Page 41 of A Hard Habit to Break

If ClamClam was here, that meant—

“MRRRRROWWWWWWW!” followed by more barking.

“What in the world,” his mama said, looking toward the back porch. Everyone, including Amarie, who needed a nuclear event to pull her from a plate of his mama’s cooking, left the table.

Rachel stood in the yard, sketch pad and tablet in one hand, a water bottle in the other. Noah looked her over, or more like drank her down. Hair up, boots on, she wore an expression that was all about business. Last night’s Rachel was nowhere in sight.

With a lift of his chin, he gestured toward the Johnson farm. “No entourage of dad, bride-to-be, and Benji to keep it strictly business between us.”

Rachel narrowed those gorgeous amber eyes, the heat there burning with a warning. “I can handle you, Noah Calvary.”

A devilish thought entered his mind, of Rachel’s hands using his body as her private skyscraper to climb over, and over. And he had all day to stoke her flames. His grin must have telegraphed his fantasies, because Rachel rolled her eyes heavenward, but not before he caught her smile and the sound of footsteps.

Rachel lifted a hand in greeting. “Good morning, everybody. I hope you don’t mind my showing up to steal Noah away.” A mixed quartet ofPlease,take him–You go,girl–Aw, that’s so sweetsounded over his shoulder. Noah didn’t have to see his family to know they gushed with dopey smiles and googly eyes at Rachel. When she turned her attention back in his direction, he slipped under her spell, too. “I had an idea for the vacant Main Street storefronts. Can we swing by after the mill, and then Benji and I will do lunch at the Black Bear?”

As she detailed her plan, which didn’t include him, the spell broke. Noah ground his jaw at the unspoken message. Outside of their business, she was otherwise indisposed. He would’ve laughed if someone other than himself was the joke.

“MRRRRROWWWWWWW!” ClamClam added, as if to say, his answer had better be in the affirmative.

“Ah, is that the cat you gave her?” his mother asked, taking a step back.

“One and the same,” Noah ground out.

Amarie, trying to whisper and missing the mark, asked Eli, “What’s wrong with it?”

Great, not only had Rachel ruined the day he’d designed with her in mind, his family thought his gift was defective.

“Not a thing,” Rachel defended. “ClamClam is vocal. The vet said some cats take on their owner’s personality.”

Unless Rachel had a secret identity or an alter ego, this cat was a furball of surprises. To his knowledge, the feline had been uncaged, free roaming the countryside since its arrival. ClamClam was one generation away from feral. But Rachel had come to her defense. If she adored the little banshee, Noah had delivered on his promise.

“The cat’s fine. Everybody’s fine.” He wasn’t. “Stay here. I’ll grab my truck,” he muttered.

Tobias grinned. “How’s that plan working out, bro?”

Rachel had used the hours apart to outmaneuver him. The brief moment of genuine connection they’d shared last night had led to reinforced walls this morning. When Eli chuckled, Noah shot a warning look. Rachel had surprised him by making the first offensive move.Well played, Six. But he was an excellent rock climber.

CHAPTER TWELVE

RACHEL’S UNEXPECTED APPEARANCEat the Calvary family’s doorstep had caught Noah off guard. Good. Why should she be the only one tripping, heart first, into awkward feelings at every Noah encounter? A wicked glee filled her at the thought of foiling his diabolical plan to soften her up.

The sky above was a soft blue, with fluffy white clouds hanging high like ribbons floating on the wind. The air was cool, with just a hint of dampness from the moisture the waterfall’s spray carried in. And Rachel Johnson had managed a home field advantage. She had goals to attain. Last night’s slow burn in the barn with the man who embodied every thirst-quenching book boyfriend she’d read since high school didn’t factor into the equation. Memory lane ended in a dead-end street. Despite her knowing the risk, the two of them alone in the place wherethey’d explored each other as teenagers had weakened her resolve. One phone call reinforced her foundation.

Gillian Begatta’s clipped voice at nine p.m. West Coast time had Rachel bolting up in bed, with her two thumbs tapping out her future for the next ten years or her failure in the next eleven days. The woman exercised on a Peloton bike—in her office. Drank clean green smoothies she blended herself—in her office. Scheduled mobile massages for guess where? Her office. Basically, Gillian was an office fixture made flesh. At times, the speed of light moved too slowly for Gillian. Sleep, family, and friendships—all optional. Her somewhat of a mentor informed Rachel that her comment on Benji’s reel had conveyed her professional recommendation, though she didn’t make a habit of announcing business decisions via social media. Gillian had navigated the gender-imbalanced ranks common in the architecture field, passing the Architect Registration Examination to serve as a principal licensed architect on various design projects. In a profession that resisted women advancing into leadership, Gillian had clawed her way to partner. If ever a unicorn existed in the business, its make and model would read “Begatta.”

She’d praised Rachel for stepping outside the box of residential and hospitality design. The assessment had shocked Rachel. Her portfolio was impeccable, yet her boss thought her too narrow in her scope. The wordflexibilityhad been tossed out twice in a three-minute conversation. Before ending the call, Gillian had insisted Rachel keep her abreast of her progress before posting, and to be sure to tag the company’s PR and marketing contacts with every post.

Take-charge Rachel had donned a vintage Service County Otters football jersey, cut-off jeans, and her boots, and sprinted across the yard to Benji’s hangout. He’d made her knock twice and then promptly shooed her off his doorstep, saying he hadhis own makeover ideas for Service and needed space to create. Whatever. Rachel knew her business when it came to reinvention. In fact, she’d mastered it. Inspired, she’d gotten to work on her redevelopment plan.

“Why so grumpy?” Rachel pointed to the frown Noah sported through a quick breakfast of one of Mrs. Leah’s award-winning biscuits and a second cup of coffee before they were on the road to Mountain View Lumber.

He looked from the two-lane road to her, his gorgeous glare narrowed in accusation. “You could’ve given me a heads-up before you made plans.”

“Thought you liked spontaneity. Especially when the shoe is on your foot,” she snapped. When he flinched, Rachel added a bonus point. They had mapped out their lives after high school—college nearby for her, the fire academy for Noah. Their wedding would’ve been the biggest in Service’s history, memorable enough for Mrs. Rosa Mae’s historical society. Together, they would’ve displayed their degrees and marriage decree over the fireplace mantel in the house by the water.

“You’re frowning. What’s wrong?” Noah demanded, turning onto a gravel drive.

Even with the caveman rumble, his voice did flirty things with all her lady parts. In a navy Henley and well-worn jeans, he looked ready for a magazine layout. His hair, combed back from his forehead, drifted in soft waves at his nape. Rachel fought the need to trace her fingers through the shiny locks.