These Boots Weren't Made for Walking (28 page)

“He's a nice guy,” says Mom from behind me.

“Yeah, he is,” I admit, blinking back tears as I continue to gaze out the window. It looks like more snow is on the way. A good thing for the slopes. I take a deep breath as I turn around to face
my mom. I briefly consider telling her more about how Will and I met and the whole Monica factor and how weird it was, but I just can't. Maybe it's the baby-pink rhinestone T-shirt, or maybe it's those snug, low-rise jeans, but this woman just doesn't look like a mother to me. Instead of someone to trust and confide in, she's practically the competition. And then I remember her flirty conversation with Will that upset me earlier. My mom, the cougar.

Okay, it probably doesn't help matters that I'm feeling sluggish and clumsy and heavy, struggling on these stupid crutches. It's like I'm the old woman here, and my mom is this spry, energetic young thing. So wrong.

“I think I'll take a nap,” I say as I hobble toward the stairs.

I'm sure my distressed feelings regarding Will are a combination of several factors—including that I'm hormonal right now. Seriously, why would I be interested in a guy who's working as a cook, doesn't even own a car, not to mention real estate, and is probably still up to his eyeballs in debt? Add the fact that he's a couple of years younger than I am (I've always had a thing about needing a guy who's older than I am), and it's just totally ridiculous.

I reach my bed at last and dump myself onto it. I shouldn't trouble myself with any of this since I'm sure Will has absolutely no interest in me. He's just being a nice guy and showing his appreciation. End of story.

hat friend of yours is a real hottie,” says Bridget as we get coffee after church the next day. “He actually looks a little like Matthew McConaughey. I can understand why you've been keeping him in hiding.”

“He hasn't been in hiding.”

She chuckles. “Well, I wouldn't blame you if you did. Now tell me all about him. And is it serious? And how does Ross Goldberg fit into all this? And what is it with you Cantrell women? First your mom, and now you—it's like you guys are keeping all the good men to yourselves.”

Okay, this makes me laugh. I begin by telling her about Will and how I helped him out in the city and how he wanted to show his appreciation. “And it was nice having him around after my knee injury.”

“And that's all there is to it?”

“Pretty much so.” I take a slow sip of my latte.

“Does that mean you are serious about Ross then?”

“Why are you so interested in my love life?” I ask. “Or rather lack of it?”

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

So I give her my old we're-just-friends spiel again. But she's not buying it. I change the subject to her and her art. “How's the mural coming?”

“Oh, I finished it. Now I just need to figure out what to do with it.”

I consider this. “Hey, maybe you should let me take a look at it. There's this big blank wall at the west entrance to the lodge. I think it could handle some art. I mean, if it worked. And if Ross liked it.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. Can I have a peek?”

She's already standing. “What're we waiting for?”

Soon I'm hobbling up the walk to Bridget's house, which turns out to be this incredibly cool bungalow. “This is charming,” I tell her as she unlocks the door.

“Thanks. I like it.”

I look around the interior of her house as we go in. “Really, Bridget, I so love this place—everything you've done. It's really cozy and homey.”

“Except for that,” she points to the huge painting that monopolizes her living room and dining area.

“Wow,” I say as I step closer to look at an impressionistic take of the local mountains. “It's great.”

“Do you think it could work at the lodge?”

I nod. “Definitely.”

Now Bridget is practically jumping up and down as she claps her hands.

“But its not up to me,” I remind her.

She laughs. “Well, if anyone can talk Ross Goldberg into it, I'm guessing it would be you.”

I give her a warning look. “Don't be so sure.”

“But you will talk to him?”

“Hey,” I say suddenly, “I have an even better idea. How would you feel about loaning it to us? We could go ahead and hang it during the holidays, and if Ross likes it, you can offer to sell it.”

She nods. “At least it would get it out of my hair.”

“And it'd give you some publicity—and Blue Pond too. Hey, maybe we can do some kind of cross promotion with the gallery and—-”

“You really do have a marketing mind, don't you?”

I grin. “It's my job.”

“Can you figure out a way to get it up there?” I ask. “And how to hang it?”

“Yep. I'll be on it first thing in the morning. Will that work?”

“Perfect.”

Then she hugs me. “You're such a good friend, Cassidy. I'm so glad you moved back to Black Bear. Even if you do hog all the good men.”

I roll my eyes.

“See you in the morning then?” I say as I hobble toward the door.

“You bet.”

My crutches, combined with the goodwill of Christmas spirit, garner me some sympathy on Monday. And I use this to my benefit when I tell Ross what I've done with Bridgets art.

“Really?”

I can't read his expression. Is he vexed or simply curious? “She's getting it into place as we speak,” I admit, leaning on my crutches. “I hope you don't mind.”

“You really think it'll look okay up there?”

“I do. And it's better than that big bare wall.” Then I tell him about my plan to do some cross promoting with Blue Pond. “I've been trying to come up with a way to connect with that gallery.”

He slowly nods. “I like your thinking.”

“I hope you like the painting too,” I say. “And if you don't, it'll be gone after the holidays anyway.”

By the afternoon, Ross not only likes the painting but is ready to make Bridget an offer. Everyone seems to think it looks perfect, almost as if it were a commissioned piece, and I feel like the belle of the ball. Well, other than these crutches, which are starting to wear some serious calluses on my armpits. The good news is that my knee is feeling a tiny bit better. My plan is to swim every day after work as a form of therapy for my knee. Ross has even suggested that I leave early to do this.

“It's a work-related injury,” he says. “Do whatever you need to take care of it.”

“You worried that I might sue?” I tease.

He smiles. “Not too worried. But maybe I can buy you off with some dinner tonight? You think you'll feel like eating after your workout?”

“I feel like eating right now.” I laugh, then remember how it made me sad to see him eating alone on Friday night at the brewery. Who knows what he did for meals during the rest of the weekend? “But I'll feel even more like eating after I finish my laps.”

“Great. Want to meet at the Den?” He kind of frowns. “We don't have too many options, do we?”

“Not really. But the Den is fine.”

As I walk to my car, I call Bridget on my cell phone with the good news about her painting.

“No way!” she squeals. “He's going to make an offer?”

“Yes. So you should be thinking of what it's worth.”

“You're the best, Cassidy. I owe you.”

I feel happy as I drive toward town. Even with my banged-up knee, my life is in a much better place than it was just a few months ago. And yet… I can't quite put my finger on it, but it still feels like something is missing. Or maybe I'm just restless.

I have a good swim, and Ross and I have a nice dinner. He politely asks me a little about Will. How did we meet? What does he do? And I tell Ross about Will's interest in starting his own restaurant. “Maybe even in a town like Black Bear.”

Ross nods with a slight frown. “I've seen so many new restaurants come and go in this town. It's not easy. I even worry about Alex and Elise and Petit Ours Noir. Business is okay now—the ski
season is strong. But if things slow down, well, it can be hard on small businesses.”

“Yes, I imagined that was the case.”

“Speaking of Petit Ours Noir,” he says, “they're having a special Christmas Eve dinner Thursday night, just family and friends, and I wondered if you'd like to join me. I realize your family will probably all be here by then, for the wedding and everything, but—”

“I'd love to come,” I say.

He seems relieved. “Great.”

This reminds me of something else. I'd been toying with the idea of asking Ross to be my date for Cammies wedding. It seemed a little presumptuous at first, but now I'm thinking it might be okay. “Speaking of the wedding and my family,” I begin, “do you think you'd be interested in playing the role of my date for the reception?” I give him a weak smile. “Callie has this dance planned for New Year's Eve. Its not going to be terribly spectacular—it's just at the community center—but she has reminded me several times that I should bring a dancing partner. Any interest?”

“Of course.” He smiles. “I'm actually a fairly good dancer, although I'm probably a bit rusty.”

“Well, I'm not the greatest, but I do know my way around the dance floor. Hopefully, I won't be doing the two-step on crutches.”

“I'm sure we could figure out a way to make it work.”

I realize this means that he should probably be invited to the wedding too. I make a mental note to mention this to Callie,
although I wouldn't be surprised if she's already done it. For all I know, she's planning my wedding to Ross right along with Cammies.

The lodge is busier than ever during the days preceding Christmas. But on Christmas Eve, it slows down a little.

“That's normal,” says Ross when I express some concern. “People have things to do, getting ready for the holiday. The day after Christmas it'll be standing room only around this place.”

Both of my sisters and Callie's hubby and boys have been staying at Mom's house for several days now, and it's been a bit of a madhouse. I find myself relieved to inform them that I have a dinner engagement for Christmas Eve. “It's a special dinner at Petit Ours Noir,” I explain.

“I wish we'd known about it,” says Callie, sounding slightly jealous. She's sitting on my bed now, pouting. “Maybe we could ve booked it too. I've heard that French restaurant is pretty nice.”

“Ross only invited me this week,” I say as I slip my small diamond-stud earrings into place. “And its a special dinner, just the owners family and friends.”

“Well, aren't you the lucky one?” says Callie as she leans back on the headboard and puts her feet up on my bed.

“Come on,” Cammie urges from where she's leaning against my doorframe, “give Cass a break. I remember times you had a
date on Christmas Eve, Callie.” Then she turns to me. “By the way, you look great, Cassie. That black dress is phenomenal on you. Very
sexy.”

“Yeah, and those shoes aren't bad either,” says Callie. “You sure they won't wreck your knee again?”

“No, it's feeling great,” I assure her. “I've been off the crutches for two days, and it's just fine.”

“Those shoes really are awesome,” says Cammie as she looks at them more closely.

“You like them?” I strike a pose for her. “Stuart Weitzman. I was going to wear them for the wedding too.”