His frustration dissipated as he left his work in the kitchen, as well as the mess he’d strewn about the living room, and met her on the front porch.
An attitude change wasn’t so difficult once he saw her face-to-face, though. How did a woman become prettier in a matter of hours?
She’d shed her apron, for one thing. And she looked a lot less frazzled, for another. Maybe that’s because he was seeing her in the light of day instead of the diner.
The afternoon sun glistened off the gold strands in her copper-colored hair, which hung loose about her shoulders. Her eyes, a caramel shade of brown, glimmered under a fringe of long, dark lashes. She still bore a light scatter of freckles across a turned-up nose. But in a most attractive way that made a man want to memorize each one.
She wore a cream-colored gauzy top, and while it wasn’t the least bit formfitting, he found it sexy in a feminine way.
Rounding off her ensemble was a pair of shorts and sandals that revealed neatly manicured toenails.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his gaze traveling up—taking in her pretty face, then tempted to travel back down again.
Damn, get a grip. He was glad to have her here. He needed the help. But he didn’t need her to realize that she’d also brought in a ray of sunlight to what had started out as a dreary day.
“Here,” he said, “let me take your bag.”
“It’s not heavy.”
“Maybe not, but for some reason, I’ve been doing quite a bit of reminiscing these past few days. I think it’s a side effect of being here at the ranch. And I can’t help but hear Granny’s voice urging me to remember my manners.”
“Then by all means,” she said, handing over her suitcase while hanging on to her purse and a small canvas tote bag. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”
His movements stalled for a moment, long enough for Granny’s voice to hover in his memory. You’re a good boy. You know right from wrong, Jay-Ray. Don’t disappoint me like your daddy did.
But he shook it off as quickly as it came. He’d done his best to make both his great-grandmother and his father proud. Trouble was, he wasn’t so sure he’d pleased either one.
He led Juliana through the living room, winding through the mess he’d made, and into the hall. He’d thought about giving her one of several guest rooms, but decided upon Granny’s bedroom, which was bigger and had a private bathroom.
“I thought you’d be more comfortable in here.” He placed her suitcase on the lavender floral quilt that draped the queen-size bed.
“Thank you. This will be fine.” She set her purse and the tote alongside her bag. Then she glanced around the room, which he hadn’t entered in years—until he’d come in last night to change the sheets, dust and air things out.
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t come into Granny’s room before then. Too many memories, he supposed. Even the furnishings, the white eyelet curtains, the embroidered throw pillows, still held a whiff of Granny’s powdery lavender scent. It was enough to draw a boy farther inside—and to make a man withdraw.
Juliana walked toward the south wall, which displayed a gold-framed portrait of Granny that appeared to be fairly recent. She’d only been gone for three years, and it couldn’t have been painted too long before that.
“That’s a perfect likeness,” Juliana said. “She looks just as I remember her—the eyes, the nose, the smile.”
Jason followed her, taking note of the expression that had been caught on canvas and thinking the same thing. “It’s like looking at a photograph, yet it’s softer. And almost real.”
“Did she have it commissioned?”
“I assume she did. I don’t remember seeing it before last night.” But then again, he hadn’t been home for any notable visit in years.
“The artist is quite talented.” Juliana stepped closer and read the signature in the corner. “I used to work in a gallery, but I’ve never heard of Camilla Cruz. I don’t believe she’s local.”
That was odd. Then where had Granny met her? Jason supposed it didn’t matter, so he shrugged it off. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you unpack and freshen up. Afterward, you can meet me in the den—I’ve set up a temporary home office in there. It’s two doors down on the left. As soon as you’re settled, we can go over your job assignment.”
“Sounds great. I won’t be long.”
* * *
True to her word, Juliana only took a few minutes to put away the clothing and toiletries she’d brought with her. Then she met Jason in the oak-paneled room with a bay window that provided a view of the front yard and the big red barn.
He had an all-in-one laser printer, fax and scanner that took up a table near a built-in bookshelf on the far wall, as well as a laptop computer that sat next to an old-style PC with a big, bulky monitor that had been outdated years ago.
“I see you brought your own office setup.”
He glanced up from his work and smiled. “I tried to talk Granny into updating her computer system a couple of years ago, but she refused. My dad bought it for her about fifteen years ago and installed it. She’d gotten so used to that dinosaur that she couldn’t see parting with it. But I need something a lot more high-tech for what I do.”
She nodded then moved into the den. “So where would you like me to start?”
He glanced at the laptop screen and clicked the mouse, just as the printer roared to life. “I created a spreadsheet to inventory the items inside the house. If you make a note of them on paper first, we can input the data into the computer afterward. Some of the items are antiques, so we may need to research their value.”
“What about the sentimental value?”
He looked at her as if she’d uttered words in a foreign language. “Carly mentioned that. I suppose some people are more prone to form emotional attachments to things like furniture, but I don’t. And I doubt my brother does, either.”
“You’re wrong.” She bit her lip, wishing she could take it back. She hadn’t meant to be so judgmental, even if she had wanted to defend Braden. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I don’t think you know your brother very well.”
Again he paused for a beat. “You’re right about that—Braden and I haven’t been close. And if you grew up here in Brighton Valley and heard the local gossip, then you probably know why.”
Not for a fact, but she was aware of the rumors. And Braden had said enough to allow her to come to a few conclusions of her own. Their father, Charles Rayburn, had been married to Jason’s mother when he’d had an affair with Braden’s mom, during which Braden had been conceived. Jason’s mom had sued for divorce, but for some reason, Charles had never married Braden’s mother.
“Your family connection may not be one of your own choosing,” she said, “but you’re brothers just the same. I’d think that would
