His Proposal, Their Forever

“Sit,” Justin ordered.

Getting off her feet sounded wonderful, but she had a job to do. “I need to inventory the artwork.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” He pointed to the floor. “Sit. Five minutes won’t kill you.”

She hesitated. A Cole never shirked responsibility. Even AJ, who had left town eleven years ago and moved to Seattle, had done what he could to help their family when the economy soured and they were on the verge of losing their boats.

But Justin was right. Five minutes wouldn’t change anything. Bailey slid to the floor, careful of her foot, and stretched her leg out in front of her. She leaned back against the wall.

Oh, wow. This felt better. “A couple of minutes.”

The construction crew seemed to have disappeared. Maybe they were off in another part of the inn. Maybe they’d left. She didn’t care. Fewer people around meant fewer chances of bumping and damaging the art.

Justin sat next to her. He stretched out his long legs. She waited for his thigh or shoulder to touch hers, but that didn’t happen. Thank goodness he understood the meaning of personal space. She was too tired to deal with anything more this morning.

“How long until the artists pick up their stuff?” he asked.

He was calling her life’s work “stuff.” How quickly her fantasies about an intelligent man who worked Anubis into a discussion were dashed. But then again, he wanted to tear down the inn.

“While you were taking your time unloading the truck, I called and left messages. The artists have jobs and families. They’ll be here as soon as they can.”

He glanced at his cell phone, but she couldn’t tell if he was checking the time or a text. “Can you be more specific as to when?”

“Got big plans, like working on the approval process?”

“Something along those lines.”

“I’m here. You don’t have to hang around.”

“I do. I own the inn.” Justin motioned to her foot. “Besides, you’re hurt. You can’t do this on your own. You need help.”

“Resting is helping.” Not really, but she wouldn’t admit how much her foot ached. “I’ll stay off my feet. There’s no reason for you to stick around.”

“I need to lock up when you’re finished.”

“I’ve got a key.”

“Floyd gave you a key to the inn?”

Justin’s incredulous tone matched the look in his eyes. He and Oliver could be twins separated at birth.

“No, his late father, Clyde, did.” She shouldn’t feel the need to explain, but she did. “I started working here when I was sixteen.”

“Front desk?”

“Kitchen.” She glanced to the doorway on the right where she’d spent so many years. The imagined smell of grease was as strong as if the fryers were going. “I was a cook until a few years ago. Then I partnered with Floyd to open the gallery. We hold art events here. Held them, I mean.”

The gallery no longer existed. The inn, either.

The truth hit her like a sneaker wave, knocking her over on the beach and dragging her out to sea. The coast guard couldn’t rush in and save the day. No one could. The inn as she knew it was gone.

The news devastated her. This was the place where she’d figured out how to bring artist and art lovers together. Where she’d worked in the kitchen and grown up amid a staff that treated her as an equal, not a kid. Where she planned on getting married... She struggled to breathe.

Returning the art was only the first thing she had to do today. She needed to find another venue.

“What kind of events?” Justin asked.

She flexed her fingers. “Shows, exhibits, classes. I’m supposed to hold a Canvas and Chardonnay class here tomorrow.”

“Canvas and Chardonnay?”

“That’s what I call my paint night. The class appeals mostly to women, though a few men join in. People socialize, drink wine, eat appetizers, and I show them how to paint.”

“In one night?”

“Everyone paints the same subject. We go step by step. It’s fun and easy. And the inn was the perfect location for the gathering.” She leaned her head against the wall. “The results are amazing. Each person leaves with a smile and takes home a finished canvas.”

Bailey didn’t know why she was going on about her painting classes. He didn’t care what she did. She would sit for sixty more seconds, then get things done, not chitchat with her nemesis.

He glanced at his cell phone again.

“You need to go,” she said. “Work. I’m fine here by myself.”

“It’s Wyatt, seeing where things stand.” Justin typed on his phone. “I’m staying.”

His words meant only one thing. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. The ache in her heavy heart hurt worse than her toe. “Then I don’t need my key.”

A part of her wanted to hear the words keep it. Wishful thinking. He said nothing.

Bailey’s fingers fumbled. She worked to remove the key that she’d carried with her eleven, almost twelve, years. She managed to unhook the key. “Here you go.”

Her fingers brushed the skin of his palm. An electric shock made her drop the key onto his hand. She pulled her arm away. Must be static electricity in the air.

“Thanks.” He stuck the key in his pocket. “Thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

“You own the inn.”

“I do, but you act like I’ve done something wrong.”

“Architectural and historical preservation is vital, but you’ve ignored basic—”

“This architecture isn’t anything special.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “The renovations over the years have nothing to do with the original design. It’s a hodgepodge of trends over the past century.”

“Hodgepodge? Thought was put into every change.” Red-hot heat flowed through her. She should have known he’d never understand. “Did you know the materials used in the renovations have been salvaged from all over the Northwest, the United States and Europe? Each piece has a history aside from the inn. Stained glass and lead glass windows from old churches. Beams and flooring from nineteenth-century buildings.”

“Don’t romanticize being cheap.” His tone made tearing down a historic landmark sound like a public service. “The inn has lost its appeal over the years. What character remains isn’t enough to make up for everything else that is lacking. Don’t get me started on structural concerns or electrical issues. The wiring is a mess, as is the plumbing.”

She scooted away from him to put distance between them. He might be a pro at justifying his plan, but that didn’t make him right. “If you feel that way, why did you buy the inn?”

“To turn the place around. Make a profit.”

“By flattening the building with a wrecking ball?”

A muscle twitched at his neck. “Given the low sale price, if we hadn’t purchased the inn, someone else would have.”

Maybe, but something felt off here. She didn’t know if it was Floyd or Justin. “Someone else might not have torn down the inn.”

“I’m not the bad guy here.” His voice sounded sincere, but he would never convince her that he and his company had the inn’s best interest at heart. “I’m just doing my job.”

“That makes two of us.” Or she wouldn’t be sitting here hurting and looking so frightful. “As head of Haley’s Bay Historical Committee, I’ll do everything I can to make sure this inn remains in all its hodgepodge, character-lacking glory.”

* * *

Three hours later, Justin walked another lap around the inn’s dining room, ignoring the urge to check the time on his cell phone again.

Bailey leaned against the wall on the other side of the room, talking with a gray-haired artist who introduced herself as Faye. The two women had been chatting for over twenty minutes. Not that he had anything better to do than wait for them to finish.

The older woman had been the last to show up, and he was stuck until she left. He’d never spent this much time anywhere unless he was working or sleeping. Sure, he’d sent texts, made calls and done what research he could on his smartphone, but he needed Wi-Fi and his laptop. The two things Justin had achieved this morning were memorizing every inch of this room and every inch of Bailey Cole.

She laughed. The sound carried on the air and drew his gaze to her once again. Her coveralls were finally dry, no longer clinging to her body. Okay, her chest.

Yeah, he’d looked. What man wouldn’t? More than once, her shift in position gave him a better view and rendered him mute. Not his fault. He was a guy, one who’d been too busy working to date regularly.

Her feminine curves sent his body into overdrive. Looking made him think of holding her. Carrying her the short distance through the rain had felt so right. Too bad he wouldn’t be touching her again.

Bailey’s sharp glances and pursed lips suggested she wouldn’t mind punching him once or twice. The thought of her getting so worked up, the gold flecks in her eyes flashing like flames, amused him.

She was driven, cared about things other than herself. The opposite of his ex-wife, Taryn. Passionate beat dismissive any day. Not that he was interested in a relationship. Marriage wasn’t for him. Too much work and compromising.

Plastic crinkled. The other woman covered her sculpture.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice.” Bailey bent her knee so her foot didn’t touch the floor. “I’ll let you know about tomorrow night’s painting class.”

Faye picked up the sculpture. “You’ll find a place.”

“Would you like help carrying that to your car?” Justin asked.

“Heavens, no. But thank you.” Faye smiled at him. “This is light compared to the driftwood I drag across the beach. Bye.” She walked out of the dining room.

Bailey slumped against the wall, her eyelids half-closed. Slowly, as if exerting effort hurt, she pulled out her cell phone. Her shoulders sagged, the worry over the inn seeming too much for her now. “Darn. The battery died.”

“You can use my phone.”

“Thanks. I want to text my family. I’m going to need help getting out of here.”

Justin nearly flinched. Why was she calling someone else when he was right here? He’d carried the painting. Hell, he’d carried her. He had this. “I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, but...” She rubbed the back of her neck.

“What?”

“It’s not getting the paintings or me to the car.” She looked down at the floor. Her energy had drained like her cell phone. “My foot. I don’t think I can drive myself home.”

He’d only spent the morning with her, but she had a backbone and strength. She had to be hurting badly to admit she couldn’t drive.

Bailey sat without being told. That worried him. She leaned her head against the wall. That concerned him more.

He walked toward her. Her face looked pale compared to earlier, her eyes sunken. “This isn’t only about your foot. You don’t feel well.”

“My fault.”

Her reply surprised him as much as her admitting she couldn’t drive herself.

“I haven’t eaten,” she added.

“Since breakfast?”

“Um...since lunch yesterday.”

“You haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Why not?”

“When I get into a painting I lose track of time. That’s what happened yesterday. I don’t think I went to bed until two. And then my grandma called me early this morning.”

“I’ve done that myself when I’m working on a new design. I’ll drive you home in your car. One of the crew can pick me up.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

Take the out. Walk away. That was the smart thing to do. Except she looked as if she might pass out. “I’m taking you home now. You need to eat. Sleep.”

“And shower.”

Justin imagined how she would look naked with water dripping from her hair and down her skin. He tugged at his collar. Getting a little warm in here. Time to turn off the video in his mind. A full view of her strange outfit would do the trick. His gaze ran the length of her. “So this isn’t your normal style?”

Bailey framed her face with her hands. “What? You don’t like the psychotic nutcase look?”

“I’ve never been a big fan of nutcases or clowns.”

“Me, either. I’m glad there aren’t any fun-house mirrors around. I’d scare myself.”

“You don’t scare me.” He hadn’t meant to flirt with her. Maybe she didn’t notice. “I’ll help you to your car, then come back for your artwork.”

Her wary look changed to resignation. “I can carry a painting.”

“It would be easier if I carry you.”

Bailey might be on the fashion police’s Most Wanted List, but if he got to carry her out of the inn, this day would rank up there with a Seattle Seahawks’ Super Bowl win.

“What do you say?” he asked.

Chapter Three

So much for carrying Bailey.

Outside the inn, Justin adjusted his grip on her framed painting. Plastic wrap crinkled beneath his fingertips. He could tell this piece meant more to her than the others, so he would be extra careful. But the woman herself...

He should have known better than to get worked up over her.

Passionate, yes, but stubborn to the nth degree.

He’d offered to carry Bailey to the car, then go back for the artwork. She hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d then suggested getting her car and picking her up in front of the inn. She’d said no again. Mules had more sense than Bailey Cole.

She moved at a snail-pace wobble, her steps unsteady on the wet sidewalk. Any second, she might go down and hit the concrete. She would probably want him to let her fall than risk damaging her art.

She might be one of the most annoying women he’d ever met, but she worried him. “You okay?”

Bailey shot Justin a glare, one he’d become familiar over the past few hours. Her lips should thin in three...two...one...

And they disappeared. A line of chalk was thicker than her mouth. As easy to read as the Sunday comics. Too bad her lone-wolf act didn’t make her curves less appealing.

“I told you.” Her know-it-all voice grated on his back teeth. “I’m fine.”

Sure she was. And he had complete control of the Broughton Inn project. What a pair they were. Well, a pair for however long this situation took to get resolved.

He supported the canvas between his far arm and body, in case she needed help. “You’re back to looking like you’re going to fall over.”

“You have bigger things to worry about than me.”

True, but he needed to get rid of her before he could deal with the rest of the mess. “Until I get you home, you’re my biggest concern.”

“It won’t be for much longer. Five-minute drive, max. I’ll be home long before I come close to losing it.”

Whoa. His gaze ran the length of her. Maybe he hadn’t figured her out. “Did you just admit you’re on the verge of a meltdown?”

She didn’t shrug or shake her head. “Maybe.”

That was more than he thought she’d admit. Bailey Cole had ruined his day, but given her injury, she was a trooper—make that a general—who had defeated him. He couldn’t wait for a rematch and to come out on top. Still Justin had a strange desire to comfort her, a feeling not only due to her killer curves.

She shortened her stride again. “If you don’t mind adding a couple of minutes onto the drive to my house, I’d be grateful if you swung by the Burger Boat.”

“They sell burgers on a boat?” he asked.

“Nope. Local fast food place. On land, not water. They have a drive-through, so we won’t have to get out of the car. Not that I could.” She glanced at her foot with a want-to-start-the-day-over look. “But it’s past lunchtime. I’m starving and my cupboards are bare.”

Her words reminded him of the “Old Mother Hubbard” nursery rhyme. Not that they had a dog to feed. Thank goodness the mutt was gone.

Thinking about a rhyme should seem odd, but wasn’t given the way she was dressed and how strange today had been. “No eating. No food at home. You don’t take very good care of yourself, Miss Cole.”

“I take good care of myself.” Her tone was an interesting mix—defensive and honest. She inched toward the curb. Exhaustion creased her face. “Except when I’m wrapped up in a project. Then my plans, like grocery shopping, get pushed aside. Most days bring a surprise or two.”

Surprises, indeed. She’d surprised him.

“You might find a healthy meal and sleep a boon to your creativity.”

“I’ll remember that the next time.”

“No, you won’t,” he said.

“I was trying to be polite.”

“You sound annoyed.”

“I’m that, too.”

“Because you’re hungry.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “A burger sounds good. I need to pick up lunch because Wyatt gave the dog my turkey sandwich.”

Bailey stopped. “Where is the dog?”

“No idea. Dined and dashed. Probably headed home.”

A look of concern returned to her face. “He could be a stray.”

Nope. Justin wasn’t going there. She might want to drive around and try to find the damn thing. Then they’d have to call Animal Control and wait. Again. He’d wasted his morning. He wasn’t about to lose the entire day.

Time to change the subject. “Which car is yours?”

She pointed toward a four-door hatchback with a bright yellow exterior and black upholstered seats parked on the street.

“Looks like a bee.” Tiny cars were annoying to drive, but this one was the color of a hot rod. He might not mind the leg cramps headed his way.

Bailey nodded, then stumbled.

He grabbed her with his free hand. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks.”

He should be thanking her. Warmth and softness pressed against Justin, making him think of lazy autumn weekend mornings spent in bed, the brush of flannel sheets against skin, the feel of someone else’s heartbeat and the sound of another breath.

Yes. He needed to get out more. Nothing serious, just for fun.

He helped her into the car, closed the door, then walked around to the hatchback and loaded the painting. “Tell me about this burger place. Good food?”

She turned and leaned between the front seats. “Best fries in town, thanks to a special seasoning mix. A little spicy, but not too much.”

“I don’t mind a little heat.”

His words came out more suggestive then he’d intended. But what could he say? That image of a bed and tangled flannel sheets was burned on his mind.

She faced forward. “There are bungee cords, if you want to secure the painting.”

Justin battened down the frame, then slid into the driver’s seat. His right knee crashed into the steering wheel. “Knowing that was coming didn’t help.”

He expected her to laugh at him, tease him at the least, but no mocking laughter appeared in her eyes.

“That had to hurt.” Her nose crinkled, her forehead, too. “You okay?”

“That’s supposed to be my line.” He didn’t like being on the receiving end of her seeming to care. She was the enemy and would lose this fight to save the inn. “I’m fine.”

“That’s my line.”

“Now we’re even.” He adjusted the seat so his legs half fit, then saw the stick shift. “You managed to drive a clutch with your injured foot.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Damn straight I am.” The woman was unbelievable. But he knew that. “Did you even consider staying home or at least off the roads?”

“I had no choice. If I hadn’t come, there wouldn’t be an inn.”

So much for a truce. “If you’d been bleeding with your foot torn to shreds—”

“That’s what rolls of gauze and bandages are for.”

“You’re either dedicated or insane.”

“A little of both.”

Her admission surprised him. “Seriously?”

“No one completely sane chooses to be a full-time artist. The market’s as fickle as the economy, creativity comes and goes and making a living is hard. But I give lessons, put on events and sell an occasional piece. Somehow things work out.”

Her car sat lower to the road than any car he remembered driving. Not a bumblebee. More like a battery-powered toy. He fastened his seat belt. “You must be doing okay, given this car.”

“I’m not a starving artist, even if I look like one. I travel back and forth to a gallery in Seattle. I need a reliable vehicle. This one fits the bill.”

From crazy to practical in less than thirty seconds. She must drive her boyfriend to the brink of insanity.

But what a way to go, a voice in his head whispered.

Justin ignored it. He drove up the block to the inn and parked at the curb. “I’m going to bring out the rest of your artwork. Won’t take me long.”

Five minutes later, he was back behind the wheel. “Which way?”

“Follow Bay Street until you reach Third Avenue. You can only turn right. You’ll see the Burger Boat on the left.”

He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. “Think you’ll be able to hold yourself together that long?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

He couldn’t tell from her tone if she was joking or warning him.

Justin drove past the marina. Many of the slips were empty. The fishermen and charter-boat captains who made a living on the sea must be hard at work. People like Bailey’s family.

Across the street sat stores and cafés, one after another. The buildings looked newer, not just with a new coat of paint, but updated facades to add to the quaint, coastal feel of the town. One restaurant had a crow’s nest, but no drive-through window.

People, dressed in shorts or sundresses, filled the boardwalk running the length of the Bay Street shops. The little town of Haley’s Bay was a big draw with Cape Disappointment and Long Beach nearby.

A boat-shaped building with a giant plastic hamburger for the ship’s wheel caught his attention. Must be the Burger Boat. The blue-and-white paint job looked new, as did the windows. But the architecture screamed early 1970s tacky and retro-cool.

“Follow the anchors painted on the pavement to get to the drive-through window.”

He did and stopped behind a silver minivan. There was no intercom system with a digital screen to display an order, only a window. “What do you recommend besides the fries?”

“The pirate booty burger is good if you have a big appetite. The hazelnut chocolate shakes are amazing.”

“You know the menu well.” He expected a shrug, but didn’t get one.

“I eat here once a week. Have since I was a kid. They add seasonal shake flavors like pumpkin in the fall, and occasionally change up the Catch of the Day burger, but pretty much the menu has stayed the same for as long as I remember, a lot like Haley’s Bay until they put in new shops on Bay Street.”

“You don’t like the changes.”

This time she shrugged. “They are tourist spots, necessary for a service-oriented town, but not practical shops for those who call this place home. I miss the old places like the hardware store and pharmacy.”

“The familiarity?”

“Consistency.”

“To balance the not-always-stable life of an artist?”

“I guess. Maybe I’m just stuck in my ways.”

The minivan pulled away from the window. Justin released the brake and drove forward.

“I’ll have a dinghy burger, fries and root beer.” She dug through her yellow shopping bag and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Lunch is on me. I appreciate the ride home and not having to wait for my family.”

Justin had two choices. Accept her offer or say no, thanks. He weighed both options. One would piss her off. Both might. But she was tired, and they were hungry. No sense aggravating the situation more. And she had ruined his day. A free lunch wouldn’t make up for the mess she caused.

He took the money.

Loose strands of hair curled around her face and caught the light. The color looked coppery like a shiny new penny. His stomach tightened. That had nothing to do with being hungry.

She wasn’t sweet or nice. She was a pain in the ass.

Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

The fast-food place’s drive-through window slid open.

“Ahoy, matey. Welcome to the Burger Boat.” A man in his early twenties with a chipped front tooth and a sailor cap grinned. “What can we reel in for you today?”