A Cowboy For The Twins

He took the boxes from her, his own lips curving slightly. “Sounds like you have a good plan in place.”

“I work in a bank. The only way I’d get the money was if I had everything figured out down to how many teaspoons of baking powder I’ll need.”

He chuckled at that, and the shift in his expression was a surprise to her. He looked more approachable. More like the old Noah she remembered from school.

But right behind that came the memory of her brother.

“Enjoy the cake,” she said, looking away.

He didn’t leave, which made Shauntelle more uncomfortable.

“I know I should have said it earlier but I didn’t get a chance.” He took a breath, and she steeled herself for what he was going to say. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

The apology sounded heartfelt and it should have made Shauntelle feel better, but if anything, it brought back her anger.

Josiah was gone, and Noah was still alive. Her parents had lost a son and she a brother. A hole in their family that could never be filled.

She didn’t know what to say, so all she did was nod to acknowledge his apology. Then, as if sensing her pain and anger, Noah took a step back, turning to his mother.

“We should go, Mom. Time to get you home.”

“Did you get the meat pies?” Mrs. Cosgrove asked, looking from Noah to Shauntelle. “I thought we were getting some meat pies.”

“We did,” Noah muttered.

But just before they could leave, someone was calling out his name and Owen Herne joined them by Shauntelle’s table.

“Hey, Noah, good to see you again,” Owen said, clapping him on the shoulder. “How long you back for?”

“Just for Cord’s wedding, then back to Vancouver.”

“So a couple weeks?”

“Probably less.” He looked like he was trying to edge away, but Owen stood in front of him, blocking his way.

“Okay. I need to talk to Shauntelle and was hoping I could catch you too somewhere along the way.” Owen glanced over at Shauntelle, and the foreboding look on his face wasn’t encouraging. “Do you have time?” he asked Shauntelle.

“You want to talk to me here?”

He jerked his chin in the direction of the now-empty coffee table. “We could go over there.”

“Give me a minute?” she asked, wiping suddenly damp hands down the side of her pants. She shot a look over to Millie and Margaret, wondering if they should be here. “Girls, why don’t you go check out Rory’s booth? See if she has any new jewelry.”

“But I thought you said we had to stay and help,” Millie said, looking very interested in whatever Owen might say.

“We need to talk, and I’d like you to go,” she said.

Margaret looked like she was about to protest as well when Mrs. Cosgrove, sensing what Shauntelle wanted, walked over to the girls, taking their hands. “You know, I haven’t been to the Farmer’s Market in a while. Maybe you could show me around. Would that be okay?” she asked Shauntelle.

“Sure.” Everyone knew everyone here, and the layout wasn’t that large. Shauntelle could keep an eye on them.

“I’ll come with you,” Noah said.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around too,” Owen said.

Noah frowned but nodded at his mother. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up. But be careful.”

“I’m not made of glass,” she said with a warning shake of her head. “Shall we go, girls?” she asked, and walked away.

Shauntelle watched a moment, but the girls seemed very comfortable with Noah’s mother, chattering as they walked alongside her, pointing out the various tables.

Owen led the way to the empty table, glancing around as he did, but no one was within earshot.

When they got there, Shauntelle turned back to Owen, her heart slowly increasing its tempo. “So what were you going to say?”

“The contractor bailed on us,” Owen said, dropping his hands on his hips. “Took his crew and left us in the lurch. It seems to be a recurring theme with this place. Anyhow, I thought I would tell you because you have a stake in the arena. I wanted to let you know in time so maybe you can make other plans.”

“But he was supposed to help me plan out my restaurant,” Shauntelle cried out. “We’re installing the doors in a week or so, getting the walls put up. He had plans for my benches. My furnishings. The decor.”

“Well he’s gone, which means that work on the arena has officially come to an end.”

And wasn’t that just typical, Shauntelle thought, fighting down a wave of anger and bitterness.

One more man she couldn’t count on.

* * *

Noah glanced over at Shauntelle as Owen delivered this piece of news.

Her face had gone white, and she looked like she was going to fall over. Instinctively he reached out to catch her by the arm and steady her.

To his surprise, she didn’t protest his holding her up.

All her attention was on Owen, and he found he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. He loosened his grip slightly, but kept his hand on her arm, supporting her.

“So what does this mean for us? What are we supposed to do? Will everything get put on hold?” She stopped there, pressing her free hand to her chest, glancing worriedly from Owen to Noah as if seeking answers from them.

He wanted to put his arm around her to console her, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t appreciate it.

Owen rubbed his chin with the knuckles of one hand as he blew out his breath in a sigh. “Sorry for dropping this on you, but I just found out and I thought you should know. Seeing as how you have a pretty big stake in getting this arena done on time.”

“I was supposed to open in a month and a half,” she murmured. Then, as if she finally realized it, she glanced at Noah’s hand still holding her arm and she pulled away.

Not that he blamed her, Noah thought. He knew what she thought of him. Each time she had seen him, her expression held a mixture of contempt and anger, which always made him want to explain, to tell her his side of the story.

Trouble was, he wouldn’t be able to do a very convincing job of it. In spite of what had been reported, he still felt a wrench of guilt each time he thought of Josiah’s death.

“So now we need to find a new contractor,” Owen was saying. “The insurance policy we’ve got in place and the building permit require that the person overseeing the project have the proper qualifications.”

“What about you?” Noah asked Owen. “You’ve been working as a carpenter for a while.”

“I have, but I don’t have my Journeyman’s ticket, or enough experience to satisfy all the requirements.”

Owen’s intense gaze made Noah uncomfortable, and Noah guessed there was an underlying implication. But he wasn’t biting. His plans weren’t set in stone yet, but he wasn’t changing anything.

“There’s got to be someone around here who has his ticket or runs a company,” he said, trying to keep his tone conversational.

“This time of the year, they’re all booked up already. That’s why we went with this guy.”

“It’s like this arena is never meant to be finished,” Shauntelle said, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “What am I going to do about my restaurant?”

Noah felt a glimmer of sympathy for her. She’d had so many disappointments in her life already. Now this.

Don’t volunteer. Don’t volunteer.

Noah had to remind himself over and over not to try to fix this problem. He knew what Shauntelle and her family thought of him. There was no way he was putting himself through that every day.

“Couldn’t you consider it?” Owen asked finally, going exactly where Noah suspected he had been headed from the moment he joined them.

Noah looked over at Shauntelle in time to see the look of dismay flit over her face. She met his gaze and quickly looked away.

He knew why she felt the way she did, yet it still stung. It also underlined any idea he might entertain of staying longer.

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