Buch lesen: «New Year's Resolution: Romance!»

Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

About the Authors

Title Page

Say Yes

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

No More Bad Girls

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

Just a Fling

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

Say Yes

Christie Ridgway

Dear Reader,

The new year seems a natural time for new beginnings. The heroine of “Say Yes,” Ashley Walker, is ready to start anew after four lonely years as a young widow. But she’s thinking of putting on dresses again and going to parties, not taking the scary risk of falling in love. When she meets wealthy money manager Chase Bradley, she figures he’s as cautious as she is, until he seeks a midnight kiss…and then more.

If you’ve not visited the setting for this story, Blue Arrow Lake, through my Cabin Fever series for HQN Books, I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse of peaks and pines just a couple of hours from Southern California’s stunning beaches and sunny glamour. It’s where the celebrated rich go to relax and where the more humble mountain men and women exult in their incredible natural surroundings. It’s a clash of types that causes sparks that result in passion that just might possibly end in love!

Wherever you are, whenever you’re reading this, I wish for you health, happiness and great reading.

All the best,

Christie Ridgway

CHAPTER ONE

ASHLEY WALKER STEPPED out of the florist’s van and shivered in the New Year’s Eve air. Though this was Southern California, the five-thousand-foot mountain elevation meant real winter weather. An unusual white Thanksgiving had made for happy times at the nearby ski resorts, and the numbers of skiers and snowboarders lining up for the lifts continued to surge. The wealthy patrons who owned second homes surrounding private, posh Blue Arrow Lake had been flocking up the hill from their usual Los Angeles environs to celebrate the holidays before roaring fires and on powdery slopes.

With a quick glance at the Tudor-inspired mansion she’d visited on this same day for the past three years, Ashley snatched a knee-length smock from the passenger seat and slid her arms through the cotton sleeves. As a coat, it didn’t provide much warmth, but it would protect the little black dress she’d put on in advance of her evening plans.

Before she could get to those, however, she had to deliver the arrangements for the Bradleys’ traditional house party, which was why she’d pulled up beside the side service entrance. They hosted the weeklong event every year, inviting couples who were also favored clients of their financial firm to enjoy a vacation in the luxurious lakeside home. It was a massive place, with twenty bedrooms and more bathrooms than that, set in the middle of expansive grounds that butted up to a sandy beach and double docks on the water. Ashley always enjoyed her little peek into how the other half lived—something she never grew accustomed to even though her job in a florist shop in the nearby village meant she often visited the premier showplaces in the area. As a mountain woman born and bred, she accepted that their peaks-and-pines economy needed the überrich Angelenos so the full-timers here could make a living in this area of stupendous natural beauty.

Her phone rang as she walked to the rear of the van. She fished it from the smock’s patch pocket, checked the screen and then held the device to her ear. “What’s up, Suze?”

“What are you wearing to my party tonight?”

Ashley glanced down at the strip of fabric revealed by the flapping sides of the garment she wore over it. “Borrowed a dress from my cousin. Black, knee-length, sleeveless. Has a full skirt with a black lace overskirt.”

“Really?”

Her friend’s surprise rankled a little. “I know how to dress up. I have on black lace stockings, too, and my black heels.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but jeans and T-shirts in more than four years.”

“I work in a florist shop. A business suit would be impractical.”

“You know what I mean,” Suze said.

Yes, Ashley knew what the other woman meant. She hadn’t had an occasion to wear anything besides jeans and T-shirts in more than four years because she hadn’t gone anywhere but to work and the grocery store since her husband, Stuart, had died. Now, as a twenty-seven-year-old widow, she’d decided it was time to get out more. “I told you, Suze. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’m making a resolution. This is going to be my year of yes.”

“If I get you drunk enough tonight, I may have it tattooed on your forehead. That way you’ll see it every morning as you brush your teeth.”

“I’m not going to get any kind of drunk tonight.” Ashley pulled open one of the van’s back doors. The combined scent of various flowers wafted out, the fragrance dominated by the deep sweet smell of the roses with just a hint of cinnamon from the carnations.

“Oh, you might want to reconsider that,” Suze said, in an airy, casual manner that put Ashley on high alert. Suzanne was her best friend since fourth grade, and she knew all her moods and sneaky subterfuges.

“What have you done?” The ensuing pause was long enough for Ashley to take inventory of the flowers stowed in the back of the van. There were arrangements for every bedroom and bathroom and others for the living areas. Mrs. Bradley had called in her order and left it up to Ashley to make decisions when it came to the particular flowers and greenery.

“I trust your judgment,” the older woman had said. “And you’ll set them around for me, won’t you? My older daughter is expecting her second child soon into the new year so I’m staying with her until the very last minute.”

Ashley reached in to tweak a bit of Queen Anne’s lace that was out of place and put a stern note in her voice. “Suzanne Janice Reynolds, don’t think I can’t detect the guilty vibrations coming over the line.”

“Isortofarrangedadateforyou.”

She said it so fast Ashley couldn’t separate the syllables. “What?”

“Isortofarrangedadateforyou.”

This time her brain managed to decipher the sentence. She dropped to take a seat on the back bumper as heat bloomed on her nape and over her face, dissipating the late-afternoon chill. “Suze!” she said in an irate tone. “You promised—”

“And you promised me that you were ready to climb out of your shell.”

“I can’t do a date. You know that. It’s too soon—”

“Four years,” Suze pointed out.

Four years and seventeen days. “Still—”

“Climbing out of your shell,” Suze said again.

“A date on New Year’s Eve is more like...like...bursting out of a birthday cake!”

“Calm down,” her friend advised.

Ashley pressed her hand to her stomach. “I feel sick. I don’t think I can make it to the party after all.”

“Coward.”

“Cautious,” Ashley countered. “Who is this guy anyway?”

“A gym friend of Jackson’s.”

She groaned. “It’s going to be one of those men who stares at himself in the mirror, grunting with every biceps curl.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed how they dead drop the free weights so that everyone in the room looks over? I hate that type.”

“When was the last time you were in a gym?”

Guilt nibbled at Ashley. She supposed she had no choice but to come clean. “Um...look. I’ve been taking classes every morning. Alternating between spin and Pilates.”

There was another long silence on the other end of the phone. “We have a pact,” Suze finally said with a lacing of hurt. “You broke the pact.”

It was true. When they were fourteen, they’d taken a solemn vow to tackle any new exercise or diet regimen together. There’d been those four days when they’d eaten broiled bologna at every meal. The training for the 10K that had gone well until Suze sprained her ankle. The weeklong cabbage soup cleanse that upon mutual disgust they’d ended after seven hours. If one was going to commit to concerted calorie restriction or sweat production, they were supposed to do it together.

Ashley hung her head. “Suze, I’m sorry.”

“My fat behind is sorrier.” Her friend blew out a sigh over the phone. “Well, as payback, you’ll make an effort with Moose.”

“Moose?” Ashley nearly shouted the word. “He’s called Moose?”

“It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t only feel sick to my stomach,” Ashley said. “Now I have a migraine.”

“That’s no excuse to avoid the first stop on your year of yes.”

Ashley thought hard, hoping to come up with something better than feigned illness. Because...Moose!

“When are you going to get here?” Suze demanded. “I have all the ingredients for your special dip—you know, the one Jackson loves—and I need you to make it.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “You rip open the packet, pour it into the sour cream container. Stir.”

“With a spoon or a fork?”

“Suze—”

“It’s past time for a change, honey, and that change starts with tonight’s party. Come concoct the dip.”

“I’m at the Bradley estate now. I have to deliver the flowers. After that—”

“It’s yes time.”

With a sigh, Ashley slowly nodded her head, though it felt as if she was agreeing to disaster. Moose. “All right. It’s yes time.”

* * *

ASHLEY DREW OUT a rolling cart from the van and filled it with the first round of arrangements. She cast a glance at the mansion’s side door, certain it was unlocked. The caterer’s truck was parked nearby, the one that read Fare by Fanny on the side. She knew Fanny. Ashley’s stomach growled a little because even as she thought of the other woman, the smell of her famous beef bourguignonne tickled her nose. Maybe she could beg a bite or two after she finished up with her own duties.

The cart rattled across the flagstone drive toward the immense house made of rock, stone and wood. She ducked under an arch and found the door she wanted indeed unlocked. More delicious smells were drawn into her lungs as she entered an expansive, rectangular mudroom. As Ashley continued into the kitchen, pushing her flower arrangements in front of her, Fanny glanced over.

“Happy New Year,” the older woman called out. She wielded a wooden spoon, and a butcher apron was wrapped about her apple-round middle. Her gaze inspected the profusion of floral beauty. “Those look wonderful.”

“Just my first load,” Ashley said. “Everything going all right with you?”

“Well...” Fanny grimaced. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to be like other Bradley parties,” she began, only to be interrupted by the musical ring of her cell phone. One finger went up as she half turned to take the call.

Not like other Bradley parties? The warning made Ashley’s brows rise a little, but she shrugged off her concern and kept moving her cart forward. There was dip in her future. Moose. Suze, whom she couldn’t in good conscience disappoint. And after today, two weeks off from work. The florist shop always closed in January to accommodate the owner and her family’s ski vacation.

So Ashley needed to take care of the task at hand and then move...

...on with her life.

Ignoring the uneasiness that idea brought on, she began looking for signs of the Bradleys’ arrival. Nancy had said she and her husband, Arthur, would be arriving only shortly before their guests, but she was an attentive hostess, and Ashley wouldn’t be surprised to find her fussing with the position of the furniture or reviewing the calendar she had planned for the week ahead. A whimsical and charming woman, she was known for the unique parties she organized every year.

The place seemed deserted, however. Ashley strolled about, her heels clicking on the wooden floors as she tucked small arrangements on bathroom windowsills and larger ones on the occasional tables in the cavernous room with the forty-foot ceilings that was referred to as the great hall. Then she moved to the dining room, where she placed centerpieces along the massive dining table that could seat thirty. For all its size, the home still felt...well, homey, with its velvet-upholstered furniture in muted shades and the lovely, mantel-topped fireplaces. There was one in the dining room and another in the library. The third in the great hall took up an entire wall and was big enough to roast an ox. Flames leaped and jumped in them now, splashing golden light to counter the growing dusk.

Cart empty, she pushed it back toward the kitchen. She’d load up and finish the first floor. After that, she’d take the service elevator to the second and third. Another twenty minutes or so and she’d be back on the road.

Fanny was still on the phone when Ashley exited, but was finished with her call when she returned with another round of flower arrangements. She paused, still curious about the caterer’s earlier comment. “So...what’s going to be different about the party this year?”

Okay, so the question was kind of Downton Abbey of her, but face it, wondering and gossiping about the owners of the estate was nearly impossible to resist.

It didn’t help that Fanny cast a look around as if they might be overheard by the lord of the manor. “The Mr. and Mrs. won’t be here this year.”

Ashley blinked. “Arthur and Nancy?”

Fanny nodded. “Grandbaby came early.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Ashley said. “But...they didn’t cancel the party?”

“Nope. It’s an especially important one this year. They just announced Arthur Bradley’s retirement. They want to show their best clients that things aren’t going to change under the tutelage of the new head of the firm.”

“Oh,” Ashley said. “And the new head of the firm is...?”

“Chase, of course.”

Of course. Chase Bradley, Arthur and Nancy’s son. Dark-haired, lean-bodied Chase Bradley, who strolled about with a bone-deep confidence that no woman could fail to admire. She’d never met the man, but on the occasions she’d delivered flowers to the house, she’d caught glimpses of him. While she wasn’t normally a timid titmouse of a person, she’d always found herself scurrying away from his oh-so-masculine presence.

This time she’d do no different, she thought, putting her weight behind the cart. It was time to finish her duties and skedaddle. Then a horrible noise had her drawing up short. Her gaze flew to Fanny. “What the—”

The blood-curdling sound of female frustration and rage came again. Ashley jumped. “Should we call the police?” she wondered aloud.

Thumps sounded, as though a body had been pushed and was now tumbling down the grand flight of stairs. Her hand rose to her throat. “Oh, my God,” she said, and ran toward the sound with Fanny at her heels.

They stopped in the hallway, peering around a corner to the staircase. It wasn’t a body broken at the bottom, but a suitcase, its contents spilled in a profusion of bright colors. A beautiful, sleek woman was on the landing, hands on her hips, the red talons of her nails standing out against her navy peg-leg pants. She was staring at the mess of clothes as if her gaze could ignite them on fire. Then she glanced up to the top of the stairs and hissed.

“This is all your fault.” Her malevolence was now aimed at the calm man standing above her, one shoulder propped against a wall and his ankles crossed, as if he had all the time in the world for the murderous little drama the blonde was clearly preparing as her starring vehicle.

“Who’s that?” Ashley whispered to Fanny.

“Apparently the woman on her way out of Chase’s life.”

* * *

CHASE BRADLEY COULD only blame himself for the current situation. Not that he hadn’t always made his non-intentions very clear to Brianna, but he’d realized quite early in their short relationship that she suffered from selective listening. She simply didn’t hear anything that would counter her world view—the world that revolved around her.

He frowned. What did it say about him that he’d continued to see her for three months after coming to that conclusion?

It said he’d been too consumed with the changeover in the family business to take care of personal business. Hell, he should be smarter than that.

He tuned back into Brianna’s rant. She was stabbing her arm in the direction of the exploded suitcase. “Who?” she demanded. “Who is going to take care of this?”

Since he wasn’t the one who had kicked the piece of luggage down the stairs, it wasn’t going to be him. “Brianna, calm down,” he said mildly.

Her face turned a mottled shade of red. “You do realize I’m leaving?”

“It’s what you shouted right after I said I wasn’t planning on proposing.”

Brianna slammed her arms over her chest. “But I told you New Year’s Eve would be the perfect time for an announcement,” she fumed.

Chase shook his head. Where had she gotten the idea that they were marriage bound? That he hadn’t seen this coming only made him curse himself more. “Brianna, I’m sorry. Truly. I’m sorry if you had the impression we were aiming toward the altar. That’s not going to happen.”

“Then I’m really leaving you!”

To be fair to himself, until today, she’d been mostly undemanding and understanding. Self-centered, maybe, but he’d actually appreciated the email she’d sent with links to the Christmas presents she’d expected him to give her last week. Chase abhorred pretense, and he’d counted her honesty about that list as a feature, not a defect. “I’ll have Gregory bring the car around. He’ll be happy to take you back to LA.”

Though Chase usually avoided all the car-and-driver nonsense, this time he’d taken one of the company limos, thinking it might come in handy for his guests during the week at the lake house. Now it was coming in handy for him.

The expression on Brianna’s face indicated she wasn’t mollified by the offer. Chase watched her haul in a large breath and he braced for the next onslaught. “I’m not going without my clothes,” she declared in a strident voice.

“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting you should,” Chase replied, and he could see his reasonable tone was only further infuriating her. “I’ll let Gregory know to be ready if you’ll tell me how long it will take you to repack.”

“Me?”

Wow. Now she was acting as if she regularly had a handmaiden to attend her. Chase held on to his own kindling temper. “Brianna—”

“Mr. Bradley?”

He turned his head slightly in the direction of the hesitant voice. Peeking around a corner downstairs was the caterer. “Yes, Mrs. Erwin?”

“Is there something I could do to help?” There was a look of concern on her motherly face.

“Thank you, but no,” he said firmly. “I’m sure you’re quite busy as it is in the kitchen.”

A brief pause, and then she turned, presumably heading back to her domain. But another movement caught his attention, and he narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to get a better look. Someone was in Mrs. Erwin’s wake. She had a glossy head of espresso-dark hair and wore a sort of robe thing that didn’t detract from a pair of excellent legs dressed in decadent lace.

“Who was that?” Brianna asked, her voice suspicious. She craned her neck to see where he’d been looking.

Perhaps that niggle of interest he felt was showing on his face. He wiped it clean. “The caterer.” And someone else. An employee of Mrs. Erwin? No matter, he thought, dismissing the minor mystery. He was trying to smoothly detach from one woman, not get entangled with another.

It took several more minutes to usher Brianna from the house. She finally ended up throwing her clothes back in her suitcase with ill grace. Chase hunted up a couple of bungee cords to keep the thing together since the latches had broken on its tumble. As he carried the luggage out to the car, he endured her parting shots.

It wasn’t pleasant, but then it was over.

As the car disappeared down the drive, he tried to scare up a holiday mood. His guests would arrive soon and they’d expect him to be a genial and entertaining host. But the scene with Brianna lingered in his mind as he climbed the steps to the front door. His gut had let him down, he decided, and that wasn’t good. It should have been talking to him from the beginning with her, sending out warnings on a regular basis.

Stifling a sigh, he turned the knob and pushed on the paneled wood to let himself into the house. His gaze instantly caught on a pair of lace-wrapped legs climbing the staircase. Their owner’s thick, wavy hair bounced against her shoulder blades with each step. The clean, enticing scent of flowers lingered in the air.

His gut began clamoring. Follow that one. Find out who she is. See where she’s been all our life.

Oh, sure. Now it started talking. Which just went to prove the current out-of-whack state of his instincts. With a busy week ahead, this was not the time to be distracted by a pretty pair of legs. Even a stupendous pair of legs, which hers actually were.

Deliberately turning his mind from that fact, he wheeled left and headed toward the office on the first floor. It was time to go over the guest list and the plans his mother had laid out for the week. His phone vibrated and he pulled it free from his pocket, grinning when he saw the photo his brother-in-law had texted. His new niece, Larissa Larue. Leave it to his sister to come up with such a fanciful name—she took after their mother that way.

He texted back, A beauty! And she was, even with that scrunched little face and the pink stocking cap pulled down nearly to her nonexistent eyebrows.

Feeling more upbeat, he settled behind the big desk and pulled up the files he wanted on his laptop. The house party would total twenty-four—no, twenty-three now that Brianna had decamped. Eleven couples and himself. Mrs. Erwin would be in the kitchen every day, ensuring they all were well fed. A handful of servers in her employ would help at the meals. A local cleaning service would send a daily crew to take care of the housekeeping.

He wondered if Lacey Legs was attached to either the caterer or the cleaners. Would he have the opportunity to see her every day? Would her front be as attractive as her back?

On a silent groan at his own lack of control, he spun his chair to look out the mullioned windows at the view overlooking the lake. It was nearing dark, but he could still make out the winter blue of the water. At this time of day, it was almost slate-colored, with the fir trees a dark contrast against the white slopes of the surrounding mountains. It never ceased to amaze him that a couple of hours away were LA’s famous beaches and graceful palm trees, while here it was craggy peaks and towering conifers. His mind wandered again. Had Lacey Legs grown up in the mountains?

All right. Time for a better distraction. Good smells had made their way from the kitchen, and he decided he had very good reasons to check in with Mrs. Erwin. The bar should be set up in the great hall shortly and he could ask her about that, too, though a bartender would do all the heavy lifting once the guests arrived.

In the kitchen, he found the caterer bustling about, instructing servers in black pants and white shirts about where to find the serving trays. Two of them were young men. The young women had their hair in neat ponytails. None of them wore lace or had that shiny hair that he couldn’t free from his thoughts.

Mrs. Erwin turned to him. “Is there something you need?”

“The bar—”

“George is just getting on it,” she said, pointing to one of the men. George gave him a two-fingered salute.

“Okay. Great.” He glanced around at the other three young people. “You have enough helpers?”

“Oh, yes,” the older woman was quick to assure him. “Ruth, Carl and Ellen will handle it just fine.”

Chase nodded. So Lacey definitely wasn’t part of the waitstaff. So why was she here?

As if to answer his question, she came through the mudroom and into the kitchen. Well, he assumed it was her, because he could see the legs. The rest of her was obscured by an immense flower arrangement in cool blues and white. Long, thin curling stick things gave it even more drama. Chase leaped forward. “Here, let me get that,” he said, taking it from her grasp.

The action gave him a view of her face.

He felt as if he’d been hit in the solar plexus. He stared at her, breathless, until he coughed to get oxygen moving into his lungs again. With a little more effort, he managed a smile. “I’m Chase Bradley.”

Her face was heart-shaped, and as he watched, pink color infused her cheeks. She had a snub of a nose, thick lashes, a full mouth and eyes the same slate blue as the lake water. “I, um...” Her hands dipped into the pockets of the apron/coat thing she wore over a black dress.