When We Met Part 8

He could do this, he told himself. Maybe just for the couple of months required for this season. Then he would explain to Denise and the mayor that he wasn't an FWM kind of guy. No way he could take his grove through- He turned the page and came to a stop. He swore silently, then began to look for an exit. Holy s.h.i.+t. There was a bead for the feminine cycle. What had the mayor been thinking when she'd suggested this was where he should volunteer? Was the old woman starting to lose her marbles? He couldn't talk to a bunch of-he checked which year that happened in and did the math-ten-year-olds about menstruation.

He carefully closed the notebook and stayed in his seat. When the meeting broke up, he headed directly for Denise. He waited until the other women had left, then faced Ford's mother.

"I can't do this," he said, putting his notebook down in front of her. "I'm not the right person for the job."

She surprised him by smiling. "Done in by the feminine cycle?"

He felt himself flush. "Look, I've faced a lot in my life. There are things I know, things I've done. Camping, sure. Knots and map reading, I'm good. But the rest of it? No way. These are little girls. They need a woman. Or at least a man with a daughter."

Denise's mouth straightened. "Angel, I understand your fear." She paused. "All right, I don't, but I believe it's real to you."

Talk about not being very supportive, he thought grimly.

"Most of the girls who have signed up for FWM this year come from either broken homes or they have suffered some kind of loss. While I want to believe nothing bad ever happens in Fool's Gold, that's not true. Mayor Marsha and I talked about this at length. We believe you're the right man for the job."

She put her hand on his forearm. "You said you'd take this on and I'm going to hold you to your commitment. Not only do I think it will be good for you, but there isn't anyone else I can get at such short notice. Please take the grove through this first short season. If at the end of that you want to be done, you can walk away."

He hesitated, torn by guilt. He had given his word, dammit. "Fine. Two months and then I'm done."

"We'll discuss that when the time comes." She pulled an index card out of her handbag. "In the meantime we've come up with what we think will be an excellent civic project for your girls. Max Thurman runs K9Rx Therapy Dog Kennels just outside town. Have you heard of it?"

He nodded slowly. "Dogs that visit sick people. Stuff like that."

"It's slightly more complicated, but that's close enough. Max has a new litter of puppies that need to be socialized. I think seven-year-old girls are perfect for the job. My daughter Montana works for Max. She'll be in touch with you to set up the schedule."

She rattled off a few more bits of information. Angel made note of them on his phone, then, when they were done, grabbed his pink notebook and escaped.

He walked out into the afternoon and told himself it was way too early to get drunk.

Girls. He was going to be responsible for seven-year-old girls. He paused by the curb and stared at his motorcycle. He rode a Harley. What if there were trips with the girls and he was expected to drive? People could die in a car accident. His scarred heart was living proof. He swore again, this time loudly and with emphasis.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed a couple of b.u.t.tons.

"It's me. What's your afternoon like?"

He waited for Consuelo to tell him she was too busy to bother with him, but she surprised him by pausing and saying, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything. I'm screwed."

"What do you need?"

He stared at the Harley. He loved riding it. Loved the feel of the wind, the speed. The sense of freedom.

"I need to buy a car."

"What?"

"I need something safe. That holds a lot of people. Like an SUV." Or a minivan. Only he couldn't even say the word. "One of those three-row ones."

He could feel the walls of life closing in on him.

"Do I want to know why?" Consuelo asked.

"No."

"Okay. See you at home in fifteen minutes."

TARYN STARED AT the simple dark chocolate truffle that had been delivered to her office, along with a note. There was a restaurant name and a time. No signature, no greeting. Just Henri's and seven o'clock. Either Angel was showing that he was into making an effort or he really didn't like to pick up the phone.

Before she could decide, Kenny and Jack walked in. Kenny dropped a ma.s.sive backpack onto her desk and grinned.

"You're back," she said, stating the obvious.

"We are back and we're the best," Kenny told her.

Jack sat on the corner of her desk and shrugged. "We can't help it," he said modestly. "We're simply that good."

"Lucky me."

Jack and Kenny had been in Los Angeles for the meeting with the owner of Living Life at a Run.

"So your conversation went well?" she asked.

"You know it. You're going to love Cole," Jack said as he slapped the top of the pack and grinned. "And he's going to love you."

Kenny nodded enthusiastically. "We talked sports, of course. He's a football fan."

"Who isn't?" Taryn asked, trying not to look at the jumbo backpack taking up most of her desk. It was huge and very black. There were poles on one side. If she didn't know better, she would think they went against the body-maybe to distribute the weight more evenly. A horrifying thought.

But the logo was facing her, so it was unlikely that part went against your back. Besides, if it didn't face out, how would you open it? Still, she wasn't sure she was excited about wearing something so heavy that it needed weight-distribution engineering built into its design.

"He skis," Kenny added, sounding impressed. "He knows Kipling Gilmore."

Taryn had learned long ago that it was easier to fit in with her business partners than to fight the inevitable. Besides, there were three of them and only one of her. So she'd learned the language of sports. She could intelligently discuss nearly every game played with a ball or even a puck. She understood which had innings, quarters and periods. Every year she sat with the boys during the NFL draft and listened to them tell what it had been like for them when they'd gone through it. Which meant she knew exactly who Kipling Gilmore was.

Kipling Gilmore was an American skier who had dominated at the Olympics. He'd taken the gold in both the Super-G and the combined events.

"I'm sure they're brus.h.i.+ng each other's hair even as we speak," she said.

Kenny shook his head. "Why aren't you impressed by sports celebrities?"

"Because I have you and Sam and Jack already. What could be better?"

"Good answer," Jack told her, and patted the backpack again. "Cole's excited about our meeting. The plan is for us to do an introductory presentation. Then we go camping for the weekend, followed by a more detailed discussion of what we could do for him."

Taryn nodded. This wasn't the first time a client had made that sort of a request. Many of them wanted to be sure the PR firm understood the product. They'd had a great time in Cabo with a client who made tequila. She had a feeling that for her, camping equipment and sports gear wouldn't be as fun. Not that she would get that intimately involved.

She was about to tell them to have a good time when she noticed how Kenny and Jack were looking at everything but each other. And her.

"What?" she demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"

Kenny nudged Jack. "You do it."

"You said you would."

"You were married to her."

Jack sighed. "Chicken."

"I'm good with that," Kenny admitted, then smiled at her. "Jack has something to tell you."

Taryn didn't like the tone of this conversation. "I've guessed that." She looked at Jack and raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Cole wants us to take a weekend trip with him."

She nodded.

"All of us."

"Sure. You, Kenny and Sam." She paused as his gaze stayed locked on her face, then stood up and stepped behind her chair. Not to mention away from the backpack. "No."

"Taryn, you're a partner in the firm. He said all the partners. It's only for a couple of days."

"It's camping. Outdoors. On purpose. It's one thing if you crash your car and end up in a ravine. That could happen to anyone. Then sleeping outside until you're rescued is no big deal. Because you can't help it. But this is on purpose. In dirt."

"We'd go to a campsite," Kenny added quickly. "With bathrooms."

Jack elbowed him. Kenny winced. "Okay, not the running-water kind."

"That's disgusting. You can pee standing up. That's not an option for me."

She didn't do the outdoors. Didn't like it. When she needed to commune with nature, she dined alfresco. Or bought a plant. Her most athletic project to date was planning how her walled-in garden was going to look. So far it was all on paper. She had yet to touch actual soil.

"Have you seen my shoes? Do I look like a camper to you?"

Jack walked around her desk and approached her. He put his large hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. "Taryn, this is a big account. Not so much in size but in opportunity. We've worked the distribution side of things, but we've never made it in the retail world. This is our way in. It's one weekend of camping. We'll all be there with you. This is important to all of us."

She looked at him and knew he was right. About all of it. She sighed. "I'll do it."

"Really?" Kenny sounded surprised. "That's great. We can help you prepare, if you want."

"No, thanks. I'll take care of that end of things."

No way she wanted the guys watching her struggle to learn whatever it was she needed to know to camp. It was hard enough keeping them all in line without giving them that much ammunition. Besides, she thought, remembering a pair of broad shoulders and cool gray eyes, she had resources.

"You won't regret this," Jack told her with a grin. "It's going to be great. We'll get the account and then there's no stopping us."

He and Kenny headed out of her office. When he was in the doorway, Jack turned back and pointed to the pack. "You can keep that," he said graciously. "It's got everything you're going to need for our weekend."

"Great."

She waited until they left before moving toward her desk. She poked the backpack, then went to pick it up. It didn't budge.

She tried again, this time using two hands, and was barely able to lift it off the desk.

"Very funny," she muttered, unfastening the clasp. No doubt Kenny and Jack had put rocks or bricks inside, just to mess with her.

But when she flipped open the top, all she saw was stuff that looked a lot like camping gear. Not that she'd experienced it in person, but she'd seen pictures.

She tried to lift the pack a third time and not only broke a nail but felt a sharp pain in her shoulders.

"This," she murmured to the empty room, "is going to be a problem."

CHAPTER SIX.

HENRI'S WAS A five-star restaurant tucked into the grandeur that was the Gold Rush Ski Lodge and Resort. A name that made Taryn wince. Whatever had the owners been thinking? The name was so long that it would always look awkward on signage, and she would guess their business cards were a cluttered mess. When it came to names, less was more. Still, not her rock to carry, she told herself as she stepped out of her car and handed the keys to the valet. Her rock was an oversize backpack still sitting on her desk.

She started toward the building, but before taking a step, she paused. A slight s.h.i.+ver tiptoed up her spine. It wasn't a familiar sensation, but it got her attention. If she didn't know better, she would swear that she was being stalked. Or at the very least, watched. She turned and saw a black SUV had pulled in behind her car.

The windows were tinted, so she couldn't see the driver. Had it been any other vehicle, she would have a.s.sumed it was Angel. As much as she would never admit it, he seemed to be the only man who had ever had the power to make her quiver with just a look. Only she'd seen what he drove, and the large, loud, aggressive Harley he favored had nothing in common with the Chevy Traverse in front of her.

She was about to head into the hotel when she hesitated a fraction of a second. Then she saw the driver and blinked in surprise. It was Angel. Once again dressed in black and looking very man-about-town.

She waited until he joined her, then glanced back at the SUV being driven away.

"Unexpected," she said.

"Long story. I'll tell you over dinner."

"Don't tell me you sold the Harley."

"Never. I still have it."

He took her hand in his and looked her over carefully. She struck a model's pose, then half turned so he could see the back.

She'd bought the dress the previous year, but it was still one of her favorites. A Halston Heritage white knit sheath, with black panels along the side and a black band at the jewel neckline. She'd kept her jewelry simple with gold-and-onyx earrings and a gold link bracelet from Tiffany.

Her shoes were one of her favorites. A Jimmy Choo Vero pump. The front was white, the back was black and there was a gold trim that swept across the top of the shoes before looping around to the back.