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Wedding His Takeover Target

Emilie Rose

Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby

Heidi Betts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Wedding His Takeover Target

Emilie Rose

He hadn’t expected a deal with the devil to taste this good.

God help him, he wanted Sabrina in a way he shouldn’t want a woman. She’d been forced down his throat as part of a business deal, but they had something between them, and while the chemistry might be temporary, it was damned impressive and worth exploring.

She scooted away on the blanket and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. “What was that?”

“Proof,” was all he could force out. Her taste lingered on his damp lips, making him ache to tug her down on the blanket and cover her body with his.

Her dazed expression morphed into disbelief. “Proof of what?”

“That you want me. And trust me, Sabrina, the feeling is mutual.”

Dear Readers,

What isn’t romantic about Aspen, Colorado, snuggling under a fur blanket with your significant other or making love in front of a roaring fire? For me, researching my part in the Jarrod continuity set in the Rocky Mountain town became a mini-vacation. Aspen, with its small-town setting and big-city jetset lifestyle, is so rich in history, culture and things to do that anyone could find something to do there—even if only vicariously.

I hope you enjoy your ringside seat as Sabrina and Gavin, who’ve been running from their past, get together and discover they generate enough heat to melt the snowcaps from the surrounding mountains.

Emilie Rose

About the Author

Bestselling Desire^™ author and RITA^® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in her native North Carolina with her four sons and two adopted mutts. Writing is her third (and hopefully her last) career. She’s managed a medical office and run a home day-care, neither of which offers half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening and cooking (especially cheesecake). She’s a rabid country music fan because she can find an entire book in almost any song. She is currently working her way through her own “bucket list,” which includes learning to ride a Harley. Visit her website at www.emilierose.com or e-mail EmilieRoseC@aol.com. Letters can be mailed to PO Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619, USA.

From the Last Will and Testament of Don Jarrod

… And to my son Gavin I leave my stable of horses. I have such fond memories of you spending hours in the big barn, taking care of all the animals. How many meals did you miss, insisting you had to feed the horses first? It gave me such pride to see you grow into your own, riding “your” horses across the field. How carefree you were … Did you know it broke my heart when you left and didn’t look back? I hope being responsible for the horses once more will help you find your way home.

One

“You said urgent. Here we are,” Gavin Jarrod said as he preceded his oldest brother Blake into Christian Hanford’s office Monday morning. Not a great way to start the week.

The attorney handling their late father’s estate indicated the chairs in front of his desk and waited until Gavin and Blake sat. “I appreciate your coming in. Unfortunately, the news is not good.”

Gavin shot a what now? look at his brother. “Not surprising since none of the news since our father’s death five months ago has been good, beginning with him requiring each of us to put our lives and careers on hold and spend a year at Jarrod Ridge or we all forfeit our inheritance.”

“This regards your project and the permits needed to build the new bungalow you’ve designed on the resort property.”

Gavin tried not to let his frustration and resentment show. Leave it to their father to try to control their lives from his grave with posthumous demands. “What’s the holdup? It’s November first. We need to get the foundations dug and poured before the ground freezes solid.”

“You can’t get the permits because the land isn’t part of your father’s estate.”

“What?” Gavin and his brother exclaimed simultaneously.

Blake leaned forward in his chair. “The site is in the middle of Jarrod property. How can the family not own it?”

Christian pulled an aerial map of Jarrod Ridge from the file in front of him and slid it across his desk. He indicated an X on a five-acre tract outlined in red.

“This is where you wanted to build. When we researched the deed we discovered your grandfather transferred ownership of this plot to Henry Caldwell fifty years ago.”

Gavin searched his brain for Caldwells and came up empty. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life in Aspen, but he had no reason to know any of the locals anymore. He’d escaped the town and his domineering father when he’d left for college a decade ago—he only returned when he absolutely couldn’t avoid it. To say he and his father hadn’t gotten along would be a gross understatement. “Who in the hell is Caldwell?”

“He owns the Snowberry Inn, a bed-and-breakfast here in Aspen that’s been around as long as Jarrod Ridge.”

“Why would our grandfather sell him a defunct mine?” The old mine had been Gavin’s favorite hideout as a kid. He and his brothers had spent countless hours wandering through the tunnels, and in high school Gavin had taken girls there to make out.

“The real question is why would anyone want to buy it?” Blake countered. “There’s not enough silver on the site to make extraction cost-effective.”

“That’s the interesting part. In my digging, I discovered your grandfather didn’t sell the acreage. He wagered it in a poker game. And lost it.”

Surprise pushed the air from Gavin’s lungs. “We’ll buy it back.”

Christian eyed him across the map. “Good luck with that. There are numerous letters in our files indicating that your father tried and failed to repurchase the land more than a dozen times over the years. Caldwell refused to sell.”

Blake sat back in his chair looking more relaxed than he should given the revelation that had just blown their plans to hell and back. “The plans are already drawn for a high-security bungalow for the resort’s A-list guests. The construction crews have been contracted and the materials ordered because we had no reason to expect a glitch like this. We’ll have to choose another site.”

“No,” Gavin insisted. “If I’m condemned to waste another seven months here I’m not giving up on the only place on the estate that holds good memories for me. I’ll convince Caldwell to sell.”

One corner of Blake’s mouth lifted. “You just want to do what Dad couldn’t.”

A smile tugged Gavin’s lips. His brother knew him and his competitive streak too well. Gavin never had been good at passing up a challenge. “I wouldn’t mind besting the old man. He’ll probably roll over in his grave when I succeed.”

“If you succeed,” his brother cautioned.

“I will.” Having older twin brothers who’d often teamed up against him had given Gavin a persistent streak that some called stubborn, but that same trait had taken him to the top of his field.

Blake pulled his wallet from his pocket and flashed a Ben Franklin, then laid it on the desk. Gavin caught a gleam of gold on his brother’s finger. What in the hell was that? It couldn’t be what he thought it was. But first things first. The mine. He’d deal with the new jewelry after they left Christian’s.

“A hundred bucks says you won’t,” Blake challenged. “Dad might have been an uptight pain in the ass, but he was a shrewd businessman. If there was a way to get that land back, he would have found it.”

Gavin shook his head and withdrew a matching bill. “You’re on. If there’s one thing engineering has taught me, it’s that there’s a solution to every problem. It’s a matter of whether you’re willing to pay the price. All I have to do is find Caldwell’s price and that land will be ours.”

“Hey,” Gavin called out before Blake could climb into his car outside Christian’s office. “What in the hell is that thing on your finger?”

Blake smiled, looking as satisfied as if he’d just finished a five-course gourmet dinner. “Samantha and I got married in Vegas.”

Shock popped Gavin in the gut. “I thought you were there for work on your hotel.”

“Not this time. We were there for our wedding and honeymoon. We’re going to tell the family tonight.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

Blake looked him dead in the eye. “Yes. With happiness.”

“Samantha’s been around for years and you never noticed her in that way before. In fact, you always said never mix business with pleasure unless you want pleasure to bite you in the ass.”

Blake’s skin reddened. “What can I say? I was a little slow on the uptake.”

“You did this because you didn’t want to lose her as your assistant, right?”

“Our romance started that way, but it’s more than that now. I love her.”

Gavin laughed. And then he realized Blake wasn’t joking. His brother’s expression was serious and more than a little sappy. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Love is the only reason to take that step.”

Not in Gavin’s world. In his world love was something to avoid, like standing in front of moving trains or jumping off a bridge. “You’re saying you love Samantha—the ‘til death do you part kind of thing?”

“Yes, I am.”

Blake looked happy instead of miserable. How had that happened? It didn’t matter how, the euphoria wouldn’t last long. His brother was as much of a workaholic as Gavin. Women hated that. And when they’d had enough solitude they packed up and left. “Is she pregnant?”

“Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t mind if she were.”

“Did you get a prenup?”

“I’m not worried about a prenup.”

“Blake, I’ve never known you to be blind or stupid.”

“And I’m not now. In fact, I’m seeing clearly for the first time. Samantha is the only woman I want and I trust her implicitly.”

Poor deluded sucker.

“You’d risk it even knowing how crazy losing Mom made Dad?”

“I’d be just as crazy, maybe more so, if I were too much of a coward to try to make this work.”

“I can’t talk you into an annulment?”

“No.” Blake wore his stubborn, don’t-mess-with-me face. “And I’d suggest you back off. Remember, you like Samantha.”

“As your assistant, yes, she’s damned good at her job, probably the best assistant you’ve ever had. But marriage?” He faked a shudder.

“Yes, marriage. You should try it.”

No way. He and Trevor were the only ones who’d eluded pairing up in the past few months. Good thing he knew he wasn’t susceptible. Otherwise he’d be worried. “I guess all I can do is wish you luck and tell you I’ll be here when you need me.”

“To pick up the pieces? I won’t be needing those services.”

“You hope.”

“I know. Samantha is the one for me. The only one.”

Gavin opened his mouth to continue the argument then swallowed the words. Blake was infatuated and probably brain-dead from getting laid well and often. Gavin wasn’t going to be able to change his mind. The best he could do is hope like hell that when the marriage ended, Samantha wouldn’t take a chunk of Jarrod Ridge with her.

The Snowberry Inn looked as homey as Jarrod Ridge was opulent, Gavin decided as he ran an assessing eye over the large Victorian after circling the block to appraise his opponent’s property. Located in the heart of downtown, the B and B had a homey charm reminiscent of Aspen’s silver mining boom in the 1880s, whereas his family’s resort catered to affluent guests who demanded modern amenities and world-class service.

He pushed open the door of one of The Ridge’s fleet of luxurious black Cadillac SUVs, and the irregular beat of an unskilled carpenter’s hammer striking wood greeted him as he slid from behind the wheel. Glancing up and down the street, he surveyed the area, his breath fogging the chilly autumn air. The location couldn’t be faulted. Guests could easily stroll to the shopping district’s art galleries and designer boutiques or to the upscale restaurants overlooking the Roaring Fork River.

A prime piece of valuable real estate and a relatively large parcel if the barns beyond the main structure were included.

He followed the winding walk through bare Aspen trees and leafy snowberry shrubs with their white fruits glistening in the afternoon sunlight. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he and his brothers had used clusters of the small berries as ammunition for their homemade slingshots whenever they’d stolen a few moments away from their father’s eagle eye.

Though the B and B appeared structurally sound, the clapboards could use a fresh coat of forest-green paint. The butter-yellow railing wobbled slightly in his grip as he climbed the brick steps leading to the front porch. His offer would give Caldwell an influx of cash that would more than cover the cosmetic work.

Rather than ring the bell by the front door Gavin followed the banging sound around the wide covered porch spanning the front and side of the building, hoping to find Caldwell or someone who could direct him to the man. He found a red-coated, hammer-wielding female, kneeling with her back to him. A matching red toboggan capped long, dark curls winding down her back. Definitely not Henry Caldwell.

“Ow. Oh. Dammit,” a feminine voice cried out. The hammer clattered on the floorboards.

“You okay?”

The handywoman shot to her feet and spun around, clutching her left thumb in her right hand. Wide, bright blue eyes found his.

“Who are you?” Pain tightened her voice.

“Gavin Jarrod. Need some help?”

“Are you looking for a room?” She ignored his question.

“No. I’m here to see Henry Caldwell.”

He automatically catalogued her assets. Early- to mid-twenties. Smooth, clear skin. Above average height and probably slender beneath the parka if her long, jeans-clad legs were any indication. In short, beautiful and worth getting to know better.

Then he appraised the problem, a half hammered-in nail, toenailing the railing to the column. Not an easy angle for an amateur. “Let me get that for you.”

He bent and scooped up the hammer—one too heavy for her—and slammed in the nail with one swing. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” she offered grudgingly. Still holding her injured hand close to her body, she accepted the tool he offered with her other.

“Let me look at that.” He grabbed her wrist and inspected her reddened thumb. The unpainted nail plate remained intact with no blood pooling beneath it.

The warmth of her soft skin heated his and did something wacky to his pulse rate. Single? Her ring finger was bare. He dragged his thumb over her palm.

With a quick hiss of her breath, she jerked away.

Too bad. He hadn’t reacted that instantly to a woman’s touch in a long time. “You’ve probably just bruised it. Work gloves would have offered a little protection.”

Her eyes narrowed, drawing his attention to a thick fringe of black lashes that looked real. In fact, if she wore any makeup, it was the kind a straight guy couldn’t see. “I couldn’t hold the nail with gloves on. Is Henry expecting you? He didn’t mention an appointment.”

“I didn’t make one.” He’d wanted to catch the man off guard and perhaps get him to agree to sell on impulse.

“Are you selling something?”

“No. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it.” She gathered the box of galvanized nails, her discarded gloves and the hammer. “Follow me.”

She headed toward a back entrance and led him into a warm kitchen. The combined scents of pot roast and freshly baked bread made his mouth water and his stomach growl as he followed her down the center hall to the front parlor. “Wait here. May I tell him what this is about?”

“An old poker bet.”

Her dark eyebrows dipped. “He owes you money?”

“No.” And that was all she’d get out of him. No matter how attractive she might be he wasn’t sharing personal business with her—unless it was over dinner.

Her curious gaze slid over him, making him overheat under his ski jacket. “You don’t look like one of his poker buddies.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you are …?”

“Here on personal business.”

She stood straighter, her chin snapping up. “I’ll see if Po—Henry’s available.”

Gavin hadn’t dated since arriving in town, and watching her peel the knit cap off those thick, gleaming curls and then unzip her coat reminded his libido of the long dry spell. He visually tracked her until she turned a corner out of sight.

He’d definitely have to take this one to dinner. And then maybe to bed. His heart pumped faster in approval of the plan.

Unzipping his coat, he surveyed the room. Antiques. But not the kind a man would be afraid to sit on. Lace, velvet and flowery fabrics predominated. But not enough of the girly stuff to threaten his manhood. The inn wasn’t bad. But it definitely wasn’t competition for The Ridge.

“Are you related to the Jarrods of Jarrod Ridge?” she asked from behind him.

He hadn’t heard her return. She’d shed her outerwear, revealing a purple turtleneck sweater clinging to a long, lean torso with curves in all the right places. Nice. And definitely worth pursuing. “Yes.”

Her lips mashed together as if his reply displeased her—drawing attention to the fact that she’d added some gloss to her wide, red mouth. An encouraging sign. If she wasn’t interested she wouldn’t have bothered.

“My grandfather will be with you in a moment.”

His plans sputtered and stalled like a faulty airplane engine. “Your grandfather?”

“Yes.”

The revelation killed any chance he had of taking her on a date or to bed. With his relationship track record, he couldn’t risk souring the sale with another romance wreck. Business came first—especially family business. But perhaps after the deed had been transferred …

He couldn’t imagine going a year without sex, but he’d ended his last relationship two months before his father’s death, and thus far none of the women he’d met at the lodge had tempted him like this one did.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked. Not that many people were Aspenites these days between the celebrity invasion and the ski season’s tourist ebb and flow.

“No.” She folded her arms across her chest, looking protective, defiant and delicious. Down, boy.

“I’ve worked all around the globe, but I can’t place your accent.”

“Good.”

Man, she had it in for him for some reason. “Have I done something to offend you, Ms. Caldwell?”

“Taylor.”

He hiked a brow.

“My last name is Taylor.”

He noted she’d ignored his question. Again. Apparently, Ms. Taylor, like him, operated on a need-to-know basis. His gaze flicked briefly back to her bare ring finger. “Married?”

She glanced away, but not so quickly that he didn’t catch a glimpse of pain, and then she checked her watch. “Not anymore. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? We usually have high tea at four.”

That would give her an excuse to leave the room, and he wasn’t ready to let her go yet—not until he’d made sense of her cool demeanor. “No thanks. Are you visiting your grandfather?”

“I manage the B and B for him.”

“Been doing that long?”

“A while.”

He almost laughed at her quick, succinct response. He’d never met a woman who made him sift so hard for information, like a miner panning for precious metals. He was used to ones who chattered nonstop. He’d have to employ a different strategy if he wanted to get details out of her.

“I am a local—or I used to be. But I’m only back for … a while.” He mimicked her words.

“Yes, I heard.”

“Did you?”

“Don’t get excited. I wasn’t fishing for information about you Jarrods. In a city with a population of roughly six thousand residents, most of those not full-time, the gossip mill works overtime. Your father’s death and the stipulations of his will are a hot topic. My condolences on his passing.”

He digested the you Jarrods part of her reply. “Thanks, but if the grapevine is working efficiently, then you know there was no love lost between my father and me. I’ll only be here another seven months and then I’m gone.”

“Your loss. Aspen is beautiful.”

He let his gaze wander to her booted feet and then back to her eyes. “Exquisitely beautiful. But not as warm as I’d like.”

She stiffened, obviously receiving the message that he wasn’t discussing the city’s climate. A fresh rush of color flooded her cheeks and her lips parted.

“Yeah, well, you’re old enough to know you can’t always get what you want.”

A clearing throat preempted further discussion. An older gentleman, tall, thin, but bearing military-erect posture and a shock of snow-white hair stood in the entry. Blue eyes the same shade as his granddaughter’s met Gavin’s. “Jarrod, huh?”

“I’m Gavin Jarrod. I’d like to talk to you about—”

Caldwell held up a blue-veined hand. “Sabrina, be an angel and get me some coffee to wash away the cobwebs my nap always leaves behind.”

Not a good start. Gavin fought the urge to check out the brunette’s backside as she left. “I apologize if I woke you, sir.”

Caldwell waved his apology aside. “Fell asleep watching the news channel. Damned depressing babble. All gloom and doom even if it is delivered by hot blondes in short skirts and high heels. Time to get up anyway. Can’t sleep what’s left of my life away. What can I do for you, Gavin Jarrod?”

“I’d like to buy back the property my grandfather lost to you.”

“Should have known one of you would pick up where your father left off. Badgering me seems to be the Jarrod way. At least you had the gumption to pester me face-to-face instead through a damned lawyer. Can’t respect a man who won’t handle his own dirty work.”

Gavin digested the animosity. He’d have to work around it. “As you’ve no doubt discovered, the mine is worthless.”

“Depends on what you consider the valuable part. Ain’t necessarily the minerals.”

Cryptic old coot. “The acreage is in the middle of Jarrod Ridge.”

“And me owning it is like a burr in your butt, ain’t it, boy? Drove your daddy nuts, too.” Mischief fanned crinkles from the old, but sharp eyes.

“My oldest brother and I would like to build a bungalow on the property.”

“Don’t you folks have enough going on up there already? Lodges all over the damned place plus Jarrod Manor.”

“This would be a different caliber accommodation for guests needing more privacy and additional security than the hotel or existing lodges could provide.”

Henry snorted. “Married Hollywood types sneaking off with somebody they oughtn’t to be with.”

Another strike. “We were thinking more along the lines of heads of state.”

“Don’t care if you’re putting up the president. The land’s not for sale.”

Gavin struggled to keep his frustration in check. “What purpose does keeping it serve you, Mr. Caldwell? There’s no road access which means you can’t build on it. You can’t even get to it without obtaining written permission to cross Jarrod property.”

“Y’think so? Son, I’ve been visiting that mine for fifty years—often enough to know you’re one of the young’uns who used to camp down in the shaft.”

Interesting. Until his most recent return Gavin had never seen signs of anyone visiting other than him and his brothers. The entrance was pretty well hidden. “Yessir. All three of my brothers and I did, but I probably spent more time there than the rest of them combined.”

“Cleaned up after yourself, too.”

“Our father forbade us to go there. We didn’t want to leave any tracks.”

“He forbade you because he didn’t own it.”

“A fact he didn’t share with us, and one we’d like to rectify. I’m prepared to offer you—”

“Don’t matter how much you offer. I’m still not selling. Which one are you? The architect, the engineer, the marketing man or the restaurateur?”

Caldwell knew quite a bit about the Jarrods, but considering the family had been a fixture in Aspen for generations, the interest in their lives wasn’t surprising. “I’m a construction engineer. My brother Blake is a developer who commissioned the design for the bungalow we’d like to build. Our offer is more than generous.”

“Don’t care about your money.”

“Your inn could use a little work.”

Caldwell snorted. “I’ll get to it.”

“Opening day for the ski slopes is only a few weeks away.”

“That’s not news.”

Gavin didn’t like bringing personal issues into a business problem because it gave his opponent leverage, but he had no choice. “Mr. Caldwell, as you’ve noted, that mine has sentimental value to me. I spent a lot of my youth there. The site holds some good memories.”

Those intensely blue eyes held his. “For someone who never comes home, you’re sure tied to the place. Could be the mountain’s dug her claws into you. Some folks claim once she gets hold of you, she never lets go.”

The old man’s folktales didn’t change the fact that Gavin intended to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as he’d fulfilled his part of the will. “Our plans will preserve the mine and its historical value. The bungalow will blend into the setting.”

“I’m still not interested in selling.”

“What can I do to change your mind? Would you like to see the blueprints?”

“I don’t care about any blueprints.”

Gavin clenched his teeth so hard he was lucky he didn’t crack a molar. He had to find a way to get through to the man, and at the moment his mind was blank. He pulled the written offer from his pocket and offered it to Caldwell. “Take a look at our price.”

When the man made no move to take the envelope, Gavin laid the package on the coffee table. “Think it over. Thank you for your time.”

He strode toward the entry.

“What’d you think of my Sabrina?” Caldwell called after him.

Gavin stopped and pivoted. “Excuse me?”

“Liked her, didn’t you?”

What was the old man up to? “Your granddaughter is quite attractive.”

Caldwell nodded. “She’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Like her grandma, my Colleen. Shut that door.”

Unsure of where the conversation was headed, Gavin complied. The envelope remained unopened on the table where he’d left it.

“How badly do you want that land?”

That sounded like a loaded question. “I want to see the Jarrod property intact.”

Caldwell scratched his chin. “A deed will earn you the deed.”

What in the hell did that mean? The man seemed lucid, but Gavin wondered if he’d misjudged him. Gavin slowly crossed the rug. “I’m not following.”

“Marry Sabrina and I’ll sell you the land.”

Shock knocked Gavin like a wrecking ball to the chest. Was everybody marriage-crazy today? First Blake, now this. “Marry her?”

“It could work.”

Gavin shook his head. Caldwell had to be senile. But Gavin couldn’t afford to offend him. “I just met Sabrina, sir, and you weren’t in here long enough to notice she’s not exactly impressed with me.”

Caldwell smiled, smirked, really. “She’s interested.”

Gavin’s pulse spiked. “She told you that?”

“Nope. I just know.”

This conversation seemed surreal. What could be so wrong with the woman that her grandfather had to bribe someone to marry her? “Mr. Caldwell, you don’t know me well enough to wish me on your granddaughter.”

“My Colleen was one of those mail-order brides. Didn’t set eyes on her until the week of our wedding. But we had chemistry from the minute we met at the train station. Same as you and Sabrina.”

Gavin didn’t bother to deny the attraction. “I’m glad that worked for you, but frankly, I’m not interested in marriage. My career keeps me on the road. I move from site to site, usually only staying in one place for six months to a year. No woman wants to live like that.”

He’d learned that the hard way.

“The mountains still call you home. Court Sabrina. Marry her. And I’ll sell you that parcel for whatever you’ve written on that paper.”

“You haven’t even looked at the offer.”

“I told you. Money ain’t the issue, son.”

Hell. Ask anything else of him and he’d be all over the deal. But marriage? “I’m sorry, Mr. Caldwell. I’m not your man.”

“Sabrina’s all I have left. And you might have noticed, I’m not a spring chicken. I’m seventy-five, and my health ain’t what it used to be. But that’s between my doctor and me and now you. Sabrina doesn’t need to know. Once I’m gone there won’t be anyone around to look after her since my head-in-the-clouds son and his wife can’t be bothered. I want to see to Sabrina before I’m gone.”

The genuine concern in the tired blue eyes yanked at something in Gavin’s chest. Sap. He’s playing you like a fiddle.

“I’m not the man for the job,” he repeated.

“I think you are. The fact that you turned me down despite the fact that Sabrina could inherit everything I have only reinforces my opinion. I ain’t talked to you more than ten minutes, Gavin Jarrod, but I can already tell you’re twice the man your daddy was. He used the land, stripping away whatever got in his way, without thought for anything more than the profit he could make. You, with the way you took care of one good-for-nothing hole in the ground, proved you’re smarter. You respect the land and nature.”

True. “That’s a broad assumption, Mr. Caldwell.”

“But a valid one. You’ll treat my girl with the same respect.”

Gavin backed toward the door. “The answer’s still no.”

“If you’re thinking you can wait ‘til I drop dead and buy the property from Sabrina, think again. If I die before she marries I’ve willed that plot to the National Parks Service.”

Damn. The park system would condemn land to get road access to the mine. Jarrod Ridge would end up losing even more property and have to deal with tourists wandering off the path. Their secluded retreat atmosphere would be shattered.

“If you agree I have one more stipulation. I don’t want our girl knowing anything about our little agreement. Ya hear? You’ll court her like a woman deserves to be courted. She won’t marry ya without loving ya. That much I know.”

In Gavin’s opinion, making a woman fall for him under false pretenses was about as low as a man could get. How could he respect himself if he pulled that kind of crap? Refusal hovered on his tongue.

“Son, if you want that five acres, this is the only way you’re gonna get it. That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.”

Man, this was insane.

A tap on the door preceded Sabrina returning with a laden tray. Gavin’s pulse thudded harder and faster.

Marry her?

There are worse things than being married to a beautiful woman.

This had to be flat-out the craziest scheme he’d ever heard in his life. So why was he still standing here?

If marriage was the only way to get the land back, to succeed where his father had failed and to keep his family from losing even more acreage, what choice did he have? For the good of his family and Jarrod Ridge, he had to accept the deal.

But the marriage would be temporary. Once he returned to his regular job nature would take its course and, aided by his long absences, the relationship would die a natural death—as had all his previous liaisons.

Hell of a way to start a relationship—planning its demise.

But he was attracted to Sabrina and the idea of sharing her bed appealed tremendously.

He’d need an ironclad prenup.

“Can I get you anything else?” Sabrina asked, her suspicious gaze drilling his. The familiar clench of desire fisted in his gut and pounded through his veins.

“This’ll do, love,” Caldwell answered.

She left the room, her protectiveness of her grandfather clear in her reluctant steps.

Gavin took a deep breath, willing sanity to return and offer him a better option. It didn’t. “I’ll do it.”

Two

Her grandfather had closed the door.

Sabrina couldn’t remember any other time in her life when Pops had shut her out of a conversation. She blamed their unexpected visitor—one who couldn’t be bothered to make an appointment—for the exclusion.

Gavin Jarrod epitomized everything Sabrina disliked about the soon-to-be-arriving ski season guests. Rich guys like him, with their perfectly tousled hair, flawless faces and gym-buffed bodies swaggered into town like they owned the place. They threw around their money and entitled attitudes, expecting the world to revolve around their wants and acting like the local businesses should kiss their expensively-shod feet and be grateful for whatever crumbs the rich guests threw their way.

Well, not her. She’d had enough of that holier-than-thou behavior throughout school from the wealthy snobs who’d attended the elite private college where her parents had taught. Those snotty students had made sure Sabrina knew she was not one of them. As if being a professor’s daughter made her somehow genetically inferior to someone born to money.

She swished the cleaning cloth over the countertop and tried to ignore the anger and worry making her stomach churn. She knew her grandfather’s health wasn’t as good as it had been when she’d arrived three years ago. He slept more, ate less and had trouble keeping up with the inn’s routine maintenance—a job he used to tackle with enthusiasm. But he wouldn’t let her hire anyone to help him. He always claimed he’d get to the tasks, but the to-do list kept growing and the clock ticked down on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday when the ski slopes would officially open and the guests would arrive—whether the inn was ready or not. Unless a miracle happened, this year the inn wasn’t going to be ready.

Was Gavin Jarrod here to try and buy the inn? She couldn’t imagine her grandfather handing over the reins, but that day was coming, she realized with a heavy cloak of sadness. She’d hoped—prayed, really—he’d let her take over, but a few months ago while cleaning his office she’d come across a pamphlet on his desk on donating property to the historic trust. When she’d asked him about it he’d told her not to worry, he had everything under control. But how could she not lose sleep? If he donated or sold the inn she’d have to find a new home and job.

In the meantime, the only thing she could do was try to help more. She glanced at her sore thumb. Carpentry wasn’t her strong suit, but she’d get better with practice.

The sitting room door opened, and footsteps—too sure and firm to be her grandfather’s—approached.

“Thanks for the coffee and snack.”

Who was Gavin Jarrod and what business did he have with Pops? Reluctant to face the brown, gold-flecked eyes that seemed to see straight through her, she turned slowly. “You’re welcome.”

“Your coconut cake is probably the best I’ve ever tasted.”

Pleasure sent another blast of heat through her already warm body. She struggled to suppress the reaction. No doubt his charm and flattery combined with his money and looks made it easy for him to coast through life. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

“Henry said you don’t have any guests tonight.”

Why would Pops volunteer that? “No. Early November is like the lull before the storm.”

“It’s been the same back at The Ridge ever since the Food & Wine Gala ended. I’m exploring the area restaurants before the tourists hit town. Show me your favorite tonight.”

She fought a grimace. He wasn’t the first of his kind to assume she could be had as easily as booking a room. “I don’t have a favorite, and I’ve already prepared dinner for myself and my grandfather.”

His eyes narrowed. “Henry can serve himself. Let someone cook for you for a change.”

Eating someone else’s cooking was tempting, but not with Gavin Jarrod or his ilk. She’d been led on by too many rich boys and then dumped when she wouldn’t get naked for them or get her parents to give them better grades.

“No. But, thank you.” She tacked on the last hastily because she could almost feel the ghost of her grandmother rapping her knuckles for being ungracious and impolite.

His steady gaze continued to drill her. She felt like a butterfly fighting to get free of a collector’s pin. “Henry is worried that you don’t get out often enough.”

Embarrassment bubbled inside her. Thanks, Pops. “That’s because I don’t date.”

“Ever?”

“No.”

His square jaw dipped. “Are you gay?”

Typical. “Do you assume every woman who turns you down is gay?”

A slow smile curved Gavin’s full lips. “Only the ones who ignore the obvious chemistry between us.”

So he’d caught that, had he? She hadn’t experienced that rush of response since before her husband had died and it had caught her off guard. She had no interest in pursuing it. “There is no chemistry.”

The fire in Gavin’s eyes told her she shouldn’t have challenged him. Two long strides brought him within touching distance. Within smelling distance. An outdoorsy, woodsy and clean scent mixed with a hint of something spicy and exotic clung to him.

She stared into his handsome face, alarm prickling the hairs on her nape and arms. He wasn’t particularly tall—six feet, maybe a little more—but he seemed bigger in an intimidating, turf-conquering way despite the snowboarder-disheveled hair that should have made him appear easygoing and approachable.

“No chemistry?” He lifted a hand.

Sabrina backed out of reach. “Don’t.”

“Don’t prove you’re lying?”

“Calling a woman a liar is a unique way to win points. Does that approach usually work for you, Mr. Jarrod?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You seem like the type who’d appreciate honesty.”

“Good deduction. Let’s start with what business do you have with my grandfather?”

“I’d be happy to tell you.” Gavin’s smile broadened, revealing an orthodontist’s dream of straight white teeth. “Over dinner.”

Sabrina ground her molars in aggravation. How could she protect her grandfather and the inn without information? “Nice try. The answer’s still no.”

“Not even if I tell you your grandfather has something I want?”

Warning sirens blared in her head. “What?”

“Join me and I’ll tell you.”

She really hated being backed into a corner, but she wasn’t going to let Gavin have the upper hand.

“Make it lunch.” It wouldn’t be a date. It would merely be a fact-finding mission.

Those gold-flecked eyes probed hers. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven. Dress warmly. Wear walking shoes.”

Without waiting for an answer he brushed past her and exited via the back door.

Dress warmly? Wear walking shoes? What had she gotten herself into? At the sound of the lock catching, the tension deflated from her muscles like air escaping from a balloon.

The creak of a floorboard brought her around. Pops made his way down the center hall, his steps lacking the vigor that had once radiated from him. She tucked her concern away for later and parked her hands on her hips. “What was that about?”

“Jarrod’s just being neighborly.”

The fact that he didn’t look at her when he spoke sent tingles of worry down her spine. “Baloney. What does he want?”

“Can’t a body converse with a neighbor?”

“He told me you had something he wanted.”

He shrugged. “The Jarrods own half the damn valley. What more could they want?”

When Pops wore that stubborn expression trying to get him to talk was a waste of time, but she didn’t believe the just-being-friendly story for one second.

“Pops, why did you tell him I don’t go out?”

“You don’t.”

She shook her head. “You know I’m not interested in—” “You should be. Your husband died. You didn’t.” She flinched at the quick stab of pain. “I’m not ready.” She’d never be ready. She’d given up everything for love, and when Russell had died she’d had nothing left—nothing except Pops and the Snowberry Inn. And now she could lose those.

His shoulders drooped. “When I’m gone—” “Stop. You know I hate it when you talk that way.” “Hating it doesn’t change the facts, girl. You can’t run this place by yourself. It’s too much. You need someone to help you. Someone who doesn’t punch a time clock or resent the long hours.”

“I don’t have to be married to be a good businesswoman. I can take care of the inn the way you and Grandma taught me.”

He shook his head. “You’re missing the point, Sabrina. Life is meant to be shared and enjoyed, not endured. If you try to run this place on your own you won’t have time for a life. Russell would be the last one to want you to sit on the bench for the remainder of your days.”

Sabrina swallowed to ease the grief tightening her throat at the mention of her husband. “I haven’t noticed you dating since Grandma passed.”

“That’s because I already had forty-six years with the best woman God ever created. No one else can measure up. I don’t want to lead a lady on only to disappoint her, ‘cuz I ain’t settling for second-best, and I ain’t getting hitched again. I’m too old to change my ways to suit another. You’re only twenty-five. Too young to quit living. Tarnation, I have more of a social life than you do.”

“I could always join your weekly poker club.” Her tongue-in-cheek comment deepened the concern shadowing his eyes.

“Don’t sass me, Sabrina. You once talked about traveling the world and filling your home with a passel of young’uns. You still have time for both. But not if you keep hiding here.”

The cold ashes of dead dreams stirred inside her. “I’m not hiding. I’m working. And I don’t need children to have a full life. As far as seeing the world, I have everything I want right here, Pops. The world’s travelers come to us.”

“The world might come to Aspen, but hearing about somebody else’s adventures secondhand and watching from the sidelines ain’t the same as playing in the game.”

“I certainly don’t have a future with some rich guy who’s only counting days until he can leave town.”

“He ain’t your father. Jarrod might have left town, but he came back the minute his daddy died. Don’t try to tell me you’re not interested in him. I saw you putting on lip gloss in the hall.”

Guilt burned Sabrina’s cheeks. “I was working outside trying to fix the loose railings when he interrupted me. My lips were dry.”

“Yep, I’m sure that explains why you couldn’t take your eyes off each other when you were in the same room.”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “You don’t know him. How can you or I trust him? I’ve heard you refer to the Jarrods as land-hungry thugs too many times to count.”

“That was their daddy. Donald Jarrod turned into a heartless, selfish bastard after his wife died. He gobbled up everything around him, and he rode his kids so hard it’s no wonder they all skedaddled as soon as they could. But I know more about the Jarrod boys than you think. I watched ‘em grow up. The whole town did. And while those boys might have gotten up to some high jinks like reg’lar kids, they were hard workers and always respectful.”

Hard workers? She couldn’t imagine anyone with the Jarrods’ wealth doing anything that required them to break a sweat except maybe watching the stock market play with their investment portfolios. Jarrod Ridge catered to the wealthiest clients who wanted pampering and spoiling. Their guest list read like a global who’s who of famous names, and a day at the resort’s spa cost more than she made in a month’s salary. She knew that much from the grapevine and the local paper.

But that didn’t tell her why Gavin had come here and secluded himself in a room with her grandfather. Was Pops going to donate the inn to the historic preservation society or was he thinking of selling to the Jarrods? “He’s not here to buy the inn, is he?”

“He’s not interested in the inn.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” But again, his gaze drifted away from hers.

She had to find out what was going on. The only way she’d get her answers was to get as wily as Pops. She wouldn’t tell him she’d already been coerced into lunch.

“I’ll go out with Gavin if you’ll agree to let me hire a handyman to get this place in shape. We’re booked solid beginning the Monday before Thanksgiving all the way through mid-March.”

His pride obviously ruffled, Pops puffed up his narrow shoulders. “I can handle the chores.”

“I’m sure you can. There’s not that much to do. But this way you can focus on the important items and let someone else sweat the small stuff.”

His eyes narrowed and his thumb jabbed his chest. “You got yourself a deal but only if I get to pick the handyman. And you’ll give Jarrod a fair shot. Y’hear?”

“I’ll go out with him once. It’s up to him to make me want more.” And she could safely guarantee that would never happen. She was through with love and all the heartaches that went with it. And she specifically wanted nothing to do with Gavin Jarrod.

The knock on the front door filled Sabrina with dread. She’d rather slam her thumb with the hammer again than go on this outing.

Determined to get this over with, she shrugged on her coat and zipped it to her chin, then marched across the foyer and opened the door. Gavin, wearing a black ski jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders, filled the entry. Her insides did an inexplicable gelatin jiggle thing, and the frosty air sweeping inside did nothing to cool her suddenly warm cheeks.

Okay, so he was attractive. But nothing was going to happen between them no matter what Pops hoped.

Gavin’s dark gaze skimmed Sabrina from her barely behaving curls to her scuffed boots. “Bring gloves and a toboggan.”

She glanced past him and spotted a Jeep with monstrously large tires in the inn’s parking lot. No luxurious Cadillac today. “Where are we going?”

“On a picnic.”

Was the man stupid or just into torturing her? “It’s forty degrees outside.”

“I won’t let you get hypothermia.”

“And how exactly do you plan to keep me warm? If this is some rich-boy ruse to get physically close you’re going to be disappointed.”

“It’s not. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Trust him? Not on her life. She snagged her gloves and hat from the hallstand. “Let’s go.”

The gold flecks in his eyes glittered with amusement. “Said with the enthusiasm of a woman on her way to have cavities filled at the dentist’s office without Novocain.”

“Does your ego require me to pretend I’m eager to go out with you? You know I only agreed because you’re withholding information.”

His grin broadened—like a shark’s—at her sarcasm. “You won’t regret spending the day with me.”

“That remains to be seen. And it’s not the day. Just lunch. Two hours, at the most. I have chores to do this afternoon.”

His confidence—or was it arrogance?—came through loud and clear in the cocky way he indicated the four-wheel drive vehicle with a sweeping arm and a slight bow. Sabrina traversed the walk, conscious of him looming behind her. He reached past her to open the door. Avoiding contact, she climbed inside the Jeep.

She caught a glimpse of her grandfather’s face at one of the inn’s windows. Why did he look so serious? He was getting his way. She hoped he appreciated her sacrificing an afternoon of repairs for this. But he’d agreed to hire help, and that would make suffering through the next couple of hours worth it. Resigned to her fate, she buckled her seat belt.

Gavin slid into his seat and started the engine. He turned the car toward Jarrod Ridge. Sabrina sat back and took in the scenery of Aspen’s grid of streets. Art galleries, designer clothing and jewelry boutiques and famous chefs’ restaurants lined the sidewalks, alternating old-world charm with more modern architecture. For such a small city, Aspen’s downtown and the surrounding ski areas brought in a lot of tourists and generated a lot of jobs and revenue. She was lucky to be a part of it. And she didn’t want to lose it, but there was no way she could afford to live here without the inn.

All too soon Gavin turned through the resort’s arched entrance. She’d never had a reason to come down this road, and her curiosity got the better of her, but before she could catch more than a glimpse of the reportedly ultra-luxurious lodges, Gavin veered off the driveway and onto a dirt track.

“Where does this go?”

“My favorite spot.” He shot a short, stabbing, breath-stealing glance her way. She shut down her response. Charming or not, she wasn’t interested in him or a bored, rich guy’s flirtation.

The track grew rougher and steeper. She gripped the seat and stared out the window rather than at Gavin. The Jeep bounced along until he took a sharp turn around a boulder and stopped on the edge of a small clearing. “We’re here.”

She swept her eyes across the snow-dappled scene. No picnic tables. Nothing, in fact, except nature. Dirt. Rocks. Trees. “This is it? We’re in the middle of nowhere. How far are we from the lodge?”

“Not far as the crow flies, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to hike it unless you’re a seasoned climber. The terrain is pretty rough.”

She wasn’t an outdoorsman. She shoved open the car door and cold air gusted inside making her shiver. “Maybe we should eat in the car.”

“Coward.” He delivered the insult as a challenge, then climbed from the vehicle and walked to the back to retrieve a bulging backpack which he shrugged on. After tugging on her hat and gloves she followed.

When she reached his side he tossed a thick blue blanket at her. “Think you can carry that?”

“Sure.” She’d probably need to wrap up in it.

After locking the Jeep he headed down an almost indecipherable trail scratched through the low-growing junipers. Sabrina trudged after him, inhaling the crisp, clean air. This is what Gavin smelled like, she realized. Evergreens and earth and sunlight. An odd combination for a city guy.

“Watch your step,” he cautioned over his shoulder as the ascent steepened. “Do you need a hand?”

“I can manage.” She hadn’t been hiking in ages—not since the summer before she’d run away to get married. Back then her grandfather had had the energy to take her exploring in the mountains around Aspen, sometimes on horseback, but usually on foot. When the inn hadn’t been busy her grandmother had joined them. Those carefree days had been some of the happiest in Sabrina’s life.

Brushing off the sadness and worry, she studied the green firs, pines and bare aspen trees around her rather than the taut leg and butt muscles flexing in front of her. Gavin probably paid a trainer an obscene amount of money to keep him in shape.

For the next ten minutes she concentrated on her footing and her breathing. Just when she thought her lungs would burst from the unaccustomed exercise he stopped. “This is it.”

She scanned the clearing at the base of a rock face, noting the carefully laid fire pit stacked with split logs and surrounded by stones. He’d obviously been up here earlier to prepare for this outing. “There’s nothing here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He shrugged off his knapsack, removed his gloves and then lit the fire. The dry wood caught quickly. “How much do you know about Aspen’s history?”

Sabrina moved closer to the crackling flames even though the climb had warmed her. She shed her gloves to enjoy the heat on her palms. “I know Aspen began as a silver mining town called Ute City in 1879, but I’m sorry to say that’s the extent of my knowledge even though I spent most of my summers here while my parents went away on research trips. I only learned enough of the city’s history to point the inn’s guests in the right direction.”

“What kind of research do your folks do?”

She considered dodging the question, but what did it matter if he knew? “They’re university professors back in Pennsylvania specializing in animal science. They’re always jetting off somewhere around the globe to study behavior patterns of some critter or another.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

“They claimed it was safer for me to stay with my grandparents.” Personally, she didn’t think her parents wanted to be distracted by looking after her when they had much more interesting things like polar bears or penguins in their sights.

He spread out the blanket on an area that had been raked clean of snow then proceeded to lay out an assortment of covered containers, a pair of thermoses, and finally a loaf of crusty bread wrapped in a cloth napkin.

Her instinct was to offer to help, but he’d forced this outing on her, so she let him do the work. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she wandered a few yards from the fire, trying to see what lay beyond the next turn in the path. Even though Gavin appeared occupied with the preparations, she could feel his attention focused on her like an alpha wolf’s would be aware of his pack—or his next meal.

He glanced up, finding her instantly and proving her point. “We’ll explore after we eat. Lunch is ready. Have a seat.”

Skeptical of how she’d enjoy a meal when she was so cold, she returned and eased down onto the blanket, trying to stay close to the fire and in reach of the food but not too close to her unwanted companion.

Gavin Jarrod unsettled her. Being near him made her feel as if she were perched at the top of the highest double black diamond ski trail and teetering on the verge of plunging downhill at breakneck speed. She wasn’t an expert skier by any means, and Gavin, like the most advanced slopes, was far out of her league.

“The mining heyday didn’t last long, did it?” she asked to change the subject to something less agitating.

His gaze hit hers like a falling tree, knocking the wind from her. “Most of the mines closed down after the Panic of 1893 and by the 1930s Aspen had less than a thousand inhabitants after maxing out at close to fifteen thousand. The region didn’t recover until the mid-1940s when it became a designated ski area. Jarrod Ridge weathered it all.”

The pride in his voice spurred her own. “So did Snowberry Inn. My ancestors have been here just as long as yours.”

“So they have.” He indicated the thermoses, giving her an excuse to break the connection his eyes seemed to have forged with hers. “You have your choice of hot coffee, hot chocolate or bottled water. We’re having chili for lunch. There’s freshly shredded cheddar in that tub, sour cream in this one and raw vegetables and dip in there.”

“This is a pretty decent spread,” she admitted grudgingly.

“For a guy?” He unscrewed the cap on one of the containers and steam mushroomed into the air. The aroma of the spicy chili filled her nose and her mouth watered.

She shrugged. “For a rich guy.”

He hiked a brow. “What did you expect?”

She shrugged. “An unimaginative, candlelit meal in some fancy place that doesn’t put prices on the menu, has obsequious waiters and a wine list the size of a telephone book.”

He studied her, and she couldn’t tell from his neutral expression if she’d annoyed him. “If I did that you might think I was trying to impress you.”

Was that deadpan humor or was he serious? “You’re not?”

He poured the thick chili into a bowl and passed it to her along with a spoon and a mug. “If I were, you’d know it. Eat before it gets cold.”

She frowned as she tried to make sense of the conversation and took a bite of the chili. The rich beefy flavor exploded on her tongue. “Mmm. This is good.”

“It’s one of my older brother’s recipes. Before Guy got too big for his britches he used to be a good cook. Now he owns a restaurant and lets others man the stove.”

“My compliments to the chef.”

He lifted his mug in a toast. “Glad you like it.”

“You cooked?” Surely he had a staff at his beck and call at the resort.

“Even rich guys have been known to stir a pot now and then.”

Chastened, she broke off a piece of bread, dipped it into her bowl and then ate while she tried to figure out what Gavin wanted from her. There were certainly far more attractive available women in town. Why her? Boredom? Slumming? The inn?

“What brought you back to Aspen?” His question chiseled into her thoughts.

Sabrina chose her words carefully. The full truth tended to elicit either pity or an anti-war tirade, and she wasn’t in the mood for either, so she edited. “My grandmother died and Pops needed my help with the inn.”

“Planning to stay?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do before moving here?”

“Work and school.” Wife. But enough about her. She shifted on the blanket. “What about you?”

“Work. Travel.”

She guessed she deserved the brief response. “Travel to where?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere the job or the mood took me.”

That sounded like heaven. She and Russell had intended to work their way around the country when he’d gotten out of the service, but his death on his last mission had derailed their plans.

The remainder of the meal passed with nothing but the sound of some small animal foraging for food in the background interrupted by an occasional jet overhead. After he’d packed away the dishes he extracted graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows from his backpack along with a couple of skewers.

The ingredients looked familiar. “You’re making s’mores?”

“It’s a tradition. My brothers and I used to make them whenever we camped here.”

An image of him as a gangly kid chipped away at her dislike. “I haven’t had s’mores in a long time.”

She focused on his hands as he skewered the marshmallows then roasted them over the fire. His weren’t the pampered hands of a pencil-pushing millionaire. Small scars marred the tanned flesh and his palms had calluses. The imperfections didn’t fit with the Cadillac-driving, Tag Heuer watch-wearing, swaggering image she had of him from yesterday. “What do you do when you’re not killing time in Aspen, Gavin?”

“I’m a construction engineer.”

She’d been wrong. He wasn’t a man of leisure, and an engineer had to be smart despite the evidence to the contrary of his bringing her here to freeze her fanny off. But now that she considered it, she wasn’t all that cold with the warmth of the fire in front of her and the outcropping of rocks behind her to block the wind.

But his occupation told her nothing about why he’d be interested in her grandfather or the Snowberry Inn. “Working on what?”

“Bridges, dams, mines, buildings. I go wherever the project sounds the most interesting.”

“You love your job.” The enthusiasm in his tone gave it away.

“I never wanted to do anything else.”

“Then I can see why being grounded here for a year must be hard.” He had the world waiting for him.

“I’ll survive it.” He sandwiched a gooey semi-melted marshmallow and a piece of chocolate between two crackers and offered it to her.

She took it, bit into the crisp crackers and chewed, savoring the rush of memories the sweet treat brought back. She and her grandmother had made s’mores often. “Okay, I have to admit, I was skeptical about your picnic, but this was a good idea. It’s beautiful up here.”

“It’s better at night when you can see the stars.” He took a bite of his dessert.

“It’s a little late in the season for that with the night temperatures in the single digits.” She licked a sticky bit from her lip. “You still haven’t told me what my grandfather has that you want.”

“This.” His gesture encompassed the area around them.

A tiny dot of chocolate clung to the corner of his mouth. She had a weird urge to reach out and wipe it away with a fingertip. Or her tongue. Shocked by the errant thought, she averted her gaze and rescanned the setting rather than focus on that strangely tempting spot. “And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

“Five acres surrounded by Jarrod territory and a defunct silver mine started by one of my ancestors before Aspen was founded.”

When she looked back, the tempting daub of chocolate was gone, thank goodness. “Pops owns this land? But you said something about a poker bet.”