Page 69 of Parading the Cowboy Billionaire (Bluegrass Ranch 4)

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By Thursday,Ginny had gained at least five pounds, cried herself to sleep each night, and watched more movies than any woman should in only four days’ time. She’d spent hours cooking each day too, usually some rich dish with pasta, potatoes, bread, or a lot of cream cheese. She’d taken a nap every day, did not bathe every day, and she’d only spoken on the phone to one person—Olli.

She’d seemed a little bit off—distracted—but Ginny understood that better than most. She was used to having so many tasks on her to-do list she couldn’t see straight, but Olli’s business was growing by leaps and bounds right now, and she was overwhelmed.

She hadn’t said so to Ginny, but she was worried about what would happen with her perfumery once she had the baby. As Ginny drove along the quiet country road connecting her rental house to Dreamsville, another idea struck her right between the eyes.

“Ican run Olli’s perfumery.” She’d never be able to come up with the scents; that was what made Olli special. She paired things no one else ever would. Ginny could oversee production, though. She could label boxes. She could update a website in her sleep.

“Call Olli,” she barked to the car, and the cool female voice confirmed the action a moment later.

“Heya, Ginny, I have a meeting in three minutes.”

“I only need one,” Ginny said, her mind blitzing now. “I need a job, and you need a manager for your perfumery. I know you’re worried about running it and expanding and doing all you do now, and you’re stressed about what will happen when the baby comes. I can do it, Olli. I’d literallydieto do it.”

Olli scoffed and started to laugh but cut the sound off halfway through. “Wait. What?”

Ginny just waited, because Olli always needed a few extra seconds to string everything together.

“I can’t afford you,” Olli said. “Even if everything you said is true—and I’m not saying it is—I can’t—”

“Itistrue,” Ginny said. “And youcanafford me, because I don’t need a salary. At least for the first year. Then, after you see how amazing I am, and when I’ve taken what you’ve started and finished it, you’ll love me so much and offer me a full-time job—with benefits.”

She smiled, though she’d also realized something horribly powerful. She thought she had to work herself to the bone and put on the biggest, best event Dreamsville had ever seen in order to be loved. She had to dress the part, act the part, speak the part, and become a cardboard cutout of herself in order to be loved. She had to achieve perfection in order for her mother to love her, and that was just impossible. No one was perfect. No one.

“Ginny, I already love you,” Olli said with a light laugh that told Ginny she didn’t understand what Ginny had just discovered. “You don’t want to work for me.”

“Yes, I do.”

A male voice came through the line, and Olli said, “I’m so sorry, babe, but I have to go. Call me later.”

“Okay,” Ginny said, but the call ended before she could even get the second syllable out. She frowned, because it certainly felt like Olli didn’t need her anymore. In the past, she’d have said, “I’ll call you later,” but now Ginny had to call her.

“You’re making stuff up,” she said, straightening in her seat. “You can call her; she can call you. It’s not a contest to see who does more.” She turned up the radio to help drive her poisonous thoughts away, and she finished the drive to Barb’s art studio.

She pulled up to the little yellow cottage, frowning at the lack of cars out front. There should be six people in the class, and she certainly wasn’t so early that she’d be the only one there. Perhaps she’d gotten the time wrong.

She sat in her SUV and pulled up the website she’d looked at. “Seven o’clock,” she said, looking at the dashboard clock. She literally had three minutes to get inside or she’d be late, and yet there wasn’t another car in this part of the lot.

She glanced left and right, almost afraid to get out. This was a nice part of town, though, with a coffee shop just down the sidewalk a bit, and a nail salon right next door to that which had plenty of cars out front.

“If there’s no class tonight,” she told herself as she unbuckled. “You’ll go get a pedicure.” The drive wouldn’t be a loss.

Glancing around as she got out, Ginny didn’t see anything nefarious. She crossed to the entrance quickly, and a little bell rang as the door opened under her touch. She stepped inside the art studio, the scent of paint and paper filling her nose.

No one waited to greet her, and Ginny’s frown deepened. “Hello?” she called. “Barb?”

The space looked like it was set up for a painting class. Two tables had been pushed end-to-end and covered with white paper. A stack of blank canvases sat on one end, and an easel held another one.

Footsteps came down a hall somewhere, and Ginny looked to the right, where an open door led further into the building. She expected to see Barb Delaney appear, perhaps wearing a brightly colored smock and a smile.

Instead, the clunky footsteps that came closer finally revealed Cayden Chappell. He paused in the doorway, his eyes wide and afraid. When he smiled, everything relaxed, from his shoulders to his expression.

Ginny stumbled backward a step, because seeing him so soon was like reopening the wounds in her soul and pouring acid on them. She had to get out of there right now.

“You are a very hard woman to find when you don’t want to be found,” he said.

The smooth cadence of his voice calmed her, and she stopped searching for the doorknob behind her.

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