“Yeah?” he prompted. “Why?”
“It’s beautiful, for one thing. And the place has enormous potential. If I was you, I’d take a bunch of that stuff out of the towers, polish it up and use it to decorate the restaurant.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Whatever you want. The paintings, for one thing. The furniture. There were some awesome silver pieces up there, and the dishes. Did you see the dishes?”
Her growing enthusiasm surprised him. He hadn’t paid much attention to the stuff in the towers. “Will you show me what you mean?”
“Sure. Seriously, Zach. It could be as much a museum as a restaurant. Imagine the experience you could conjure up for guests. Costumed staff, vintage dishes.” She gave an impish grin. “Flagons of mead and ale served by lusty wenches.”
He grinned. “I like the way you’re thinking.”
“You just like the lusty wenches.”
“No. I have a thing for your brain.”
“Once word got around, the restaurant would practically market itself.”
“I’m sold,” he told her.
She waved him off. “You don’t have to humor me. I’m only suggesting you think about it.”
“I have thought about it.” He gave in to impulse. “Help me plan it. Help me design it.”
She scoffed out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have time.”
“What? You need to herd more cows? Shovel more manure? Repair more engines?”
His anger bubbled up as he was reminded of her injured arm. What kind of family sent her out on the highway all alone at night? What was she doing repairing a pickup truck by the side of the road? What the hell else was she up to on the ranch? Bronc riding? Bullfighting?
“Don’t go there,” she warned.
He gripped the steering wheel, but held his tongue, concentrating on choosing the smoothest path through a series of potholes.
The silence stretched.
“When you’re right, you’re right,” he finally allowed.
Now, if only she’d be smart enough to figure out what was right for her. She was obviously still working as a ranch hand. And she was obviously exhausted by it. There were fatigue lines around her eyes, and she looked thinner than he remembered.
She hadn’t deserved to get hurt today. And she shouldn’t have been hauling freight on a dark highway in a pickup truck. She had so much more potential than that. And if she wasn’t in so much pain, he’d tell her so.
“I apologize. Please show me what you liked in the towers. I won’t pressure you. I’ll simply take any and all advice you care to give.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “Are you being nice because I’m hurt?”
“No.”
She pursed her lips in obvious disbelief.
“I’m being nice because I’m nice.”
“You are not.”
“Am too,” he retorted in a childish voice.
“You’re a meanie,” she mocked.
“You’re a tomboy.”
She sobered, glancing dubiously down at her dirty jeans. “Okay, well, you’re right about that.”
He was hit with a sudden jolt of guilt. Why was he picking on her? “You’re also very beautiful,” he corrected himself.
“Oh, don’t kid-glove me, Zach. I’m not hurt all that bad.”
“Well, you really are all that beautiful.”
“I’m covered in grease.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not something you can hide with grease.”
She shifted in her seat, grimacing and cradling her arm. “Can we stop arguing?”
“Absolutely.”
“I mean it.”
“I’m
“Okay.” But her tone was cautious.
“Take a look up there.” He nodded through the windshield again, to where the lights were growing stronger through the trees. “Wait till you see how much work they’ve done on the brewery.”
Abigail had tried to convince Zach to take her on a quick tour of the impressive new building. But he was adamant that they go directly to the medical trailer and let somebody look at her arm.
Despite herself, by the time the paramedic finished cleaning her up, she was feeling woozy. She’d said yes to the stitches, but no to the painkillers. After the medic finished, her forearm was covered in a thick layer of gauze and also a thin plastic bag to keep it dry. Zach escorted her to his suite in the castle and insisted she take a hot shower. When she looked in the mirror, she realized why.
Her hair was full of dirt and specks of rust from the inside of the truck’s hood. Her hands and face were smeared with grease, while her clothes were damp and dusty.
“Wow,” she whispered to her reflection. “Way to impress the guy, Abby.”
Then she shook her head at the hopelessness of the situation. What did she care what she looked like in front of him? He knew she was a cowboy, and all they ever did was fight. And it wasn’t as though he’d even bothered to tell her he was coming to town. No. They were living different lives again. She was focused on her family, and he was focused on his. Difference was, she understood his commitment. He absolutely refused to see the worth of hers.
Good to know where she stood.
Then again, for now, it would also be good to get clean. Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to get her anywhere.
She twisted on the ancient taps and stripped off her clothes. She was careful of the water, washing her hair and scrubbing her face with one hand, while holding the other up, out of the stream. The hot water helped ease some of the tension from her body. And she was thinking about what to tell Travis as she dried awkwardly off and wrapped herself in Zach’s voluminous, cream-colored robe.
She combed through her wet hair and stepped out of the bathroom, directly into the small living area.
“She wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital,” Zach was saying into his phone. He sat in an armchair, Ozzy on his lap.
Abigail moved to the small Queen Anne sofa next to him, frowning as she sat down. Who was he talking to about her?
“Not tonight, for sure,” he said.
“Who is that?” she mouthed.
“Travis,” Zach mouthed silently in return.
Her eyes went wide. “What?” she hissed. Why had he called Travis?
“You want to talk to her?” Zach asked into the phone. Then he paused. “Sure.” He rose and held out the phone, her phone, she realized. That explained how he got the number.
“What did you do?” she muttered as she reached for it.
“Let him know you weren’t dead,” Zach whispered back.
She glared at Zach while she moved the phone to her ear.
“Travis,” she chirped in a cheerful voice.
