Epilogue
Blake Hollister was fuming when he walked out the front entrance of Yavapai Bank and Trust. So much so that he didn’t see the woman on the sidewalk until he’d barreled directly into her, the force of the collision causing her to stagger backward.
With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabbed a steadying hold on her upper arm to prevent her from falling to the ground.
“Oh, pardon me, ma’am. I—”
“Blake? Blake Hollister, is that you?”
His hand continuing to grip her upper arm, he stepped back to survey the young woman he’d very nearly knocked off her feet. Shiny black hair, ocean-gray eyes and a soft wide mouth tilted in a tentative smile. Did he know this beautiful lady? She definitely seemed to recognize him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his face growing warm with embarrassment. It wasn’t like he was acquainted with a long list of women. Particularly one with a tall, curvy figure and a face like a sweet dream. If he’d met this one before, he damn well should’ve remembered the occasion. “Should I know you?”
The smile on her pink lips deepened. “It’s probably been too long for you to recall,” she told him. “I used to visit Three Rivers Ranch with my mom. She did sewing projects for your mother, Maureen.”
As he continued to take in her lovely image, recognition struck him. Could this be the raggedy little teenage girl who used to sit on the floor of the front porch and play with the dogs while their mothers discussed items to be sewn or mended?
“Don’t tell me you’re little Katherine Anderson! I can’t believe it!”
Her gray eyes sparkled, making her smile even warmer. “That was many years ago. And I wasn’t sure you even knew my name back then. My name is O’Dell now.”
Katherine Anderson had been several years younger than Blake and traveled in a totally different social circle than he and his family. And although he’d not paid any extra attention to her, he had noticed her from time to time. Mostly because she’d always looked unusually somber for someone so young.
“I remember,” he told her. “And your mother is Paulette, right?”
Appreciation flashed in her gray eyes. “That’s right.”
Recognizing his hand was still clamped around her arm, Blake dropped his hold and forced himself to put a respectable step between the two of them. “Sorry for not recognizing you right off,” he said with a rueful smile. “But you look...all grown-up.”
She laughed softly. “Believe me, you not recognizing me is a compliment. I’d hate to think I still look like my teenage years.”
He smiled at her. “I, uh, I apologize for plowing into you like that. The bank had a little mix-up on some of my accounts and the steam coming out of my ears must have blinded me.”
“No problem. It was nice running into you again. Even if it was literally,” she added impishly.
“Nice, yes.”
“Well, I’ll let you be on your way.” She extended her hand to him. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other again in another twelve years.”
Blake took her offered hand and was instantly surprised at the trusting way her fingers molded around his. Her grip was strong and warm, a reflection of the woman she’d become.
“Uh, are you busy right now?” The question blurted past his mouth before he’d realized the words were anywhere near his tongue. “If you’d like, we could walk down the street to Conchita’s and have a cup of coffee.”
Her eyebrows arched and then she glanced over both shoulders as though to make sure he was actually inviting her, rather than someone who may have been standing behind her.
“I’m running a few errands this morning,” she explained. “But a few minutes for coffee shouldn’t hurt.”
A ridiculous little thrill rushed through him. “Great, I have a few minutes, too.”
Liar, liar. You don’t have a minute to spare. Not with all kinds of work waiting on you back at Three Rivers. What the hell has come over you, Blake? She said her name was O’Dell now. That means she’s married. Or doesn’t that matter to you?
It didn’t matter if she was married, Blake mentally argued. Buying an old acquaintance a cup of coffee was hardly an indecent gesture.
He reached for her arm. “Let’s walk on this side of the street until we reach the end of the block.”
She nodded in agreement. “I was about to suggest the same thing. It’s only the first week of April, but it feels like July. And this side of the street offers a bit of shade from the blistering sun.”
As they walked along the quiet street of Wickenburg, Arizona, Blake was acutely aware of the soft, sweet scent of her perfume, the way the sun put fiery sparks in her shoulder-length black hair and the graceful sway of her hips.
“So are you here in town for long?” he asked as they paused at the street corner to check for traffic.
“I live here now,” she told him. “I moved back almost three years ago.”
Blake hoped the red he could feel on his face wasn’t that noticeable. “Oh. Mom mentioned something about you moving away. That was several years ago. I wasn’t aware you’d returned. I...don’t get away from the ranch all that much. There’s always so much to do.”
“I can understand that,” she replied. “I remember Three Rivers always being a very busy place.”
Busy? That was a mild way to describe his family business, Blake thought. As the general manager of Three Rivers Ranch, he barely had time to draw a good breath. If not for the mix-up at the bank requiring his personal attention this morning, he wouldn’t have been in town at all, much less taking time to have coffee with a woman. But that wasn’t the sort of information he needed to share with Katherine O’Dell.
They crossed the street, then traveled another half block until they reached Conchita’s coffee shop. The small pink stucco building was shaded by two large mesquite trees and offered customers outdoor seating. As they walked over a group of stepping stones that served as a sidewalk, Blake gestured to one of the tiny round tables situated on the stone patio.
“Go ahead and take a seat, I’ll get the coffee. What would you like?”
“Thank you, Blake. Make mine plain coffee with one sugar.”
He seated her at one of the wrought-iron tables and entered the coffee shop through a wooden screen door. As usual, Emily-Ann Smith was behind the counter. In one corner of the small room, a radio was playing an old standard, while a table fan stirred the scents of fresh-baked pastries displayed in neat rows inside a large glass
