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“Did I sleep through the entire car ride?”
“You did,” I said, watching her straighten the neckline of her sweater that had fallen off her shoulder while she’d slept.
Staring out the window, her eyes soaked in the sight in front of us. I’d forgotten how majestic the forest could be until the sparkle in Frances’s eyes reminded me.
“Have you ever been this far north?” I asked.
“Never,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful here.”
Staring at her mouth, slightly opened in awe, I had to agree. “It certainly is.”
“There’s Morgan,” said Frances, pointing to a figure emerging from the trees. Robert Morgan wore brown pants and a red and black checkered shirt. A brown felt hat sat on his head with a white feather sticking out. He looked ridiculous, but somehow not unexpected for Morgan. Another man accompanied him, but from this distance, I didn’t recognize him.
Stepping out of the car, the dog nearly bowled Frances over, pawing at her thighs. “Hi, buddy,” she cooed. Then, looking up at the two men approaching us, she shouted, “Is this Taylor?”
“Sure is,” Morgan shouted back as Frances crouched and gave the dog a proper rub-down—belly rub and all. The little beast licked her hands in appreciation.
As Morgan and his companion approached the car, I kept my gaze on the second man until his features became clearer. He had dark blonde hair, about my height, and nearly the same build. As he walked closer, the shape of his eyes reminded me of Morgan’s. This had to be his son.
“Welcome,” Morgan said when he finally reached us.
“Thank you for having me.” Frances wiped her hands on her jeans and shook hands with both men. Not liking the appreciative look the younger man aimed at Frances, I introduced myself.
“Colton Crawford,” I said, and may have squeezed the man’s hand harder than necessary.
“Paul Morgan,” he said, narrowing his eyes and clasping his fingers tighter around mine.
“Paul, this is the man I was telling you about,” said his father. Then his lips curved up into a smile and he added, “And this is his assistant, Frances.” He beamed at her, likely proud that he remembered her name this time.
Paul turned to give Frances a big-tooth smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His thumb swept across her hand as he shook it. I wanted to pull that thumb back until I heard it snap. Frances smiled back, unaware of my possessive thoughts.
“Come inside and meet the rest of the family.” We followed Morgan as his boots clomped up the porch. The crackling of a fire welcomed us as we entered the cabin. Mounted on either side of the stone fireplace were two moose heads with the largest antlers I’d ever seen.
“You must be Colton,” said a woman, coming down the stairs.
She looked to be Morgan’s age, in her early sixties, with white hair pulled back into a bun. Her full, rosy cheeks reminded me of some wholesome baking commercial. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, extending my hand. “This is my… assistant, Frances.” Frances turned to me with a question in her eyes, before redirecting her attention to the woman.
“You have a lovely cabin, Mrs. Morgan,” she said. “Did you design the interior yourself?”
“Please, you must both call me Marie. And oh, no,” she chuckled. “I’d never put those awful antlers up there if it were up to me. But marriage takes compromise, dear,” she said, and winked at Frances. Then, pointing to the staircase she’d just descended, she said, “Paul, why don’t you show Frances to her room and take her bags?”
Paul picked up the bags I’d left at the front door and gave Frances a half-smile, allowing only one side of his lips to curl up. I used that smile, too, when I wanted to show a woman I was interested in her.
“I can take them,” I said, grabbing one of the bags from Paul’s hand, but he didn’t let go.
“Nonsense,” said Robert. “Let me show you my hunting collection.”
I’d rather pop my eye out with one of those antlers, I thought. But I released the bag and watched Paul escort Frances upstairs, leading her to one of the bedrooms. Not wanting to make it obvious I was staring, I turned back to Robert. But he gave a knowing look to his wife, who smirked up at the staircase. “Didn’t I tell you?” he mumbled under his breath, but I’d heard him. “I think he likes her.”
Is he talking about me or his son?
Now I wasn’t sure if Morgan was trying to nurture what he thought was a burgeoning relationship between me and Frances, or start one for his son? I wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Robert, did you invite me here so you could set up my assistant with your son?”
“Nonsense,” he said, but I didn’t believe him. When I held his stare with my arms crossed, he shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, right, Crawford? You can handle a bit of competition.”
Annoyed, I inhaled a loud breath and exhaled sharply.
Marie put her hand on her hip. “Nothing’s going on between you and your assistant, is there, Colton? That wouldn’t be very professional.” She laughed, then winked. Was she teasing me or warning me? I got the feeling Marie was the sort of mother that used the same passive-aggressive tone to get what she wanted.
