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With the event starting at five-thirty, she had no choice but to come straight from work. In Denver she’d have felt appropriately attired in the stylish burnt-orange sheath she’d worn to work. Especially when coupled with the translucent multicolored bead necklace and designer heels.
But this wasn’t Denver or Chicago or New York. This was Sweet River, Montana, where casual attire usually meant clean jeans and a cowboy shirt for men and a skirt and tank top for women.
She sca
A
“I don’t know if you remember me—” the woman began.
“Of course I do.” A
Cassie had been one of her classmates and captain of the volleyball squad. Though she’d grown up poor, she was smart and ambitious. Not to mention she had a killer serve. No one had been surprised when she’d earned a sports scholarship to the University of Montana. But instead of going off to college, she’d married another classmate, Jack Dodds, and had a baby six months later. The last A
“Those carefree days seem like a lifetime ago.” Cassie’s smile dimmed slightly. “And it’s ‘Els’ again. Jack and I have been divorced almost five years.”
“What happened?”
“Long story.” Cassie waved a hand. “One best told over a pitcher of margaritas and a basket of chips.”
“You name the time and place and it’s a plan,” A
“I’m back for good.” Cassie’s lips curved up in a smile. “The boys are registered for school and Trenton—he’s almost thirteen—has already started football practice.”
A
“I told Mitch I wasn’t sure if a thirty-one-year-old unemployed seamstress qualified as young or professional, but he assured me I did,” Cassie continued. “So here I am.”
A
“Donavan,” Cassie said. “He moved back, too.”
“With you?” A
“Goodness no.” Cassie laughed. “But I wouldn’t mind if he had.” Her eyes lit up and she waved a hand at a large group milling around the hors d’oeuvres table. “Mitch. Over here.”
A
The urge to flee rose up inside A
A
“You know Mitch, don’t you, A
A
For a second her composure wavered.
Mature and confident. Fixing a smile firmly on her lips, A
“I heard you were back in town.” He hesitated for the briefest of seconds before his hand closed over hers. His palms, once rough and callused, were now smooth and the mere touch of his fingers sent electricity shooting up her arm.
Her breath caught in her throat and she wondered if he’d experienced the same jolt. But his face remained expressionless, his eyes shuttered.
He dropped his hand. An awkward silence descended. Thankfully Stacie’s fiancé, Josh Collins, chose that moment to stroll over with a tray of drinks.
“Care for some wine?” Josh asked, his gaze shifting curiously from A
“Don’t mind if I do.” Cassie took a glass of chardo
When Josh turned to A
Mitch took a glass of burgundy and gri
“I don’t mind.” The handsome rancher shrugged good-naturedly. “This is an important night for Stacie.”
“May I have your attention, please?” Stacie’s voice rang out over the crowd. Once the room grew silent, the vivacious brunette explained the mixer she’d designed to help everyone get better acquainted.
A
“I love this.” Cassie’s eyes snapped with excitement. She turned to Mitch and gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m so happy you asked me to come with you.”
A twinge of something that felt an awful lot like jealousy stabbed A
“It was great seeing you again.” A
“I’d like tha—”
“Everyone should be in their seats now,” Stacie called out.
“Ooh, I see an empty seat over there.” Cassie flashed A
A
Confident. Mature.
“I guess you’re stuck with me.” A
“It appears so.” He pulled out the remaining chair and sat down.
A
“Mitch,” she began, her confidence faltering as his enigmatic gaze settled on her. “I realize this is awkward, but I want—”
“Explain about your business,” Josh instructed, moving from table to table. “Or your job. That’s what this time is for.”
A
“Mitch.” She kept her fingers wrapped tightly together, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “I—”
“Before I moved back to Sweet River, I had my own architectural firm in Chicago,” he said in a tone you’d use with a stranger. Before she could get another word out, he told her about several of his favorite commercial projects before mentioning that he’d recently started designing custom log homes.
She listened to him extol the many facets of an architect’s life. As he spoke he kept his gaze focused on a spot over her left shoulder. Despite his cool attitude, she heard the pride in his voice as he described several of his designs. This wasn’t just a career for him, but a passion. A passion he’d obviously had since boyhood. Why hadn’t she known this was what he’d always wanted to do with his life?