you find the one you want.”
She came up with a chocolate glazed, took a bite, and gave him a wink. “Perfect.”
Brooks found his body getting tight, his blood running faster, and he quickly reached for his black coffee. After a few swallows that scalded his tongue and throat, he swiped a cream-filled donut from the bag and bit into it. Halfway through, he noticed Jazzy watching him.
“Daisy’s Donuts are the best,” she said a little breathlessly.
He was feeling a little breathless himself. Enough with the donuts and coffee. Time to get to work. Focus was everything.
Ten minutes later, Jazzy wondered if she’d said something wrong because Brooks had turned off the conversation spigot. He was acting as if the road was an enemy he was going to conquer. She supposed that was just as well. Eating donuts with him had gotten a little...sticky. She’d seen something in his eyes that had, well, excited her...excited her in a way that nothing Griff had ever done or said had. Downright silly. If she was going to be working for Brooks—
She hadn’t decided yet.
Veering to the left, Brooks drove down a rutted lane that had been filled in with gravel. Yet, like on many of the Rust Creek Falls streets, there were still a lot of potholes. Paving crews had been doing their best, but there was only so much money and only so much manpower. Lodgepole pine grew on much of the property. Larch, aspen and live oak were color-laden in October with gold and rust. A couple of early snows had stripped some of the leaves and there were still a bunch fluttering across the ground as they climbed out of the truck and headed for the large, white barn.
“Does Mr. Findley run cattle?” Jazzy asked to soothe the awkwardness and start conversation between them once more.
Brooks responded without hesitation. “No. No cattle. Sam’s livelihood didn’t get affected like some. He’s a wilderness guide. Hunters and tourists stay at the farmhouse, and he has two cabins out back. He stays out there if he has women guests who would rather be alone in the house.”
“Sounds like a gentleman.”
Brooks shrugged. “It’s good business. A reputation goes a long way out here. But then you should know that. I imagine Thunder Canyon is the same.”
“It is.”
A tall, good-looking man with black hair and gray eyes came to meet them at the barn door. Brooks introduced Jazzy. “She’s one of the volunteers from Thunder Canyon, but she’s hanging with me today.”
As Sam opened the barn door for Jazzy, he said, “Brooks has some kind of magic touch that I haven’t had with Sparky ever since the flood.” Sam shook his head. “I was the one who rescued him along with a couple of others, and maybe I hurt him without knowing it.”
“Or maybe you just remind him of what happened,” Brooks said easily. “Horses remember, just like cats and dogs. It’s why a visit to the vet is so traumatic for some of them.”
“He lets me feed him, but he won’t take a carrot or sugar cube like he used to,” Sam added regretfully. “And getting into his stall is a major undertaking. Are you used to being around horses?” Sam asked Jazzy, looking worried.
“Yes, I am. A friend rescues them and I help her out. I promise I won’t go near Sparky if he doesn’t want me near him.”
“Do you want me to stay?” Sam asked Brooks.
“If you have things to do, and I’m sure you do, there’s no need. We’ll be fine.”
Sam nodded, tipped his Stetson to Jazzy and headed back toward the house.
She watched him thoughtfully. “For a small town filled with gossip, I never heard anything about his tours while I’ve been here.”
“Sam keeps a low profile, mostly advertises on the internet, attracts a lot of tourists from back East.”
“Is he from here?”
“Nope, and nobody knows where he came from. He doesn’t talk about himself much.”
“Are you friends?”
Brooks thought about it. “We’re something between acquaintances and friends.”
“So that means you talk about sports and livestock.”
Brooks chuckled. “I guess you could say that. You can add the goings-on in Rust Creek Falls, which is a topic of conversation for everyone. Come on, let’s see Sparky. Sam has it rigged up so the stall doors open to the outside corral. He can come and go as he pleases.”
“That’s smart. Freedom’s important to an animal that’s been traumatized.”
Brooks eyed her again as if trying to figure out who she was. Good luck, she thought. She was still trying to figure that out herself. Coming to Rust Creek Falls had changed her in some elemental way. Sure, in Thunder Canyon she had her family and her job. But she didn’t want to live vicariously
