When my dad died … I don’t know if I could have made it without you.” Slowly, she lifted her head and they looked at each other.
He gave in. “Okay. Coffee.”
She knew he was no fan of decaf, but coffee kept him awake when he drank it at night, so she brewed decaf anyway. That was the thing about Lizzie. She knew what he wanted—and what he needed—without his having to tell her.
He took a muffin, grabbed a napkin and sat down at the table by the dark bow window. She used the single-cup maker, so the decaf was ready in no time. She set it down in front of him. He waited until she took the chair across the table before he broke off a hunk of the muffin and put it in his mouth.
Fat blueberries and that sweet, buttery, pale yellow muffin. How was it that Lizzie’s muffins always managed to be light and substantial, both at once? Delicious. Lizzie’s muffins—like her cookies and her cakes, her pies and the fat loaves of bread she baked—always made him feel good. Satisfied. Happy with the world and his place in it.
At home.
Yeah. That was it. Lizzie made him feel at home.
She said, “I’ve been thinking about that severance bonus you mentioned.”
He ate another bite, savoring it, before he spoke. “Three months, it’s yours.”
She shook her head. “It’s just too long.”
“Two, then.” He pulled out all the stops and put on a sad, pleading expression. “Two months. Lizzie, you’ve got to give me a little time …”
A little time. Who did he think he was kidding?
There was only one Lizzie. She made it possible for him to lead exactly the life he enjoyed—no commitments, no strings. He worked hard and played hard, and when he got home, there was no one there nagging him. Just the sweet smell of something baking in the oven and Lizzie offering a nightcap. Or a bedtime cup of decaf and a fat blueberry muffin.
He not only needed to keep her from quitting, but he also needed to find a way to make her see that opening a bakery was a dream best left to die a natural death. He needed her to keep working for him. And to keep being his live-in best friend.
He picked up his coffee and sipped.
Not much got by Lizzie. Now, she was studying him with pure suspicion in her eyes. “What kind of scheme are you hatching?”
He rearranged his expression, going for total harmlessness, as he set down the cup. “Montana will be fun. A change. Change is a good thing.”
She made a humphing sound. “In spite of your plans for getting into oil shale, how likely is it that you’re going to be building an office there?”
“Very likely.” He hoped. “I have family there. Two brothers. Cousins. And my sister and my other brothers are making noises like they might want to settle down there, too.”
“An invasion of Traubs.”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way exactly.”
She snorted. “I would.”
He reminded her, “And I have found a house there.”
“You mean you had me find you a house there.”
“That’s right. And you did a great job.” At least judging by the pictures she’d shown him online. Neither of them had actually been there yet. But the lease was for only six months. If he didn’t like it, he’d find something else.
She was giving him that don’t-kiss-up-to-me-because-I’m-not-buying-it look. He didn’t care much for that look. She said, “How about this? You go, I stay. I hire and train my replacement while you’re gone.”
Not a chance. “Forget that.” He ate another bite of the amazing muffin. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“About?”
“I want two months out of you in Montana. Forget training your replacement. When the two months are up, I’ll find my own assistant.”
She wrinkled her very assertive nose. “Montana. Ugh.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve been there. Thunder Canyon is like everyone’s dream of a hometown in the mountains. And the scenery is spectacular.” When she only sat there staring at him mournfully, he reminded her, “You get a giant bonus. For only two more months.”
She slanted him a sideways glance. “Two months would be it. The end. You accept that?”
He didn’t. So he lied. “Absolutely.”
“Fine,” she agreed at last. “Two months. I go with you to Montana. I get that big bonus and you find your own new assistant.”
“Deal.” He popped the rest of the muffin into his mouth and offered her his hand across the table. She took it and they shook.
He was careful to keep his gaze steady on hers and only to smile on the inside, to give her no clue that he was lying through his teeth. There was no way she was leaving him. He just needed more time with her to make her see the light.
Two months in Thunder Canyon should be just the ticket.
Chapter Two
Late Thursday afternoon, Ethan parked his rented SUV on Main Street in Thunder Canyon. The early-June sun shone bright and the air was crisp and clean, with a cool wind sweeping down from the mountains. In the distance, snowcapped peaks reached for the wide Montana sky.
He was thinking he would walk the three blocks to the Hitching Post, the landmark saloon/restaurant that had stood for well over a hundred years now at the corner where Main jogged north and became Thunder Canyon Road.
But then, a few doors down, he spotted his sister-in-law Erika. The pretty brunette stood peering in the window of one of the shops. Beside her was a gorgeous blonde. Ethan knew the blonde, too: Erin Castro, his brother Corey’s bride-to-be.
As Ethan approached, Erin turned her back to the window. She sagged against it, hanging her head. When she spoke, Ethan heard the tightness of barely controlled tears. “I can’t believe this. I talked to him yesterday …”
Erika peered all the harder in the wide front window. “I’m so sorry, Erin. I really don’t think there’s anyone in there. And all the display cases are empty.”
Erin tipped her head back and let out a moan. “How can this be happening? Oh, Erika, what am I going to do now? The wedding is Saturday.”
Erika turned around and leaned back against the window, next to Erin. “I can’t believe he would just … vanish like that.” Right then, she glanced over and saw Ethan lurking a few feet away, waiting for them to notice him. She frowned. “Ethan? Hey, I didn’t know you were already in town.”
He nodded. “Got in an hour ago. My assistant shooed me out of the house. She doesn’t like me underfoot while she’s trying to unpack—and why do I get the feeling something
