I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to lie in this bed.With Finn.
Snap out of it, Emma.
I check over my shoulder to make sure no one is looking.All I see is my cleaning cart and the vacuum.So I do it.
I fall face-first onto the duvet, stretch out my arms, and inhale.It’s like I’m swimming in a sea of Finn MacLaine.This bed is heavenly, and my nose is filled with the scent of wild land, fresh air, and warm male skin.
After a few moments in my private fantasy world, I flop over and sit up.My eyes immediately go to a framed photograph on the bedside table.I reach for it and hold it near.
I stare.
It’s her, of course.Finn’s wife.And she’s absolutely lovely.She has light blue eyes and wavy blond hair, and I instantly get a feel for who she was, just from this casual snapshot.Finn happened to take this picture just as she looked over her shoulder, laughing.
She was a lighthearted and joyful woman.And it’s obvious from the look in her eye that she loved Finn with everything in her.
I realize that in Jasmine, her mother’s light happiness shines from a halo of dark MacLaine hair.
I find I’m crying, my heart bursting with the pain Finn must feel.
As I sit here on the edge of this magnificent bed and stare at this beautiful young woman in the photograph, I think I’m beginning to understand what Finn’s gone through, and what a miracle it is that he’s come out the other side.
I pull myself together and get to work, my mind spinning.And for the next two hours, I clean the living daylights out of this master suite.I organize the closet.Wash the windows and wipe down the sills and baseboards.I leave the wood floors gleaming.
I scrub the already clean bathroom from ceiling to floor and inhale the scent of Finn’s expensive body wash and shampoo.
And all the while my heart travels down that path I swore to avoid.The one that just might lead to a place for Finn and me.
I hope I’m brave enough to see where it goes.
CHAPTER 40
Finn
I look at my bed and curse myself.It’s covered in clothes I’ve flung around in my desperate attempt to try on everything in my closet.
And I feel bad about it, since Emma cleaned in here today for the first time.I dragged my ass home after back-to-back technical meetings and a couple of hours at the barn to find everything absolutely spotless.Fresh linens.Dusted blinds.An organized walk-in closet.Sparkling marble and glass and chrome.
It smelled fresh and new.
And I’ve already trashed the place.
Because I just can’t figure out what to wear to a shit-kicker summer carnival that I’ve been going to since I was a toddler.Normally, I wear jeans, a T-shirt, and a cowboy hat like any self-respecting Nevada rancher, without even thinking about it.
But this year, I just can’t seem to do it.
“You’re a girl before her junior prom,” I say out loud, shaking my head at how lame I’ve been acting all day.
Two-headed steer?
Singing chicken?
Seriously, Finlay?
“Get a grip, you complete wanker,” I mumble to myself.
In truth, it doesn’t matter what I wear.Emma’s seen me in everything.Anyway, why would I even care if she likes what I’m wearing?She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my housekeeper.
And more than that, she’s my deliriously happy housekeeper!She loves her job.She was ecstatic to get her first paycheck this morning!Leave the girl alone.Don’t push.Give her space.No making anything happen, remember?No forcing or figuring out or setting up.
