CHAPTER 11
There had been no sweet dreams. Only tossing and turning.
I had to see you….
Sweet dreams, Emma.
The nerve of him showing up, softening her with Dottie’s Special Breakfast and a side of sweet potato hash browns. Challenging her ideas, then in the next breath expanding on them. Asking about her travels, and regaling her with stories of his own. Of course Sterling would have a great sense of adventure. How could he not? Sleep finally claimed her in the wee hours of the morning. But at six a.m., she woke to the smell of bacon and eggs.
She padded out, bleary-eyed. Only copious amounts of coffee would help her now. She stopped short of the kitchen counter as the sight before her registered. “What in the world?”
Sterling stood at the stove, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. Two City Market Coffee House cups on the counter next to a bag from Bloom, her favorite bakery. He turned, an easy smile crinkling his eyes. “Morning, Sunshine.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Sterling?”
His laugh, rich and low, rumbled through her. “The second-best breakfasts in Prairie are at my house. My parents love to cook together.”
A jealous pang twisted through her. By the time she was old enough to take notice, her parents hardly spoke. The housekeeper had made breakfast, or she’d been left to fend for herself, cobbling together cold cereal or leftovers. How different would she be if her parents had loved each other? Displayed any kind of respect or affection?
“Color me stunned.”
Sterling turned back to the stove. “Mom made sure I knew how to cook a week’s worth of meals before she packed me off for Beast.”
“Beast?” Emma took one of the cups of coffee, pleased to taste a latte with no sugar.
“Yeah. Cadet Basic Training. It was a beast.”
She laughed with him, warming at their easy banter. “Thanks for the latte.” She waved the cup.
He turned, flashing another grin. “They’re both the same. Turns out I prefer my coffee without sugar, too.”
“Let me guess. You were just pushing my buttons that day?”
A devilish twinkle sparked in his eye. “Could be that pushing your buttons is one of my favorite pastimes.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Sterling placed two plates on the counter. “Eat up, buttercup. We have a fundraiser to finalize today.”
Emma dug into the fried potatoes. “I shouldn’t be admitting this to you, but I still haven’t figured out how to blend our ideas and bring my prime donors along.”
Sterling leaned against the countertop, plate in hand. “What’s the hang-up?”
“The most successful fundraisers don’t just highlight the charity, they offer a unique experience consistent with the charity’s branding.”
Sterling forked a potato. “So you want them to see the ranch.”
“Among other things, yes. I want them to feel like they’re part of what’s taking place at the ranch. Like their presence there is making a difference.”
“Okay, so what’s wrong with giving them a tour of the ranch and calling it good?”
“That would be fine if you want to raise a few thousand dollars. But I’m shooting for half a million. I’m reaching out to donors whose names are on the most important buildings in Kansas City. There has to be something more in it for them than a tour of your ranch.”
Sterling put down his plate. “Maybe you’re going about it all wrong. Maybe you need to get out of your comfort zone.”
He was right. She never did well crawling the walls when she was stuck on a project. “You up for a little adventure?”
His smile dazzled her. “With you? Absofuckinglutely.”
“Give me five minutes.”
She hurried back to her bedroom, grabbed her favorite pair of leggings and her lucky brainstorm sweater. In the bathroom, she threw her hair up into a messy bun and quickly brushed her teeth. This would have to do. Sterling didn’t know what he was in for, but already her creative juices were pumping. A stroll around her neighborhood was the perfect solution.
“Leave your hat here,” she admonished as she threw a plaid wrap around her shoulders. “Do me a favor? Under the sink are a pair of canvas bags, grab them?”
He saluted her with two fingers and disappeared into her kitchen, to return with two canvas bags looped over his arm.
“Come on.”
The urge to grab his hand as they left the building was powerful. How many times had she imagined sharing this part of herself with someone? Only in her mind it had always been with a boyfriend. Not with a childhood nemesis turned colleague. As she strolled down the street thoughts of Sterling filled her mind. He’d surprised her yesterday. He didn’t fit into any of her nice neat categories. The way he alternately encouraged her and challenged her kept her on her toes. But it was the heat in his eyes that chased reason from her thinking. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to throw caution to the wind. Wrap her arms around him and let him kiss her silly.
She’d regret it if she did that. He’d break her heart like he’d always done. And yet, the temptation to see whether or not he was as different as he claimed pushed every one of her buttons.
They threaded their way through the crowded market stalls, stopping to inspect winter greens and the last of the cellared produce. Apples, onions, sweet potatoes.
At the end of a row, she pulled up short and turned to Sterling. He stopped close to her, so close she could see the white flecks in his irises. “What don’t you see here?”
He looked around, then landed his gaze back on her. “Is that a trick question?”
She shook her head, excitement spinning up through her. “Lots of local produce, right?”
He nodded.
“Local cheese, local eggs.”
He looked around again, as if seeing the vendors for the first time. “I still don’t follow.”
“Walk up and down the aisle again. Tell me what’s missing.”
She practically bounced on her toes.
A slow smile dimpled his cheek. “Are you sure this isn’t an excuse to ogle me?”
“I don’t need an excuse for that, soldier,” she answered boldly.
He cocked an eyebrow. “So you think I’m good looking?”
She pushed his shoulder. “Go take another look.”
He turned, inspecting each stall down the aisle. The man had a great ass. A great backside period. Even covered up with a shearling. And she liked how he took a moment to study each vendor. But his confused expression when he returned told her she’d stumped him.
“I saw honey, soap, bison, lamb, and pork. Asian greens and herbs. Garlic, dried soups, and pea shoots. What am I missing?”
She grinned at him, bouncing up and down. “Longhorns. Do you realize what a novelty it would be? There are vendors who come from farther away than Prairie, and they’re selling directly to the public. You could have a whole display about the ranch. People would buy not just because the meat was local and high quality, they’d buy because of your story.”
He pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “You’re brilliant. I bet Travis will love it.”
She burrowed into his embrace before she could stop it. It felt so right, sharing this with him, brainstorming together, being with someone who truly got her.
He stepped back. “But that doesn’t fix your fundraising dilemma.”
She sighed, regret stealing over her. “It doesn’t. But it’s a start. Let’s keep going.”
After an hour of poking around the stalls, venturing into City Market Cafe for another round of lattes, and more pastries from Bloom, she stopped in front of River Market Antiques. “This is my secret sauce.”
He looked incredulous. “A junk store?”
“Anything but. It’s a treasure trove and I’ve dreamed up my most successful PR campaigns here.”
“Then let’s get to it.” He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers between hers, and pulled her inside.
She should pull away. They weren’t some married couple going antiquing. But the powerful grip of his hand set her body tingling. He strode through the aisles with purpose, stopping to inspect interesting objects, or to tease her with a wacky idea. She had to admit, his eye for the absurd rivaled hers. He stopped in front of a shelf full of tiki mugs. “What do you think, Em? I think if we opened a tiki bar, we could give Dottie a run for her money.”
She covered a laugh. “You are truly incorrigible.”
He stroked his chin. “I don’t know… could be that grizzled old cowboys and umbrella drinks is a winning combination.”
“Stop.” Her sides hurt from laughing. “You’re too much.”
She wandered farther down the aisle and stopped in front of a bin filled with prints from a local artist. This one had screen printed sayings and flowers over vintage newsprint and magazines. “See?” she held one up. “This is brilliant. You want to create cutting-edge PR? Look at what the local artists are doing.” She flipped through the bin and stopped on one that made her heart sing. “Look at this.” She held up a block print with the old Winston Churchill saying Never never never give up.
“I love Churchill,” they both exclaimed at once, then burst out laughing.
“He’s always been an inspiration to me,” she admitted. “He always knew what he was fighting for.”
“And he was able to inspire a nation to follow him,”
She snapped a picture with her phone.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Instagram.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me. You’ve got twenty-five thousand followers on Instagram waiting to see pictures of your coffee.”
She laughed. “More like thirty.”
“Then why bother?”
“Thousand.”
“You have thirty thousand followers on Instagram?” The surprise in his voice tickled her.
“Social media is an integral part of PR. I probably have more followers on Twitter. It’s part of why Royal Fountain likes me. I’ve made their ad agency young and hip again.”
He shook his head, looking chagrined. “Hashtag Selfie Nation.”
“Don’t knock it ’till you’ve tried it Army man.”
He scowled. “Social media is a waste of time, and gives too much information to the enemy. The less they know about me, the better.”
“Get used to it. A non-profit like Resolution Ranch is going to need all the social media attention it can get. It’s how your story is going to spread.”
“Not if it means we’re paraded around like monkeys in a circus.”
“It’s not like that at all. It’s sharing your story. Resolution Ranch has a compelling story. One that touches many people. How many of us have friends or family who’ve served? More importantly, how many of us have friends or family who’ve come home injured? Or died?”
She must have hit a nerve, because Sterling’s face twisted, and he turned away. Her heart sank. She hadn’t meant to upset him. Heck, she was only trying to help. She laid a hand on his arm. “Sterling?”
He stiffened at her touch.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
When he finally turned to look at her, his eyes were dull with pain. All the air squeezed out of her lungs. His was the face of grief. Raw, unchecked grief. “Whoever you lost,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say. “I’m so very sorry.”
His face pinched and he nodded. “Thanks.”
“I’m going to go pay for this.” She held up the Churchill quote. “Take as much time as you need.” With a heavy heart, she made her way to the cash register, paid for her piece, and sat down on the bench outside the picture window to wait.
When at last he stepped out of the door, he held a paper bag.
“Find something good?” she asked brightly. His cloak of sadness seemed to have lifted, and he shot her a devastating smile.
“You could say that.”
“Show me?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Aww come on… please?”
He shook his head again. “It’s nothing. Just a little souvenir.” He traced a finger down the bridge of her nose and tapped the tip, stealing her breath. “Time for lunch.”