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  Also by Patricia McLinn

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  Tod in Wyoming

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  Watch for more at Patricia McLinn’s site.

  FALLING FOR HER

  Seasons in a Small Town

  Book 3 (Autumn)

  Patricia McLinn

  Seasons in a Small Town

  What Are Friends For? (Spring)

  The Right Brother (Summer)

  Falling for Her (Autumn)

  Warm Front (Winter)

  More romance by Patricia McLinn

  The Wedding Series

  Prelude to a Wedding

  Wedding Party

  Grady’s Wedding

  The Runaway Bride

  The Christmas Princess

  Hoops (prequel to The Surprise Princess)

  The Surprise Princess

  Not a Family Man (prequel to The Forgotten Prince)

  The Forgotten Prince

  Marry Me Series

  Wedding of the Century

  The Unexpected Wedding Guest

  A Most Unlikely Wedding

  Baby Blues and Wedding Bells

  Wyoming Wildflowers Series

  Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning (prequel)

  Almost a Bride

  Match Made in Wyoming

  My Heart Remembers

  A New World (prequel to Jack’s Heart)

  Jack’s Heart

  Rodeo Nights (prequel to Where Love Lives)

  Where Love Lives

  A Cowboy Wedding

  Making Christmas

  Copyright © 2013 Patricia McLinn

  Second Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-939215-04-8

  EPUB Edition

  www.PatriciaMcLinn.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover design: Art by Karri

  *

  Dear Readers: If you encounter typos or errors in this book, please send them to me at [email protected]. Even with many layers of editing, mistakes can slip through, alas. But, together, we can eradicate the nasty nuisances. Thank you! — Patricia McLinn

  Dedication

  For PVW, a friend like no “other”

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Seasons in a Small Town Series

  Also by Patricia McLinn


  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “A woman’s bedroom is the window to her soul.”

  Since women’s bedrooms were not something Josh Kincannon let himself dwell on these days, he tried to ignore that statement from the man following him up this narrow stairway.

  As a high school principal and single father of three, Josh was, as he ruefully reminded himself, essentially celibate back into misty memory and forward into the foreseeable future.

  “It’s a sitting room!” Mrs. Richards called from the foot of the stairs. “Don’t you say I sent you to that young lady’s bedroom, Malcolm Cottle. That’s the sitting room. With a place to sit while you wait for her.”

  “We see it, Mrs. Richards. Thank you.” Josh eyed a spindly-legged settee tucked under the attic room’s sloping roof, and opted to stand for however long they had to wait for Vanessa Irish.

  Needing to wait for her was a surprise.

  He’d had the Chief Financial Officer of Zeke-Tech pegged as obsessively prompt. Especially for this first face-to-face meeting, which she’d set, here in the rooms she was renting while she was in town.

  Add another notch on his Wrong About Women belt.

  At least this one was minor.

  Huffing after the steep climb, Malcolm called “Beg pardon” down the stairwell toward Mrs. Richards, then resumed his topic. “I read a study on the subject this past Wednesday. Or was it Tuesday?”

  A study on women’s bedrooms as windows to their souls? That stretched the limits of even Malcolm’s odd studies.

  “The study shows,” Malcolm pursued, “that by observing an individual’s bedroom, strangers more accurately assessed the individual than long-time associates did. Indeed, assessments by strangers — based solely on a brief observation of what was in plain sight in a bedroom — were more accurate than self-assessments. Truly, a study you would find invaluable.”

  Right.

  Invaluable.

  For all the women’s bedrooms he encountered these days.

  “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in Miss Irish’s sitting room,” came Mrs. Richards’ voice again, “what with everything in an uproar down here from the painting.”

  “We’re fine, Mrs. Richards.” A half step brought Josh to a dormer window overlooking the Drago River.

  He needed to block out Malcolm, Mrs. R, and thoughts of women’s bedrooms. He needed to focus on the coming meeting.

  “Wednesday. Definitely Wednesday,” Malcolm said from behind him. “It reminded me that Wednesday’s child is loving and giving, which made me think of Zeke, in light of Darcie and the computer lab.”

  Loving and giving. Wouldn’t Zeke-Tech’s founder love that?

  Darcie — Zeke’s fiancée and a Drago cop — would tease, while Zeke would become as tongue-tied as he’d been when Josh tried to thank him for providing the site and funds to set up a community computer lab.

  Considering all he was doing, Zeke’s insistence that Zeke-Tech be represented on the project in the person of Chief Financial Officer Vanessa Irish had seemed inconsequential.

  Until Josh tried working with the woman.

  “…provide an uncannily accurate window into the subject’s openness to experience, extroversion, emotional stability, conscientiousness, and agreeableness,” Malcolm droned on.

  After three months of phone calls and emails, Josh didn’t need to see Ms. Irish’s bedroom for a view through that window.

  Conscientious? Oh, yeah.

  Intelligent? Absolutely.

  Agreeable? Not so much.

  Not disagreeable, exactly. More like businesslike on steroids.

  “Ah, and here is that very window to Ms. Irish’s soul,” said Malcolm.

  Josh turned. Drago High School’s senior guidance counselor was peering past a partially open door to the next room.

  “Very interesting,” Malcolm murmured.

  Crossing to the door, Josh reached past the older man for the handle. Which presented him with a view of the entire room he could only miss by closing his eyes.

  He didn’t.

  One dormer held an upholstered chair backed by a lamp, another a desk. A dresser and double bed completed the decor. But if Malcolm’s study was right, they were a view into Mrs. R’s soul.

  On the other hand, the laptop computer precisely centered on the desk and not another personal possession in sight reflected Vanessa Irish’s.

  As Josh started to swing the door closed a beat slower than he should have, a flash of color pulled his head around to a swirl of blues and greens so rich and vibrant they left peacocks in the dust.

  A robe.

  Draped from the corner of the open bathroom door.

  Josh Kincannon — high school principal, single father of three, and thus essentially celibate back into misty memory and forward into the foreseeable future — swallowed hard.

  Celibacy suddenly didn’t seem the least bit funny.

  The robe wasn’t filmy or see-through and, unless Vanessa Irish was seven feet tall, it would cover her from neck to toes. And yet—

  “Josh. Your phone.”

  Malcolm’s voice brought Josh to the abrupt realization that he’d stopped in mid-door-closing, staring at the robe, oblivious to his phone ringing.

  “Mr. Kincannon,” came the crisp voice when he answered. “I scheduled our meeting for three-forty-five.”

  He yanked the doorknob, slicing his view into the bedroom in half, and turned his back on it for good measure.

  “Yes, we did, Ms. Irish.” Damn. Was she trying to back out? “If you’re delayed, Mr. Cottle and I can wait for you here.”

  There was a slight pause. “Wait where?”

  “At Mrs. Richards’.” Without any input from his brain, his head turned back toward the robe. “In your rooms.”

  “My rooms.”

  The hairs on the back of Josh’s neck came to full alert.

  It was his personal early warning system and it came in very handy for tuning in to students’ emotional issues rumbling under the surface. It also helped greatly in deciphering all the nuances of a teenager’s “yeah,” from guilt to ecstasy to uncertainty to grief.

  But this…

  Vanessa Irish’s words conveyed no emotion at all. Yet those hairs were at full attention.

  Odd.

  “Yes.” Carefully, he added, “Your sitting room at Mrs. Richards’.”

  “You were to come to the lab site. I’m there now.”

  He pulled out a crumpled pink “while you were out” note student aides still used because letting the kids on the school computer system was not happening.

  The note clearly said 3:45 p.m., Mrs. Richards’ house. On the other hand, the message-taker had been a sophomore girl he’d found sobbing over a boy who hadn’t said hello.

  “We’ll be there in five minutes, Ms. Irish.”

  He ended the call, hustled Malcolm out — ignoring his and Mrs. Richards’ questions — and reached the computer lab site in four minutes flat.

  Not waiting for Malcolm, Josh jogged up concrete steps fronting a row of mostly boarded up storefronts and into what had once been the shoe-repair shop run by Zeke’s late father.

  A figure at the back of the long, narrow main room turned to face him.

  Vanessa Irish.

  The woman he’d failed to get a reading on during these three months.

  The woman he needed to work with so this project happened fast and right for Drago.

  The woman who wore that peacock’s robe when she was alone in her room at night.

  “Less than five minutes,” she said, absolutely neutral.

  She wore a suit the color of tree bark. Glasses hooked into the high neckline of a matching blouse. She had her hair up, smooth and contained.

  If she had any peacock in her, every feather was carefully hidden.

  Although even this boxy suit couldn’t completely mask rich curves.

  “Mr. Kincannon—” she started.
r />   “Call me Josh.” He extended his hand and smiled.

  Some women connected with only their fingers. Not her. Her handshake was palm-to-palm and full wrap-around fingers. As businesslike as her voice.

  He introduced Malcolm as the man who would organize programs at the lab once it was built.

  “The contractor should be here shortly,” she said. “Two Zeke-Tech employees are also coming,”

  She hadn’t invited him to call her Vanessa, hadn’t unbent at all. No matter. He’d make this work.

  He had to so the computer lab would meet Drago’s deep and varied needs.

  As for the hairs at the back of his neck indicating Vanessa Irish was hiding something — something he’d glimpsed in a robe, heard in a subtle tone — that was irrelevant.

  Though it sure was interesting…

  *

  More than an hour after the local contractor and Zeke-Tech’s electrical and IT experts joined them, Vanessa adjusted her glasses and acknowledged that Josh Kincannon made her uncomfortable.

  Recognizing and fully acknowledging her reactions to people was necessary, according to her executive coach.

  He made her very uncomfortable.

  She quelled a useless longing for her former state of complete unawareness of such matters.

  Josh.

  What kind of name was that for a high school principal? High school principals were Mr. Castro, Mrs. Albertson. Or Mr. Schmidt.

  Not Call-me-Josh. And not — definitely not — accompanied by a smile rippling lines up his cheeks and revealing a triangle of white teeth.

  Yet that couldn’t be why he made her uncomfortable. She’d gotten over the nonsense of attractive men making her uncomfortable a long, long time ago.

  He’d been in her rooms.

  No. Absurd. That space at Mrs. Richards’ house was no more hers than a hotel room was.

  She straightened.

  Recognizing and acknowledging was all well and good, but she had a job to do. She checked her list. “Next is accommodation for wiring.”

  “Looks good,” said Larry, a Zeke-Tech IT representative she often worked with. He gave the local contractor an approving nod. “It’s got one-hundred percent more space for the big pipe and the radius turns look good.”