Wedding His Takeover Target / Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby
Another strike. “We were thinking more along the lines of heads of state.”
“Don’t care if you’re putting up the president. The land’s not for sale.”
Gavin struggled to keep his frustration in check. “What purpose does keeping it serve you, Mr. Caldwell? There’s no road access which means you can’t build on it. You can’t even get to it without obtaining written permission to cross Jarrod property.”
“Y’think so? Son, I’ve been visiting that mine for fifty years—often enough to know you’re one of the young’uns who used to camp down in the shaft.”
Interesting. Until his most recent return Gavin had never seen signs of anyone visiting other than him and his brothers. The entrance was pretty well hidden. “Yessir. All three of my brothers and I did, but I probably spent more time there than the rest of them combined.”
“Cleaned up after yourself, too.”
“Our father forbade us to go there. We didn’t want to leave any tracks.”
“He forbade you because he didn’t own it.”
“A fact he didn’t share with us, and one we’d like to rectify. I’m prepared to offer you—”
“Don’t matter how much you offer. I’m still not selling. Which one are you? The architect, the engineer, the marketing man or the restaurateur?”
Caldwell knew quite a bit about the Jarrods, but considering the family had been a fixture in Aspen for generations, the interest in their lives wasn’t surprising. “I’m a construction engineer. My brother Blake is a developer who commissioned the design for the bungalow we’d like to build. Our offer is more than generous.”
“Don’t care about your money.”
“Your inn could use a little work.”
Caldwell snorted. “I’ll get to it.”
“Opening day for the ski slopes is only a few weeks away.”
“That’s not news.”
Gavin didn’t like bringing personal issues into a business problem because it gave his opponent leverage, but he had no choice. “Mr. Caldwell, as you’ve noted, that mine has sentimental value to me. I spent a lot of my youth there. The site holds some good memories.”
Those intensely blue eyes held his. “For someone who never comes home, you’re sure tied to the place. Could be the mountain’s dug her claws into you. Some folks claim once she gets hold of you, she never lets go.”
The old man’s folktales didn’t change the fact that Gavin intended to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as he’d fulfilled his part of the will. “Our plans will preserve the mine and its historical value. The bungalow will blend into the setting.”
“I’m still not interested in selling.”
“What can I do to change your mind? Would you like to see the blueprints?”
“I don’t care about any blueprints.”
Gavin clenched his teeth so hard he was lucky he didn’t crack a molar. He had to find a way to get through to the man, and at the moment his mind was blank. He pulled the written offer from his pocket and offered it to Caldwell. “Take a look at our price.”
When the man made no move to take the envelope, Gavin laid the package on the coffee table. “Think it over. Thank you for your time.”
He strode toward the entry.
“What’d you think of my Sabrina?” Caldwell called after him.
Gavin stopped and pivoted. “Excuse me?”
“Liked her, didn’t you?”
What was the old man up to? “Your granddaughter is quite attractive.”
Caldwell nodded. “She’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Like her grandma, my Colleen. Shut that door.”
Unsure of where the conversation was headed, Gavin complied. The envelope remained unopened on the table where he’d left it.
“How badly do you want that land?”
That sounded like a loaded question. “I want to see the Jarrod property intact.”
Caldwell scratched his chin. “A deed will earn you the deed.”
What in the hell did that mean? The man seemed lucid, but Gavin wondered if he’d misjudged him. Gavin slowly crossed the rug. “I’m not following.”
“Marry Sabrina and I’ll sell you the land.”
Shock knocked Gavin like a wrecking ball to the chest. Was everybody marriage-crazy today? First Blake, now this. “Marry her?”
“It could work.”
Gavin shook his head. Caldwell had to be senile. But Gavin couldn’t afford to offend him. “I just met Sabrina, sir, and you weren’t in here long enough to notice she’s not exactly impressed with me.”
Caldwell smiled, smirked, really. “She’s interested.”
Gavin’s pulse spiked. “She told you that?”
“Nope. I just know.”
This conversation seemed surreal. What could be so wrong with the woman that her grandfather had to bribe someone to marry her? “Mr. Caldwell, you don’t know me well enough to wish me on your granddaughter.”
“My Colleen was one of those mail-order brides. Didn’t set eyes on her until the week of our wedding. But we had chemistry from the minute we met at the train station. Same as you and Sabrina.”
Gavin didn’t bother to deny the attraction. “I’m glad that worked for you, but frankly, I’m not interested in marriage. My career keeps me on the road. I move from site to site, usually only staying in one place for six months to a year. No woman wants to live like that.”
He’d learned that the hard way.
“The mountains still call you home. Court Sabrina. Marry her. And I’ll sell you that parcel for whatever you’ve written on that paper.”
“You haven’t even looked at the offer.”
“I told you. Money ain’t the issue, son.”
Hell. Ask anything else of him and he’d be all over the deal. But marriage? “I’m sorry, Mr. Caldwell. I’m not your man.”
“Sabrina’s all I have left. And you might have noticed, I’m not a spring chicken. I’m seventy-five, and my health ain’t what it used to be. But that’s between my doctor and me and now you. Sabrina doesn’t need to know. Once I’m gone there won’t be anyone around to look after her since my head-in-the-clouds son and his wife can’t be bothered. I want to see to Sabrina before I’m gone.”
The genuine concern in the tired blue eyes yanked at something in Gavin’s chest. Sap. He’s playing you like a fiddle.
“I’m not the man for the job,” he repeated.
“I think you are. The fact that you turned me down despite the fact that Sabrina could inherit everything I have only reinforces my opinion. I ain’t talked to you more than ten minutes, Gavin Jarrod, but I can already tell you’re twice the man your daddy was. He used the land, stripping away whatever got in his way, without thought for anything more than the profit he could make. You, with the way you took care of one good-for-nothing hole in the ground, proved you’re smarter. You respect the land and nature.”
True. “That’s a broad assumption, Mr. Caldwell.”
“But a valid one. You’ll treat my girl with the same respect.”
Gavin backed toward the door. “The answer’s still no.”
“If you’re thinking you can wait ‘til I drop dead and buy the property from Sabrina, think again. If I die before she marries I’ve willed that plot to the National Parks Service.”
Damn. The park system would condemn land to get road access to the mine. Jarrod Ridge would end up losing even more property and have to deal with tourists wandering off the path. Their secluded retreat atmosphere would be shattered.
“If you agree I have one more stipulation. I don’t want our girl knowing anything about our little agreement. Ya hear? You’ll court her like a woman deserves to be courted. She won’t marry ya without loving ya. That much I know.”
In Gavin’s opinion, making a woman fall for him under false pretenses was about as low as a man could get. How could he respect himself if he pulled that kind of crap? Refusal hovered on his tongue.
“Son, if you want that five acres, this is the only way you’re gonna get it. That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.”
Man, this was insane.
A tap on the door preceded Sabrina returning with a laden tray. Gavin’s pulse thudded harder and faster.
Marry her?
There are worse things than being married to a beautiful woman.
This had to be flat-out the craziest scheme he’d ever heard in his life. So why was he still standing here?
If marriage was the only way to get the land back, to succeed where his father had failed and to keep his family from losing even more acreage, what choice did he have? For the good of his family and Jarrod Ridge, he had to accept the deal.
But the marriage would be temporary. Once he returned to his regular job nature would take its course and, aided by his long absences, the relationship would die a natural death—as had all his previous liaisons.
Hell of a way to start a relationship—planning its demise.
But he was attracted to Sabrina and the idea of sharing her bed appealed tremendously.
He’d need an ironclad prenup.
“Can I get you anything else?” Sabrina asked, her suspicious gaze drilling his. The familiar clench of desire fisted in his gut and pounded through his veins.
“This’ll do, love,” Caldwell answered.
She left the room, her protectiveness of her grandfather clear in her reluctant steps.
Gavin took a deep breath, willing sanity to return and offer him a better option. It didn’t. “I’ll do it.”
Two
Her grandfather had closed the door.
Sabrina couldn’t remember any other time in her life when Pops had shut her out of a conversation. She blamed their unexpected visitor—one who couldn’t be bothered to make an appointment—for the exclusion.
Gavin Jarrod epitomized everything Sabrina disliked about the soon-to-be-arriving ski season guests. Rich guys like him, with their perfectly tousled hair, flawless faces and gym-buffed bodies swaggered into town like they owned the place. They threw around their money and entitled attitudes, expecting the world to revolve around their wants and acting like the local businesses should kiss their expensively-shod feet and be grateful for whatever crumbs the rich guests threw their way.
Well, not her. She’d had enough of that holier-than-thou behavior throughout school from the wealthy snobs who’d attended the elite private college where her parents had taught. Those snotty students had made sure Sabrina knew she was not one of them. As if being a professor’s daughter made her somehow genetically inferior to someone born to money.
She swished the cleaning cloth over the countertop and tried to ignore the anger and worry making her stomach churn. She knew her grandfather’s health wasn’t as good as it had been when she’d arrived three years ago. He slept more, ate less and had trouble keeping up with the inn’s routine maintenance—a job he used to tackle with enthusiasm. But he wouldn’t let her hire anyone to help him. He always claimed he’d get to the tasks, but the to-do list kept growing and the clock ticked down on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday when the ski slopes would officially open and the guests would arrive—whether the inn was ready or not. Unless a miracle happened, this year the inn wasn’t going to be ready.
Was Gavin Jarrod here to try and buy the inn? She couldn’t imagine her grandfather handing over the reins, but that day was coming, she realized with a heavy cloak of sadness. She’d hoped—prayed, really—he’d let her take over, but a few months ago while cleaning his office she’d come across a pamphlet on his desk on donating property to the historic trust. When she’d asked him about it he’d told her not to worry, he had everything under control. But how could she not lose sleep? If he donated or sold the inn she’d have to find a new home and job.
In the meantime, the only thing she could do was try to help more. She glanced at her sore thumb. Carpentry wasn’t her strong suit, but she’d get better with practice.
The sitting room door opened, and footsteps—too sure and firm to be her grandfather’s—approached.
“Thanks for the coffee and snack.”
Who was Gavin Jarrod and what business did he have with Pops? Reluctant to face the brown, gold-flecked eyes that seemed to see straight through her, she turned slowly. “You’re welcome.”
“Your coconut cake is probably the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Pleasure sent another blast of heat through her already warm body. She struggled to suppress the reaction. No doubt his charm and flattery combined with his money and looks made it easy for him to coast through life. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Henry said you don’t have any guests tonight.”
Why would Pops volunteer that? “No. Early November is like the lull before the storm.”
“It’s been the same back at The Ridge ever since the Food & Wine Gala ended. I’m exploring the area restaurants before the tourists hit town. Show me your favorite tonight.”
She fought a grimace. He wasn’t the first of his kind to assume she could be had as easily as booking a room. “I don’t have a favorite, and I’ve already prepared dinner for myself and my grandfather.”
His eyes narrowed. “Henry can serve himself. Let someone cook for you for a change.”
Eating someone else’s cooking was tempting, but not with Gavin Jarrod or his ilk. She’d been led on by too many rich boys and then dumped when she wouldn’t get naked for them or get her parents to give them better grades.
“No. But, thank you.” She tacked on the last hastily because she could almost feel the ghost of her grandmother rapping her knuckles for being ungracious and impolite.
His steady gaze continued to drill her. She felt like a butterfly fighting to get free of a collector’s pin. “Henry is worried that you don’t get out often enough.”
Embarrassment bubbled inside her. Thanks, Pops. “That’s because I don’t date.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
His square jaw dipped. “Are you gay?”
Typical. “Do you assume every woman who turns you down is gay?”
A slow smile curved Gavin’s full lips. “Only the ones who ignore the obvious chemistry between us.”
So he’d caught that, had he? She hadn’t experienced that rush of response since before her husband had died and it had caught her off guard. She had no interest in pursuing it. “There is no chemistry.”
The fire in Gavin’s eyes told her she shouldn’t have challenged him. Two long strides brought him within touching distance. Within smelling distance. An outdoorsy, woodsy and clean scent mixed with a hint of something spicy and exotic clung to him.
She stared into his handsome face, alarm prickling the hairs on her nape and arms. He wasn’t particularly tall—six feet, maybe a little more—but he seemed bigger in an intimidating, turf-conquering way despite the snowboarder-disheveled hair that should have made him appear easygoing and approachable.
“No chemistry?” He lifted a hand.
Sabrina backed out of reach. “Don’t.”
“Don’t prove you’re lying?”
“Calling a woman a liar is a unique way to win points. Does that approach usually work for you, Mr. Jarrod?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You seem like the type who’d appreciate honesty.”
“Good deduction. Let’s start with what business do you have with my grandfather?”
“I’d be happy to tell you.” Gavin’s smile broadened, revealing an orthodontist’s dream of straight white teeth. “Over dinner.”
Sabrina ground her molars in aggravation. How could she protect her grandfather and the inn without information? “Nice try. The answer’s still no.”
“Not even if I tell you your grandfather has something I want?”
Warning sirens blared in her head. “What?”
“Join me and I’ll tell you.”
She really hated being backed into a corner, but she wasn’t going to let Gavin have the upper hand.
“Make it lunch.” It wouldn’t be a date. It would merely be a fact-finding mission.
Those gold-flecked eyes probed hers. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven. Dress warmly. Wear walking shoes.”
Without waiting for an answer he brushed past her and exited via the back door.
Dress warmly? Wear walking shoes? What had she gotten herself into? At the sound of the lock catching, the tension deflated from her muscles like air escaping from a balloon.
The creak of a floorboard brought her around. Pops made his way down the center hall, his steps lacking the vigor that had once radiated from him. She tucked her concern away for later and parked her hands on her hips. “What was that about?”
“Jarrod’s just being neighborly.”
The fact that he didn’t look at her when he spoke sent tingles of worry down her spine. “Baloney. What does he want?”
“Can’t a body converse with a neighbor?”
“He told me you had something he wanted.”
He shrugged. “The Jarrods own half the damn valley. What more could they want?”
When Pops wore that stubborn expression trying to get him to talk was a waste of time, but she didn’t believe the just-being-friendly story for one second.
“Pops, why did you tell him I don’t go out?”
“You don’t.”
She shook her head. “You know I’m not interested in—” “You should be. Your husband died. You didn’t.” She flinched at the quick stab of pain. “I’m not ready.” She’d never be ready. She’d given up everything for love, and when Russell had died she’d had nothing left—nothing except Pops and the Snowberry Inn. And now she could lose those.
His shoulders drooped. “When I’m gone—” “Stop. You know I hate it when you talk that way.” “Hating it doesn’t change the facts, girl. You can’t run this place by yourself. It’s too much. You need someone to help you. Someone who doesn’t punch a time clock or resent the long hours.”
“I don’t have to be married to be a good businesswoman. I can take care of the inn the way you and Grandma taught me.”
He shook his head. “You’re missing the point, Sabrina. Life is meant to be shared and enjoyed, not endured. If you try to run this place on your own you won’t have time for a life. Russell would be the last one to want you to sit on the bench for the remainder of your days.”
Sabrina swallowed to ease the grief tightening her throat at the mention of her husband. “I haven’t noticed you dating since Grandma passed.”
“That’s because I already had forty-six years with the best woman God ever created. No one else can measure up. I don’t want to lead a lady on only to disappoint her, ‘cuz I ain’t settling for second-best, and I ain’t getting hitched again. I’m too old to change my ways to suit another. You’re only twenty-five. Too young to quit living. Tarnation, I have more of a social life than you do.”
“I could always join your weekly poker club.” Her tongue-in-cheek comment deepened the concern shadowing his eyes.
“Don’t sass me, Sabrina. You once talked about traveling the world and filling your home with a passel of young’uns. You still have time for both. But not if you keep hiding here.”
The cold ashes of dead dreams stirred inside her. “I’m not hiding. I’m working. And I don’t need children to have a full life. As far as seeing the world, I have everything I want right here, Pops. The world’s travelers come to us.”
“The world might come to Aspen, but hearing about somebody else’s adventures secondhand and watching from the sidelines ain’t the same as playing in the game.”
“I certainly don’t have a future with some rich guy who’s only counting days until he can leave town.”
“He ain’t your father. Jarrod might have left town, but he came back the minute his daddy died. Don’t try to tell me you’re not interested in him. I saw you putting on lip gloss in the hall.”
Guilt burned Sabrina’s cheeks. “I was working outside trying to fix the loose railings when he interrupted me. My lips were dry.”
“Yep, I’m sure that explains why you couldn’t take your eyes off each other when you were in the same room.”
She didn’t bother to deny it. “You don’t know him. How can you or I trust him? I’ve heard you refer to the Jarrods as land-hungry thugs too many times to count.”
“That was their daddy. Donald Jarrod turned into a heartless, selfish bastard after his wife died. He gobbled up everything around him, and he rode his kids so hard it’s no wonder they all skedaddled as soon as they could. But I know more about the Jarrod boys than you think. I watched ‘em grow up. The whole town did. And while those boys might have gotten up to some high jinks like reg’lar kids, they were hard workers and always respectful.”
Hard workers? She couldn’t imagine anyone with the Jarrods’ wealth doing anything that required them to break a sweat except maybe watching the stock market play with their investment portfolios. Jarrod Ridge catered to the wealthiest clients who wanted pampering and spoiling. Their guest list read like a global who’s who of famous names, and a day at the resort’s spa cost more than she made in a month’s salary. She knew that much from the grapevine and the local paper.
But that didn’t tell her why Gavin had come here and secluded himself in a room with her grandfather. Was Pops going to donate the inn to the historic preservation society or was he thinking of selling to the Jarrods? “He’s not here to buy the inn, is he?”
“He’s not interested in the inn.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” But again, his gaze drifted away from hers.
She had to find out what was going on. The only way she’d get her answers was to get as wily as Pops. She wouldn’t tell him she’d already been coerced into lunch.
“I’ll go out with Gavin if you’ll agree to let me hire a handyman to get this place in shape. We’re booked solid beginning the Monday before Thanksgiving all the way through mid-March.”
His pride obviously ruffled, Pops puffed up his narrow shoulders. “I can handle the chores.”
“I’m sure you can. There’s not that much to do. But this way you can focus on the important items and let someone else sweat the small stuff.”
His eyes narrowed and his thumb jabbed his chest. “You got yourself a deal but only if I get to pick the handyman. And you’ll give Jarrod a fair shot. Y’hear?”
“I’ll go out with him once. It’s up to him to make me want more.” And she could safely guarantee that would never happen. She was through with love and all the heartaches that went with it. And she specifically wanted nothing to do with Gavin Jarrod.
The knock on the front door filled Sabrina with dread. She’d rather slam her thumb with the hammer again than go on this outing.
Determined to get this over with, she shrugged on her coat and zipped it to her chin, then marched across the foyer and opened the door. Gavin, wearing a black ski jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders, filled the entry. Her insides did an inexplicable gelatin jiggle thing, and the frosty air sweeping inside did nothing to cool her suddenly warm cheeks.
Okay, so he was attractive. But nothing was going to happen between them no matter what Pops hoped.
Gavin’s dark gaze skimmed Sabrina from her barely behaving curls to her scuffed boots. “Bring gloves and a toboggan.”
She glanced past him and spotted a Jeep with monstrously large tires in the inn’s parking lot. No luxurious Cadillac today. “Where are we going?”
“On a picnic.”
Was the man stupid or just into torturing her? “It’s forty degrees outside.”
“I won’t let you get hypothermia.”
“And how exactly do you plan to keep me warm? If this is some rich-boy ruse to get physically close you’re going to be disappointed.”
“It’s not. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
Trust him? Not on her life. She snagged her gloves and hat from the hallstand. “Let’s go.”
The gold flecks in his eyes glittered with amusement. “Said with the enthusiasm of a woman on her way to have cavities filled at the dentist’s office without Novocain.”
“Does your ego require me to pretend I’m eager to go out with you? You know I only agreed because you’re withholding information.”
His grin broadened—like a shark’s—at her sarcasm. “You won’t regret spending the day with me.”