Page 3 of Worth the Trouble

“Oh, well, take your time. Let me know if you want me to take anything out for you. And the earrings on the table over there are on sale.” Suzannah nodded and went to the showcase in the middle and started rearranging a few of the trays.

Eventually, Cece chose a pair of turquoise earrings and took them to the counter to pay for them. Suzannah put them in a pretty little blue bag and invited her to come back anytime.

She walked out of the jewelry shop and wandered to the other shops farther down the street. One was a saddle crafting shop, which made sense for a town full of cowboys. There were saddles on display among other pieces she could see through the window. And then she saw an antique store that practically called out to Cecelia and she went inside to take a look.

She’d always been a sucker for a good piece of furniture. Places in New York didn’t exactly offer the rustic antiquities that this shop boasted.

Cecelia wandered through the rows of furniture, a smile tugging at her lips. The shop was all cedar and spice, not musty at all like she would have expected for old pieces. There was a decent amount of sun coming in, which added to the whole ambiance. It was like she’d stepped back in time, at least when she was taking a look at the older pieces.

Her fingers trailed along the edges of a particularly beautiful piece until her eyes landed on the wall of books. Then without thinking, she strode straight for it.

These weren’t the kinds of books one would find in a run-of-the-mill bookstore. No, these were all lesser-known authors. Being an avid reader, Cecelia prided herself on how much literature she consumed on a regular basis. She reached for one that stood out and flipped it to read the back.

It had to be written by an independent author. She would bet money on it. Her eyes flicked over the shelves and her smile broadened.

“They’re all from around this side of the country. Most of the books are written by authors local to Billings and surrounding towns.”

Cecelia jumped and whirled to find a pretty woman with pale, almost white-blond hair. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and interest, and her smile was genuine, nothing like the one the boutique shopkeeper had offered her.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Cecelia stiffened. How many tourists wandered through town? She really didn’t want to stick out that much. “No, I’m not. But I may be sticking around for a while.” She put the book on the shelf where she’d pulled it. “Local authors, huh?”

The woman nodded, turning her attention to the shelves. Then she reached for a book and placed it in Cecelia’s hands. “Here. This one is a favorite of mine. It’s on the house.”

Cecelia glanced down at the book written by a Wendy Gilley. She traced over the cover with her fingertips. “I couldn’t possibly⁠—”

“You can,” the woman said with a wink. “I own this shop, so what I say goes.”

Cecelia relaxed further. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” She glanced around the shop again. “You have a lovely store. I might have to purchase something to send home when I leave.”

The woman brightened. “A girl after my own heart. We need souvenirs as much as the next person, right?” She leaned on the shelf. “You said you’re staying a while?”

Cecelia hugged her book. “That’s right.”

Holding out her hand, the woman gestured with curled fingertips. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?” Cecelia stammered.

“I’m going to give you my number. If you’re going to be here for a while, you’ll want to know where the best places are to get the full experience.” She winked then wiggled her fingers again. “Give me your phone.”

“Cece.” She mumbled it, handing her phone over even though she probably should have known better.

The woman grinned. “Cece. Cute. I’m Wendy.” She dipped her attention to the phone and typed in her number then handed it back. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around.”

It wasn’t until Cecelia was back out on the street, stunned by her interaction with Wendy, that she turned the book over. The picture of the author on the back looked an awful lot like the Wendy of the antique store.

CHAPTER TWO

Jason had spotted her the second she’d stopped in front of the jewelry store. Her eyes lit up when a piece caught her attention, and he couldn’t look away.

He knew where he’d seen that face. Across the lawn at his brother’s wedding, half in the shade of the tent. He’d looked up from the third round of photographs and there she’d been, watching him, and by the time Faith let go of his arm, the spot under the tent was empty. He’d stood at the paddock fence with a plate of cake until Faith came for him again, and nobody he asked could tell him who she was.

Now here she was, shopping for jewelry.

She was petite. Blue jeans and boots and a red plaid shirt, long dark hair that fell over her shoulders. She held herself differently than the women he knew out here, and he couldn’t have said how. She left the jewelry store carrying a small bag and went into Wendy’s antique store. He stood on the far sidewalk with a feed order in his pocket and a list from his sisters, and he had no business watching a stranger shop.

He stayed anyway.