Should've Said No (16 page)

“With my brother, Travis.” He tipped his head toward the logo and sat on the blanket. “He owns the place. Sells fly fishing equipment. He’s also a guide. Knows fishing like I know…fixing things.”

Lindsey grinned, joining him on the blanket. “I’d agree that you’re an expert.” She took paper plates and cups out of her tote.

Pulling a bottle of wine from the cooler, Carden shook his head, a hint of an aw-shucks look on his scruffy face. “I wouldn’t say that. But I know more about fixing things than I do about wine.” He reached into his pocket, came out with a Swiss Army knife, and started cutting the seal off the wine bottle. “This is Gran’s favorite pinot grigio. I keep a few bottles handy in case I need to calm her down.”

“Good thinking.” Lindsey decided to leave the subject at that. Despite Stella’s diminutive size, she was clearly large and in charge. Lindsey shuddered to think about how Stella would react if she found out that Lindsey was Oscar and Tansy’s great niece. No amount of wine would dull that shock.

Forget about Stella. What about Carden?

Lindsey forced a pleasant look onto her face. “Any other brothers or sisters?”

He flipped out the corkscrew attachment on his knife and opened the wine like a seasoned sommelier. There wasn’t much the guy couldn’t do with his hands. Lindsey’s breath hitched just thinking about the grip he’d had on her hips when she’d been up on his workbench. The coarse wisp of his calluses, and the tender touch of his fingertips.

“It’s just me and Travis,” he said after she’d nearly forgotten the question. “But I’m getting a sister-in-law soon.”

“Aw, that’s cool. When’s the wedding?”

He poured wine into two cups and handed her one. “According to the countdown calendar he keeps on his desk, we’re seven days away.”

“He keeps a countdown calendar on his desk? That’s adorable.”

Carden gave her a sidelong look. “If you say so.” He shook his head. “My little brother.”

“Oh,” she said, drawing it out. “You’re talking about Travis and Emily, who were the hundredth couple to get engaged at The Canary during its hundredth year.” Her nerves kicked up the moment she mentioned The Canary.

“They’re the ones.” He handed her a cup of wine, cool against her fingers.

She lifted it in a toast. “Here’s to Travis and Emily—and happily ever after.”

He clicked his cup against hers and they drank.

Lindsey savored the wine, cool and fruity, but not too sweet. “Their engagement is slated to go into the Memories and Milestones section of the museum. We even have the original notarized document certifying them as couple one hundred.”

“The Karlssons weren’t too happy about that turn of events,” he said. “Tansy came out of the kitchen right then and there and claimed there’d been an error. Travis and the other diners set her straight. A Crenshaw earned a historic distinction in the Karlssons’ restaurant, and she had to admit it in front of everyone. Wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

Lindsey bolstered herself with a deep breath of thin air, but her lungs didn’t feel quite full. “So the feud between the Crenshaws and the Karlssons is alive and well?”

He shrugged. “It’s not as fiery as it once was, but the embers stay hot. They still call us a bunch of thieves. Talk like that sparks a flame every so often.”

Lindsey winced, recalling Tansy’s declaration.
The Crenshaws stole our land deal, and those thieves have been living on the spoils ever since.
She’d yet to hear Carden or Stella insult the Karlssons like that, but the Crenshaws had fared better in the deal—no reason to be bitter when you came out on top. But according to Merri and Milly, the Karlssons had been sore losers from the start.

“They keep the debate going in town,” Carden said, “poking the fire. Once in a while, we’ll poke back. Like when Travis and Em got engaged at The Canary. Score one for the Crenshaws.”

Lindsey furrowed her brow, seeing the divide between families even more clearly—feeling it. “Have any of you ever gotten along?”

Carden shook his head and crinkled his nose. “Not in this century. Or the last, from what I know.” He put his knife back in his pocket. “Probably never will.”

Lindsey took a too-big swallow of wine and handed Carden a sandwich.

“What have we got here?” he asked.

“Country ham, brie, and apple slices with dijonnaise on French bread.” She examined hers, pleased that the apples hadn’t turned brown.

“These were in the basket from the Montgomery sisters?”

She shook her head. “I made them. But I brought some treats from the basket, too.” She lifted a plastic bowl from her tote, took off the lid, and held it out for him to smell.

Carden leaned in and inhaled. “Mmm…Peach salsa with cilantro and lime. Best you’ll ever eat.”

“We’ll need some chips.” She pulled out a crinkly bag of tortilla chips and opened it. “Milly and Merri said the Crenshaws and the Karlssons were close before the land deal.”

Carden dipped a chip in the chunky salsa and brought it to her mouth. Lindsey’s heart hiccuped, remembering him feeding her ice cream and where that had led. She ate the chip and salsa—zesty, tangy, and fresh—another amazing taste sensation created by Milly and Merri.

“Yum,” she said, debating whether to dip a chip and feed it to him and deciding it was best not to. She couldn’t allow the subject of their families’ feud to get lost in a salsa seduction.

“That was ancient history,” he said, “when the Karlssons and the Crenshaws got along.” He dipped another chip in the salsa and ate it.

Lindsey did the same, relieved that they were back on track. “Got any more of that story? I mean, it’d be nice to hear how pleasant things once were—that the two families could get along.”

He looked at her curiously and she swallowed hard, paranoid that even a twinge in her tone would have him suspecting that there was more to her questions than just research for the museum.

“You sure you want to hear it?”

She sighed. “I’ve got an exhibit to piece together. I need all the facts I can get.”

Carden took a bite of his sandwich, nodding. “Delicious.”

Lindsey second-guessed the timing of this conversation. Waiting for answers between bites was killing her.

“I don’t know how many facts you’re going to get,” he said. “But you’ll get plenty of hearsay.”

She lifted her cup toward him. “Then hit me with your hearsay.”

“Let’s see.” He raised his eyes to the sky and they glimmered even bluer. “My great-great-grandmother was a young nurse who took care of Irma Karlsson—Brooks Karlsson’s wife who nearly died the first winter after they settled in Thistle Bend. She stayed at Irma Karlsson’s side day and night. Totally dedicated. That’s when the families got close.” He dipped another chip and ate it.

Lindsey took a bite of her sandwich, pleased that the trio of salty ham, creamy brie, and sweet apples was nearly as tasty as Milly and Merri’s fare. She hoped Carden would take her mouthful as a cue to keep on talking.

“Then Warner Montgomery put the land up for sale,” he said, and Lindsey kept chewing, relieved that her tactic had worked. “The Crenshaws outbid the Karlssons, and the Karlssons have been pissed ever since.” He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “You’ll need to put that more tactfully in the exhibit, but that’s what happened.”

Lindsey’s pulse thrummed. Carden and her aunt Tansy had declared their versions of what should go in the exhibit, but neither had offered any supporting evidence.

“That was brief and to the point,” she teased, and popped a salsa-laden chip into her mouth.

Carden shrugged. “That’s the story. And this is how it turned out.” His lips turned up at one corner. “From there”—he pointed toward a bald-topped mountain at the left of the panoramic view and swept his arm all the way to the right—“to there. That’s the Crenshaw land.”

Lindsey froze, mid-chew. She covered her mouth with her fingers. “Really?” she asked, dazed by the vastness of the land. She chewed thoughtfully, considering the gain for the Crenshaws, the loss for her family.

Heavyhearted, she asked, “Who actually bought the land? Brooks Karlsson was the bidder for ou—” Lindsey clamped her mouth shut. She’d been one syllable away from saying “
our
side.” Heat rose in her face. “His side,” she said quickly. “But who was the bidder for yours?” She sucked in a deep breath, the air suddenly thinner.

“My great-great-great-grandfather.”

“Whoa. That’s pretty great,” Lindsey teased, determined to divert attention from her stumble. “Was that the nurse’s dad?”

He nodded. “Her father did the bidding, but he deeded the land to her.”

“Was she an only child?”

“She had a couple older brothers. One stayed in Denver when the Crenshaws came to Thistle Bend.”

“She must’ve been daddy’s little girl.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Sure seems like it.”

“So she was R. E. Crenshaw?”

“That was her.” He lifted his cup toward the soaring peaks along the horizon. “Here’s to Grandma Ruby Eileen.” He turned to Lindsey. Her stomach clenched, but she raised her cup, brushed it against his, and took a traitorous sip of her wine. She probably deserved to choke on it.

Carden leaned toward her, balancing on one hip. For a second, she thought he was coming in for a kiss, but he reached in his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and sat straight again. He flipped open his wallet and tugged a card from one of its slots. It glinted in the sun as he handed it to her.

Lindsey squinted, turned the card away from the glare, and focused on a laminated old black-and-white photograph of a strikingly beautiful woman seated on the side of a chair. One of her arms was propped on the back of the chair, the other in her lap, as if she might spring up from her seat at any moment. Straight-backed, she wore a black, long-sleeved dress—lace peeking from the cuffs—that buttoned up past the curve of her narrow waist, all the way to a Victorian collar. A dark lace sash fell low across her hips. Ornate earrings dangled from her ears, complementing a fancy necklace with a large pendant. Her dark hair was pulled up beneath a smart hat with one side of the brim turned down, the other up. Clearly she was a woman of means and exquisite taste, energetic and determined.

“Ruby Eileen?” Lindsey asked.

Carden nodded. “She opened up all this possibility for the Crenshaws.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the rugged peaks in the distance.

Lindsey glanced from his handsome face to the lovely one in the picture. Ruby Eileen’s skin was creamy, her lips caught just before a smile. And her eyes…light and piercing and deep.

“She’s gorgeous,” Lindsey said.

“And smart, and shrewd,” Carden said. “She made courageous business decisions and formed loyal partnerships. Speculated. Opened mines. Employed people.”

“I’ve read how R. E. Crenshaw laid the bedrock of Thistle Bend,” Lindsey said. “But I just recently figured out that she was a woman.”

“Family lore says she wanted it that way. Back then, men conducted business with men. Word didn’t travel like it does now. Unless they’d met her or happened to hear about her, people assumed she was a man.” Carden shook his head, gazing at the view. “Don’t know if that contributed to her success, but her strategy worked. I keep her picture in my wallet to remind me what’s possible.”

“She’s an inspiration, that’s for sure.” Lindsey took a last glance at the photograph and handed it back to Carden. “Thanks for showing me her picture. It’d be ideal for the museum. Think we can have it reproduced and enlarged?”

“I think we could.” Carden looked pleased and it struck Lindsey how badly she wanted him to be—with the exhibit, with her. But she wanted Aunt Tansy, Uncle Oscar, and the rest of the Karlssons to be happy, too. She balled up the wax paper from the sandwiches and squeezed it in her fist. How had she allowed herself to become so conflicted?

Despite her battling allegiances, she was happy to have gotten some answers about Ruby Eileen, but the full mystery of the land deal was nowhere near solved.

Carden slipped the picture into his wallet, and put it back in his pocket. He took her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it.

Lindsey’s stomach fluttered.

“What about your family?” he asked. “You got any interesting great-great-grandmothers’ pictures in your wallet?”

Lindsey’s stomach clenched at the mention of her family and distant relations. “I don’t know a lot about my genealogy, but I do have a really spry grandmother back in Virginia. I used to drive her 1970 Cadillac DeVille back in high school.”

He drew his head back. “Really? I just can’t see it. I imagine you in a—”

“Beat-up U-Haul?” she quipped.

“No way.” He skimmed his thumb back and forth over her fingers. “That was a one-off, for sure. I picture you in a high-end SUV for everyday driving, and in a classic Mustang for fun.”

Lindsey couldn’t afford even one of those vehicles, much less both. “I like the way you think. But remind me not to take you along when I go car shopping.” She squeezed his hand. “Your imagination is way beyond my budget.”

“Thinking of getting a car soon?”

She liked the idea of the freedom she’d have with a car, but not the expense. Besides, it would just be a liability when she moved back to D.C. “I’m okay without one right now. Everything in Thistle Bend is within walking distance, and I have my bike. That’s the lifestyle I like. Everything else is different here—no crowds or subways or sprawl—but living without a car is something I’m used to.”

He seemed to listen intently, something Hopper had rarely done unless the subject was himself. “What does your family think about you moving here?” Carden asked.

She lifted one shoulder. “My parents weren’t thrilled about the distance between here and Richmond, but they understood why I wanted to come. They’ve always encouraged me to take chances and experience new things—meet new people. I won’t get to see them nearly as much as I did when I lived in D.C. We’ll miss each other, but we’ll make it work.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head. “I’m the Lone Ranger. My parents had trouble having children, so they adopted me. They said they wanted to stay within their means, and give me the best life they could, so it’s just me and them.”