“One day, maybe.” Bailey sighed and leaned back into the seat. “I’m just lookin’ forward to workin’ somewhere I don’t have to worry about wanderin’ hands.”
Rafe glanced over and frowned. “Whose hands are wanderin’?”
She waved him off with a grin. “It’s nothin’. I’m just excited about doin’ somethin’ different, that’s all.”
Rafe let the subject drop but vowed to find out who was putting their hands on this woman without permission. She might not belong to him, but Rafe felt protective of her. Not that Bailey couldn’t take care of herself. She was sweet as molasses, but the woman had a fire in her. It took something big to draw it out, but it was there.
“What about the bakery?” he asked.
Bailey shrugged. “Mama said she could handle it just fine. Shelly’s takin’ more hours, helpin’ every day now that her kiddos are gettin’ older. Mama told me it’d be smart to branch out into somethin’ more.”
Rafe didn’t care to talk about Bailey’s mother. He’d met Ramona Weber because she owned and worked at the bakery, but he didn’t know her thoughts on him and his brother. Everyone else in town seemed to have an opinion, and he figured she did too. But Ramona kept it professional when their paths crossed, and Bailey was far too nice to let him think differently.
“You sure you wanna work for my brother?”
“Well, technically, I’d be workin’ for both of you,” she said quickly. “Rex said you’re as much an owner as he is.”
“Whatever.” Rafe hadn’t lifted a finger to help his brother with the B and B, hadn’t even stepped foot inside that house since the night the police took him away all those years ago. He damn sure didn’t deserve to be part owner of the place, no matter what Rex said. Which was why he’d refused every check his brother had tried to pay him since the Double R opened its doors.
“I’ve got my fingers crossed. I think it’ll be fun,” she told him as her eyes shifted out the window.
Fun.
Seventeen years ago, fun ceased to exist for him, and Rafe wasn’t even sure what it meant anymore.
Chapter Two
The best part of Bailey’s day—ornight, as was usually the case—just so happened to be when Rafe drove her home.
Kind of oxymoronic, considering the worst part of her day was thebeingat home part. Was that an oxymoron? Or perhaps ironic? English never was her best subject.
Whatever it was, when Rafe drove her home, Bailey had the chance to enjoy the few minutes it took to get from Moonshiners, where she worked, to her boyfriend’s house, where she was currently living. Like now, it was often quiet unless she instigated the conversation. Rafe wasn’t much of a talker. He was a brilliant listener, but she suspected that was a side effect of him not wanting to talk about himself. When it came to getting Rafe to open up, Congress made more headway during a legislative session.
Not that government was a subject she’d excelled at, either.
The point was she enjoyed the time she spent with Rafe even if she preferred he take her anywhere else but home. Out on the town would’ve been nice. Even a quiet dinner for two.
Of course, those things would never happen for a couple of reasons.
One: instead of being social, Rafe preferred to hole up in the tiny one-bedroom, one-bath apartment above the bookstore where he’d been living since he returned to Coyote Ridge. Granted, Bailey’d never seen the apartment, so maybe there was some major appeal to it that she wasn’t privy to. It could be like a carnival on a fall night; she didn’t know.
And two: Bailey harbored a major crush on Rafe, and since she was in a relationship with someone else, her interest in Rafe could only be as friends. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Rafe was a great friend.
So here she was, settling for the quiet drive to her house in the middle of the night.
If it were up to her, she would be staying at the Double R Retreat, and she wouldn’t need a ride home because she could walk. Or better yet, it wouldbeher home. Not in the sense she would own it or anything, but the idea of managing the place filled her with so much excitement Bailey could hardly contain it.
God, she loved that place. It was a well of inspiration. Twice now, she’d managed to take her camera and snap pictures of various things. It was a hobby of hers, one she hoped might lead to some extra money one day. She’d been searching around the Internet and stumbled across a stock photo site. It had given her the idea of selling some of her photographs. Maybe she wouldn’t make a lot, but surely, she could make something. From what she’d read, there was decent money in it. Which was why she’d focused so much on the farmhouse. Based on her research, those seemed to sell the best.
She sighed, thinking about the place. Full of so much light and character. It was the little things like how the evening sun hit the shiplap wall in the living room, lighting it up and casting shadows on the stone fireplace. She loved that picture. So much she hoped one day to have it framed in her own house.
One day. But not yet. Not until she took the reins of her life back. Until then … well, until then, she was stuck in the rut that she’d inadvertently dug in her most recent attempt to find a happily ever after. And while she didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to see her boyfriend, it was her only option because it was the right thing to do. Plus, she had an important interview tomorrow, so sleep was in her future.
When Rafe pulled down the long, gravel-pitted road in front of the tiny two-bedroom house she currently lived in, Bailey drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Rafe asked, his dark eyes darting over to her briefly.
He had the most mesmerizing eyes. She could get lost in his bottomless brown gaze.
