“No problem.”

He couldn’t help chuckling at that. “That’s not what you said a few weeks ago.”

“I’m over it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

She shrugged. “In the end, you made it easy. It was nothing I said or did. An exemption is an exemption. Anybody could have gotten one by bringing in two hundred jobs.”

“I wouldn’t have known about the exemption, if not for you.”

She cast a sidelong glance his way. “But we’re still keeping that our secret, right?”

“Right.”

“Along with everything else? There’s no expiration date on a blackmail payoff,” she confirmed.

“I said yes.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“We’re clear.” He paused. “But I didn’t think there were official rules for blackmail.”

“Honor among thieves.”

“We’re not thieves.”

“We’d’ve been good at it, though.”

He chuckled.

“Trickery, subterfuge, deception and clandestine meetings.”

“We’d also have to steal something,” he pointed out.

She leaned her head back. “I don’t need anything.”

“Except medical attention.”

“Do we need to steal it?”

“We do not.” He nodded out through the windshield. “See those lights up ahead?”

She squinted. “Way up in the trees?”

“They’re farther up the mountain. That’s the new building for Craig Mountain. The walls are up. The roof is on. And it’ll be clad to weather by the end of the week.”

“Congratulations.”

“There’s a long way to go. But so far we’re on schedule.”

“Did you decide whether or not to do a restaurant?”

He pretty much had, but he hadn’t made if official yet. “I’m not sure,” he hedged, to keep the conversation going. “What do you think I should do?”

She got a faraway look in her eyes, and her tone softened. “I think people would love to have dinner at the castle.”

“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 agreeing with you.”

“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? How 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.

“You okay?” asked her brother from the other end of the line.

“Perfect.”

“How’s the arm?”

“Couple of stitches. No big deal.”

Zach frowned, and she waggled her finger at him to warn him off.

“Good to hear,” said Travis. “I guess you’re not coming home tonight.”

Abigail glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was nearly ten. “Tomorrow,” she told her brother.

“I can send someone for the truck.”

“Not necessary. I can drive it home in the morning.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” With the topical anesthetic wearing off, her arm was beginning to throb, but it would take more than that for her to go into damsel-in-distress mode. “Sorry if Zach exaggerated,” she told Travis.

“It was good to get the information.”

“I would have called you myself,” she said, more for Zach’s benefit than hers.

“He was just being neighborly.”

“Right.” If Travis had any idea just how neighborly Zach had been with her in the past, this would be an entirely different conversation.

“You sure you’re okay?” Travis asked.

“Perfect. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Bye, Abby.”

She pressed the end button with her thumb. “Why did you do that?” she asked Zach.

“I thought it would be one less thing for you to worry about.” His gaze was steady, sincere.

“You weren’t worried he was still ticked off at you?”

Zach shook his head. “You said it yourself. It was an exemption. That rule applies to everyone. And your brother doesn’t know you helped me.” Zach paused, his expression inscrutable. “Travis thinks he won our last fight, and I went away.”

She thought about taking Zach to task again for making her lie to her family, but she honestly didn’t have the energy. The throbbing in her arm was growing worse. She wished she’d said yes to the painkillers the medic offered. “Travis thought you were being neighborly.”

“I am. How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine.” She set the phone down on an end table, resisting the urge to cradle her injury. She hoped it didn’t keep her awake tonight.

“I won’t think any less of you because you feel pain, you know.”

“I know that.”

“Good. Then let’s try that again. Abby, how’s your arm?”

“It’s sore,” she admitted, tossing back her damp hair and raising her chin. “Can we move on now?”

He gave what looked like a reluctant smile. “Yeah. We can move on. Shot of whiskey, cowboy?”

“Sure. Why not.”

He rose smoothly to his feet. “I’ve got a thirty-year-old Glenlivet.” He opened a cupboard in the small kitchen alcove. “That ought to be in keeping with the theme of our surroundings.”

It sounded good to Abigail. She hoped he made it a double.

“On the rocks?” he asked, setting two short, crystal glasses on the countertop.

“Please.”

The ice cubes clinked, and the cork made a hollow popping sound as he pulled it out of the bottle. She watched as he poured the amber liquid over the small ice cubes. It looked like at least a double. Good. That would help her sleep.

He lifted both glasses and turned. “Do you think it would compromise beer sales if we were to offer scotch whiskey at the restaurant?”

“I think most customers would like to have the choice,” she answered.

“Me, too.” He handed her one of the glasses then sat back down in the armchair. “I liked your idea about flagons of ale. I think we could do a lot with a historic theme.” He swirled his glass and inhaled appreciatively. Then he took a first sip.

Abigail followed suit. The liquid burned her throat, but in a good way, and she appreciated the warmth that radiated out into her bloodstream. She took a second sip. This was going to feel very good on her arm.

“Alex has always been a bit of a scotch aficionado,” Zach continued. “He got me into it, too. There’s no reason why we couldn’t make that a specialty, maybe do a bit of recon through Scotland, check out some of the lesser-known distilleries, the rarer brands.”

Abigail found herself nodding. What a fantastic job that would be. And what a fun addition to the restaurant. She took another sip. It had taken her a while to develop a taste for scotch, but now that she had, she found it a very satisfying and civilized beverage.

“If you feel up to it tomorrow, will you help me hunt through the upper floors?”

“I have to get back to the ranch.” Though, at the moment, driving the stick shift didn’t sound very appealing.