Page 3 of Fern’s Date with Destiny (Heart Falls Vignette and Novella Collection #4)

F ern was too busy to ponder the strange sensation she’d experienced that morning out with Cody?—

Bullshit .

For the last five days she’d replayed every second of the trail ride so many times in her mind it felt like turning on a favourite movie she could quote line for line.

His laugh teased her when she shut her eyes.

The way the corner of his mouth tugged up when he was half amused, half baffled by her chatter? She knew it well enough to draw it.

Dangerous territory.

Luckily, Fern Fields was a woman who knew how to steer clear of temptation when necessary.

Well, most of the time.

Right now, she was piloting herself directly to the front door of Gabrielle’s gallery.

She should be tucked in bed instead, but sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

Not when she’d spent the last hour mentally retracing her final moments at the job and trying to remember if, in her distracted mental state, she’d shut down the very new, very expensive computer she’d been working on.

She’d sworn to Chance she’d lock everything down properly.

She’d sworn to herself she’d be the best assistant the new family-run art space could ask for.

It wasn’t just a paycheck. It was a chance to prove she could wear her organized, professional hat as easily as she wore her life-of-the-party one.

One more step toward wherever destiny nudged her next.

So here she was, on Thursday night just ten minutes shy of midnight, turning her borrowed key in the lock while the Alberta wind nudged her unruly curls across her eyes.

Inside, the gallery was half shadows and half moonlight, the walls lined with carefully hung paintings that made the empty quiet feel alive.

She paused, soaking it in for a heartbeat.

Even before ever having experienced the low buzz of visitors, a hallowed hush was present that felt as if it deserved respect.

She flicked on the small desk lamp by the front counter then padded down the hall toward the stairwell.

Upstairs, she would double-check the computers.

Maybe peek at the flyers she’d spent all week tweaking, just to be sure her traitorous brain hadn’t added any hint of her wandering thoughts to the pages.

“Focus,” she muttered, planting a hand on the railing.

Halfway up, she paused. A low thud and a muffled voice drifted down the stairwell. She held her breath, tilting her head to listen.

Another thud. A string of hushed curses. Definitely familiar curses. The Irish lilt was already far too familiar.

Fern grinned despite herself. “Should’ve known.”

She pushed the door open to the second-floor studio and stepped into a warm pocket of light and cluttered genius. Brushes, open tubes of paint, empty mugs, and at the center of it all, Chance Gabrielle, perched barefoot on a stool, his shirt covered in a wild variety of green and blue paints.

He didn’t even notice her at first. He muttered something in Irish, stabbed at the canvas with a paintbrush, then sighed so hard his shoulders slumped.

“Don’t mind me,” Fern said softly. “Just your friendly neighbourhood office fairy come to shut things down before your computer runs away screaming.”

Chance turned, bleary-eyed as he blinked hard. “I thought you’d gone home hours ago.”

“I did. Came back.” She pointed at his paint brush. “Careful, that thing’s loaded.”

He swore again, tipping the brush into a plastic yogurt container. “Don’t look, okay? It’s not ready.”

Fern snorted. “Of course I won’t look, but I’m not sure why you’re desperation painting in the middle of the night when you have only a short time to go until the gallery opening.”

“It’ll make sense,” he promised before making a face at the canvas she couldn’t see. “Gods, I hope it’ll make sense.”

“It will,” Fern assured him. “Now drink water and focus. I’ll be gone in no time.”

She gave him a playful salute and carefully avoided peeking as she slipped past him into the open office space.

The computers were all shut down properly, because of course they were. She made a mental note to get Chance to invest in an automatic backup service, then left herself a sticky note on the monitor. Take picture end of day of all systems off.

Ten minutes later, she’d made a few final notes for the upcoming opening, flicked off the lamp, and tiptoed back through the studio. She meant to ghost right out, but a familiar deep hum rumbled softly from the front corner.

Cody.

Fern froze mid-step. He leaned on the window frame, staring out at the night through the big glass windows that looked out onto Main Street. He stood like he’d been carved from moonlight. Sharp jaw, eyes bright as he hummed softly.

For a heartbeat, Fern considered backing out the way she’d come. Then he turned, catching her in the act.

She lifted her fingers in a sheepish wave. “Hey, cowboy.”

Cody pushed to vertical, a slow smile pulling at his mouth. “Hey yourself. You break in?”

“I’m on the payroll, thank you very much. Just doing an overly diligent job. What’s your excuse for the midnight stroll?” As he walked closer, Fern caught a whiff of soap and coffee and a hint of roast beef.

He pointed to a basket on the front counter that held a thermos and something wrapped in brown paper. “Making sure my brother doesn’t forget he’s human. I’ll feed him then offer to tie him to a chair if he doesn’t sleep.”

“Good plan. He’d probably fight you, though.”

“Oh, he has,” Cody said dryly. “He threatened to paint my truck pink if I nagged him again.”

Fern snickered, picturing his lovely deep blue truck in bubble-gum pink. Maybe that was why she didn’t notice she’d stepped closer, nearly toe-to-toe with him now, shadows and lamplight wrapping them in a quiet little cave.

His eyes held hers for a moment too long. Then he exhaled, voice going softer. “Broke things off.”

It was ridiculous how quickly she figured out just what the heck he was talking about. Her heart did a slow, traitorous flip. “With your East Coast sweetie?”

“Yeah. Few nights back. After Chance’s art night with the guys, I…” He trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “It wasn’t fair to her. Or me. Or—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Fern swallowed hard and tried for breezy. “Sounds as if you gave it some serious thought. Good for you, cowboy, for making a tough decision. To be honest, long-distance love affairs have always sounded like real killers.”

He huffed a laugh, low and rueful. “Yeah.”

Silence settled between them, not heavy, but not light either. It lingered in her ribs, in the stubborn way her pulse tapped out a Morse code message she refused to translate.

“Look at us. Both here being painfully responsible,” she said, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “How about I’ll double-check the back door then leave out the front. You can go try to move Chance, but we both know he’s not leaving tonight.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “True, he’s not.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them buzzed with something unspoken. Cody’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes, like he might say something reckless.

Fern cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I’m really glad that we’re friends,” she said firmly before he could tempt her common sense away.

A crooked smile tugged at his lips. He tilted his head, conceding. “Friends.”

She gave him a mock salute, stepping back before she could change her mind. “Now, go shoo Chance off his stool.”

His fingers brushed her arm. Brief, warm, and enough to scatter every plan she’d just reinforced like startled birds.

Then he was gone, boots thudding softly up the stairs. Fern stayed where she was for one breath, two, hand pressed over her chest.

Destiny needed to lay off and wait.

Cody dealt with his brother then headed home to the ranch. He stepped into the warm prairie night and immediately wanted to punch the nearest fence post.

Smooth, Gabrielle. Real smooth. Blurting out he’d broken things off with his “East Coast sweetie” like a lovesick teenager fishing for a reaction. Agreeing—again very foolishly—to Fern’s easy friends declaration before he’d even figured out what he wanted.

Not that wanting anything with Fern Fields was smart. Or fair. She was bright, ambitious, and so, so young. On top of that, with the thing developing between Chance and Rose, did he have a right to do anything that might mess up his brother’s hopes for a future?

No. Time to lay off and be grateful for the reminder of being friends only.

Still. Her laugh stuck like opportunistic burrs, teasing him at all moments of the day and night. The worst part? He liked the repetitive prodding. Far too much.

A week before the grand opening, anticipation buzzed through the gallery louder than a hornet’s nest. Chance was all but living there, high on paint fumes and love.

Whatever had gone down with Rose a day or two earlier had put a permanent grin on Cody’s brother’s face, but Chance’s brain was still a jumbled mess.

Which meant Cody spent half his time keeping things rolling at Red Boot ranch, half playing gopher between the ranch and the gallery, and all of it trying not to think about the curve of Fern Fields’s grin when she teased him.

Late on the seventeenth, only nights before the opening, Cody packed up the box of expensive equipment Chance had left at the ranch for safe keeping and hauled it back into town, grumbling under his breath the whole way.

The gallery was locked for the night, but the lights upstairs were still burning. He knew who that meant.

He found her exactly where he expected, in the interactive studio. What he didn’t expect was to find her tussling with a wheeled display cabinet almost her size. She wore cut-offs and a soft blue tank top, curly hair loose and natural.

She looked like trouble wrapped in summer.

“Hold up there, Hercules,” he called. “You planning to move that alone?”

Fern jumped. “Cody! You scared the hell out of me.”